#RAW Reflection 3

[laarnecabanlit9]

LESSON 3: TECHNIQUES IN SELECTING AND ORGANIZING INFORMATION

In today's information-rich society, selecting and organizing information are crucial abilities. With the growth of digital content and the overwhelming amount of data available, the ability to choose and arrange information efficiently is critical for efficient and effective decision-making and communication. Sometimes, we are overwhelmed with a variety of information from books, newspapers, magazines, and the internet. We also have to come up with effective ways of processing the information we gathered. Hence, one important ingredient to successful reading and writing is our ability to generate, select, and organize ideas. These can be done through brainstorming, making a graphic organizer, outlining, and many more.

With the ever-increasing volume of information available, it's critical to have effective procedures in place to manage information overload efficiently and strategically. Brainstorming is a powerful approach for addressing this difficulty because it includes producing a list of techniques for selecting and organizing information. It is the practice of writing down certain themes gathered from various sources. It entails documenting and developing a list of subjects. Cubing, free writing, listing, mapping, and researching are the five brainstorming strategies.

Making a graphic organizer is another efficient method of organizing information. Graphic organizers are powerful tools that can assist users in organizing information successfully. This includes, A t-chart, concept map, main idea web, Venn diagram, and sequence chart. They are visual representations that help students link and organize ideas, concepts, or facts in a systematic and coherent way. It use visual components such as diagrams, charts, and maps to make difficult information more accessible and understandable. As a visual learner, visual representation allows me to perceive the relationships between different concepts or ideas, which aids in my comprehension and retention of the material.

Outlining is another useful method for arranging information. It entails establishing a hierarchical structure of primary concepts, subtopics, and supporting details in an orderly manner. Outlining, I've discovered, helps to build a logical structure for arranging material. It establishes a clear and orderly framework for presenting information by organizing concepts in a hierarchical order, with primary ideas at the top level and supporting elements indented beneath them. This logical framework makes it easy for both the writer and the reader to follow the flow of thoughts and understand the relationships between various pieces of information.

In a nutshell, information organization is crucial in numerous areas of our lives. It enhances communication, encourages education, boosts professional productivity, and promotes personal time management. Organized information enables us to process, store, and retrieve knowledge more efficiently, resulting in greater decision-making and overall success. As a student, I do believe that effective information-organization strategies are a necessary skill that will benefit me in several areas of my educational experience and even as an individual.

[1eos]

Kendra help my friend just went through a really bad breakup and has been venting to me about it and between stuff I noticed before and things she saying now I realized that she is 10000% the problem and I don't know if I should bring it up when she already so upset. But she does not think she's the problem at alllllll and if I say nothing then she's just gonna keep making the same mistakes.

.............whats her zodiac sign? just out of curiosity? but yeahhhh bringing it up rn when everything is super fresh may just make her more defensive bc she's in the nursing her wounds stage of being upset. you'll probably have to start sowing the seeds of looking at it a different way once she starts feeling more open to different opinions. be sure to reaffirm that her feelings are valid but there are sometimes better actions to take 😭😭😭😭 and it might be easy to breach the idea that she was the problem when in the near future y'all have a heart to heart u can ask 'okay in your next relationship what do u want to do differently? what do you feel like you were meant to learn from this?' and then kinda nudge her/drop small suggestions to get her to admit even a littleeeeee bit of fault on her own bc it's easier to be honest if you can get the person to believe it was their own idea first lollllllll. all u need is that one opening of discussing her accountability and then u can relay your thoughts in a gentle way and if she's got any sense she'll internalize it 🤗 and if she doesn't have sense well.......you'll see her next cycle i guess lmao

[vehemourn]

Hey just wanted to say I saw what you wrote in the tags of that one punkitt ask I sent. Really means a lot, thanks for the well-wishes!

DUDE. seeing that post on my dash brought TEARS to my EYES!!!! i know how important art is in MY life, and its so special to me when someone else finds a way to express themselves!!! i know how much FUN it can be and ARGH!!! i am so happy for you !!!!! and i am so glad that you are making more art, Even or Especially if no one will ever see it, even or especially if its amateur, and ESPECIALLY if it is So self indulgent and it makes you happy THAT IS WHAT IT IS ABOUT!!!

I know there is so much grief and pain in living, so much Confusion... and art is humanities way of exploring that, and coping with it. And the feelings that you get from doing it are very very real!! Writing characters and feeling YOUR connection grow with them, and your understanding of... so much! increases! with every action you take in your art, and every decision you make! Every sentence you get +1 sentence better at writing, every doodle youre +1 doodle better at drawing, AND youre archiving Yourself and the things you love while you do it. Those Alone are good enough reason to make art... i hope someone else does too! I hope everyone does! The value in art isnt just that its nice to consume, its so fulfilling to create!!!!

[kyriefae]

Getting devastated all over again. 🥺

Doctor Who (2005-)

S9E11 - Heaven Sent

[piegonn]

You might find that you relate to multiple levels, choose whatever you feel most accurately reflects your day to day cooking experience. I'm curious what everyone's experience is! I've gotten up to level 4 before but I'm more at a level 2 now.

Level 1: I don't use or have a full kitchen. Meals are prepared for me or I eat ready made food. I can reheat in the microwave.

Level 2: I use the kitchen sparingly. I will heat food in the microwave, on the stovetop, and/or in the oven. I am comfortable adding simple ingredients together for a meal (cereal and milk, granola, yogurt, and fruit). I can prepare simple things on the stovetop like instant ramen, instant mac, pasta or rice.

Level 3: I use the kitchen often. I am comfortable following simple recipes. I can prepare fruits and vegetables with a knife. I follow recipes with multiple steps (chop then pan-fry, boil then bake). My recipes often include multiple seasonings or sauces. I will handle raw meat like ground beef or turkey (if applicable)

Level 4: I use the kitchen everyday. I often use recipes with many steps or make meals with multiple side dishes. There are some dishes I don't use a recipe for, or I can make up simple recipes. I am comfortable handling most types of raw meat (think chicken breast, steak) and do so regularly (if applicable)

Level 5: I use the kitchen multiple times a day. I don't use written recipes very often. I can create dishes from whatever food is on hand. I make complex meals often. I can prepare any type of raw meat (full chicken or turkey, butchering your own food)

[misswynters]

Broken and whole

pairing | Viktor x gn!reader

no warnings just passionate kissing

a short drabble until we wait for the next three episodes with jesus viktor <3 (he’s always been so fine)

– let me know if you would like to get tagged in arcane fics

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

In the night sky as the moonlight shines through the windows, the lab was filled with the low hum of machinery. It had a faint metallic scent of Viktor’s latest work. You leaned against the wall, watching him from across the room as he worked, utterly engrossed in his latest project. He had changed so much recently, both in body and spirit. The hextech augmentation now coursing through his leg gave him a powerful, refined look, yet you sensed a hidden struggle behind his carefully guarded gaze. You knew how he was. His mind was only half here, the other was lost somewhere between ambition and uncertainty.

He hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on the delicate mechanisms of the device in front of him. You admired him, his steady hand, his unwavering concentration, the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with a fire that was part passion, part burden. Yet you could see the toll it took, even if he would never admit it.

“Viktor,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head lifted, and his intense gaze softened slightly as he saw you. “Ah,” he said, letting out a breath, “I didn’t realize you were here.” There was a hint of relief in his voice, as if your presence offered him a reprieve from the depths of his mind.

You approached him slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of the table. “I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s been days, Viktor. You need to rest.”

A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face, but it melted quickly, replaced by something almost vulnerable. “Rest,” he echoed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “It feels like a luxury I cannot afford.”

You stepped closer, your heart aching at the sight of him so worn down, so caught between his dreams and the demands of his body. “Even visionaries need a break,” you murmured, reaching up to gently place a hand on his shoulder. He was warmer than you expected, his skin cool to the touch from the metal but still unmistakably him.

Viktor looked down at your hand, as if surprised by the intimacy of the gesture. His gaze softened, and he let out a soft, reluctant sigh. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile breaking through the intensity of his features. “You always have been, haven’t you?”

There was a warmth in his voice that pulled you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the cold metal and complex machinery that surrounded you. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders under your touch.

“Viktor…” you murmured, your voice almost trembling with the unspoken words you had held back for so long. He looked at you, truly looked, his golden eyes reflecting something vulnerable, something raw that he rarely let show. “Yes?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling the softness of his skin against the hardness of his prosthetic. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze focused solely on your face, as if you were the only thing grounding him in this moment.

“I worry about you,” you whispered, your voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the lab. “You give so much of yourself, but you leave so little room for…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “For someone to care for you.”

Viktor’s expression softened, his hand lifting slowly to touch yours, his fingers tentative but warm. “I… I hadn’t realized,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before he met your eyes again. “But with you, it feels… different.”

A moment of silence passed between you, and in that silence, the unspoken words lingered, the weight of everything you had both held back coming to the surface. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Viktor leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours.

“Different how?” you asked, your heart pounding as you felt his breath against your lips.

“Like I could… lose myself in you,” he whispered, a vulnerability in his voice that shook you to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed yours, soft at first, testing, as if he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands moving to cup his face as he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There was a hunger in his kiss, a desperation that spoke of the weeks, months, maybe even years he had spent holding back, afraid to want this, to want you.

The passion between you ignited, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you both. Viktor’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he needed to feel every inch of you, as if he were afraid you might vanish. His breath was ragged, each exhale a confession of how long he had kept himself from this moment.

He pulled back, only slightly, his golden eyes searching yours, his face open in a way you had never seen. “You…” he whispered, as if the words failed him, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

You could see the storm of emotions in his gaze. Desire and hope. They were all woven together, vulnerable and unguarded. You wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him holding you, his heartbeat quickening against yours.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your fingers trailing down his arm, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingertips. “I’m here. Let me carry some of it with you.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he held you close, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I never thought…” His voice cracked, and he took a moment to steady himself. “I never thought anyone could love someone like me.”

Your heart ached at the words, at the quiet self-doubt that he kept buried so deep. You tilted his chin up, meeting his gaze with all the strength you could muster. “I don’t love you despite anything, Viktor,” you said, your voice steady. “I love you because of who you are, all of you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then he kissed you again, harder this time, as if pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers pressing into you as though you were his anchor, the one steady point in the storm that was his mind.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet of the lab, lost in each other. Viktor’s hand traced gentle patterns along your back, his touch tender, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing every detail of this moment. And in that embrace, in the warmth of his kiss, you felt him let go of the weight he carried, just a little, as he allowed himself to surrender to you, even if only for this fleeting, stolen moment.

banner by. @cafekitsune

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

astro thoughts - short n sweet <3 pluto in the house

Pluto in the 1st house - Very strong auras. Could deliberately see through bs a mile away. Not gifted in being friendly, lol just kidding. Their not 'nice' though. And they don't have to be. They don't like faking the funk so this pretty much gives them an interesting outlook on people and they way they see themselves. Can shift the whole room with just their magic. Can be very intimidating to some, but very inspiring to others.

Pluto in the 2nd house - Could have financial issues from time to time. Not likely to say the same thing twice, if they said it once they meant it. Dont bother them again about it. These individuals can use their psychic senses to make money if that is what they wish, they could be very therapeutic to say the least. Give em a chance, they really wouldn't hurt a fly.

Pluto in the 3rd house - There speech is very compelling. They could hold a room with just their words and it could open the minds of a few listening to them. They have a gift in impacting you with just the way that they think, making you beg for more each day at a time.

Pluto in the 4th house - Could of had a transformative experience at home and I don't mean that nicely. There are somethings that should be left unsaid but sometimes things need a reawakening. They don't seem to let things go here.. but why would they? There past is like a haunting story awaiting to be unraveled just so you can piece together the puzzles that we're left unfinished. They are quiet when it comes to their personal life and hide themselves from the world so that you won't get an inkling of what truly is masked behind the bushes.

Pluto in the 5th house - Very deep bonds with their art work and can do a performance like no other. They will have you feeling every bit of emotion in their vibration just to help you feel what the character is feeling. I noticed there are a lot of good actors with this placement. Anywho, they have a powerful presence and when it comes to dating them or even just experiencing them for a little while it can be a transformative, healing experience for people involved with them.

Pluto in the 6th house - Like their martians mates in the 6th house, these people can have a pretty interesting experience here. They have a tendency to be obsessive over what they want so they work as much as they can until the wheels falls off. This could become a problem if they don't think to chill out on working and sacrificing their well being for something out side of themself.

Pluto in the 7th house - Deep, penetrating raw auras. Could be self-reflective on the way they see things, themselves , others and just the world at large. They have a gift of discernment but most of them never use the gift and can get caught up into the wrong things sometimes. There is more than what meets the eye with these individuals. They never let others in so easily, sometimes they're worth the wait. ;)

Pluto in the 8th house - Really good at seeing through things that others just can't seem to pick up on. Really gifted in occult sciences. Have issues with commitment and could have trouble with individuals because of traumatic experiences in past lives or current one. Could have people who want to be around them just to unravel them, but not really want to be with them. Have a very mysterious presence, hard to read.

Pluto in the 9th house - Very interesting and their thoughts can penetrate the mind in so many ways. They will leave you speechless when its all over. They travel to different places all the time but they are pretty good at finding places that match their flow, and love ot bring anyone along for the ride. There just a different layer to them that no one really knows how to explain, but its a gift that keeps giving.

Pluto in the 10th house - Woah. Thats the word to describe em. Its their touch and raw auras that keep you on your knees. VERY strong personas and do not like being talked down on. Could use their experiences/circumstances to their advantage. Gifted and seeing beyond what no one wants to believe is true. They can have the world if they know they got it in them already. Hard headed but gets to the bag with just their two feet. No one else can beat them at their own game.

Pluto in the 11th house - Whew. These people have a spell on the people that no other pluto house placement can compete with. The issue is these people don't know how to use that power but thats not all that bad. They can have people do things for them because something about them just makes people want to do things for them.

Pluto in the 12th house - very odd things comes out of the mind with these individuals. The subconscious/dream world is the most important part of their day to day because it rules the present in a way that cant be controlled but must be felt. How are you doing living a life that no one seems to live? It seems like they are all alone, but the world is calling for them to give them all the answers.

Talk to me in the comments, let me know how yall feelin! <3

[momentomori24]

The reunion hug between Sonic and Tom would be incredible, but also the parallels between Shadow and Sonic would drive me insane. They already set out how similar Sonic and Shadow are despite them being as incompatible as can be on the surface: "Shadow's story began a lot like yours, Sonic. But where you found family and friends, Shadow found only pain and loss". I can totally see Sonic not truly understanding it-- truly understand Shadow-- at first. Not really being able to see himself in his shoes, feeling what he might be feeling, being that compelled to lash out against the world that wronged you. It's only when he "loses" Tom to someone else the way Shadow lost Maria (bonus points if Tom gets shot :3) that he starts getting it. But where Sonic has the rest of his family to pull him out of that black pit before he loses himself completely, Shadow didn't have anyone to do that for him. Not anymore. And in Tom's embrace after thinking he'd never get to be again, after being so suffocated by his raw emotions and oceanic grief and righteous anger he finally finds himself thinking "oh i get it now".

This will probably not happen and I'm just in la la land over here lmao. I don't want Shadow to kill Tom and I don't think he would because while he can be ruthless he's not heartless, but I would bark if Sonic was forced to understand Shadow by blood and by force if needed.

People suggesting Tom is going to die because Sonic needs to experience loss like Shadow did I need you to STOP

[maxtermind]

please i'm begging you (please don't feel pressured if your life is busy 💕) we need pt 2 to the angst i can't handle this 😭 my heart 💔 the writing is too good that i'm feeling things 😓

was i stupid to love you?

★ : summary :: when he downplays your feelings ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst; hurt/comfort ★ : word count :: 4.6k ★ : a/n :: open ending, don't forget to vote after so i can get a bit of feedback :3 kinda rushed so might contain lots of typos sorryyyy!!

( part 1 )

Charles Leclerc

The house party buzzed with music and laughter, a cacophony that drowned your thoughts as you stormed through the crowded rooms. Your heart raced with a mix of anger and hurt, knowing Charles was right on your tail, determined to catch you before you could reach Arthur.

Your boyfriend’s hand wrapped around yours just as his brother turned around to look at you guys. You stomped your feet as you shook your head to dismiss Arthur and follow your boyfriend who quietly kissed your head in gratitude before you could step away.

”What is going on with you?!” Your voice trembled with barely contained fury as you confronted Charles in a quieter corner.

Charles sighed, his brow furrowing in frustration. ”I don’t know, baby. I’m so sorry—”

”You told me off when you should know that I’m right!” Your voice rose involuntarily. ”She fucking leaned in thinking that you were gonna choose her.”

”Y/N, please listen to me,” Charles said earnestly, stepping closer to you. ”I messed up. I know. But I would, never in a hundred years, choose anyone let alone her over you.”

You looked into Charles' eyes, seeing the sincerity and pain reflected in them. Your anger began to melt, replaced by a swirl of conflicting emotions.

”You’re just saying what I want to hear and I don't like it,” you said, your voice softer now, searching for clarity.

”It’s the truth,” Charles declared, his voice tinged with regret. ”I know I’ve hurt you baby and I'm sorry for that but I can’t— I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I watched you leave with my brother. Let me drop you home, okay?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, frustration and hurt mixing with the love you still felt for him. Charles gently took your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting.

”Y/N, please,” Charles pleaded, his voice raw with emotion. ”I never want to make you feel like you need to run away from me. I want to talk this out, please give me a chance to make things right.”

You hesitated, feeling torn between wanting to forgive him and the pain of betrayal still fresh in your heart.

”Okay,” you finally whispered, feeling emotionally drained. ”Let's go.”

Charles nodded, relief washing over his face. He led you out of the noisy party, his grip on your hand tight and reassuring. The cool night air outside provided a stark contrast to the heated emotions inside.

As Charles drove you home, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with unspoken words and the weight of what had just transpired. But Charles kept stealing glances at you, his eyes full of regret and love.

When you arrived at your shared apartment, Charles parked the car but made no move to get out. He turned to you, his expression soft and vulnerable.

”I'll leave if you want me to,” Charles said quietly, his voice tinged with sorrow. ”But please, Y/N, give us a chance to talk tomorrow. I'll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the love that still lingered despite everything. Tears fell down your cheeks as you nodded slowly.

”I need time,” you admitted softly, your voice barely audible. ”Time to sort through this.”

Charles nodded understandingly, reaching out to gently wipe away your tears. ”Take all the time you need,” he said softly, his thumb caressing your cheek. ”I'll be here, whenever you're ready.”

”Where will you go?” You asked, not wanting to leave just yet.

”To your brother’s house,” he joked and smiled cheekily when you let out a small laugh.

”I love you,” Charles continued and seemed satisfied when you saw your tinted cheeks, giving into the temptation to kiss your hand. ”I’ll stay at Arthur's for the night.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. You watched Charles drive away, feeling the distance between you both but knowing that perhaps, with time, you could find a way back to each other.

Lando Norris

You sat in the break room at work, your lunch untouched in front of you. The memories of last night’s events still stung, the image of her hand on Lando’s thigh and the lipstick on his collar replaying in your mind.

Just as you were about to take a sip of water, the door swung open, and there he was, your— ex? —boyfriend, looking desperate and determined. You knew there was a possibility he’d try to catch you at work given that you’d taken away all other means.

”Y/N, can I please?” he said, his voice pleading as he pointed towards the hallway.

You nodded reluctantly and led him to an empty hall, away from prying eyes. The silence was deafening as you stood there, waiting for him to speak.

You nodded reluctantly and led him to an empty conference room, away from prying eyes. The silence was deafening as you stood there, waiting for him to speak.

”Y/N, please,” he started, his voice trembling slightly. ”I’m so sorry about last night.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the table. ”Bet you had a good time, huh?”

”No, I didn't,” Lando said in disbelief before he took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. ”Nothing that happened there was intentional. We were all drinking, and she... she got too close. I should have pushed her away. I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, anger bubbling up again, finally fired up enough to speak your mind. ”Her hand was on your fucking thigh, Lando. And your collar— her lipstick was all over it. How do you explain that?”

He winced, clearly pained by the memory. ”I know it looks bad, but it wasn’t what it seemed. She leaned in close to talk to me, and I didn’t realize she had left a mark. It was a— just a stupid mistake, and I should have been more aware.”

”More aware?” you echoed, your voice rising. ”You should have cared about how it would make me feel! Instead, you shrugged it off like it was nothing.”

”I didn’t mean to shrug it off,” he said, stepping closer. ”I was wrong. I should have reassured you, should have shown you that you’re the only one that matters to me. Baby, please just let me—”

You looked away, the pain still fresh. ”It’s not just about the lipstick or her hand. It’s about how you made me feel like I was overreacting, like my feelings didn’t matter.”

”They do matter,” he said, his voice breaking. ”More than anything. I was an idiot. I should have pushed her away immediately. I should have come to you and told you everything before you saw it for yourself.”

”You know I only want you,” he added softly, his eyes pleading with you.

You shook your head, trying to hold back tears. ”That’s the thing, Lando. I don’t know that. I actually believe that y— you don’t at all.”

Lando’s eyes filled with tears as a broken whisper of your name left his mouth. ”I h.. have never, I never will. Ever.” He stressed. ”Want anyone— need anyone the way I want you.”

You kept quiet as you looked at him trying to catch himself. Lending him your hand that he squeezed in return.

”I can’t believe you would ever believe that but I understand and, I promise… I’ll be more mindful, more respectful. I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m taken, that I’m yours. Please, give me a chance to make it right.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you let out a slow breath, trying to not have a breakdown at your workplace. ”It’s going to take time, Lando. Trust isn’t rebuilt overnight.”

”I know,” he said, relief washing over his features. ”And I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of your trust.”

”Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. ”I’ll give it a thought, Lando. But if you hurt me again, we’re done.”

”I understand,” he said, his voice filled with determination. ”Thank you, Y/N. I won’t let you down.”

Max Verstappen

The streets were bustling with late-night revelers, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. The restaurant's neon sign flickered as you stepped out into the cool night air, your phone clenched tightly in your hand.

Three hours. You had waited for three hours, hoping Max would show up for your anniversary dinner, only to find out from the story of your mutual friend that he was out with her again.

On your anniversary.

You made your way through the crowded streets, not caring where you ended up. You just needed to get away, to think, to process the hurt and betrayal. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your pocket, but you ignored it. Max's calls and messages could wait. Right now, you needed space.

After wandering aimlessly for a while, you found yourself at the edge of the city, near the river. The quiet contrast of the flowing water was a welcome change from the city's noise. You sat on a bench, pulling your jacket tighter around you as a light drizzle began to fall. The soft patter of rain on the water's surface was soothing, but it didn’t dull the ache in your heart.

Minutes turned into an hour, and the rain intensified. Your phone buzzed again, and this time you glanced at it. Last message from Max was a minute ago

Max: Y/N, please. Where are you? Let me explain. I’m looking for you.

You sighed, wiping away the raindrops mixed with your tears. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you finally typed a reply.

You: By the river. Near the old bridge.

You didn’t know why you told him, but some part of you wanted to hear him out. To understand why he kept doing this. Why would he even waste time with you if he was already in love with someone else?

God. Even the thought of that brought up a real pain in your chest. The rain fell harder, and you huddled under the small awning of a nearby building, trying to stay somewhat dry.

After what felt like an eternity, you saw a figure running towards you through the rain. It was Max, drenched and breathless. He slowed as he approached, his eyes filled with worry and regret. HIs clothes were all over the place, untucked and wrinkled and you only drew the worst conclusion.

”Y/N,” he gasped, stopping a few feet away. ”Thank God, you're okay.”

You stood up, arms crossed defensively. ”You’ve got five minutes, Max. Make it count.”

He nodded, taking a step closer. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know I’ve let you down. I was with her tonight because she’s going through a really rough time. She had no one else to turn to.”

You narrowed your eyes, the skepticism clear. ”On our anniversary? How convenient.”

He flinched at your tone but didn’t back down. ”I know it’s no excuse. I should have told you. I thought I could help her quickly and still make it to dinner. I didn’t realize it would take so long.”

You shook your head, the anger bubbling up again. ”This isn’t the first time, Max. How many times have I had to wonder if she’s really just a friend? How many times have you put her before me?”

Max stepped closer, his eyes pleading. ”I’ve been blind, Y/N. I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. There’s nothing romantic between us. She’s just a friend, and she needed my help. But I see now that I’ve been unfair to you.”

Tears mixed with the rain on your cheeks. ”I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Max. The constant worry, the feeling like I’m not enough. It’s tearing me apart.”

He reached out, tentatively taking your hand. ”You are more than enough, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot, and I’m so sorry. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception. All you saw was sincerity and regret. ”How can I trust you again, Max? What did she even need help with?”

He squeezed your hand gently. ” She saw her ex at the club and he was being an asshole. I just went over for five to put him in his place when one of her friends posted the story. I’m sorry for the delay, baby. I know I should've been more transparent about everything. Just please, give me a chance to make things right.”

”Is she okay?” You took a shaky breath, your heart aching with the desire to believe him and he exhaled when you pulled him under the shit excuse of shelter you had from the rain.

”She’s okay. I promise I won't ever embarrass you this way again, baby. You won’t ever have to sit and wonder if I'm bailing because I found someone else or not.” Max took another deep breath. ”I never will, baby, you are the only one I want. I will never find anyone.”

You closed your eyes, the tears spilling over as you hugged him. ”I wanna go home.”

”Okay let’s go home, baby.” Max gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. ”But I need you to know. You are my priority, Y/N. I’ll never let you feel otherwise again. I love you more than anything, and I’ll spend every day proving it to you.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the pain as you hugged him.

He sighed again, closing his eyes to soak in this. ”Happy anniversary, baby. I love you”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a tired smile.

Carlos Sainz

Carlos's pleas had grown quieter, the urgency in his voice replaced with a softness that seemed to seep through the crack under the door.

You could hear his breath hitching, a clear sign that he was on the verge of breaking down himself. But you couldn’t get yourself to stand up as you sat on the bed, knees drawn to your chest, tears still streaming down your face as you tried to block out the sound.

”Y/N, please,” he choked out, and you could hear the tears in his voice now. ”I'm so sorry. I... I don't know what else to say. I can't lose you.”

The sincerity and raw emotion in his voice cut through you in a vicious manner, and against your better judgment, you found yourself getting up. You hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the doorknob, before finally opening the door just a crack.

Carlos was standing there, his eyes red and swollen from crying. When he saw you, a look of profound relief washed over his face. ”Thank you,” he whispered.

You stepped back, letting him in. He walked in slowly, as if afraid to invade your space, and you closed the door behind him. The silence was heavy, each second stretching into an eternity.

”I'm so sorry,” Carlos said again, his voice trembling. ”I swear, I didn't know she was going to kiss me. If I had known, I would have never invited her. I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your own shaking voice. ”But you did invite her, Carlos. And I told you to cut her off so many times. Why didn't you listen?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated. ”I thought... I thought we were just friends. I didn't realize she felt that way about me. And when she kissed me, I was so shocked. I— I froze. I'm an idiot. I should have pushed her away immediately.”

”You should have,” you echoed, your voice breaking as you recalled that scene and it felt like someone was physically stabbing you. ”Do you have any idea how much it hurt to see that?”

Carlos stepped closer, his eyes pleading. ”I know, and I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, Y/N. You're the only one I want to be with.”

You looked down, tears falling onto the floor. ”How do I know that, Carlos? How do I know you won't let this happen again?”

He gently took your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. ”Because I can’t ever go through this again. I don’t want to know what it feels like to almost lose you. I'll cut her off completely. I promise you, baby, just, anything— it will never happen again.”

You pulled your hands away, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. ”It's not just about cutting her off, Carlos. I can never get that image out of my brain now. What if you just wake up tomorrow that you didn’t get rid of her because yo— you…?”

You trailed off but Carlos understood and immediately shook his head. ”No,” he said firmly. ”I will never wake up with anyone other than you in my heart. You’re the one I love, the one I am going to live my life with.”

He didn’t let you speak as he carried on,”I understand. Trust is earned, not given. And I'll do whatever it takes to earn it back. I'll prove to you that you can trust me.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. ”I want to believe you. But it's going to take time. A lot of time.”

”I know,” he said softly. ”And I'm willing to wait. I'll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me again. Just please, don't shut me out. Let me be there for you.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine remorse and love in them. Despite everything, a part of you still loved him deeply. ”Okay,” you whispered. ”But you have to understand, it's going to be hard. I'm still hurt, and it's going to take a while for me to heal.”

Carlos nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. ”I'll be patient. I'll be here for you, no matter what. And I'll do everything I can to make it right.”

”Alright.” You nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope yourself. ”Just... don't make me regret it.”

”I won't,” Carlos stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to wipe a tear from your cheek. ”I love you, Y/N. More than anything.”

You gave him a small as you leaned into his touch, feeling a mix of emotions, ”I love you too, Carlos. That's why this hurts so much.”

He pulled you into a gentle hug, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. ”We'll get through this. Together.”

Lewis Hamilton

You paced around your apartment, the anger and hurt from the argument still fresh. The silence after the exchange with Lewis was deafening. You couldn’t believe he said those things. Your phone buzzed on the couch, but you ignored it, needing space to process.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. It was loud and persistent. You hesitated, hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

”Y/N, please open up. I need to talk to you,” Lewis’s voice came through the door, sounding desperate.

You took a deep breath and opened the door. Your boyfriend stood there, looking remorseful.

”What do you want, Lewis?” you asked, your voice cold.

”Can I come in? Please, we need to talk,” he pleaded.

You stepped aside reluctantly, letting him in. He walked into the living room, turning to face you with regret etched on his face.

”I’m sorry, Y/N,” he started, his voice soft as he ran a hand over his face. ”I didn’t mean what I said. I was frustrated— but that’s no excuse.”

”You really hurt me,” you said, crossing your arms defensively knowing you had to support yourself before you start crying again. ”And you were so fucking cruel about it!”

”I know, and I hate that I did that to you,” he replied, his eyes sincere. ”I’ve been spending too much time with her, and I’ve been blind to how it’s been affecting you— us. Affecting us.”

”Why do you keep seeing her then? If she’s just a friend, why does it feel like she’s more important than me?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

”She’s not more important than you,” he said quickly. ”I’ve let the boundaries blur, and I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you. I’m sorry.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. This was not what you expected. You were ready for a fight, sure that Lewis would come with his own weapons out but this was undoing you.

”It’s not just about her, Lewis. It’s about us. You’ve been distant, and I feel like I’m losing you.”

Lewis nodded, looking pained and sick. ”You’re not losing me, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. I want to fix this.”

”How?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Desperately clinging onto him to make amends because you couldn’t see any in hindsight.

”By being more present, by setting boundaries, and by showing you every day how much you mean to me,” he said, taking your hands in his. ”Please give me a chance to make this right.”

”Words aren’t enough anymore,” you said, looking down at your joined hands.

”I know,” he nodded. ”But I'm willing to go through any lengths, I’ll prove to you that you’re my priority.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the determination and regret. ”I want to trust you,” as your voice cracked, the very first tear fell down your face and Lewis immediately grabbed you as he pulled you to lay your head on his chest.

”I can’t though— I wish I could but I can't get hurt again.”

”I understand and I promise you can shoot me if I hurt you again” he said. ”I love you, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

You leaned into his embrace, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the pain. ”I love you too.” You felt him take a sigh as he held you tight against his warm body.

”And I need you to understand that my feelings are valid,” you continued as you soaked his shirt with your tears. ”When I tell you something bothers me, I need you to listen and not dismiss it.”

”I promise I’ll listen,” he said, his voice full of sincerity. ”I’ll do better because losing you would end me.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift slightly. As you stood there in your boyfriend’s arms, you realized that healing would take time but there was no one else you would rather heal with. Though only time could tell what the future held for you.

Oscar Piastri

You closed your eyes as you heard the door of your best friend's apartment being knocked on again. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, betrayal, sadness.

You replayed the messages over and over in your head, each one cutting deeper than the last as you contemplated whether letting Oscar in would be a good decision. You finally made the decision when you heard the neighbor’s lock moving.

You pulled him in before they could open their door or call the cops and finally took a look at him. He looked disheveled. His eyes were red from holding unshed tears as they glossed over once he finally took you in.

”Y/N,” Oscar started, moving towards you with open arms. ”Thanks for letting me in.”

”I almost didn't.” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep your voice steady as you stepped away from his open arms. ”But you were waking up the whole damn building.”

Oscar nodded, looking down at the ground. ”I deserve that.” You took a deep breath, desperate to get this over with.

”Why, Oscar? Why did you lie to me?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. ”I... I was scared you'd get upset. I thought if I told you the truth, you'd leave me.”

”And now?” you scoffed, your voice rising. ”You think I'm not upset now? You think lying to me makes it any better?”

He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. ”Y/N, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. But nothing happened between me and her, I swear. We were drunk, and she sat on my lap for a picture. It was stupid and irresponsible, but that's all it was.”

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. ”Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Seeing her on your lap after you told me she wasn't even going to be there?”

Oscar reached out to touch your arm, but you stepped back once again and his eyes brimmed with tears. ”Y/N, please. I love you. I was an idiot, but I love you. I need you to believe that.”

You wiped your eyes, trying to compose yourself. ”How can I believe you, Oscar? When I don't even know if you really want me?”

He swallowed hard, his tears finally falling out of his eyes. Oscar looked defeated as if he was fighting a battle already lost.

”Please don’t say that. You’re the only person I want. I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. I'll never lie to you again. I'll be completely honest, even if it's something I think will hurt you. Just... please give me a chance to make it right.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. You saw only earnest regret and a desperate longing for forgiveness. You wanted to believe him, but the hurt was still so raw.

”I don't know if I can,” you whispered. ”You've broken my trust, Oscar. And that's not something you can just fix with words.”

He nodded slowly. ”I know. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I'll go to counseling, I'll give you access to my phone, my social media, anything you need to feel secure. Just please, don’t give up on us.”

You stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. You looked around the dimly lit apartment, as you took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

”Okay,” you said finally. ”I’m willing to discuss this in the morning. But if you lie to me again, if you hurt me again, we're done. Do you understand?”

Oscar's face lit up with a mixture of relief and determination as his chest heaved. ”I understand. I promise you, Y/N, I'll never give you a reason to doubt me again.”

You nodded, as your lips quivered. ”I hope so. Because I don't think I can go through this again.”

He stepped closer, cautiously taking your hand. You allowed it, feeling the warmth of his touch. ”Thank you,” he said softly. ”I won't let you down.”

You stood together, still holding hands. The silence between you was different now—tentative, but with a flicker of understanding. You had a long way to go, but for the first time since those fateful messages, you felt like maybe, just maybe, not all was lost.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Could you explain how Ambrosia is able to come back after dying?

1

Sure yeah, I'll give it a shot.

[Fursona Lore/ Mild Existential Horror presented in charmingly primitive MS Paint style under the cut]

2

[At the top of the panel there is the label "conceptual space (currently being created. The middle is labeled "THE UNIVERSE, REALITY (the other)". The bottom is labeled "CONSCIOUSNESS, REFLECTION (the self). The very bottom of the panel reads "OTHER, FREAKIER BUT LESS IMPORTANT STUFF" ]

To keep it brief, a person is when a certain amount of consciousness slips upwards into reality. Consciousness is, like the laws of thermo dynamics [sic], a fundamental property of the universe.

3

I'm sure you've heard of the sticking-a-pencil-through-paper metaphor for theoretical wormhole travel, right? Staying within that visual metaphor, imagine the moisture in the air around that "piece of paper" as what consciousness is. It creates tiny, imperceivable changes in the surface and makeup of the paper. Imagine a microscopic rain cloud making a tiny fraction of the paper a little bit soggy. That's what you are in the universe. A tiny soggy fraction of a massive piece of paper. (That's why you feel so small btw).

Of course, putting it into that metaphor IS greatly simplifying it, since in real life things like time and space sorta overlap, ya know? Because they're entirely separate dimensions of measurement. Consciousness is the same, it is everywhere in the universe all at once, but only after it seeps in from a place that is exactly where we are, but elsewhere. 4D stuff is complicated sorry if that's not super clear ha ha.

4

Normal people happen when a bunch of that stray potential-consciousness starts stacking more and more layers of reality on top of itself. Sort of like those pastries that you fold butter into and then fold it like 10 times and that makes it so theres like a billion layers of butter and dough and butter and dough and butter and dough and on and on and on. But with, uh. The other stuff. Consiousness and matter from the universe.

Speaking semantically, that's all the little tiny organisms that work really hard to make you alive. Like the biome in your gut, or the bacteria in your tissue and blood cells. Look it up, 43% of the human body is made of bacteria. Like, that's just on google.

Anyway, all their effort culminates in an increasingly complex meat shell that constitutes a person.

5

For the sake of practicality, we can imagine the way consciousness "seeps in" to the universe is like heat coming off the sun. The two overlapping infinite planes radiate into each other like heat radiates off the sun.

That clear? Heat from the sun. Remember that, it's important for the next part.

6

I'm sort of like a solar flare.

My consciousness, in its raw form, was so concentrated that it was like a tiny shooting star straight from the source.

Also kind of like a kidney stone, I guess.

7

Since my consciousness (which, to be clear, is approximately the same "amount" of consciouessness as anyone else, just all smooshed together into a single clump) is smooshed together into a single clump, the shell forms naturally as "reality" settles onto it. The "shape" the consciousness takes is basically the same as your body or anyone else's since the framework of both entities are the "same" on the "outside". Thus the "shells" turn out "similar" too.

Sorry for all the quotation marks, it's hard to talk about concepts outside of the third dimension in third dimensional terms, and like. I also am not super sure about this stuff either. I'm only relaying what I've learned from the scientists but some of it goes over my head.

I like to think I'm clever but like. I'm not a genius.

8

So here's the part where me and you are different: When your shell breaks apart (when you die) it's because the consciouessness had been escaping your shell, like air from a balloon, and the physical structure can't support itself anymore. Or, like, maybe you just fall over and hit your head on the concrete one day and pop the balloon all together.

Either way, the consciousness escapes from the pressure, and either goes back "down" where it came from, or goes upward into conceptual space, which is sorta being constituted through forces exerted in the physical universe. Well, I mean, really it's more of a product of a reaction between consciousness and physical space. Whatever I'm getting off topic.

The point is the shell breaks cuz the balloon pops. I think that was my point.

9

Now that you get all that, you can probably deduce on your own how and why I'm able to keep "coming back".

It's cuz I'm not really "coming back", I'm still here! The shell representing me here was just lost.

10

And while the facade may not look precisely the same every single time...

11

I remain the same.

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 6

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha is confronted by someone from your past and faces a new troubling situation that requires her to find you.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Warnings: angst, violence, hurt/comfort, toxic relationship/emotional manipulation (not from Natasha)

Words: 4905

Natasha carefully rewraps the bandage around her bruised knuckles, her gaze drifting toward the night sky outside your apartment window. 

The faint glow of distant city lights only emphasizes the darkness around her, leaving her alone in the dim room.

She flexes her hand experimentally, wincing at the ache, but the pain is almost welcomed—a distraction from the raw, defeated feeling inside her. 

Her phone beeps in her pocket, and for a fleeting second, a hope flares within her. 

Hope that it was you. 

But when she pulls out her phone, the screen immediately dashes away that spark. 

Her heart sinks slightly, but she still answers the call as she makes her way to the kitchen. 

“Did you find anything?” Her voice still carries a thread of hope she can’t entirely hide. 

There’s a pause before Tony’s voice comes through, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

“Sorry, Nat, the kid and I searched everywhere. There’s nothing left. The place has been stripped clean—completely abandoned. Same as last night.” 

Natasha closes her eyes, inhaling deeply as she absorbs his words. 

After being forced out, she had to regroup and call for backup. But by the time they returned to the site, it was as if the place had never been occupied. 

No trace of guards, no equipment, and worst of all—no sign of you. 

“How are you holding up?” Tony asks, his tone softer, catching the weight in her silence.

Natasha clenches her fists, testing the tightness of her grip. Her knuckles ache, a dull, persistent pain, but it barely scratches the surface of what she feels inside. 

“I’m fine,” she replies, her voice steady but carrying a tired edge. “Just some bruises.” 

Natasha sighs, her frustration and concern bleeding into her tone as she continues. 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” 

Natasha glances toward the front door, where Widow sits, her little black form almost statue-like, staring intently at the door as if willing it to open. 

Her tail swishes softly, but her gaze remains fixed, waiting. 

“I’m going to stay here for now,” Natasha declares, her resolve solidifying. She reaches for a small bowl and fills it with water, setting it on the kitchen counter. 

There’s a pause on the other end, then Tony’s voice, understanding and resigned. 

“Alright. Take care of yourself, Romanoff. Call us if you need anything.” 

“I will,” she murmurs, ending the call as she heads toward the cat by the door. 

“Widow,” she calls softly with a gentleness reserved for only a few. 

The cat’s ear twitches in acknowledgment, but she doesn’t turn, her entire focus still on the door. 

Natasha watches her for a moment, a pang of sympathy tightening her chest. 

She crouches down, setting the bowl beside her as she tries again to coax her. 

��If you’re not going to eat, at least drink something,” she urges, hoping the cat will respond.

But Widow doesn’t move, her tiny body tense, her gaze unwavering as she guards the USB drive tucked protectively beneath her paw. 

Natasha reaches a tentative hand toward her, but Widow’s yellow eyes narrow, and a low, warning warning sound escapes from her. 

Sighing, Natasha withdraws her hand, understanding that the cat won’t easily surrender what you entrusted her. 

She glances at the USB, reflecting on the mysterious mission you had given to the little animal, who seemed so intent on completing it. 

The cat’s dedication and loyalty is admirable, but Natasha knows that this kind of behavior will only become more harmful to her the longer she waits. 

Still, she hesitates, feeling the weight of what she needs to say. 

Widow had held her stance for a full day now, refusing anything Natasha had offered. 

And as much as Natasha respects her determination, she can’t let the little cat continue like this, clinging to a promise that may never be fulfilled. 

Steeling herself, she leans closer, her voice soft but steady with reluctant honesty. 

“She’s not coming, Widow,” Natasha murmurs, her tone carrying the painful truth.

The reaction is immediate. 

Widow’s body stiffens and tenses, her eyes flashing with defiance as she finally meets Natasha’s gaze. 

A small, angry growl escapes her as she clutches the USB tighter, then pointedly turns her back to Natasha, ignoring her completely. 

Natasha sighs softly, feeling the sting of the cat’s rejection. 

She leaves the bowl close by, in case Widow changes her mind, then moves wearily to the couch. 

Lying down, she keeps her eyes on the cat, watching as the minutes drag into hours, the room settling into a quiet stillness. 

Eventually, exhaustion overtakes her, and she drifts into a dreamless sleep. 

It’s a soft nudge on her hand that wakes her. 

Natasha blinks, momentarily disoriented, and glances down to find Widow on the couch beside her. 

The cat's head is lowered as she lets out a sad, mournful meow. 

With a gentle motion, she pushes the USB toward Natasha, nudging it forward with a paw, her posture dejected. 

Ignoring the device, Natasha opens her arms in a silent invitation. 

Widow hesitates, then pads into her embrace, curling up tightly against Natasha’s chest. 

Natasha pulls her close, one hand resting gently on the small, trembling body, the other stroking her soft fur in an effort to soothe her. 

Widow had offered her comfort in countless moments since she had met the small animal, so Natasha’s grip tightens protectively, offering what little comfort she can in return. 

She can feel the cat’s sorrow in the small, heartbreaking whimpers that escape her.

The sad sounds eventually fade as Widow drifts into an uneasy sleep, her small body occasionally twitching, as if the dreams that find her are anything but restful. 

A pang of sympathy tightens in her chest, understanding the feeling the cat must be going through.

After a moment, Natasha’s gaze on the sleeping cat is pulled away when her phone on the table lights up, vibrating softly with an incoming call. 

Her heart skips a beat when she sees your name flash across the screen. 

Moving carefully to avoid disturbing the little creature, Natasha grabs and answers the phone, pressing it to her ear with barely contained urgency.

“Hey, where are you? Are you okay?” she blurts out, her voice low but charged with concern.

Silence greets her, stretching unbearably long, and Natasha’s unease grows. She’s just about to call your name when a low, mocking chuckle crackles through the line.

“You know, she had you saved under an hourglass icon,” an unfamiliar voice drawls. 

Natasha’s brows knit in confusion, a cold sensation settling over her as she realized this wasn’t you. 

“Who is this?” she demands, her tone sharp and dangerous. “Why do you have her phone?”

The voice lets out a thoughtful hum as if savoring her reaction. 

“Let’s talk,” the voice taunts. “One on one. Come to the address I sent you—if you really want to know.”

The line goes dead, leaving Natasha staring at the phone, a notification already lighting up the screen with a set of coordinates. 

She exhales, steeling herself as her gaze drifts back to Widow, still curled beside her, her tiny body twitching restlessly in her sleep.

Determined, Natasha slips from the couch, pulling on her jacket as she glances back one last time. 

The sight of Widow sleeping restlessly stirs her resolve. 

This stumbling in the dark can’t go on—not for her and certainly not for the cat. 

She leaves quietly, heading to confront whoever this mysterious stranger is.

The coordinates bring her to the entrance of an unmarked underground bar. 

A brawny guard stands watch by the door, his gaze impassive but sharp. He sizes her up briefly, then steps aside without a word, opening the door and allowing her in. 

The door closes behind her with a definitive slam, trapping her in the dim, smoky atmosphere of the room.

The bar is quiet, empty save for a single figure sitting casually at the counter, her back turned to her. 

Natasha’s gaze sharpens, taking in the woman’s straight posture and the aura of confidence that radiates from her. 

Jet-black hair cascades down her back, and a strange glint of metal catches Natasha’s attention—the unmistakable shimmer of a gold mask covering her upper face.

Natasha moves forward, her steps soundless as she approaches the counter. She sits two stools away, close enough to talk but keeping a cautious distance. 

The woman remains silent, seemingly content with the space between them, focusing on the glass before her. 

Another shot glass slides across the counter toward Natasha. 

She catches it mid-slide but doesn’t raise it to her lips, choosing instead to study the stranger beside her. 

The woman’s casual, almost indifferent demeanor betrays an underlying edge, a danger that Natasha can feel. 

The woman lifts her own glass, taking a slow sip, before finally breaking the silence without so much a glance in Natasha’s direction.  

“What’s wrong?” she murmurs, a smirk lacing her words. “Afraid I poisoned it?”

Natasha furrows her brows, coolly setting the glass back on the counter as her response.

The woman glances at her before shrugging and pouring herself another glass. ​​The lightness in the air feels false, loaded with an unspoken tension. 

Finally, Natasha breaks the silence.

“You already know who I am,” she says evenly. “So who are you?”

The woman turns, the gold mask covering her upper face catches the dim light, casting her in a half-shadow that only sharpens the piercing gray eyes staring back at her. 

A smirk plays at her lips, and she leans in, resting her elbow on the counter with a relaxed yet predatory air. 

“Straight to business. I respect that,” she says, chuckling softly as she swirls the liquid in her glass. 

“My friends call me Whitney,” she continues, pausing to take a slow, deliberate sip before setting it down on the counter with a soft clink.

“My enemies? They know me as Madame Masque.” 

Her voice drops as she tilts her head, gray eyes narrowing. 

“So…which do you believe you are, Miss Black Widow?”

Natasha catches the faint edge in her words when she says her title, half-mocking with a hint of hostility that’s barely disguised. 

It’s clear this woman has her own thoughts about who Natasha is. 

“Seems you’ve already made that decision yourself,” Natasha says pointedly.

Whitney lets out a short chuckle as her fingers tap against the counter as if contemplating whether her statement is true or not.

Natasha’s gaze flicks down to the counter at her action before drifting to where a familiar device rests.

Your phone. 

Whitney’s eyes follow Natasha’s line of sight, her hand reaching over to take the phone. She handles it with a casual, almost mocking nonchalance that makes Natasha’s blood simmer as she’s reminded of how she doesn’t know your whereabouts. 

As if reading Natasha’s thoughts, Whitney’s lips curve into a taunting smile. 

“Don’t worry, she’s safe,” she says smoothly, raising the phone and pointing it toward Natasha. Her eyes glint with dark amusement. “But tell me, how much do you really know about her to care?” 

Natasha’s eyes narrow, her jaw clenching slightly as she meets Whitney’s gaze, holding back the irritation clawing at her composure. 

“I know enough.” 

Whitney’s laugh is soft, laced with an air of superiority. 

“Enough?” she echoes, as if savoring the word, rolling it around in her mouth with condescension. 

She brings the phone up to her lips, brushing them lightly on the edge as if placing a delicate kiss.

“That’s nothing compared to who I am to her,” she purrs, her gaze locked onto Natasha’s, a challenge in her expression. 

Natasha frowns slightly at the implication, piecing together the hints of what sort of relationship you and this woman may have shared. Though, she doesn’t let the idea shake her composure.

“Funny,” Natasha counters, her tone ice-cold. “You say you’re so important, yet she’s never mentioned you. Not even once.”

The barb hits its mark. 

Whitney’s smirk falters, just for a split second, before her expression hardens, her grip tightening on the phone. 

Her gaze sharpens with a flash of anger, but she recovers, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low murmur.

“Careful,” she warns, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “People have disappeared for less.”

Natasha meets her gaze head-on, the threat passing over her like a breeze. 

The silence stretches between them, tense and unyielding. 

Then, as if suddenly bored of the exchange, Whitney tosses the phone across the counter. 

Natasha catches it effortlessly, not breaking eye contact.

“However,” Whitney says, standing up smoothly and tossing her hair back over her shoulder, “That is not the purpose of this meeting.” 

Her posture shifts, deliberate and commanding, as she steps closer. 

Whitney’s presence fills the space between them, a wall of cold authority. Her gaze bears down on Natasha, sharp and assessing.

“This is your only warning—a courtesy if you will,” she continues, her tone chilling in its calculated calm. “In recognition of the…friendship you shared with her during her time away from my side.” 

Her words are laced with a venomous undertone, and her eyes narrow, each syllable cutting with a precision that makes her intentions painfully clear.  

“Stay away from my business,” Whitney demands, her voice dropping into a steely edge. “And stay away from her.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air, but Natasha remains calm, her expression steadfast. Underneath, though, a flicker irritation stirs in her chest.

It’s not the words themselves that bother her—it’s the way Whitney carries herself, the way she exudes control, as if she owns you. That smug arrogance, that predatory assumption of power over someone else’s life, is something Natasha knows all too well.

She’s spent her entire early life under the thumb of people like Whitney, people who believed they had the right to decide her fate.

Natasha recognizes the pattern instantly, and the familiarity sets her teeth on edge.

“She can make her own choices,” Natasha counters, her tone calm but firm, a subtle steel threading through her words.

Whitney’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. There’s something predatory in the way her gaze lingers like she’s savoring an unseen advantage. 

She arches a brow, her response almost mocking.

“Yes,” she says smoothly, “and tell me, whose bed did she choose to sleep in tonight?”

Even though Natasha sees through the obvious attempt to provoke her, her fingers still tighten instinctively around the sleek metal of the phone, the only outward sign of her restraint. Her jaw sets, the tension visible in the small but deliberate motion. 

Whitney catches the reaction, and the satisfaction in her expression is unmistakable. Her smirk widens as though confirming a victory. 

Without waiting for a response, she pivots on her heel and strides confidently toward the door, her heels clicking in the silence. 

At the threshold, she pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. Her voice drops to a whisper, low and laced with a chilling sweetness.

“You should forget about her,” Whitney murmurs, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “Or else…she’ll hurt you even more than she already has.”

The words twist in the air, lingering like smoke long after Whitney disappears into the night.

Natasha remains seated in the dimly lit bar, the emptiness pressing in around her. 

As much as she tries to brush it off, Whitney’s parting shot reverberates in her mind, a shadow that clings to her thoughts, refusing to disappear.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s early morning by the time Natasha finally makes it back to your apartment. She slips in through the front door, her steps weary, her mind weighed down by the revelations of the night. 

As she enters, her boot bumps into the bowl she’d left for Widow, the water still untouched and the food uneaten. 

Natasha’s frown deepens as her concern shifts to the little cat. 

The absence of any sound or movement from Widow sends a flicker of unease through her. 

Moving quickly to the couch where she left her, Natasha feels her stomach twist as she sees Widow, lying in the same spot, seemingly untouched by the passing hours. 

But as Natasha leans in closer, worry edges into panic. She notices how shallow the little cat’s breathing has become, her tiny body rising and falling with only the faintest of movements. 

Natasha kneels beside the couch, reaching a hand to gently stroke Widow’s back, calling her name softly. 

“Widow?” Her voice is tentative, hoping for any sign of life, any flicker of response.

But there’s nothing. 

Widow doesn’t stir or twitch, only the faintest breaths giving away the fact that she’s even alive. 

Panic surges in Natasha’s chest, and without hesitation, she carefully lifts Widow into her arms. 

The cat remains limp, her tiny body almost weightless, as Natasha cradles her close, rushing toward the door and heading straight for the nearest emergency vet clinic. 

In the waiting area, Natasha’s leg bounces with anxious energy, her fingers wringing together as she stares at the clinic doors. 

Every time a nurse or doctor passes by, she looks up, her heart in her throat, hoping for news about Widow’s condition. 

The minutes crawl by, and then hours, the feeling of helplessness pressing down on her with each passing second. 

Finally, a voice calls out. “Ms. Romanoff?” 

Natasha stands instantly, her gaze meeting the veterinarian’s. 

The vet’s eyes widen for a moment, recognizing her.

“Oh, wow, it really is you,” the vet mutters, then clears her throat, refocusing and offering a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry—I meant to say, your cat is stable now.” 

“She’s not actually my…” Natasha begins to clarify, but then thinks better of it, shaking her head. “What was wrong with her?”

The vet gives her a curious look but remains professional as she continues. 

“We gave her some fluids for the dehydration. Other than that, there doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong. Her lack of movement was likely due to severe exhaustion and lack of energy.” She pauses and studies Natasha for a moment. “Has she shown any changes in eating habits recently? A loss of appetite?”

Natasha nods, the previous day playing back in her mind. 

“She wouldn’t eat or drink anything yesterday,” she admits, her voice tinged with guilt.

The vet shakes her head. 

“That’s not good for cats, especially one her size. Going without food or water for even a day can lead to complications—some of them severe—if it continues. Has there been anything recently that might have caused her stress? Emotional factors can have a significant impact on animals.” 

Natasha exhales deeply, her chest tightening.

“I might have an idea,” she says, her voice quieter.

The vet nods, offering a small, reassuring smile. 

“That’s good. Addressing the source of her stress is key. Cats are incredibly resilient, but the sooner she feels safe and secure again, the faster she’ll recover. She’s stable now, but we’ll keep monitoring her for the next few hours. After that, she’ll be ready to go home.”

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her voice tight with relief.

Sitting back down, Natasha releases a deep breath, a mixture of relief and lingering worry filling her chest. 

The most likely reason for Widow’s condition would be your sudden absence and the overwhelming sense of abandonment the little cat must be feeling. 

If Natasha wants to truly help her, she knows she’ll have to find you—and fast.

But that’s already a difficult task. She doesn’t even know where to start, especially now that she can no longer reach you.

She pulls out your phone, the screen lighting up with a photo of you and Widow, a rare moment captured in happier times. 

A soft, sad smile tugs at her lips as she studies the image, but it quickly fades as determination takes over.

Natasha swipes through the phone, scrolling through messages, contacts, and any notes that might give her a lead. 

As her focus sharpens, a small notification banner suddenly drops from the top of the screen—a reminder. 

Natasha’s brow furrows as she reads it, her instincts and training automatically kicking in. Her eyes narrow as she considers the information. 

It’s a long shot, but it’s her only lead.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha remains hidden in the shadows, her eyes fixed on the building across the street. The crisp night air chills her skin, but she doesn’t waver. 

Hours of waiting finally pay off as she spots a figure emerging from a rooftop window, their movements precise and practiced.

Natasha’s breath catches as she recognizes the silhouette.

You move with fluid grace, scaling down the side of the building as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. Blending seamlessly into the night, you pause briefly on the ground, scanning your surroundings. 

Natasha watches and follows intently, her heartbeat quickening. She takes a steadying breath and steps out of the shadows.

“Hey, can we talk?” she calls, her voice low but firm.

You whip around, your body immediately tensing as your eyes meet hers. 

Surprise flickers across your face for a split second, but it’s quickly replaced by a guarded, hardened expression. 

Without a word, you turn on your heel and dart into a nearby alley. 

“Damn it,” Natasha mutters, breaking into a sprint after you. Her boots hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, her heart pounding as she pushes herself to keep up. 

She can’t lose you—not again.

“Wait!” she yells, her voice echoing through the narrow streets. 

But you don’t stop. 

You dart through the labyrinth of the city’s back alleys, vaulting over debris, slipping into tight corners, and using every trick in your arsenal to stay ahead. 

Natasha grits her teeth, frustration mounting as the gap between you grows.

Just when it seems like you might disappear into the night again, Natasha yells, desperation seeping into her voice. 

“It’s Widow! She’s sick!” 

The words stop you dead in your tracks. You skid to a halt, spinning around to face her. Disbelief and fury war on your face as you close the distance in a blur of motion. 

Before Natasha can react, you slam into her, knocking her off her feet. The impact sends her sprawling onto the pavement, the air forced from her lungs. 

You’re on top of her in an instant, pinning her down with your weight. Your knees trap her legs, and your hands grip her wrists, holding her firmly against the cold ground. 

“What did you do to her?” you demand, your voice low and intense. Your face hovers inches above hers, anger radiating from you. Your eyes bore into hers, alight with fury and something deeper—fear. 

Natasha’s breath catches as she processes the sudden shift, but her calm never wavers. 

“I didn’t—”

“I can’t believe you’d do something like this!” you snap, cutting her off. “Hurting her just to get to me!” Your voice rises with each word, the accusation stinging like venom, your emotions boiling over into your words. 

Natasha struggles against your hold, her frustration mounting. 

“Listen to me!” she bites back, her tone firm despite the compromising position. “I didn’t hurt her! She’s sick because she won’t eat or drink anything since you disappeared!”

Your grip falters slightly, confusion flickering across your face. Natasha seizes the moment, her voice softening but retaining its urgency.

“She thinks you abandoned her,” Natasha says before continuing, her tone quieter but no less resolute. “She misses you.”

Your fingers loosen their hold on her wrists, the anger in your eyes giving way to guilt and vulnerability.

Slowly, you push yourself back, but instead of moving off her entirely, you remain seated atop her, your posture easing into something less confrontational as the tension between you softens.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. The bitterness in your voice is evident as a hollow chuckle escapes your lips. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I forgot…you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that.”

Natasha props herself up on her elbows, her sharp gaze still studying you, though the edge in her eyes has softened.

“But Whitney is,” she says evenly, her words carrying a pointed weight. 

Your eyes snap to hers, widening slightly.

“How do you know about her?” you ask, your tone shifting to one of shock and apprehension. 

Natasha sighs at the memory of her encounter with Whitney, slightly regretting bringing the woman into the conversation.

She hesitates, but before she can answer, her gaze flickers to where you’re still straddling her, pinning her in place.

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, a spark of mischief breaking through the lingering tension. 

“You know,” she drawls, her voice teasing as she tries to lighten the mood, “if you’re planning to keep me in this position much longer, at least buy me dinner first.” 

The unexpected quip catches you off guard. For a moment, her words hang in the air before a soft laugh escapes you, easing the remaining tension.

Natasha feels her heart quicken at the sound and the shift in your expression, relieved to see the shadow of a smile on your face, even if it might be fleeting.

But then your smirk returns, playful and familiar, as you lean down slightly, closing the space between you, your face hovering just above hers.

“Does this affect you that much, Miss Black Widow?” you ask, your voice lowering as you draw out her title, teasing her the way you often do. 

Natasha’s breath catches, her heart practically pounding now.

Unconsciously, she leans closer, her lips parting slightly. Her gaze flickers to your mouth, lingering for just a fraction of a second too long as she remembers the last time those lips had touched hers.

Something in her gaze must have surprised you as your eyes widen slightly, as if just noticing the intensity of how she looks at you and seeing the possible depth and truth of her feelings for you.

The realization shakes you, bringing you out of the moment. Blinking, you pull back quickly, the teasing edge in your expression vanishing as the weight of the realization sinks in.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, though even you aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for—crossing a line, or simply acknowledging what you cannot reciprocate right now.

You lean back and plant your hands on the ground behind you to give her space.

Natasha blinks, as though snapping out of her own thoughts, and shifts slightly, reclaiming her composure as she remembers the boundaries you’ve placed between yourself and her.

Her expression flickers briefly, something unreadable passing over her face, before she clears her throat.

She sits up smoothly, brushing off her arms and legs as if the act might rid her of any lingering emotions.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, her voice steady, though there’s a faint undercurrent of something unsaid, something painful.

You shift back further, leaning on your hands for support, as you exhale deeply, rubbing the back of your neck.

“How do you know about Whitney?” you ask again, this time quieter, more cautious.

“We talked,” Natasha says, her tone neutral but pointed. “She made it pretty clear how much she doesn’t like me meddling in her business…or with you.”

A shadow crosses your expression, and you let out a low sigh, your gaze flickering between her and the ground. 

“She shouldn’t have done that,” you mutter.

Natasha tilts her head, studying you carefully as she wonders about your relationship with the woman. She pushes herself to her feet and steps closer, her gaze locking with yours as she reaches her hand out to you. 

“Come back with me, please,” she says after a moment. “Widow needs you.”

You hesitate, the conflicting emotions playing out on your face, but Natasha holds your gaze, steady and unwavering.

Finally, your hand raises tentatively toward hers. 

But before you can close the gap, a sharp kick slams into Natasha’s side, sending her stumbling back. She rolls to her feet smoothly, her sharp gaze snapping at her attacker.

“I thought I told you to keep your hands to yourself,” a voice warns coolly.

Natasha straightens, brushing herself off as she locks eyes with Whitney.

The woman strides forward with predatory grace, pulling you to your feet. 

You avoid Natasha’s gaze as Whitney wraps her arms around you from behind, her chin resting possessively on your shoulder.

“She’s mine,” Whitney finishes, her tone dangerously low, laced with a chilling confidence.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her green eyes narrowing. 

“For someone so confident in that fact, you seem awfully insecure whenever I’m near,” she says, her words meant to provoke the woman.

Whitney’s expression hardens, her gray eyes flashing with anger. She makes a move toward Natasha, but you turn in her arms, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her. 

Your other hand gently tilts her face toward yours, redirecting her attention.

“You promised you wouldn’t,” you whisper, your tone calm but firm. You lean in, pressing your forehead lightly against hers, as if grounding her.

Natasha’s chest tightens at the sight, an unfamiliar sting of pain settling in her heart. Her hands clench at her sides as she watches the exchange, feeling both helpless and infuriated.

Whitney holds your gaze for a long moment. Finally, she sighs, her lips curving into a slight smirk as her eyes flick toward Natasha. She seems to notice Natasha’s clenched fists, her smirk deepening.

“See?” Whitney says lightly, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I told you she’d only hurt you.”

Your eyes flash with a pained expression at her words. Still, you refuse to meet Natasha’s gaze.

With that, Whitney pulls you closer, turning to lead you away, leaving Natasha standing in the shadows.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

a/n: I know, updates on both series in the same week surprises me too, it probably won’t happen too often but we’ll see. Again, thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat, @escapereality4music, @caspianalexander007, @henkermen, @caramelcat123

[livelovecucumber]

BRUTALLY HONEST effects of hitting my UGW of 45 kg / 100 lbs

So as I’ve mentioned on my blog, I hit my ugw of 45kg in 2020 and since been in recovery (recently rel4psed) and wanted to list some effects of being underw3ight that I noticed.

1. Food allergies. I got sensitive to several foods and drinks while being underweight. Some of them I can consume again after years of recovery. These include: Extreme sensitivity to caffeine & coffee (feel like i’m sick, still can’t consume it and it used to be my fave). Sensitivity to raw vegetables. Lactose intolerance.

2. Heart problems. I have unexplained heart problems since being underweight. I will get suddenly get an abnormally high bpm (200+) while resting at completely random times. This is scary and extremely painful. It hurts in my entire body, feel like I can’t breathe and my jaw hurts. Can last for 5-45 min and will leave me unable to do anything in that time period. Will leave me tired for 2-3 days. Has been happening less in the last year of recovery. Not anxiety related.

3. Memory loss. I would completely forget my sentence in the middle of it. I would forget the entire day and every small detail. Been experiencing both long term and short term memory loss since being underweight. Still struggling with retaining information.

4. Speech problems. Probably related to memory loss. I spoke extremely slow and struggled with forming sentences, and I still do. I struggle with remembering words and will sometimes take a while to form a coherent sentence.

5. Less picky. Incredibly enough, I have become way less picky since being underweight as starving made me desire ANY food available. This has made me appreciate every small taste. Great for learning to eat less desirable “healthy” foods.

6. Loss of good judgement. When I was underweight I had little to no self reflection in my actions. I had my values and morals but the lines seemed to blur as my ability to think properly depleted and I started acting more unconsciously attention seeking and egocentric, without my knowledge. This was in all aspects of my life. I thought I was in complete control but regained common knowledge as soon as I recovered.

7. Constipation. When at my lowest weight, I was constantly constipated and bloated. Laxatives did not work.

8. People acted differently. People treated me completely differently and started treating me like a child and as if I was stupid. They also gave me more compliments and were nicer to me in general. I noticed other girls felt more awkward around me compared to when I was heavier.

9. Mood swings. No shocker but being underweight made my mood swing a lot. I would cry over nothing and act out incredibly when things didn’t turn out. I also acted more kind and timid towards others in general than I used to. I was more careful with hurting others and more sensitive and empathetic in general.

10. Hair growth. I didn’t really notice my hair growing faster on my body but my hair on my head got a lot longer.

Honorable mentions: Constant unexplained bruising, constant cold feeling, feeling sick almost every day, childish behaviour in general, didn’t feel mature and indulged in very childish hobbies & likes. Dumbed myself down on purpose a lot due to memory loss & speech issues.

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 3

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 2 | Series Masterlist | Part 4

Chapter Summary: The date is just beginning, but you're not sure if you can keep it together.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.8k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, stalking, coercion, threats (not against reader), creepy and unhinged behavior, possessiveness, manipulation, mental and emotional whiplash, reader is trying to stay calm, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies enjoy and thank you again for the feedback so far! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You took a deep breath and another, but it didn’t stop your heart from picking up in your chest. It was a feat that your legs didn’t give out. Your throat felt rough and raw, except you hadn’t screamed. You hadn’t made a sound. Not until Bucky moved toward you, pulling a whimper from you.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” he said, cupping your face with a smile. You wanted to believe there was a warmth behind it or that he had a voice in his head telling him that this wasn’t right. That none of this was right. “Don’t you like them?”

“The flowers. The guy who bought them…” you swallowed, wondering exactly who he was and how he was associated with Bucky. Did Bucky know him well or was he a stranger? Did he bribe him into going into his shop?

“Oh, he’s fine,” Bucky assured you, which didn’t make you feel any better. “Loved the tulips you helped pick out for him. I know his girl will be very happy to get them, too.”

The citrus and woodsy combination of Bucky’s cologne filled your nostrils as you took another deep breath. You expected to stumble back when he suddenly crouched down, but you didn’t budge an inch. Once again, you were frozen in fear. Why couldn’t you move? You told yourself he wouldn’t hurt you. Why bother dragging you all the way to his place for that when he could’ve done so in your home?

Or, apparently, your place of work.

“Why don’t we have some of that wine after I show you around?” He asked, retrieving the clutch you dropped.

“Do you really expect me to just sit and have a drink with you?”

“Not just a drink,” he said, slowly standing and reminding you just how large he was. “Dinner. Dessert.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” You asked.

He nodded over your shoulders. “There’s one right behind you.”

You turned and went into the bathroom, careful not to lock the door behind you as much as you wanted to. He may have broken down the door if you tried. You gripped the sink as you struggled to take your next breath, blood rushing in your ears as you looked at your reflection. A voice in the back of your mind whispered to stay calm when tears threatened to spill over for the second time that evening.

Could you though? Could you play along and get through this night without having some sort of breakdown? You had to try.

Your attention was pulled away by the soft knock on the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Would you care if I wasn't?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

The door opened a heartbeat later, but you didn't dare meet his gaze in the mirror as he approached. Not even as he pressed himself against your back, your body trapped between his and the sink. It was suffocating. He brought a hand up to lift your chin, forcing your eyes to lock with his. The light above the mirror put a spotlight on the intensity of his gaze as his lips brushed your ear.

“I care more than you think,” he whispered, turning you to face him. His fingers traced the column of your neck before he let go. “In time, I know you’ll see that.”

You fought the urge to laugh as he led you back into the entryway. If he cared, he would’ve gone about this whole thing differently. You focused your attention instead on the penthouse, taking in more of the decor as he showed you around. As immaculate as the place looked, it lacked a personal touch. Where were the photos? Trinkets?

“What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful place,” you answered. And it was beautiful, but it didn't feel like a home or lived in like your place.

“A bit spacious for just me,” he said, glancing at you. Was it his roundabout way of stating again how he expected you to move in?

“Yeah, it’s a lot for one person, but it’s still nice.”

He nodded in agreement. “The couch is comfortable if you ever want to take a nap,” he said, an almost knowing look in his eyes as you stopped at the living room. Jesus, did he know you slept on your couch last night? “Though I’d prefer you sleep in our bed.”

“Our” bed. Not subtle at all. “I know you said this would be my place one day, too, but maybe we should get well past the first date before we talk about sharing a bed,” you said, sarcastically adding, “I hog the blankets, so I hope you're prepared for that.”

He chuckled and you wished you didn't like the pleasant sound. “You can have as many blankets as you want. And I had every intention of showing you the master bedroom tonight, but I think I’ll wait.”

“Really?” You asked, hoping you didn't sound too eager to avoid seeing it. Was there a catch?

“Really,” he said, pulling you close by the hips. Through his clothes, you felt how firm he was. There was strength there you couldn't match. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. And when I take you to bed, I’m going to ruin you. That's a promise.”

A shuddering breath left your lungs as he leaned in, his lips skimming yours.

“But I’m not the monster you think I am, which is why I’m going to wait,” he whispered.

It was a relief that Bucky wasn't going to take you to bed. Not tonight, at least. At the same time, what exactly was he waiting for? He made it clear that he wanted you and wasn't going to let go. What game was he playing?

Thinking about it was enough to drive you mad.

“And you won't hurt me?” You questioned. You had to hear him say it.

“I’d never hurt you,” he promised, pulling away at the two knocks on the front door.

He wouldn't hurt you, but what about other people?

“Chef’s here, boss,” the guard’s voice rang out.

“Perfect timing,” Bucky smiled.

He kept a hand on you as he guided you to the kitchen, the guard and who you assumed to be the chef entering seconds later. “Mr. Barnes, so good to see you.”

“You as well,” Bucky replied, his demeanor professional and somewhat colder.

Your eyes went back to the guard as Bucky chatted with the chef. He seemed to avoid your gaze, keeping his eye instead on the two men speaking. Did he know the circumstances that brought you here? Would he care if he did?

“You’re sure this is what you’d like, Mr. Barnes? This is a relatively simple meal,” the chef scoffed, making a show of gesturing to the ingredients. It dawned on you as you looked at them that he was going to prepare one of your favorite meals. Your stomach dropped, but you kept quiet. Of course, Bucky knew.

And of course, it wasn't sophisticated.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as if he sensed your embarrassment. The guard didn't look impressed by the chef’s comment either. “It’s her favorite. Are you insulting my girl’s taste?” he spoke, making you shiver from the ice in his tone.

“No, Mr. Barnes. Of course not! I meant no disrespect.” The chef shook his head, meeting your gaze with a shaky smile. “To be simple is to be great.”

“That’s right. Simplicity is also to be respected,” Bucky said, pointing a gloved finger at him. “And with your reputation, it better be the best meal she has ever had. I’d hate to see what happens if she doesn’t like it.”

“It’s fine,” you whispered. It was better to focus on easing the situation instead of yet another reminder that he knew another intimate detail about you. That and you felt bad as the man behind the counter began to sweat. “I’m sure the meal will be delicious. Thank you for taking the time to come here and prepare it.”

The tension dissipated as Bucky softly smiled at you, a crisis averted for the time being. “We’re going to enjoy our wine on the balcony while he prepares our meal,” he told the guard. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Will do.”

Bucky took you away from the kitchen before the chef could speak another word to you. Fresh air might help you breathe easier. He opened the glass door, the night breeze making you shiver as you stepped outside. The view of the city stretched on and the moon and stars lit up the sky. It was breathtaking.

You jumped when Bucky put his jacket around your shoulders. The romantic gesture felt like a claim. “I hope his comment didn't upset you. If it did-”

“It’s fine. Really,” you assured him, glancing at the two-seater table as he pulled out a chair for you. Two glasses were set out as well, along with what you knew to be an expensive bottle of wine. “This is gorgeous.”

“It is,” he agreed, your cheeks flaming when you saw him looking at you instead of the view.

“Do you spend a lot of time out here?” You asked.

He popped the cork on the bottle and poured each of you a small amount. You almost thanked him for that. You had to keep your wits about you.

“Not as much as I’d like to,” he said, nodding to a small sofa in the corner as he took a seat. “But I do like to read out here.”

“You read in your free time?” You asked, biting back a moan when you sipped the wine.

His eyes lit up and just as quickly darkened when you licked your lips. “I do. Reading has always been a hobby of mine. I even have first editions of some of my favorite books.”

“That’s really nice,” you smiled. For a moment it felt like the two of you were having a normal conversation.

That good feeling went away when he took out a velvet box.

“Can’t forget about the surprise,” he smiled before he handed it over. It looked too long to be a ring box, thankfully, but it wouldn't have surprised you if there was an engagement ring inside. Which was likely why your hand shook as you opened it.

The diamond pendant was stunning enough to make you gasp. Five stones each a different shape, they sparkled under the moonlight. The kind of necklace you could only dream of having.

“Bucky, I’m sorry.” You shut the box and slid it back across the table toward him. “I can’t accept this.”

His gaze flickered to the box before he looked at you again. You wanted to believe he looked concerned, but he hadn’t exactly taken any of your feelings into consideration so far. “Why not? We can pick out another together if you’d rather have something else.”

“I can’t accept it because it’s too much,” you said. Accepting the gift would make the situation more real.

He chuckled after a moment. “No, it isn't. Nothing would ever be too much for me to give to you.”

You reached across to tap the top of the box. “Bucky, this is the kind of gift that you give to your wife or fiancé or girlfriend. Hell, maybe a mistress or a sugar baby. I’m none of those things.” Something flickered in his gaze and that should’ve been your warning to stop, but you kept going anyway. “I’m not your girl.”

He took your hand before you could pull it away, his jaw clenched. “You’re right about one thing. You’re not my mistress or a sugar baby,” he agreed. “You could never be those things because you are the only one I see.”

But why? It didn’t make any sense to you. “But-”

“Girlfriend, fiancé, wife,” he ticked off with the fingers of his free hand. “We'll get to all those phases of our relationship, so you might as well accept this gift now or you'll be accepting much more than this later.”

You swallowed, but didn’t attempt to pull away. His grip didn’t hurt and you didn’t know exactly what he was implying, but you didn’t want to find out tonight. Not when he promised he wouldn’t drag you off to his room. “Thank you for the wonderful gift.”

He smiled and took the box as he stood. You didn't protest as he moved to put the necklace around your neck nor did you flinch when his fingers moved along on your skin. When he sat back down, he sighed and lovingly looked you over. “It's beautiful. Just like I knew it would be on you."

You touched it after a moment, the feel of his fingertips still lingering. “I didn't expect something so nice for a first date.”

“This is only the beginning.” He tilted his head and let his eyes watch you trace the delicate gems. “You deserve so much more.”

“Is this some elaborate joke?” You scoffed a bit. He sounded so sure of himself, that he believed you deserved the world. But why? “You do realize that I'm just a florist. And I don't say that to belittle my career because I love what I do, but I'm nothing special.”

Sadness took over his eyes. “Why would you say that?”

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have with the stranger who broke into your home. You didn’t want to have any sort of conversation tonight. “Because I don't own the flower shop I work at. I'm not rich. Hell, I lived with a roommate until last year just to save up and afford my own place. You should know since you researched me,” you said without a trace of bitterness. “I’m not a party girl. I don't turn heads wherever I go. I just want to work with my flowers, go home, and live a simple little life.”

His eyes followed the motion of you biting your lip again before he shook his head. “You think being rich and owning a business are the things it takes to make someone special?”

“No, I don't think that.”

“Then what does?”

You looked around the balcony with a sigh before meeting his gaze again. “Who a person is makes them special.”

“Yet everything you stated has nothing to do with who you are. So I’ll ask again, why would you say you're nothing special?”

You didn't know how to respond. You thought he would’ve just dropped the conversation, so you looked into your lap with a shake of your head. If you were special, wouldn’t you have found someone by now the way Addision and your other friends had? You didn’t want to pour out your insecurities, even if he seemed to hold an invisible knife and was ready to cut them open. “I don't know. I just know I’m not.”

He hummed a little. “So, would someone who is nothing special make homemade meals for her neighbor because she recently had a baby and probably wouldn't have time to cook for herself?”

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly hurt yourself. “How-”

“And not only are you in Addison's wedding party, you offered to have her flowers done so she could have more money for her honeymoon. You're telling me that being caring and thoughtful doesn’t make a person special?”

Goosebumps raised on your skin, realizing just how thorough he was in his research of you. “How do you know all of that about me?” Tears sprang to your eyes and you blinked them back. “I didn't tell anyone about my neighbor or the flowers.”

He cracked a small smile. “That's one of the things that makes you special. You don't do those things expecting anything in return and you sure as hell don't do it to brag. You do them because you care.” He took a second to lean back in his seat, his eyes still on you. “When I see something I want, I give it my all. And I'm not afraid to use my resources. I told you, I like to be thorough.”

You giggled. A hysterical sort of giggle. One that scared you because you had never laughed like that. “I don't know if I can do this,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I shouldn't be here. I should be getting a restraining order.”

Bucky didn't look offended in the slightest. “You could try. Do you think it’ll stop me?”

What little resolve you had left snapped. “Oh, my god. Do you hear yourself? I mean, really hear yourself?!” You snapped, tempted to throw the remainder of your wine on him when he didn’t react. “You know what a first date is, right? It’s two people trying to get to know each other and to see if there’s a mutual connection. You didn’t give me a chance to form a connection with you because you decided it for me after you stalked me.”

His brows pinched like you hurt his feelings. “Doll-”

“You know ‘everything’ about me, but what do I know about you, huh?” You continued, your anxiety bubbling over. “I know that you own a club and that you break into homes and scare the shit out of people. Oh, and that you read. And you apparently have the world at your fingertips since you can send people into my place of work and find out details about me that most aren’t privy to. You could probably use those resources of yours for good or to help others, but you used them to dig into my life when I didn't ask you to!”

“Some people do research before a first date,” he pointed out, not raising his voice.

“Not a full background check! I’m not an employee of yours and I’m not a toy for you to play with!” You huffed as you sat back, suddenly exhausted. How was he unphased? “You really think you have a say in my future? Are you that much of a control freak that you think you can control me?”

The silence stretched on as Bucky considered you and your body trembled as he idly sipped his wine. You weren’t the type to snap and you suddenly felt the urge to apologize for your outburst, which wasn’t fair. He put you in this situation, so why did you want to make it better?

Because you didn’t know what he would do.

“I’m not trying to control you,” he stated, handing you a handkerchief.

“It feels like you are and that isn’t fair,” you said, dabbing at your eyes. Life wasn’t exactly fair though, was it? “And for the record, the only reason I’m not tossing this wine on you is because it’s delicious and it would be a waste.”

His nose scrunched as he laughed. “I wish you could’ve met my mom. She would’ve loved you,” he said so softly you almost missed it, the change in topic jarring to say the least. What happened to her? “I’ve tried traditional dating. It doesn’t and hasn’t worked for me so far. The last woman I dated? She tried to rob me, if you can believe that.”

You sighed, still a bit worn out from your rant. “I can,” you said. There were greedy people in the world and he seemed to have more than enough to provide others with a comfortable life. It wasn’t right that someone tried to take what he earned.

It also wasn’t right what he was doing to you.

“In my line of work, everyone wants something from me. Money, power, favors. It’s hard to trust people,” he said, his gaze surprisingly soft as he took your hand again. “But not you.”

“Because that’s not the kind of person I am,” you guessed.

You were in many ways the opposite of him. While you weren’t poor, you certainly weren’t rich or powerful and didn’t want to use people for your gain. Perhaps that was why he wanted you so badly. You were someone who didn’t want anything from him. Someone like you was easy for him to control since you didn’t run in that kind of circle, even if he said he wasn’t trying to.

Maybe you should have put up a fight instead of making yourself an easy target.

Wait, why were you blaming yourself?

“I know it isn’t,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. “So, maybe I’m a control freak and maybe my approach is a bit extreme, but I don't want to control you. I like who you are, doll. You’re loyal and caring and real. The kind of person I want and need.”

You took a sip of wine so you didn't have to respond. He needed you, so he said, but did you need him? And why did his praise warm your insides? You didn't want it to feel nice.

“And maybe I like that you aren’t the kind of person who has a hidden agenda and that you aren’t a party girl. Even you snapping at me. I love that fire. I want more of it. Burn me with it if you want,” he continued, sweeping his gaze over you once again. “Fuck, I can’t take my eyes off you. And I can't stop thinking about you.”

The look in his eyes put you on edge. “But we-”

“You’re good for me and you may not believe I’m good for you, but I am. We’re right for each other,” he said. The fierce determination in his gaze almost had you believing it. “And aren’t you tired of being lonely? I know I am.”

Loneliness could eat away at a person. Drive them to do desperate things. It didn't excuse his actions.

“Lonely or not, you can't force us to be together,” you said.

“I’m not forcing us to be together. You chose to be here tonight.”

“You know why I came here,” you argued. He had to know you did this because of his threat. “And I’ll behave or do whatever I need to do for the rest of the night, but I can't promise anything beyond that.”

Instead of anger like you expected, he smiled. Like a wolf flashing his teeth before sinking into its prey. “That’s okay because I have a promise for you,” he began, the flame dancing in his eyes. “You’ll be out of your apartment before the end of the month.”

The balcony door opening covered up the wheeze you let out, but didn't hide the despair written all over your face. He couldn't be serious. “Dinner’s ready,” the guard stated.

Bucky didn't spare him a glance as he stood and kept your hand in his, your appetite gone as his smile widened. “C’mon, doll. Better not let it get cold.”

Ooh. Will he really have you out of your place that soon? How awkward will that meal be? And who do we think this guard is? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tojigasm]

Tobacco Deco

Warnings: 18+ nsfw, daddy kink, step-dad!Logan, reader has serious daddy issues sorry guys, pet names, angst, fluffish, creampie <3

It's late at night that the two of you find solace in one another.

Hidden away from watchful eyes and muffled words. The two of you untamed and muddled under the white light of the moon.

You find it poetic in some ways - how he enters your room long after curfew. The amber lights from the hallway illuminate his dark figure.

He's dangerous.

You're dangerous.

This whole thing is dangerous.

Even more frighteningly aware when he's got the curve of your ass on the edge of the bed and his tongue deep in the heat of your cunt. You're not there.

Even with his hands on you, warm and big wrapped around the plush of your hips.

You're just not there.

You haven't even noticed he's stopped to peer up at you from between your thighs. his thumb stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Y'okay?" he kisses the side of your knee.

you nod shakily, head turned away from him.

"Y'wanna stop?" he runs the back of his knuckle up and down the side of your shin.

You shake your head, knees opening and closing nervously. Reaching a hand between your thighs, you weave your fingers through his hair and pull him back towards your wet cunt.

Sometimes you need this.

Just need to shut some parts of your brain off. Hiding from the watchful eyes from your peers and sharp gasps and whispers.

Logan licks a long stripe up the center of your heat to circle his tongue around your clit.

You shiver as he takes your hand from his hair and wraps his fingers with your own.

You're not sure when you started crying. Only aware of the fat tears bubbling over your hot cheeks when you accidently bump your forearm against your chin.

A soft whine crawls up your throat.

You feel ripe.

"You're worn." Logan's voice is coarse in your ear. hot like coal.

Wiping your eyes, you look at him between your thighs.

"What?"

"What?"

you only stare at him.

"What did you say?"

"Didn't say anything," He keeps your gaze for a moment, leaning down again to run his tongue up your folds.

you drop your head back with a wet moan.

Logan pulls himself up from the floor, unbuttoning his jeans to grip the girth of his cock.

He keeps you steady with a large hand on your hip, pushing the thick head of his cock past your folds.

sex with Logan is never predictable. The way he fucks you is never reflective to his emotions and he's gentler than some would assume.

Your cunt welcomes him eagerly, sucking in the girth of him and massaging his veiny length.

you're a mess beneath him. teary eyed and voice raw from crying.

He kisses your tears on your cheeks and circles a thumb around your clit.

you've learned to associate that pleasure with broken things often.

It's often at times when you're alone, seeking him while he's out of town, wishing he was there to take care of you all the time.

"You're worn."

you wish he had been there. Been there when you'd cried for your father, and he'd never come. Been there for you at the father-daughter dances your school had put on before you'd moved to X-Mansion. Before you'd met him. You wish he'd been there to tie your shoes and cut your fruit for school, wish he'd been there to tell you that you were his baby.

Why wasn't he there.

you're worn.

And you suppose, maybe you are. Worn by the long heat of the sun and the sadness rotting in your bones like water to wood. You're worn by all the things that'd left you behind.

Logan smoothes a hand over your cheek.

"Where are you, baby?" He whispers, thick brows furrowed.

You can feel the cigarette burns from earlier on his palm. Reminding you of something he's been worn by, though he tries to hide it.

he smells like Tobacco and of a bourbon cologne you had bought him for his birthday last year.

"M'here." you say softly, voice cracked.

"Hey," He says, voice so gentle you almost sob.

you're worn.

he gives you a gentle thrust that has you wrapping your legs around his hips instinctively.

Why do you love me? you want to ask.

Instead-

"Am I okay?"

he seems to stifle at that, not entirely sure what to make of that.

"Yes," He nods, holding a hand on the base of your neck, "Yr'okay, and I'm here with you."

your next words fall from your mouth helplessly- voice horribly shook and choked.

"I wish you were my dad."

Logan doesn't say anything, and horrible uneasiness settles into your belly.

You're too afraid to look at him, covering your eyes with your forearm, skin sticky with the salt of your tears.

His hand is gentle on your elbow, pulling your arm away from your eyes to press a kiss on your lips.

And it's something in the gentleness of it that settles the unease in your bones with a soft warmness.

Something about him not saying anything was what you needed.

His cock his heavy in your heat, the gurthy length of it stroking back and forth as he thrusts into you.

The room is hot.

You pant beneath him, meeting his eyes.

Logan keeps a hand on your cheek, holding you steady. He asks, kissing a line down the side of your jaw.

You hum through a shiver, tightening your thighs around his hips.

Logan hums against your skin, slipping his free hand under your thigh, sinking deeper into your heat.

"Haa-"

his hair is soft between your fingers as you weave your hand through his thick black tufts. Still angled up like all those years ago.

"Daddy's got you," He says so low you nearly miss it.

You're worn.

When you unravel beneath him, it's almost religious with his hands bruising into the plush of your skin. His side burns tickle your jaw as he runs his tongue over your teeth and along the insides of your cheeks.

His cum warms your cunt as he fills you with a broken groan, thick brows furrowed and lips pressed roughly against your soft ones.

Logan continues to pump into you, a white ring of cum and your juices wraps around the girth off his cock.

When he pulls out of you, a sob draws past your swollen lips, and he's quick to soothe it, stroking his hand down your jaw to hold your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

you look up at him from under your wet lashes, strung together thickly by the salt of your tears.

"Hi," you whisper, and his thumb rests on your bottom lip.

His brow is wet with the heat of it all and his eyes lay lidded as he looks you over.

He looks... tired.

The type of tired that rots in your bones and aches in the back of your head like a reminder of all things hard and mournful.

Logan doesn't say anything as he slips his thumb from your lips and makes his way to the bathroom.

You realize what its meant, to be worn and to be wanted, as many things are.

[yunsbunnie]

eiffel towering with bf!sunghoon and his bsf!jake

pairing : bf!sunghoon x fem!reader x jake | warnings : smut, threesome, oral (m), name calling (slut), kissing (mxm + fxm), spit, profanity, !not shipping jakehoon! | wc : 1001 | note : eiffel towering w jakehoon? 😋 also another question… what do yall think about double pen, hm? jakehoon again or maybe heehoon? lmk and i’ll do my best <3

“fuck- you’re doing s’good baby-“ sunghoon tried his hardest to stop himself from thrusting forward into your palm in a futile attempt to get more friction from your tongue.

all your attention was on the tip of his cock, your tongue alternating between swirling figure eights and suctioning your lips around his most sensitive spot. 

your eyes blinked away the tears from the pleasure coming from behind you, your ass raw from the way jake kept smacking against it.

you were doing a fairly good job at teasing your needy boyfriend considering the current state that your mind was forced into, a mixture of submissiveness with the perfect amount of dominance. 

you arched your bark further for the man behind you- allowing him with a new angle that enabled him to push in deeper. the new angle not only allowed him to reach deeper, but it also made it earlier for him to thrust in faster.

jake could see the way you were teasing sunghoon and as much as he loved to watch it, he knew the other man needed more. and so jake moved his hands from its resting position on your ass and pushed his palms into the curve of your back, his fingers wrapping around your body in a way that made it easier to pull you back into him.

the first time jake pulled you against him you’d bounced back even harder, sunghoon’s entire length pushing down your throat. 

sunghoon let out a choked whimper when a harsh gag vibrated up his cock, the new suction making him nearly lose his mind. his legs shook from beneath him when your body was pushed forward again- except this time your nose was met with his lower stomach. 

sunghoon heard a quiet chuckle and snapped his head up towards jake, their eyes meeting and sharing a known look before they both pushed forward again.

instead of pulling you back against him, jake used his hold on you to keep you still. your body was held in a constant state which made it easier for both boys to share you between them. 

“you look so pretty for jakey, it’s such a shame that he can’t see it from back there.” sunghoon pouted down at your tear-streaked cheeks with a newfound lust, your tears glistening the same way your cunt did when he railed you from behind. 

his gaze then moved to your lips, the sight making him cock twitch in your warm mouth. spit was practically dripping from the corners of your lips, small bubbles rushing out with each thrust he pushed in.

he wrapped one of his hands around the base of his dick, his fingers wrapping around it as he slowly pulled himself out. 

his mouth watered when strings of your spit came out with it, his cock was completely coated in your saliva. there were strings that were still attached to your lips that reflected on the overhead light. 

“fuck, that’s so hot.” sunghoon looked back up at jake only to see that his eyes were attached on the strings connecting your body to his. jakes lip was pulled between his teeth while his thrusts grew faster. 

“i wish i could taste it, i bet she tastes so fucking sweet.” sunghoon looked back at you and the fucked out expression on your face, “dirty fucking slut liked that, didn’t she? pussy tightening on my cock in front of your boyfriend.” 

it was shameless, but it was light work compared to what sunghoon offered the man after his words slipped through him. “you want to try it jakey?” jake’s eyes were wide in confusion, “how?”

sunghoon didn’t verbally answer jake’s question but instead he connected his mouth with yours. he swirled his tongue around yours the same way you did to his cock earlier, your shared taste entering his mouth as he sucked your tongue between his lips.

it was dirty. your spit collecting on his chin as it moved against yours- your messiness transferring onto his now damp skin. loud smacks replaced the notices your mouth was making earlier, sunghoon practically eating your lips as he took everything you had to offer- but it wasn’t his offer to accept.

sunghoon pulled back after a few minutes, his eyes low as he stared at your swollen lips. “so pretty.” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear before he leaned forward again. but instead of kissing you he stuck out his tongue instead, his nose ghosting yours as he licked a swipe across your lips. 

“ready to taste her, baby?” jake didn’t have time to process what sunghoon had asked- or called him, before sunghoon’s lips were on his.

jake’s body responded before his mind did- his lips following the rhythm that sunghoon had set. the kiss lasted at most twenty seconds before sunghoon pulled away, the strings of spit mirroring the ones that once hung on his cock. 

“open your mouth.” jake’s eyes were heavy hooded with excitement when he opened his mouth, his tongue slightly poking out when sunghoon’s fingers wrapped around his throat. 

sunghoon gathered the spit in his mouth before dropping it into jake’s- an audible sound leaving jake’s throat while his eyes fluttered closed. sunghoon’s fingers moving higher up his throat before he forced his jaw to close, “it’s sweet, hm?” 

he used his own hand to nod the boys head in agreement, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as he felt the boy swallow beneath his hand. 

“her pussy tastes even better.” jake’s eyes were snapped open again when he was forced out of you and onto his knees, his eyes leveled with your gushing cunt. 

jake titled his head up to look at sunghoon once and at the younger boy's nod of approval he looked back down towards your clenching cunt. “don’t keep my baby waiting.” 

and jake had to agree, the taste of your cunt was way better than the taste of your spit mixed with his best friends. 

[mononijikayu]

right people, wrong place — nanami kento.

“And what about us? Was I something you could just walk away from?” The question hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly. “I never wanted to hurt you, you know that.” he said quietly, almost like an admission of guilt. “But this was always going to be the cost.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!

WARNING/S: romance, fluff, angst, marriage separation, salvaging the marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, car-fuck, making out, smut, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, hurt/comfort, alcohol, crying, drunk, emotional, pining, happy ending, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, depiction of breakdown of a marriage, depiction of alcoholic beverages, depiction of getting drunk, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of sexual tension, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, sorcerer! nanami, non-sorcerer! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7.7k words.

NOTE: finally!!! im putting out this chapter on my birthday which is crazy but i feel like putting it out on my birthday shows how much i really love nanami. i really wondered a lot how to do this because i don't think nanami's the sort of person who would end up hurting his lover/partner like this. but hm, i suppose it works out in the end!!! anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this a lot like i did!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

if you want to, tip! <3

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IN YOUR YEARS LIVING, YOU’D NEVER THOUGHT THIS WOULD HAPPEN. You never thought you would find yourself in this position, but sometimes marriages just don't last. It’s been a while since your husband, Nanami Kento, and you became estranged. His constant absence, wrapped up in his work as a sorcerer, eventually took precedence over your marriage. 

At first, you understood, even tried to be patient. But over time, the long hours, missed moments, and growing distance became too much to bear. You found yourself frustrated, feeling as though you were competing with a world you couldn’t fully understand or be a part of.

Slowly, that frustration turned into resentment. Despite your efforts to keep things together, the silence between you grew louder. Eventually, the separation felt inevitable. Now, standing on the other side of it, you reflect on the painful truth: sometimes love isn't enough when life pulls you in different directions.

You sighed, staring at the empty side of the bed where Kento used to sleep. The memories of better days flickered in your mind, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else’s life. The silence of your apartment was deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of the outside world. 

“Did you ever regret it?” you whispered, almost as if speaking to the ghost of your past, hoping for an answer you knew wouldn’t come. “Did you ever think… maybe I was worth staying for?”

You shook your head, frustrated with yourself for even asking the question. It wasn’t fair to him. You knew how much responsibility weighed on Kento's shoulders. Being a sorcerer wasn’t just a job; it was a duty. But sometimes, you wished he would have chosen you, just once, over the weight of the world.

Your minds rushed to those memories again. That night when he left the house. You looked as he packed everything he could carry. His clothes, his books… small pieces of a life you once shared now reduced to what he could fit into a suitcase. The silence between you stretched, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, almost suffocating.

“Is this really it, then?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had hung in the back of your mind for months, but now, with him standing here, packing the last remnants of your life together, it felt real. Permanent.

Kento paused, his hand resting on one of his neatly folded shirts. He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all you can say? After so many years?.....Kento....this is…” you replied, your voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “Not even a reason?”

His shoulders tensed at your words, but he still didn’t turn around. “If I say something, it would be a fight and then that fight would hurt you and I again. Do you really want that?”

“No, I don’t.” you shot back, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. “But maybe it should. Because then I would know if it actually mattered. Because it didn’t feel like it mattered, Kento. It felt like I was always second place to your work, to the missions, to everything else.”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable but the exhaustion in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted it to be like this. But you knew what I was from the beginning. Being a sorcerer… it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“And what about us? Was I something you could just walk away from?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly.

“I never wanted to hurt you, you know that.” he said quietly, almost like an admission of guilt. “But this was always going to be the cost.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh even to your own ears. “So that’s it? We were just collateral damage to your sense of duty?”

Kento didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the suitcase with a soft click, the finality of it settling like a stone in your chest. “I thought I could do both. I thought I could be there for you and still do what needed to be done. But I was wrong.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, waiting for something more—an apology, a plea, anything. But all you got was that same calm, distant resolve that had driven you apart in the first place.

He picked up the suitcase, his fingers tightening around the handle. “Goodbye.”

And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and the emptiness of the apartment swallowed you whole. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had been, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. It was over.

But somehow, it still didn’t feel like closure.

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EVERYTHING THAT CAME AFTER WAS HARD. In the days that followed, the silence in your apartment became both a comfort and a curse. It was quiet—almost too quiet—but for the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uncertainty was gone.

Kento was gone, too. But in a way, that absence, painful as it was, felt like a step toward something else. Healing, maybe. And it didn’t help, how empty the rooms were. Half of his belongings were gone and packed up when you weren’t in the apartment.

It was slow at first. You’d wake up some mornings expecting him to be there, just a shadow of his presence lingering in the air. You’d make coffee for two out of habit, only to pour the second cup down the sink. Little reminders of him still clung to the edges of your life, and each one was like a small tug at the thread of your resolve.

But as the weeks turned into months, you started to piece yourself back together. You learned how to be alone without feeling lonely, how to fill the spaces he left behind with your own life. You started to find joy in the little things again—quiet mornings with a book, walks in the park, laughing with friends who had long been neglected while you tried to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

Still, there were moments, late at night when the world went still, that the ache of missing him crept back in. It was like a dull, persistent pain—manageable, but never quite gone. You’d find yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, too. If he ever would come back and say that he regrets walking away.

Because the truth was, you still loved him. Deeply. And that was the hardest part. No matter how much you tried to move forward, to heal, the love you had for Nanami Kento never fully disappeared. It lingered, bittersweet and aching, tucked into the corners of your heart.

Some nights, you found yourself replaying those last moments with him—the way he stood in the doorway, his back turned to you, the finality of his goodbye. You couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different. If you had fought harder, if he had tried just a little more. But those thoughts always led to the same conclusion: no matter how much you loved him, love wasn’t enough to fix what had broken between you.

And yet, despite everything, there was still a part of you that wanted him back. It was foolish, you knew that. But the heart rarely listens to reason. You missed the way he made you feel safe, even when everything else in your world felt uncertain. You missed the way he’d brush his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while reading or the quiet moments where words weren’t needed because you both just… understood.

But loving him came with a cost, one you couldn’t ignore. You knew that being with him meant sharing him with a world that constantly demanded more of him than you could ever give. It meant always being second place, always waiting for him to come home, always wondering if this time would be the last.

You weren’t sure if you could live like that again.

It was hard, knowing that despite how much better you were feeling, the part of you that still longed for him wasn’t ready to let go. You tried to distract yourself—work, hobbies, anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of something that reminded you of him—a certain tie in a shop window, a scent in the air—and the pang of longing would hit you all over again.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you found yourself standing at the edge of your balcony, staring out at the sunset. The sky was painted in hues of gold and pink, the world so quiet and still that it almost felt like a dream. For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if he were here beside you. If, somehow, you could make it work. If the love you had was enough to outweigh everything else.

But as the colors faded and dusk settled in, you realized something—wanting him, loving him, would always be part of you. But so would the pain. And maybe, just maybe, the best thing you could do was let both of those things exist without trying to fix them. To let the love you still had for him be a memory, something you carried with you but didn’t let define you anymore.

It was hard. But you were learning that sometimes, healing isn’t about forgetting the past. It’s about accepting it and finding a way to move forward anyway. Even if part of you will always wish things had been different.

You sighed, staring at the empty side of the bed where Nanami used to sleep. The memories of better days flickered in your mind, but they felt distant, like they belonged to someone else’s life. The silence of your apartment was deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of the outside world.

“Did you ever regret it?” you whispered, almost as if speaking to the ghost of your past, hoping for an answer you knew wouldn’t come. “Did you ever think… maybe I was worth staying for?”

You shook your head, frustrated with yourself for even asking the question. It wasn’t fair to him. You knew how much responsibility weighed on Nanami's shoulders. Being a sorcerer wasn’t just a job; it was a duty. But sometimes, you wished he would have chosen you, just once, over the weight of the world.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. For a moment, your heart raced—an absurd part of you hoped it was him. But you quickly brushed the thought aside. That chapter was closed. Or so you tried to convince yourself.

When you opened the door, there he stood—Nanami Kento.

“I came to pick up the rest of my things.” he said, his voice low and steady, as if the weight of the words didn't matter. But they did. Every syllable felt like a punch to your chest.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in, though the sight of him in the apartment again felt like a knife twisting in an old wound. He walked past you without another word, heading to what used to be your shared bedroom. It was strange—after all the time that had passed, he still moved like he belonged here, like nothing had changed. But everything had.

You followed him, your footsteps quiet as you watched him start gathering his things. His clothes, his books… small pieces of a life you once shared now reduced to what he could fit into a suitcase. The silence between you stretched, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air, almost suffocating.

“This is it, huh?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had hung in the back of your mind for months, but now, with him standing here, packing the last remnants of your life together, it felt real. Permanent. “Is….is this what’s left?”

Kento paused, his hand resting on one of his neatly folded shirts. He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Anything, everything.” you replied, your voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “I just want to know if any of it ever mattered to you.”

His shoulders tensed at your words, but he still didn’t turn around. “You know it did. You matter to me. More than you know.”

“Did I?” you shot back, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. “Because why have I never felt it? When will I feel it?”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable but the exhaustion in his eyes undeniable. “I showed you everything I could. I gave you everything I could. Was that never going to be enough for you?”

“And what about us? Was I something you could just walk away from?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly.Nanami didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the box with a soft touch, the finality of it settling like a stone in your chest. 

“I thought I could do both. I thought I could be there for you and still do what needed to be done. But I was wrong.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, waiting for something more—an apology, a plea, anything. But all you got was that same calm, distant resolve that had driven you apart in the first place.

He picked up the rest of his belongings, his fingers tightening around the handle. “I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and the emptiness of the apartment swallowed you whole. You stood there, staring at the spot where he had been, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. It was over.

But somehow, it still didn’t feel like closure.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T EAT MUCH IN THE PAST FEW DAYS. But that was to be expected. You couldn’t eat in the place where you had so many memories. Yet you were feeling unwell as time went on and so slowly, gently, patiently — you tried to be good to yourself. Tried to be understanding. Going through separation, this suffering, it was never going to be easy.

The silence in your apartment became both a comfort and a curse. It was quiet—almost too quiet—but for the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uncertainty was gone.

The emptiness felt different now. It wasn't just about loss or absence; it was about space—space to breathe, to think, to feel without the constant dread lurking in every corner. Still, the quiet held an echo of everything you had left behind, and that made moving forward all the more difficult.

But as the weeks turned into months, you started to piece yourself back together. You learned how to be alone without feeling lonely, how to fill the spaces he left behind with your own life.

You started to find joy in the little things again—quiet mornings with a book, walks in the park, laughing with friends who had long been neglected while you tried to hold onto something that was already slipping away.

Still, there were moments, late at night when the world went still and you’re watching television alone by yourself — you could feel that the ache of missing him crept back in.

It was like a dull, persistent pain—manageable, but never quite gone. You’d find yourself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, too. If he ever regretted walking away. Or if he missed you just as much as you did.

Because the truth was, you still loved him. Deeply. And that was the hardest part. No matter how much you tried to move forward, to heal, the love you had for Nanami Kento never fully disappeared. It lingered, bittersweet and aching, tucked into the corners of your heart. And perhaps, maybe it will always be like this.

But you had to move on. Life wasn’t going to wait for you to get better, to be better. It demanded that you keep going, even when you weren’t sure how to, even when the ghost of what you had still weighed heavy on your soul.

So, you kept going, step by step. Some days were easier than others, filled with the distractions of work, the warmth of sunlight on your skin, and conversations that pulled you out of your own head. Other days were harder—when memories of him resurfaced without warning, when a familiar scent or an old song hit you with the force of a tidal wave, threatening to drown you in nostalgia.

But you had learned by now how to weather those moments. You’d remind yourself that healing wasn’t linear, that some days you would falter, and that was okay. You had to let yourself feel the sadness, the longing, without letting it consume you.

And in time, you began to see the future more clearly, not just as a continuation of what you lost but as something entirely new. You began to make plans for yourself, not the version of you that existed with him but the person you were becoming on your own. You started to imagine new possibilities—new experiences, new places, and maybe even, eventually, new love.

But for now, it was enough to simply live. To wake up each morning with the quiet acceptance that the pain would fade, slowly, until it was just another part of you, like a scar that healed over time. And though Nanami Kento would always hold a piece of your heart, you knew that piece was no longer all you had. There was more to you, more to your life, and you would find it, one day at a time.

And maybe, tonight was just one of those nights you didn’t plan. Tonight was one more night where you tried to forget. It was just a spontaneous meeting with the friends you made because of your estranged husband.

In a way, you think that Shoko and Utahime, were the only people who had really been there for you throughout this entire mess. You met up at a quiet bar tucked away in a corner of the city, a place that felt far removed from the chaos of sorcery and everything that came with it.

Shoko sat across from you, her usual laid-back demeanor a source of steady comfort, while Utahime leaned in, her voice soft and warm, coaxing you into laughter with her lighthearted banter. The night had started out innocent enough—a few drinks, some stories, and shared frustrations. But as the alcohol flowed, so did your emotions.

“Honestly.” you groaned, swirling your drink before downing it, “I don’t even know what I miss more—him, or the idea of what we could’ve been if his work didn’t always come first.”

Shoko raised her glass, giving you a sympathetic smile. “It’s never easy, is it? Being with someone like him. The duty comes first. Always.”

Utahime nodded, her eyes full of understanding. “But that doesn’t make what you feel any less valid. You loved him. That doesn’t just disappear.”

The alcohol in your system made you bolder, more honest than you’d been in a while. You leaned forward, placing your elbows on the table, and slurred slightly, “It’s not fair, you know? I tried, I really did. But how long am I supposed to wait? How many nights am I supposed to spend alone, wondering if he’s even coming back?”

Shoko reached across the table and squeezed your hand gently. “You’re not supposed to wait forever. You deserve more than that.”

But instead of finding solace in her words, you found yourself feeling more emotional, the weight of everything you’d been holding back finally cracking open under the influence of too much alcohol. A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could stop it, you were sobbing into your hands, overwhelmed by a mix of heartache and frustration.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Utahime said softly, sliding into the seat beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re doing great. This is just… part of the process.”

Shoko, usually so calm and collected, looked a little more concerned than usual. “Okay, I think it’s time to slow down on the drinks, girlie.” she said, gently pulling your glass away from you.

But you were too far gone to care. The mix of pain, regret, and alcohol had you in a place where you didn’t want to think anymore—you just wanted to feel something, anything other than the ache of missing him.

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob and raised your hands in the air dramatically. “I’m a mess! A total mess! And you know what? I miss him. I still miss him even after everything!”

Utahime tried to keep you grounded, but your emotions were all over the place. “We know. We get it. Just breathe.”

Shoko sighed, reaching for her phone. “I think we might need backup here.”

You were too busy giggling uncontrollably to notice her dialing a number, the alcohol buzzing in your veins, making you feel invincible, heartbroken, and foolish all at once.

“I’m calling Nanami.” Shoko said, her voice firm as she stepped away to speak quietly into the phone.

The name hit you like a punch in the chest, and suddenly, the laughter was gone, replaced by a pit of regret. “Wait… Shoko, no. Don’t… don’t call him.” you mumbled, slumping against the table.

But it was too late.

Half an hour later, as the bar started to empty out and the world around you became a blurry haze, you felt a familiar presence. Nanami Kento stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable, though his posture was tense, like he wasn’t sure what to expect. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on you—wild-eyed and completely drunk, your face flushed from crying and too many drinks.

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a glance as Nanami walked over to the table. “She… might’ve had a bit too much tonight, you know?” Utahime said sheepishly, standing up to give him space.

Nanami didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you—really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time in months. You could see the subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, even if his face remained calm, composed.

You, on the other hand, were a mess. “Kento….” you slurred, your voice thick with emotion. “Why did you come?”

He crouched down beside you, his voice low but steady. “Shoko called me.”

You frowned, trying to process that. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid. You wanted to say so many things—to tell him how much you missed him, how much it hurt to love him, but your thoughts were too muddled, and the alcohol made everything feel distant and surreal.

Nanami sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Let’s get you home.”

Too tired and drunk to argue, you leaned into his touch, letting him guide you out of the bar. As he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, you felt a pang of sadness wash over you. Even in this state, the warmth of his presence made you remember why you had fallen in love with him in the first place.

But as the car started and the city lights blurred by, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all you’d ever be to him now—a fleeting responsibility, a problem to fix.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you glanced over at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you still care, Kento?”

For the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Of course I care.” he said quietly, almost like it hurt to admit it. “I always have….I always will.”

But as the darkness of the night pulled you under, you couldn’t help but think that maybe caring just wasn’t enough.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine and the distant noise of the city filling the silence between you and Nanami. You leaned your head against the window, feeling the cool glass against your flushed skin, the alcohol still buzzing faintly in your veins. Everything felt muted, distant, as if you were floating just outside yourself, watching the scene unfold from afar.

Nanami’s presence was steady, calm as always, but there was something different about it tonight—something almost tender in the way he glanced over at you every few moments, checking to see if you were okay. He was a man of few words, but the weight of everything left unsaid between you felt heavy in the small space of the car.

You closed your eyes, letting the rhythmic motion of the car lull you into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Your thoughts drifted in and out, a hazy mix of memories and half-formed feelings. The pain of your separation, the love you still held for him, the impossible wish that things could’ve been different.

“Do you need anything?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, something restrained.

You shook your head, trying to gather your thoughts through the alcohol fog, but the room spun, and you could feel the tears welling up again, unbidden and unwelcome. The frustration, the love, the hurt—all of it crashed over you at once, too heavy to hold in any longer.

“I miss you, Kento.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I just…..I don’t want to miss you anymore.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes. Afraid of the truth you already knew—that no matter how much you wanted him, how much you loved him, some things were just too broken to fix. Your face contorted in distress as you felt like you were going to hurl.

Kento stopped the car on a quiet side of the road and took a breath. He moved towards your side of the vehicle. He opened the door and brushed his hands on your back as though to soothe you. But nothing came out of you. Instead, you were just hiccupping. Tears were falling down your face by this point, as your eyes met his.

Nanami Kento sighed softly, kneeling down in front of you. He reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch gentle, hesitant. “You shouldn’t have to feel like this about me, about everything.” he murmured, his voice low, filled with regret. “You shouldn’t let this hurt you. Not anymore—”

“But you did.” you cut him off, your voice cracking. “Every time you left, every time you put your work first… it felt like I didn’t matter.”

He bowed his head, the weight of your words sinking into him. “I know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of the couch beneath you. “I loved you, Kento. I still love you. But I don’t know if I can keep doing this… if I can keep feeling like I’m waiting for something that will never come.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time in a long while, you saw something break in his calm façade. “I never wanted you to wait. But I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know….I didn’t know how to stop saving people.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty, made your heart ache even more. You could see it now—his struggle, his conflict between the duty he felt as a sorcerer and the love he had for you. But that didn’t change the fact that you had spent so long feeling alone, abandoned in a relationship that demanded more from you than you could give.

“Why did you come tonight?” you asked, your voice shaky, desperate for answers. “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Nanami was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because I couldn’t. No matter how much I tell myself it’s better for you if I stay away… I can’t stop caring about you. Nor could I just….Nor could I just leave you like that. You don’t need to be alone, not like this.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It was the truth you had always known, deep down—that he loved you, that he cared. But caring wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between the life he led and the one you needed. And that was the most painful part.

“I don’t know how to stop loving you.” you admitted, tears streaming down your face now, unrestrained. “But I also don’t know how to keep living like this. I don’t want to keep living like this.”

Nanami looked at you then, his expression conflicted, torn between his duty and the love he had for you. “I wish I could give you more. I wish I could be what you need.”

His honesty only made the hurt deeper, and you choked back a sob, turning your face away from him. “I wish that too, Kento. But wishing doesn’t make it real.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, the silence heavy and suffocating. Nanami stood, his movements slow, deliberate. He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

“If you ever need me.” he said quietly, his back to you, “I’ll be there. Always. No matter what. I…I’m telling you the truth.”

His voice was low, a smooth, steady rumble that sent shivers down your spine. The way his fingers touched your skin, soft yet firm, made your breath catch in your throat. You hated how even now, after everything, he still had this effect on you. Your body, your heart—they responded to him instinctively, as if drawn to him by some invisible force you couldn’t control.

Your eyes met his, those deep, unwavering eyes that had always been so hard to read. Dark, focused, filled with an intensity that both excited and terrified you. He tilted his head slightly, waiting for your answer, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. The heat between you was palpable, electric, pulling you closer despite the distance you had tried so hard to create between your lives.

But it wasn’t just lust. It was the ache of wanting something you knew you could never fully have.

“I—” You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you fought to find the words. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

It was the truth. You were caught between desire and heartbreak, between the pull of your body and the ache in your chest.

Nanami’s gaze softened slightly, though his hand remained firm against your chin. “You can always tell me. Even if you don’t know, I’m here to listen.”

His lips were inches from yours now, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Your breath hitched, and you felt the throbbing in your core intensify, the need rising within you. But it wasn’t just physical—it was the need to feel close to him again, to bridge the distance between you, if only for a moment.

His thumb grazed your lip again, this time slower, more deliberate. “Tell me what you need.” he whispered, his voice like silk, coaxing you to let go of everything you were holding back.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes fluttered shut for just a second, your resolve slipping away. You wanted him—needed him—but the weight of everything between you still clung to the edges of your mind.

“I want…” you began, your voice trembling as you opened your eyes to meet him once more. “I want you. But I don't want you.”

There it was. The painful truth, laid bare between you.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or maybe understanding. He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know.” he said softly. “And I’m sorry.”

But even as he apologized, his hand slid down from your chin to the curve of your neck, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path that sent waves of heat coursing through your body. You inhaled sharply, your resolve crumbling further with every second that passed.

He always knew how to touch you, how to make you forget the pain, the doubts, the distance. It was intoxicating, the way he could pull you in without even trying, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but lean into it. Into him.

His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but he didn’t close the gap. He never did—he always waited for you to make the choice, to cross that line. He gave you control, even when it felt like you had none.

“What do you want?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a breath as his hand settled at the base of your neck, fingers brushing the sensitive skin there.

You could feel the tension coiling in your body, the way your heart raced, the way every nerve seemed to be on fire. You wanted to push him away, to tell him that this wasn’t right, that you couldn’t keep doing this. But the pull of him was too strong, and your body betrayed you.

“I want…...” The words caught in your throat, your breath shaky, your lips barely an inch from his. “I want you to make me forget.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the pain, not the past, not the uncertainty of what the future held. All that mattered was the feel of his hand on your skin, the way his eyes never left yours, the way his presence grounded you and made you feel alive all at once.

Nanami’s lips finally brushed against yours, a soft, tentative kiss that sent a shock of electricity through your body. You responded instinctively, pressing into him, the taste of him familiar and yet still enough to set your senses ablaze.

His other hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of it. You moaned softly into his mouth, your body melting against him, your mind blissfully empty of everything except him.

For just this moment, you let yourself forget. Forget the hurt, the separation, the longing that had been eating at you for months. Right now, all that existed was the heat between you, the way his hands moved over your body, the way his lips claimed yours with a tenderness that both healed and hurt.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself fall into the moment, into him, knowing that tomorrow would bring all the same questions and heartache. But for tonight, you let yourself be with him, no matter how fleeting it might be.

The kiss lingered, both tender and desperate, a blend of longing and unresolved emotions that seemed to pulse between you. Nanami’s hands roamed your body with a careful intensity, as if he were trying to memorize every curve, every shiver that ran through you. His touch was both familiar and achingly new, a reminder of what you once had and what you had been missing.

You clung to him, your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as if you could erase the months of separation with just this physical connection. Every touch, every caress felt like a balm to the wound that had been left open for so long.

But even as the moment enveloped you, reality kept its sharp edge. Every kiss, every touch was a reminder of the distance that had come between you, the reasons you’d tried so hard to move on. The passion that ignited between you was a bitter-sweet symphony, playing a melody of both desire and regret.

Nanami broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. He looked into your eyes with a mixture of yearning and sadness, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavily between you.

“I’m so sorry.” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “For everything.”

You could only nod, your throat tight, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. “I know.” you managed to say, your voice trembling. “I know.”

He cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had silently fallen. “You mean everything to me, you know?” he said softly, his gaze unwavering. “But I know I can’t just come back and expect everything to be okay.”

You nodded again, tears blurring your vision as you tried to process the complexity of the moment. The feelings between you were still raw, unhealed, and the reality of your situation pressed down hard on both of you. You wanted to hold onto him, to keep him close, but the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future loomed large.

Kento's massivehands slowly slid from your face to your shoulders, his touch grounding and reassuring. “We can’t go back to how we were.” he said softly, a note of resignation in his voice. “I can’t promise you that everything will be perfect.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find your voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions. “I don’t expect perfection,” you said, your voice cracking. “I just… I just want to know that you still care, that there’s still something left between us.”

He looked at you with a deep sadness in his eyes, as if he were trying to convey all the things he couldn’t put into words. “I care,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know. But we both need to heal, to figure out what’s next. I can’t keep coming and going, leaving you with more pain.”

You swallowed hard, trying to reconcile his words with the longing you still felt. “What happens now?” you asked softly, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air.

Nanami sighed, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “I don’t know.” he admitted.

“Me neither.” You whisper to him as your eyes echoed to him and narrowed. “But I want you to love me. Tonight. Right now.”

“But—”

You kissed him, hungry and passionate. You pull at his jaw, wanting him closer than ever before. You want him near. You want him enveloping you. As though an embrace that would lock you away in his warmth for the rest of your lives. It was as though the fire of young love reawakened after a long hibernation. And you want more than anything this spring, this warmth of spring. His love.

Kento hesitates for a moment, his gaze heavy with concern and desire, before he finally whispers, "Are you sure?"

You nod, breathless, your hands trembling as you reach for him. "I'm sure, Kento. I want you… I've always wanted you."

His resolve falters, and he leans forward, capturing your lips again with a fervor that sends a jolt of electricity through your body. His hands slide over your back, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of his body pressing against you. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing your lips, coaxing you open to taste him, to feel him.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both panting, your breaths mingling in the confined space of the car. There's a moment where neither of you speaks, just staring at each other, the weight of your shared desire hanging in the air.

Kento's hand moves between your legs, his fingers grazing over the fabric of your clothes, and you shiver at the contact. He’s gentle at first, almost hesitant, but when he sees the way your body responds, a low growl escapes his throat. He’s lost in the moment, his mouth descending to taste you, his tongue working deftly to unravel every ounce of pleasure he can from you.

You gasp, your back arching against the seat as his tongue dances over your most sensitive parts, his spit mixing with your own arousal. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you like a man starved, each stroke and flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge.

When you finally break, a cry tearing from your throat, he doesn’t hesitate. He lifts you easily, pulling you onto his lap, his lips finding yours again in a messy, desperate kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the tang of your desire mingling with his own.

He fumbles with his pants, freeing himself from the constraints, and you feel the heat of him, hard and ready, pressing against you. Your eyes meet, and for a moment, there’s a silent understanding — a shared want that transcends words.

With a quiet groan, he grips your hips, guiding you over him, his breath catching as he finally pushes inside. You both gasp, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you completely, your bodies moving in a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing. He clings to you, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, and you cling back just as fiercely, not wanting this moment to end.

“I won't stop anymore." he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear, and you know he means it — neither of you want to stop.

Kento’s words hang heavy in the air, igniting something primal within you. You shift your hips, pressing down harder, taking him deeper, and a guttural sound escapes his lips, his hands digging into your waist as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

He starts moving, thrusting up into you with a roughness that takes your breath away. You hold onto his shoulders for balance, your nails digging into his skin, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through your body.

You couldn't help but groan over and over with every sensual movement, the windows fogging up as the air grows thick with your mingled breaths and moans.

Kento’s mouth is everywhere — on your neck, your collarbone, your breasts. His lips are hot, leaving trails of fire across your skin. He sucks and nips, marking you as his.

And it makes you gasp, makes you arch closer, needing more, craving everything he can give you. Your body moves on instinct, rolling your hips against him, each motion driving him deeper until you feel like you can’t take it anymore.

“More, more….Oh—” you whisper, a plea escaping your lips. He groans in response, tightening his grip on you, his hips slamming into yours with a desperate rhythm.

He shifts, one hand sliding down between your bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive nub. He circles it, presses down, and you cry out, your body clenching around him as the sensations intensify, as every nerve feels like it's on fire.

The sound of skin against skin fills the car, mingling with the soft creak of leather and the panting breaths escaping both of you.

Kento’s pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent. “God, you feel so good.” he murmurs, his voice ragged, almost broken.

He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes searching yours for something — maybe reassurance, maybe something deeper.

"Tell me you want this." he breathes, his thumb circling faster.

“I want it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I want you, Kento… don't stop, please…”

That seems to be all he needs. He growls low in his throat, his grip tightening as he thrusts into you with renewed fervor, each movement harder, deeper, pushing you both to the edge of oblivion. Your hands clutch his hair, pulling him closer as you feel the coil tightening in your belly, threatening to snap.

He shifts again, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you, and you scream, the sound raw and needy, your body trembling. You can feel the heat pooling, feel the tension building to an unbearable point.

He leans back slightly, watching you with hooded eyes, and the sight of him — pupils blown wide, lips parted, sweat slicking his skin — sends a new wave of desire crashing through you.

“Come for me, baby.” he commands, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Let me feel you.”

The words push you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you shatter, pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Kento groans, feeling you clench around him, and he thrusts a few more times before he’s there too, his own release surging through him with a low, guttural sound.

You collapse against him, both of you panting, bodies trembling and slick with sweat. For a moment, you just stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the aftershocks of what you’ve just shared. He strokes your back gently, his breath still uneven, his heart pounding against yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice filled with concern, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smile, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. "More than okay, baby." you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, tasting the salt of your shared exertion on his lips. "I don't want this to end.”

“I missed you.” He whispered lowly as he pressed a kiss on your palm. “More than you ever could know.”

You smiled at him. “Me too, my love.”

“I want to come home….and make things right.” Your husband tells you, his eyes tortured by desperation. “I want to make it up to you.”

“I know.” You nodded at him, leaning forward and kissing his chin. “Just come home. We’ll figure it out….like we always do.”