#What if you were too glass half-full and i was too glass half-empty… And together we could make a full glass……….

[batboysanonymous]

Bird in a Cage (Extended Version)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Grief turned Y/N into a ghost of herself, drowning in the unbearable silence of a bond that should have shattered—unaware that her mate still breathed, just beyond her reach.

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The City of Starlight was quieter without him.

Not the kind of quiet that soothed, but the kind that suffocated.

Velaris had always been a sanctuary—a beacon of warmth carved from darkness. The place Azriel had loved most in the world, the place where they had built a life together, where his laughter—so rare, so precious—had once melted into the hum of the city.

Now, it was a tomb.

Y/N barely recognized herself anymore.

The mirror reflected a ghost.

Her skin, once kissed by the sun, had paled into something colorless, something brittle. Her lips—Azriel had always traced them with his fingers, with his mouth, worshipped them like they were made of stardust—were chapped, cracked from the relentless winter air she no longer cared to shield herself from.

But her eyes—her eyes were the worst.

They had once been filled with fire. They had burned when she was angry, glowed when she laughed, softened when Azriel looked at her like she was his entire world.

Now, they were empty.

Hollowed.

Dulled by grief.

The bond—it was the cruelest thing of all.

It should have broken.

The moment he died, it should have shattered inside her like glass, the way everyone said it would.

But it hadn’t.

Instead, it had gone quiet.

Not severed. Not gone. Just… silent.

She should have felt it snap, should have felt something inside her tear apart at the moment his heart stopped beating. But she hadn’t.

And she hated that she hadn’t.

Because it left her with questions.

With doubt.

With a tiny, traitorous whisper in the back of her mind that refused to believe he was truly gone.

A whisper that tormented her in the darkest hours of the night.

When she woke, gasping, chest heaving, reaching out for something—someone—who wasn’t there.

When she swore she could feel the ghost of his presence lingering in the room, the faintest whisper of his scent curling through the air.

When her soul still ached, as if something tethered it to a mate that no longer existed.

But that was just grief, wasn’t it?

The way it twisted things. The way it made you believe in impossibilities.

Her mate.

Her husband.

Her best friend.

Gone.

She curled further into the window seat, a thick blanket draped over her shoulders, though it did nothing to warm her. She didn’t feel warmth anymore.

Beyond the glass, Velaris glittered under the night sky, so full of life.

The Sidra River shimmered beneath the glow of the city’s lights. Laughter echoed through the streets, the faint melody of a string quartet drifting from a café near the water. Couples strolled hand in hand, shadows twining together beneath the lanterns.

It was all the same.

As if the world had not ended.

As if Azriel had not died.

As if everything had not been ripped apart at the seams.

It was unbearable.

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“Y/N.”

The voice was soft. Careful.

Rhysand.

She didn’t turn to look at him.

She knew how he saw her.

Knew what he was thinking.

That she was slipping away.

That she had already slipped too far.

“I brought you dinner.”

She swallowed.

Her gaze flickered to the plate he placed on the small table beside her.

Her favorite meal.

She had no appetite.

She hadn’t for weeks.

“Eat,” Rhys pressed, lowering himself into the armchair across from her.

She didn’t.

His sigh was barely more than a breath.

“Feyre is worried about you,” he said carefully. “We all are.”

Her jaw tightened.

Her jaw tightened, the tendons in her neck pulled taut as if they might snap under the weight of the silence between them.

Rhysand didn’t look away.

“Y/N…” His voice was quiet. Careful.

Like he was afraid she might break.

She clenched her fists beneath the blanket, nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood. Maybe she wanted to. Maybe she wanted to feel something that wasn’t this hollow, gnawing ache in her chest.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, her voice flat, lifeless.

Another beat of silence. A pause thick with things unsaid.

Then, carefully—too carefully—

“The bond hasn’t broken.”

The words landed like a knife between her ribs.

Her breath hitched.

She went utterly still.

For a moment, the sounds of Velaris—the distant hum of laughter, the faint notes of music drifting from a tavern, the rustling of the wind against the glass—faded into nothing.

She hadn’t told him that.

Hadn’t told anyone.

Because it was impossible.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The bond should have shattered the second Azriel took his last breath. Should have ripped itself from her, leaving only a gaping, unbearable emptiness in its wake. That was what happened when one mate lost the other. That was what she had expected—the pain, the tearing, the finality of it.

But there had been no breaking.

No shattering.

Only silence.

A cruel, hollow silence that left her questioning everything.

“I don’t know why,” she admitted after a long moment, her voice hoarse, frayed at the edges. “I should have—felt it. When he—”

The word stuck in her throat like poison.

She couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t force it past the raw, aching knot in her chest.

Rhys didn’t press her.

Didn’t finish the sentence for her.

But he didn’t look surprised, either.

The realization sent a chill down her spine.

She turned her head slowly, her eyes locking onto his for the first time in days.

Violet met Y/E/C.

Something flickered there.

Something off.

Something withholding.

A flicker of hesitation. A fleeting flash of guilt.

“… What?” she rasped.

Rhysand shook his head. Too quickly. “Nothing.”

It was a lie.

She could see it in the way his throat bobbed, in the way his fingers twitched before stilling, in the way his power coiled subtly around him as if bracing for something.

Rhysand was many things.

A High Lord. A brother. A friend.

But above all, he was a master of deception.

She had seen him weave lies with silken ease, had watched him manipulate and maneuver people like a game of chess—always three steps ahead, always knowing exactly what pieces to move and when.

And now, he was lying to her.

She should have pressed him. Should have torn the truth from his lips, demanded to know why.

But she didn’t.

Because if he was lying—if he was hiding something—she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Because the truth, whatever it was, could be worse than the lie she had been living in.

So she let it go.

She had no more energy to fight.

And that night, when she closed her eyes, the dream came again.

Azriel.

Standing just beyond the veil of shadows, his hazel eyes locked onto hers.

He never spoke.

Never moved.

Just watched.

And she—she always ran toward him.

Always reached for him.

But the moment her fingers brushed his—

He disappeared.

Vanishing into smoke.

The loss of him—again—ripped through her like a blade.

She woke with a start, gasping, her body shaking, drenched in sweat.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts.

And the bond—

It was there.

Faint. Muted.

Like something was blocking it.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm.

No.

No, she was imagining it.

This was what grief did.

It twisted things.

Warped reality.

Made you believe in impossibilities.

Azriel was dead.

The bond hadn’t broken.

And she would never know why.

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Cassian slammed his fists against Rhysand’s desk so hard the wood cracked.

“You have to tell her.”

Rhys barely flinched. He remained seated, fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. The picture of calm. But Cassian knew better.

There was a storm brewing beneath that composed mask.

“I will tell her when the time is right,” Rhys said evenly.

Cassian barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “The time was weeks ago. Do you even see her, Rhys? Do you see what she’s become?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

So Cassian pressed forward, his wings flaring, barely able to keep his rage in check. “She’s withering. She doesn’t eat. She doesn’t sleep. She stares out that fucking window like she’s waiting for death to come collect her.” His voice dropped, turned guttural, desperate. “She is not surviving this. And you are letting it happen.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flashed.

“I am protecting her.”

Cassian slammed his hands down again. “From what? From knowing her mate is alive? From knowing the truth?”

Rhys stood, slow and measured, his power pressing against the room, dark and furious. “From false hope.”

Cassian scoffed. “False—” He let out a sharp breath, dragging his hands through his hair. “She feels the bond, Rhys. She knows something isn’t right. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is destroying her.”

Rhys’s fingers curled into fists.

“She deserves the truth,” Mor said quietly from the doorway.

Cassian turned, startled to see her standing there, her golden eyes lined with pain.

Mor never took his side over Rhys’s.

And yet—

“She’s drowning,” Mor continued, stepping forward, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “And you’re letting her.”

Something flickered across Rhys’s face—guilt, maybe. Regret.

He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through his nose.

Then—

“I will tell her.”

Cassian didn’t release the breath he was holding. Not yet.

“When?” he demanded.

Rhys hesitated.

Cassian’s blood boiled. “Not when it’s convenient for you, Rhys. Now.”

Rhys opened his mouth—

And then, the sound of footsteps echoed through the River House.

The three of them turned.

Y/N stood at the threshold, her face pale, her eyes dull but watchful.

Cassian’s stomach dropped.

How much had she heard?

He didn’t have to wonder for long.

“You’re hiding something,” she said.

Not a question.

Rhys went still.

Cassian swallowed hard, his throat thick.

“Y/N—”

She turned her gaze on Rhys, cutting off whatever weak excuse Cassian knew was about to leave his mouth.

“Why do I still feel the bond?” she whispered.

Rhys hesitated.

And that was his mistake.

Y/N sucked in a breath, her lips parting slightly.

Cassian saw it happen—the exact moment she knew.

“… No.”

Rhys took a step toward her. “It’s not what you think—”

“He’s alive?”

Her voice broke on the last word.

The walls closed in.

Cassian felt his own knees nearly buckle at the sheer devastation in her voice.

Y/N stumbled back a step, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

And then—

She turned and ran.

Cassian moved to follow, but Rhys stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Let her go,” Rhys murmured, his voice tight.

Cassian shoved his hand away. “Are you fucking serious?”

Rhys didn’t respond.

Cassian didn’t care.

Because Y/N had just learned the most important truth of her life—

And she had learned it alone.

And none of them knew if she would ever forgive them for it.

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By the time Cassian stormed back into the study, the walls trembled with the weight of Rhysand’s magic. A silent rage cloaked the room, dark and suffocating, shadows stretching unnaturally as if his power itself recoiled from what had just happened.

Mor stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the floor. Guilt weighed heavy in her golden gaze.

“You don’t get to walk away from this,” Cassian growled, slamming the door behind him.

Rhys didn’t move from where he stood near his desk, his jaw tight, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white.

“She deserved the truth,” Mor said softly, her voice raw.

“She deserved better than this,” Cassian snapped.

Rhys’s power pulsed, the chandeliers rattling above them. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, shaking with restrained fury.

“Then why?” Cassian demanded. “Why did you let her suffer? Why did you break her?”

Rhys turned to them then, violet eyes dark with something unreadable. Something haunted.

“Because I had no choice.”

Cassian’s wings flared, his body thrumming with unspent rage. “Bullshit.”

Rhys exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “If she had known—if she had felt the bond the way she was supposed to—she would have gone after him.”

Cassian stilled. “What?”

Mor frowned. “But the bond was—”

“Blocked,” Rhys finished. “Because I had to block it.”

The air shifted, the weight of those words settling like a stone in Cassian’s chest.

“You blocked their bond?” Mor whispered, disbelief painting every syllable.

Rhys lifted his chin, unapologetic. “I had to. Azriel is on a mission that cannot be compromised.”

A sick feeling curled in Cassian’s gut. “What mission?”

Rhys hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then—

“We found out that Koschei has allies—ones we didn’t account for,” Rhys said, his voice tight. “They captured Azriel. They tortured him. Nearly broke him.” His throat bobbed. “But he got out. And when he did, he realized something.”

Cassian and Mor exchanged a wary glance.

“What?” Cassian asked.

Rhys’s eyes gleamed with something dark. Something dangerous.

“That he could end them.”

A slow, cold dread crept up Cassian’s spine.

Rhys went on. “He knew he couldn’t come back. Knew that if he did, they would find him, find us. So he let us believe he was dead. We barely got to him in time, barely found out before it was too late. He’s been playing a long game, infiltrating their ranks, feeding us information from within.”

Mor’s breath hitched. “For how long?”

“Since the night he went missing,” Rhys murmured. “Since the night he died to us.”

Cassian swallowed hard. “And the bond?”

Rhys’s gaze darkened. “It had to be silenced. If she had felt him, if he had felt her, she would have known he was alive. And she would have gone after him. And if she had—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “They would have killed them both.”

Mor’s hands trembled where she held herself.

Cassian clenched his jaw, but there was no denying the truth of Rhys’s words.

If Y/N had known—if she had even suspected—she would have torn apart the world to find Azriel.

And she would have died trying.

“So why now?” Cassian rasped. “Why tell her now?”

Rhys’s throat bobbed.

“Because he’s coming home,” he whispered.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Cassian swore under his breath.

Mor closed her eyes.

Rhys turned toward the window, gazing out at the city below.

“He’s not the same,” Rhys admitted, so quietly it was nearly lost in the hush of the room. “I don’t know who he’ll be when he returns.” A pause. “I don’t know if she’ll even recognize him.”

Cassian ran a hand over his face. “And you didn’t think she deserved to prepare for that?”

Rhys’s eyes gleamed as he looked at them.

“No,” he said. “Because she deserves to see him. To feel the bond the way she was meant to. Not as a whisper, not as an absence—but as a promise.”

Cassian’s throat tightened.

Because if Azriel was coming home—

It meant the game was ending.

And none of them knew what pieces would be left standing.

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The world had ended once before.

The day Azriel died.

Or at least—the day she thought he had.

The grief had come like a tidal wave, unrelenting and merciless. It had drowned her, pulled her under until she forgot what it felt like to breathe. She had mourned him, had shattered beneath the weight of a love ripped away too soon, had tried to understand why the bond—the thing that should have severed the moment his heart stopped beating—had remained.

She had screamed at it. Had begged it to break, to free her from the unbearable agony of existing without him.

But it hadn’t.

And she had hated herself for what that meant.

For the sliver of hope that had curled in her chest despite the impossibility of it.

But she had silenced it. Forced herself to accept that it was simply another cruelty of fate, a mistake, a malfunction of whatever magic tied them together.

Azriel was gone.

And she—

She had become nothing.

Now, standing on the landing, her hands shaking violently as the night stretched before her, she wasn’t sure how to exist in a world where that was no longer true.

Where he was alive.

Her heart was a wild, frantic thing in her chest, slamming against her ribs as if trying to escape. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the city behind her, the voices inside the River House, the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind.

She could feel him.

Not a faint whisper, not a distant echo of something she had convinced herself was grief—him.

Close.

Real.

And then—

The steady, haunting sound of wings.

Her breath caught.

Her body froze.

The world seemed to still.

A shadow swept across the sky, darkening the stars, and she felt it the moment he arrived. Felt it in her bones, in the sharp pull of the bond that slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave, so overwhelming it sent her staggering back.

She choked on a breath, her vision blurring, her chest aching with the sudden, uncontrollable flood of emotion.

It had never been like this.

Even before, even when the bond had first clicked into place, it had never been this—wild.

This raw. This desperate.

Like it had been waiting.

Like it had been starving.

Like it had known what she hadn’t.

Azriel landed.

The impact sent a gust of wind swirling around her, whipping strands of hair across her face, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Because he was there.

Not a dream.

Not a ghost.

Not a cruel trick of her mind, taunting her with something she could never have again.

Her mate.

Her mate was alive.

He was thinner.

The sharp angles of his face were more pronounced, his golden-brown skin tinged with exhaustion. His leathers clung to his frame, battle-worn and stiff, and his hazel eyes—

Gods, his eyes.

They locked onto hers, widening as if he, too, could barely believe what he was seeing.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, his hands clenching at his sides as his body visibly shook.

Her throat closed.

She couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t move.

Because if she did, she might wake up.

She might wake up again to a cold, empty bed, to a bond that still existed but didn’t feel.

She might wake up and realize that this was just another dream—another nightmare.

And she couldn’t survive that.

Not again.

A broken sound tore from her throat, her knees buckling, and that was all it took.

Azriel moved.

One step. Then another. And then—

She was in his arms.

A sob ripped from her lips as she collapsed into him, her fingers clutching at his leathers, at his shoulders, his back—anywhere she could hold, anywhere that would prove that this wasn’t a lie.

Azriel exhaled sharply against her hair, his arms locking around her so tight it was almost painful, as if he thought she might slip away if he didn’t hold her close enough.

The bond snapped.

A jolt of pure, unfiltered connection crashed through her, so powerful that she gasped, her body trembling violently as the walls that had dulled it for weeks shattered in an instant.

It was like breathing again after drowning.

Like sunlight after an eternity in the dark.

She felt everything.

His heartbeat—wild, erratic, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

The way his chest heaved, the way his hands fisted in the back of her sweater like she might disappear.

The way his entire body shook against hers, like he, too, was barely holding himself together.

His scent wrapped around her, heady and overwhelming—home.

She let out another strangled sob, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing him in, needing to memorize the way he felt, the way he smelled, the way their bond sang so loudly it was nearly unbearable.

“I thought I lost you,” she choked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Azriel inhaled sharply.

His fingers traced over her back, shaking as he pulled away just enough to cup her face, to tilt her chin up until their eyes met.

He looked wrecked.

His throat bobbed. His hazel eyes were damp.

And his voice—

His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Something inside her shattered.

Her hands flew to his face, tracing the sharp planes of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, the rougher skin where a new scar cut across his temple.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch, his breath catching, his grip tightening on her waist.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He swallowed.

“I know.”

Her lip trembled. “I grieved you.”

His hands trembled as they slid into her hair, as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I know,” he rasped, pain cracking through his voice.

She sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut.

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Pt. II? 😏

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Taglist: onebadassunicorn, k-godling, masbt1218, suggesteddoubletake, vanserrasimp, meritxellao

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[fumifooms]

Holy mother of Chilchuck and Marcille and marchil-

I don't wanna think about my father dyin' I don't wanna hear my mother cryin' I don't wanna look into the mirror tryin' not to lose my shit Flowin' like lava down the side of a mountain Man in the jungle lookin' for a fountain of youth But he knows that fountain won't appear... fear If it all ends tomorrow I had a blast It looked so beautiful And it hurt so bad What a real good time What a heartfelt world What a fucked up place Searchin' for knowledge Walkin' through fire Man in a garden filled with desire I know my name ain't written in your book... look If it all ends tomorrow I had a blast It looked so beautiful And it hurt so bad What a real good time What a heartfelt world What a fucked up place What a real good time What a heartfelt world What a fucked up place

It’s literally got everything it’s just marchil at the end my god. Death, fear of death & aging, resignation, cheery "whatever, as long as I had a good time!", looking at the world both with romantic glasses and harsh realistic cynicism.……….. The way the first verse can apply to both of them… I am deceased

[tonycries]

Initiation!

Synopsis. “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader, Geto Suguru x Reader, Fushiguro Toji x Reader, brief Nanami x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fratboy! JJK men, gangbang, frat sweetheart! reader, cumplay, choking, oral (male + female), anal, double penetration, cunnilingus, Suguru is MEAN - so is everyone else, some heinous things idek how to tag, unprotected, no curses! AU, marking, pet names (princess, darling, doll), swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Am not the same person I was before I wrote this…

Art by @_3aem on X.

Tequila was your best friend when Suguru and Satoru weren’t around.

Which is probably why you were five shots deep before 9pm, heavy bass thrumming through your veins and sleek tabletop steady under your rocky heels.

Everything was a blur. The pulsing neon lights, cheers following your every sway and twirl, and the atmosphere heavy with beer and laughter in that heady Jujutsu Phi frat house. 

You almost miss that familiar flash of cloudy white locks and those narrowed black eyes greedily watching your hips to the beat. Almost. 

An excited exclamation of “There’s our all-new sweetheart!”. And the world tilts.

Falling down really does feel good. Especially when the ground is so warm - and smells faintly of overpriced cologne. 

“Careful, there, Satoru. Wouldn’t wanna hurt the sweetheart right before initiation.” 

A pair of strong arms underneath you, and a deep voice hot against your ear. “Havin’ a lotta fun without us, huh?”

Oh, you’d recognize those devastatingly handsome faces anywhere. You blink, eyebrows furrowed slightly at your best friends as you tried to focus on their words. “Sweetheart? Me?”

To your right, Suguru nods slowly, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Absolutely. Who else? No one better we can think of, darling.” 

Satoru’s eager voice chimes in, “As presidents, and the only men to binge Bridgerton with you, we love you. The frat brothers love you too, especially our supervisor.”

“Mmm, I dunno. What do I hafta do?” face heating and words slurring together, in your alcohol-induced haze, you miss the devilish glance shared between the two. 

Satoru chuckles, a dark glint in his eyes, “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.”

Your laughter is infectious, and without much hesitation you raise your empty shot glass in toast, “Hmm, deal! To the newest frat sweetheart! How hard can it be?”

---

The consequences aren’t half as fun as the chaos.

Wincing at the dull ache reverberating in your head, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings in the dim lighting. Still disoriented and bleary-eyed, you sink into soft navy bed sheets.

Ah, soft. So soft. Warm, with a tinge of candied apples.

Satoru.

Slight panic setting in, and Satoru’s room swaying ever-so-slightly, you try to will away the overplayed pop pounding from the party still raging below - focusing on the whispered conversation at the foot of the bed..

“---blast at the party------”

“------frat---sweetheart.”

Head snapping up in a daze, the word “sweetheart” echoes in your ears. 

Something heated and prickly pools in your stomach as fragments of memories from not too long ago begin to piece themselves together. 

Your dawning realization - and sense of impending doom - is interrupted by a soft hum of delight

“Well, well, look who’s finally awake - our dear sweetheart.” Satoru teases, while Suguru, with his arms crossed, chuckles.

Liquor suddenly nowhere on your mind, your heart races - something about the suggestive gleam in their eyes doesn’t exactly ease your nerves. Your cheeks flare, the room feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker. 

You sit up, rubbing your temples, and the two of them exchange loaded glances that send shivers creeping down your spine.

Satoru pushes himself off the wall with a devious smirk, taking a deliberate step closer. “How’s our sweetheart feeling? You knocked out for a good hour or two, y’know. Was almost worried you’d miss the initiation~”

“What the fuck did I agree to?” you mutter to yourself. Yet, Suguru answers anyway, his voice a dangerous purr, “Just a little test of courage, darling. But don’t you worry; we’ll take very good care of you.”

Satoru nods, his gaze intense. “It’s all in good fun, princess. You’ll see.” His warm breath grazes your face as they tower over you, inching closer and closer. “Now, you wouldn’t go back on your word, would you?”

Goosebumps erupt along your shoulders at the proximity - and the realization - all the way down to where your thighs were desperately squeezing together. Shit.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. It was hard to be best friends with them for years and not hear about the whispered rumors of how they were in bed. Enough to send a woman to heaven - or the hospital - they said. And you couldn’t deny that ugly little part of you that was sinfully curious.

A beat passes in the suddenly charged air. As if they were waiting. Studying your reaction - like predators stalking their cornered prey. Will you run away? Will you fight? Will you submit to them completely?

The room is silent, except for the distant thump of the music below, seemingly miles away. 

One. Two

Finally - not trusting yourself to speak - you manage a nod. 

Darkened blue eyes meet Suguru’s half-lidded ones, a silent understanding passing between them before resting on you - splayed out on the bed and tight dress hiking up so enticingly.

Oh. 

Oh, shit. You were in for it.

Without warning, Satoru surges forward, lips catching yours in a bruising kiss. You whine against his soft lips, the distinct taste of Baileys and Satoru completely filling your senses - you almost don’t register the slow, purposeful trail of kisses Suguru leaves down your heated neck. Almost.

Skin searing where his lips linger along your jawline, Suguru murmurs, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity right to your core. “Shhh, relax, darling. We’ll take care of everything.”

Maybe it was the way Suguru’s words were dripping in lust and something dangerous, tongue darting out to lick a long, sensual stripe up your neck.

Or maybe it was the way Satoru was sloppily licking at your lips, thumb pushing your chin down to suck on your tongue with his candy lips. But the room was spinning - and this time, it wasn’t the alcohol. 

“T-Toru- Sugu-” a muffled whine you barely even recognize rips from the back of your throat - and it was like something snapped. Maybe their restraint, maybe their sanity - definitely you by the end of this.

A hand hot on your thigh - Suguru’s or Satoru’s? You don’t have the time to wonder, the sequins hit the ground before you even realize what is happening. 

Skin-tight dress now in tatters on Satoru’s carpeted floor, you shudder as the cold air hits your heated skin. Large hands everywhere. Cupping your ass, tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra. Leaving your underwear in such a disarray as if it killed them to see you clothed.

“Shit. Suguru, look at this.” Satoru’s groans lowly, predatory gaze transfixed on the sight of your dripping cunt..

“Oh fuck, darling. Were you all ready and expecting this, hm? Our perfect lil’ slut.” Suguru’s smiles sinfully as he looms closer, a long finger playing teasingly with the thin fabric of your now-soaked panties.

You buck your hips, desperate for more fiction, as a manicured nail lightly grazes your swollen folds. Shit, and you thought Suguru would be the nicer of the two. “Please, Sugu.”

“Now now. Behave, darling. Wouldn’t want to get off on a wrong start to the initiation.” Suguru hums, pulling off your panties completely as Satoru’s iron-hold grip on your hips pin you helplessly to the bed. You struggle pathetically, leaking pussy aching for more more more.

And Satoru - your ever-merciful Satoru - listens to your desperate keens. Because, agonizingly slow, he drops to his knees, eye-level with your quivering pussy. 

“I’ll be taking this as payment, princess.” he hums, hot breath hitting your cunt in a way that almost makes you miss the way he snatches your wet panties right out of Suguru’s hands. As if a prize to be won.

Your face burns at the humiliation - or maybe at the way strong hands wrestle your thighs open. You gasp at the burn of the stretch, tense air grazing your throbbing clit as Suguru lets out a low whistle in appreciation.

You were so exposed. So vulnerable. And these fuckers hadn’t even taken off their goddamn shirts yet. 

Mouth opening to retort - or maybe beg for an ounce of friction, just anything that would-

Bang!

Dazed, you whirl your head towards where the door had now slammed open. In your lust-induced haze, you barely register the notion that someone else was going to see you so spread so shamefully and dripping all over Satoru’s sheets. Ah, they were going to scream. They were going to run away-

“Aww, already started without me?” a deep voice rumbles, raspy, dangerous. “Shit, these two brats weren’t kiddin’, you’re such a doll, aren’t you?” 

Satoru’s smirk grows at the slick pooling at your core as you make out just who it was that stood so imposingly at the door. 

Toji Fushiguro.

Someone you’d heard of more than you’d seen - for several reasons. Known around campus as the long-standing supervisor for Jujutsu Phi, but known more popularly amongst students as the man with a dick to die for.

The shutting of the heavy wooden door reverberates across the electrifying air inside. Your mouth drops into a soft oh as you spot the rock-hard cock straining furiously against Toji’s trousers, a dark patch of precum already pooling at the tip.

Oh. No wonder they say his dick can split you in half. 

Eyes following his every purposeful step towards the bed, you absent-mindedly wonder whether your best friends were hiding a matching achingly hard cocks. 

“Oh, fuck yes. Such a pretty pussy.” Toji appraises your cunt, greedily eyeing the way your walls flutter around nothing, slick pooling where Satoru was but a few inches away from where you needed him the most.

“Yo, old man. Catch.” Satoru’s voice rings in the loaded air. Muscled arms flexing, Toji easily catches the flimsy piece of fabric thrown at him, a lecherous smile growing as he realizes what it is.  “M’gonna have a lot of fun with you, doll.”

“Don’t count us out now, Toji. I’ll be making sure she’s absolutely ruined.” Suguru’s slow, sinful drawl has your head spinning.

Probably for the first time in his life, Satoru doesn’t speak.

Instead, he dives nose-deep in your cunt. Pretty ruby lips meeting your swollen ones, urgently lapping up your sweet juices, as if a man dying of thirst.

“Hah- Oh! Toru!” you whine, hips bucking up into his hot tongue as he bullies past your folds and into your quivering entrance, hurried yet methodical. You could feel Satoru’s lips curling at the lewd whimpers ripping from your throat. Bruising grip on your hips pulling you impossibly deeper onto his greedy tongue. 

He wastes no time - stretching you out on his tongue so sinfully, dipping in and out of your dripping hole at a merciless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Hope you didn’t forget us, darling. I’d be heartbroken.” Suguru’s mocking words ring in your ears. Not completely present with Satoru’s dizzying abuse on your cunt, you can do nothing as Suguru snakes a hand down to your heated core. 

“Don’t move, doll.” 

And before you know it, two more sets of hands are unforgivingly on you.

All you can do is just lay there and take it as Suguru’s cruel, slender fingers tease your folds, up and down up and down - pointedly skipping your throbbing clit. A languid, sadistic smile spreads across his face as you whine in desperation.

Where Satoru was generous and impatient, Suguru wanted to make you cry. How could you ever have thought he’d be the nice one?

Hasty lips are on yours now, a small scar rubbing your lips in a way that so obscenely reminded you of the tongue still ruthlessly fucking into you right now. Pulling away mere centimeters, Toji murmurs lowly, “Open your mouth.”

As if on auto-pilot, you groan as Toji's steady stream of spit hits your ready tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of your head at the warm feeling, tasting of sin and everything you shouldn’t be doing.

Thick, calloused fingers squeeze your cheeks together, his spit now drooling down the corner of your mouth. “Now, show me what those pretty lips can do.” Toji grits out. 

Your eyes widen as he pulls down his pants just enough for his furiously hard cock to spring free, sculpted thighs straddling the side of your face. 

Thick and unforgiving. A prominent vein twirling delicately down his monstrous length. Precum leaking onto his sculpted abdomen, dripping erotically down to mix with your soaked underwear in his veined hand gripping the base.

Nervous eyes flitting between Toji’s bulging cock in front of you, to the slick dripping down Suguru’s wrist, and Satoru’s hooded eyes, miles away, and grinning devilishly around your cunt - you’re sure of one thing - you’d be damn lucky to make it out alive.

Toji’s throbbing head pokes your kiss-bitten lips, precum salty on your tongue. He spares no mercy.

“C’mon now. If you’re actin’ like such a cockslut then learn to take it like one.” Searing grip on your hair, Toji pushes his cock all the way down your ready throat, using your mouth as if it was nothing more than his favorite fucktoy. Maybe you’ll become his favorite fucktoy.

Your pathetic, wet gurgles mix with the lewd squelches of your cunt as Toji’s heavy balls hit your chin. Fat head hitting the back of your throat and your nose pressed into the tufts of thick, black hair at his pelvis. “Mmm fuck yeah.” he groans, thick fingers pressing around your neck to feel his dick down your throat. 

Drawing low hisses as you tongue at his slit, you breath in the heady scent of Toji and you on your panties and Toji-

“Look s’pretty gagging on his cock, darling.” Suguru’s voice is still silken smooth, mockingly pressing a kiss to your cheek. Pooling the trail of spit and precum on his tongue, before licking a long, languid stripe.

“F-fucking freak.” Toji huffs out a laugh, relishing the way you moan so lewdly around his cock. “Oh? You like that, doll? Little slut, aren’t ya?”

A dangerous chuckle, and he’s thrusting animalistically into your poor, pretty mouth. Balls tightening each time his thick cock disappears into your mouth, lips stretching almost-painfully to accommodate him. Toji’s hand closes tighter around your throat, blocking your airway. Making you choke and gasp for air around his cock, blood roaring in your ears.

Shit, he was going to break you.

Suguru’s clever mouth was on your aching tits now, jolts of electricity going straight to your cunt as he tweaks and teases your hardened nipples. Thumb rubbing harshly over your sensitive tip the way he wouldn’t with your clit. Over and over-

“Suguru, gimme the bra.” you whine, hips bucking as Satoru’s muffled words send vibrations exactly where you wanted.

In a flash, your bra is unclasped and thrown to Satoru. Wrapping it around one large hand, it disappears where you cannot see. Yet the jerky, impatient movements of his hand below - up, up, up - and down have your walls clamping down desperately on Satoru’s tongue.

Ah, he looked so pretty when he was shut up with his mouth full of your dripping cunt. Fucked out whimpers leave Satoru’s throat at each flick of his tongue, fucking your pretty pussy with his mouth till you felt raw.

Suguru - the ever-graceful Suguru - had his brows furrowed desperately. Lips messy with spit as he bites and teases your nipples hard, making you cry out in wet, little gurgles that muffle around the throbbing erection in your mouth, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Toji’s heavy balls stinging your face as he bottoms out with each harsh shove down your throat. 

He didn’t care if you could breathe - as long as you sucked the ever-loving soul out of him.

The heady air is urgent now. Hasty movements now becoming more and more frenzied. Mindless with lust. Filthy. Debauched. It was so fucking sinful. 

So it only made sense that your orgasm was the same.

You see white as you cum - or maybe that was the hot, thick ropes of seed that Toji painted your face with. Moans muffled and hips bucking deliriously, you moan breathlessly as neither of the three men give up their relentless abuse. 

Your head shot up blindly in pleasure, sharp teeth digging into your shoulder - hard enough to break skin. Suguru. 

Wrestled down onto the bed by three sets of strong arms still groping the expanse of your body, you ride out your white-hot high on the taste of Toji slipping down your throat, Satoru’s still merciless tongue, and Suguru’s index finally pressing down on your throbbing clit. Hard. 

Blood roaring in your ears, your vision blurs as you sink into the mattress. You think you’re in heaven, and it was only fitting that these demons with angelic faces were the first things that you see there.

“You alright, darling? Can’t have you go passing out on us mid-initiation, now.” Suguru tuts, sharing a glance with Satoru, who was absolutely dripping in satisfaction - and your slick, prettily glossing his lips and nose.

“Mmm- s’fucked out. Ah-” Your violent climax leaves you limp, and you feel like a fucking ragdoll with the way Suguru wraps a steady arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly close against him. You whine as your stinging tits meet his toned body, sticky with the heat of the room. When did he even take his shirt off? 

Satoru isn’t too far behind, with little care for the buttons flinging across the room as he rips his shirt open - creamy chest peeking out in all its chiseled glory. Shit.

You almost miss the bed shifting as Toji sits on the edge, watching the three of you with greedy eyes as he fists his cum-covered cock with your panties. Teasing, purposeful movements up his length.

Suguru’s hand stroking your face, Satoru’s on your hips.

“After all that princess, you deserve a little treat.” Satoru purrs lowly, lips glistening with your juices and breath hot against your ear. Shivers run along your spine - right down to where he was groping and playfully swatting your ass. Darkened eyes narrowed at the way it jiggled against his large hands. 

“T-treat? Wha-” 

Your disoriented stammers are stuck in your throat as Suguru shoves two long fingers into your mouth. Whatever moans leaving your lips are choked and muffled as he forces you to taste yourself. 

Fingers intertwining with your tongue, you’re delirious with the want for more more more - and evidently, Suguru is too, throbbing and leaking with need as he pushes his soiled boxers down. Something cold makes you flinch as your quivering thigh grazes his clothed erection. 

Oh. Who knew your best friend had a dick piercing?

“Fuck, darling. Really should’ve done this sooner.” he murmurs, voice thick with lust and more to himself than you. “Mhm. You don’t know how hard it was to not bend you over and stuff you till you can’t speak, princess~” a whisper from behind you - Satoru.

Before you know it, Satoru’s lips find yours in a fiery kiss amidst it all. As if he couldn’t get enough of the sweet taste of your cunt - and probably never will. 

Suguru is languid and unhurried where Satoru is impatient and starved, rutting desperately against your ass. 

Every twirl of Suguru’s finger is deliberate, leaving a trail of lingering electricity in its wake. And with searing passion, Satoru’s tongue tastes you in all the ways he possibly could. The three of you tangled in an unholy act. 

Fuck, it was messy. So fucking messy. 

Delicate strings of saliva and slick connecting you to the two as drool drips down the corner of your mouth, eyes scrunched closed at the sinful pleasure.

“Fucking freaks.” Toji spits out, eyeing Satoru’s fingers inching closer and closer to your ass, deftly prodding at your quivering entrance. Yet, his movements only grow more urgent, fucking his fist in desperate need to cum - to cum all over you once more.

Satoru pulls away, and you shiver at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting your rim. Once. Twice. Thrice just to watch the way your hole quivers so obscenely for him. 

In the haze of the pure want of the three men around you, it slowly dawns on you that they won’t stop until they’ve fucked you half to death. And you cunt clenches in anticipation. 

Maybe you really were a little slut. 

Suguru only has his flushed tip kissing your folds, but you already feel so fucking full. Maybe it was the way Satoru was now bullying long, pale fingers through that first, tight little circle of muscle. Scissoring you open, hooking a thumb to stretch your slutty hole till he was more than satisfied. 

Through the corner of your eye, you watch Toji. Eyes half-lidded, gaze locked with yours, and looming closer towards you. 

Before you knew it, a rough hand grasps yours, wrapping so daintily around Toji’s fat, leaking tip. Guiding your hand, thumbing his slit to pull his dick in harsh, mindless pulls to get off. It has your sensitive cunt so heated and dripping, slick trailing down your shaky legs. 

“Suguru, think our little sweetheart is ready? Don’t think I can hold back any longer, all her pretty holes are begging me to fuck her.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive. Maybe you didn’t want to.

He doesn’t wait for a response. Your surprised yelps are gagged on Suguru’s fingers as Satoru sheaths himself in your ready hole. A low groan ripping from his throat as you clamp down on him, struggling to bear with the delicious stretch. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, despite the panic setting in, as he pushes deeper and deeper. Inch by inch. “Fuck s’tight. So tight, princess.”

Was he even halfway in? He had to be, right?

Arm now burning with the feeling of Toji fucking his throbbing erection into your fist, you risk a glance behind you, catching a glimpse of the deliciously flushed cock pressing into you. Long, pale, so pretty - so Satoru. 

Chuckling at the dilemma on your face, Suguru hums. “Now, Satoru. That hardly seems fair. Don’t be greedy.” And at that last word, Suguru’s leaking tip pushes past your entrance - thick , with a long vein running down the middle, cold metal of his piercing making your walls twitch - grunting at the resistance that came with being so fucking full from both ends. 

“Just getting to fucking her already. Look at the pretty doll, so eager to please. She’s begging for it.” you moan at Toji’s impatient comment, his precum coating your hand a pretty gloss. You’re fucking yourself in mindless, shallow, bounces that have you split open on both throbbing cocks. 

Satoru’s hand snaking down to wildly draw circles on your clit, jolting at the overstimulation, whine deliriously as both Satoru and Suguru bottom out inside of you. 

Deep moans bouncing off the walls - tight, so tight. You were going to make them pass out. Or worse, cum before you.

“S’alright hah- Fuck!” Suguru can barely get the words out, you’ve never seen Suguru - all grace and poise - lose his composure like this. A slave to desire. And if Suguru was losing control then Satoru was on the edge of absolute insanity, darkened eyes blown-out and short, broken whines leaving his mouth at each breath.

You, on the other hand, have never felt more awake. 

“Oh- oh fuck. Can’t- Too much. Hngh-” Raspy moans ripping from your throat at each little movement, hips moving in a mindless tandem with your best friends’ as they start thrusting in slow, experimental thrusts. 

You felt so unforgivingly full - organs secondary to the cocks splitting you apart till you could barely form sentences.

Filthy. Fucking filthy. 

And the only place you wanted to be right now.

Pulse banging against your throat, sight spotty, you don’t even know if what you’re feeling is pain or pleasure. Head only full of Satoru and Suguru and Toji and Satoru and-

“Awww, look at her- hah- Cock-drunk little whore can’t even speak.”

Bruised tits bouncing as Suguru and Satoru move in sync, fucked-out, animalistic ramming of their cocks into your stretched out little pussy. Delicate tears stream down your face. Your pace on Toji’s twitching dick now jerky, desperate movements to keep your sanity. “Jus’ like that, doll. Yeah-” 

You could feel the burning stretch as their throbbing cocks rubbed against each other through your walls. Balls smacking against your stinging skin and their prominent veins massaging your snug cunt just right. The slapping of skin and Toji’s squelching have your head spinning.

A wolfish bite on your exposed neck - Satoru - as he tried to keep himself together. Arching you deeper into him, thrusts stemming from a carnal, depraved part of him. Faster.

“Oh. So good, princess. Hole sucking me in so good. Ah- fuck. Could do this for the rest of my life.”

“Nasty girl. You love this, don’t you?” Suguru purrs, amusement evident in his tone.

“Y-yes! Love it! Love it Sugu- Toru-” 

With a harsh slap to your clit, both men speed up their pace in your sloppy holes. Relishing in the precum and slick dripping down their sensitive lengths, and the creamy rings forming around their bases.

More. More. More more more more-

This orgasm is more obscene than the last. Supported by Suguru and Satoru’s strong arms, spread open and stuffed so shamefully by their throbbing erections. Your head is thrown back, voice-shot as broken moans leave your swollen lips. Fist moving in a mindless rhythm - no reason or rhyme.

“F-fuck, darling. Gonna-”

All it takes are your half-lucid, fucked out mewls, walls wrestling with the effort to clench around them, for Suguru and Satoru to slam into you purposefully. Once. Twice. Before spilling into you in unison. 

“Hngh- M’cumming. Oh, god m’cumming, princess. Ah! Milking me so good.”

Thick, hot ropes of cum that fill your snug holes. You could feel your stomach inflating, enough to make you feel like you’ll explode.

Cock-drunk, you’re dead weight in their arms as Suguru and Satoru moan in relief, riding out their highs. Endless spurts of their seed splashing into you. It dribbles out of your overfilled cunt and ass, soiling the wet bed sheets beneath you.

Soaked in their cum, barely conscious, body aching all over. Ah, this was heaven. 

“Switch. Wanna cum in her pretty hole.” 

You jolt as Satoru snarks under his breath, pulling out his still-hard head with a lewd pop! A wave of his hot cum gushing out of your abused hole, pooling so sinfully beneath you.

Your knees buckle, brain not catching up yet. Too fucked out, your ready ass barely resists as Toji presses his rock-hard tip inside, pulsing with need. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Take it.” Grunting lowly, veins popping out as his thick cum spurts uncontrollably from his twitching cock. Once. Twice. Thrice. Missing your hole slightly, splattering on your ass. Pushing his leaking head inside in desperate, shallow thrusts. He just needed it inside you.

Slowing to a stop, “Now, what do you say?”

“Th-thank you, daddy.” 

Vision blacking, you barely even register the words. It’s all that is muttered out before Toji pulls out in one, fluid motion and you’re thrown around like a ragdoll. Suguru’s hand firmly pinning yours behind your back, glistening cock still in you, legs spread sinfully open.

He licks a long stripe down your cheek, your tears salty on his tongue. “Don’t think the initiation’s done yet, darling.”

Cum leaking helplessly out of you, Satoru’s hungry gaze - blue eyes barely recognizable - meets yours. “Oh, fuck. Just look at you princess. So defiled. Makes me wanna eat out all the cum inside you before pumping you full of mine again.”

“Don’t cream yourself just yet, Satoru. I think we’re about to have another initiation coordinator.”

What?

Sure enough, distant footsteps steadily approach. Growing louder with each passing second, thick with anticipation. 

Closer. And closer.

The door is suddenly thrown open, light filtering in through the door, illuminating the stern figure standing in the doorway. 

Nanami Kento.

The frat treasurer, infamous as the devastatingly handsome impersonation of a stick up one’s ass, known for rejecting any and every advance left and right. 

His sharp gaze sweeps the charged room, dark eyes revealing nothing, catching on your teary, fucked out gaze, miles away. Body covered in cum and spit, marked like you were thrown to the wolves. Satoru grits his teeth with an impatient huff, looking like he’s ready to positively devour you, irritated at the interruption. 

“What are you doing? This is an embarrassment to Jujutsu Phi.”

In the twinge of disappointment, you can’t help but feel a brief glimmer of hope. Ah, Nanami Kento. Maybe he will be your savior - a temporary respite from the men who seem ready to eat you alive. And won’t stop till you’re not.  

“If you’re going to initiate her then show no mercy.”

The door slams behind him as he steps inside the heated hellhole. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Satoru’s burning whisper in your ear.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, sweetheart.”

A/N. Whew this turned out longer than expected. Tried a new formatting thing, how we liking it??

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mymindisneverhere]

I can’t lie I’m enjoying writing these. 🙃 lowkey wish it was me

warnings: 18+, SMUT, edging, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering.

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

30 Whole Days

He marched up the stairs and into the bedroom searching for her. His breathing was heavy, not from exhaustion but from rage. This was it, she had pushed him to the limit with her most recent emotional outburst. He understood how sensitive she was and that at times her emotions could get the best of her but he never thought she’d use this moment to embarrass him in front of his people.

Her attitude was far out of control and he didn’t know if he were to blame or if this was all on her. She had been short with him all day. Half assed answers, avoiding kisses and walking away when he’d reach for a hug. He couldn’t believe 30 days had done this to her, and had caused her to become so… bratty.

Attempting to lighten her mood, he had asked her to bring him and the guys another round of tequila shots. He knew his wife’s favorite thing to do was serve him, not only because he’d asked but because it was her love language, so he figured it wouldn’t be an issue.

She waited a few beats to respond then flashed a fake over exaggerated smile to him before heading to the bar that sat right outside on the back patio. She was over him at this moment. She was pissed, frustrated, angry and now after 30 days of holding back her emotions, she exploded.

She grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a few gulps of the warm liquor before storming back into the living room where the guests sat. They all laughed and sipped on their beverages as she walked directly to him, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Pour your own damn shots!” She stated through gritted teeth before slamming the expensive bottle onto the coffee table cracking the glass that held drinks and coasters.

The room went completely silent as they watched her walk away stomping up the stairs and slamming the door a few seconds later.

”We should get going, I think we may have overstayed our welcome.” Jamal, his colleague said, looking over at him with a worried stare. “I’ll see you later man.” Everyone stood and shook hands before departing all at a once.

Once the large horseshoe driveway was empty he immediately turned and shot up the stairs to the owners suite. She had officially lost her damn mind.

“Veronica!” He yelled, in a tone that demanded her presence right away. His voice roared throughout the whole house, there was no way she didn’t hear him. When she failed to appear in front of him, he knew she was purposely testing his patience. He walked into their adjoining bathroom to find her at the vanity casually fixing her hair and makeup.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? I have a house full of guests and you decide to embarrass me?” He asked standing in the doorway eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

“I didn’t embarrass you like I could have.” She shot back, sending a look of anger right back to him.

He paused for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath and nodding his head. “Alright, if this is what you wanna do, it’s fine with me.”

”Fine.” She responded.

As much as he loved his wife, he hated her stubborn attitude. Her need to prove a point, her desire to be right all the time, to be the winner of some game that only she’s aware of. Usually he would be the one to fold simply because he knew his wife and she’d thrown fits like this in the past to get what she wanted but tonight she had taken it too far. He decided that for the first time in the 4 years they’d been married, she would have to swallow her pride to get what she wanted.

He walked out of the bathroom and made his way to the walk in closet. He began smirking to himself wondering how long it would take for her to do the one thing that comes rare to her, beg.

He undid his tie first and removed his dress shirt right after. He kept his white wife beater on along with his dress slacks and dress shoes. After placing his tie and shirt in their designated areas, he left the bedroom and made his way downstairs to the study, making sure to close the bedroom door behind him.

She sat for a few minutes in confusion. He knew what she wanted and by now he’d be giving her just that but something was off about tonight. She got up from the vanity and went into the bedroom looking around for her husband. He wasn’t there.

She went into the closet to see if he’d be there deciding on an outfit for morning brunch with the family but he wasn’t there either.

“He really just left me in this room by myself.” She whispered to herself in shock. She knew he hadn’t left the house because the security system would have alerted her.

She looked over at the clock on the nightstand that read 9:40 p.m. in digital white font. He was going to make her beg for it but she refused to give in, not after he made her wait for 30 days. He owed HER and he was going to be the one to give in, not the other way around.

So she decided to turn on the tv and watch reruns of her favorite reality shows until he walked through the bedroom door, shirt off and dick swinging.

Two long hours had gone by and he still hadn’t made his way back to their bedroom. She couldn’t believe he’d actually decided to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. I mean yeah she had thrown a tantrum and it may have been a bit much but he started it. How could he not expect her to react this way after going cold turkey for so long.

“I’m over this shit.” She threw the comforter off of her body and jumped down from their tall king size bed. She walked down the hall to the guest bedroom closest to the owner's suite, only to find the bedroom empty. “So now he’s playing hide and seek, how childish.” She mumbled to herself.

She made her way to the opposite end of the hall to the second guest room to find it empty just like the one before. She tightened her satin robe out of pure frustration and trotted down the stairs. She was about to make her way to the living room when she saw a light coming from under the double doors of the study.

“So he’s working while I’m around this bitch playing cat and mouse.” She said, rolling her eyes.

She opened the doors to the study and marched right over to him, locking eyes with her husband. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, awaiting an explanation. The two had a standoff for a few seconds but the tension in the room made it feel like hours. She was waiting for him to give in, not knowing that he had no plans to do so.

“You got something you want to say to me?” He asked in a low calm tone, never taking his eyes off of hers. He knew what he was doing. He was going to get her riled up until she really snapped. When her patience ran thin, her mouth became lethal.

”You’re not funny Aaron.” She spat leaning over the large desk that separated the two.

He continued staring at her. This time bringing a glass of Cognac to his lips.

“You owe me!” She hissed, leaning further onto the desk causing her robe to slightly slip open revealing her breasts.

He sat, remaining silent.

“It’s been 30 days, stop playing with me!” She warned, pointing her finger in his face.

He finished his Cognac before placing the glass down, his eyes still never leaving hers.

“Tell me what you want.” He commanded.

She smacked her teeth. “You know exactly wh-“ She started but was interrupted.

“You throw a tantrum in a room full of people embarrassing both me and you but now you’re too scared to tell me what you want from me?” He questioned. One thing he knew for sure about his wife was that she was far from scared. He was pushing her buttons on purpose.

“I’m not scared.” She shot back.

He stood up from his chair and slowly made his way to her side of the desk. She turned around to meet his eyes, they had yet to break this intense stare down. He stood in front of her planting his hands on the desk, right by her sides.

Their faces were so close she could smell the Cognac on his breath and that made her clit throb. She loved when he’d had a few drinks, the night would always end with her cries of pleasure. But she wasn’t so sure about this night, her tantrum had really pissed him off and he was really standing his ground.

“So say it.” He said, his voice deep and impatient.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden command. Aaron was usually very gentle with her. He’d treat her like she was fragile, like she was a priceless piece of art that should be handled with great care.

This Aaron was a bit dark, not in a scary way but in a way that made her regret her decision she’d made hours before. She wanted a reaction out of him but she didn’t expect this one.

‘Say it.” He repeated, this time through gritted teeth.

“I want you to fuck me.” She whispered.

“You were loud a few minutes ago, why you whispering now?” He questioned. “Say it, louder.”

She hesitated for a second, looking down at his lips. They were so soft and full, she wanted them wrapped around her clit.

“I want you to eat me til I cum and then fuck me, right here on your desk.” She said in a normal tone.

He smirked at her response simply because she truly thought she was the one calling the shots in this moment.

He used his knee to part her legs and wrapped one hand around her neck, causing her head to fall back. He snatched the belt on her robe making the thin fabric to fly open. He placed wet kisses down her neck to her shoulder before licking back up to her ear.

“You enjoy embarrassing me?” He spoke into her ear causing her to inhale sharply from the warmth of his breath.

“I wasn’t trying to.” She breathed.

He ran the tips of his fingers across her nipple, still nibbling on her ear. He knew tending to her sensitive spots at once would drive her crazy. He played with her left nipple, enjoying the feeling of its hardness in between his thumb and index finger.

“Then what were you trying to do?” His voice remained low and calm in her ear.

She was in so much bliss she couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t even fucked her yet and she was already feeling her first orgasm coming. Her first orgasm in 30 days.

Aaron had decided that they should hold out on sex for a month. It wasn’t due to any mishaps in their marriage, he just wanted to build some anticipation.

He had married a woman with a high libido and with him being the first man to ever make her orgasm, she was demanding sex from him damn near everyday. They would get breaks during that time of the month but even then she still wanted more.

”I don’t know.” She barely managed. Her body was feeling so many things at once, things she hadn’t felt in a while that all she could manage to say was “I don’t know.”

She hissed from pain as he pinched her sensitive nipples and bit her ear. He wasn’t pleased with her answer.

“I was mad at you.” She admitted , “I was just pissed but I’m not anymore.”

He gently brought her face up to meet his before saying “Well I am.”

He kissed her passionately, not leaving an ounce of emotion behind. He was animalistic. He had never been an aggressive man but tonight he decided to take his anger out on his wife, the one who had caused it. He bit her bottom lip slightly before pulling back and forcing her back to lay flat on the desk.

He wrapped his arms under her thick thighs pulling her hips to the edge of the desk. He placed kisses and bite marks on her inner thighs, the bites causing her to moan in pain and pleasure. He came face to face with her pussy, placing kisses around her lips to tease her, one of the things she hated.

She rolled her hips in anticipation hoping that one of his kisses would land right on her clit. He tightened his grip on her thighs making it hard for her to move from his hold.

“Baby please.” She begged.

He smiled to himself before placing his tongue in between her lips. He licked slowly from her entrance all the way up to her clit, making sure his tongue hit every inch of her pussy. When he got to her clit he carefully rolled his tongue in circular motions, sucking it ever so often. He didn’t want her to come anytime soon so he thought he’d enjoy edging her.

“Ooh yes!” She moaned, placing her hand on his head. This was her way of telling him he was doing a damn good job.

“Yes daddy right there.” She moaned, indicating that her orgasm was near. Right when she could feel it build in her stomach, he’d slow down, making her come back down from ten. He done this a few times and she was becoming frustrated but that's exactly what he wanted.

“After what you did, you think I’d give it to you that early?” He asked, planting kisses up her body. He licked and sucked on her nipples one at a time. He carefully pushed two fingers into her pussy while still focused on her breasts. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, making sure to hit her G-Spot, sending her back up the orgasm ladder.

“Oooooh fuck!” She cried out. “Like that baby, just like that.” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she prepared to send her wetness all over his fingers.

He felt her pussy tighten around his fingers and he slowed down, stroking in and out of her at a snail's place.

“Oh my God.” She moaned. “Why are you doing this to me?” She cried out in pure frustration.

He let out a deep chuckle before pulling his fingers out and placing them in her mouth. She sucked them, moaning at the taste of her on his hands. He undid his pants with his free hand, dropping his underwear in a swift motion. She was so into sucking her juices off of his fingers, she couldn’t brace herself for the dick she hadn’t had in a month.

He slid inside of her, giving her a quick and hard thrust causing her to let out a loud moan. He paused for a few seconds, taking in the tightness of her wet pussy. It had been so long since he’d been inside her, they both needed to adjust.

“Shit.” He managed.

He pulled out of her, slapping the head of his dick onto her throbbing clit. He needed a moment to prepare himself for this ride. If he was going to give her the punishment she deserved, he'd have to last long enough to make it worth his while.

He pushed inside of her slowly, admiring the way her eyes rolled into her head. He loved the faces she made when he fucked her, she was so fucking pretty.

He lifted both of her legs up resting them on his shoulders. He held onto her full hips as he thrusted in and out of her slowly. She frowned from pleasure, lust written all over her face.

“That dick feels so fucking good.” She moaned, her eyes shut tight.

“Look at me.” He demanded.

Her eyes fluttered open landing right on his. As soon as they locked eyes he picked up the pace. He was testing her, he knew that if he quickened the strokes she'd struggle to keep her eyes open.

Just as he thought, her eyes closed and when her eyes closed he slowed down.

”Okay baby, I get it.” She moaned in a pleading tone.

“Close your eyes again and I’ll stop.” He said, looking down at her.

She fixed her eyes on him again, her eyes low and lust filled.

He picked up the pace again, rolling his hips into hers making sure to hit her spot. He wasn’t going to let her cum until she begged him.

He was fucking her into oblivion. There’s was no way he expected her to keep her eyes locked on him when he was fucking her like they would never see each other again.

“I’m sorry daddy, I swear I’m sorry.” She cried out, her eyes beginning to roll again.

“Open!” He warned.

“Please baby.” She cried again.

”Please what?” He asked, never missing a beat. He could see in her face he was hitting the right spot. It was only a matter of time before she gave him what he wanted. He bent down, bringing his face to hers, still stroking her pussy.

“I wanna cum.” She begged.

He sped up the pace staring directly into her eyes.

“Please I wanna cum.”

“Let it go baby.” He said, giving her the okay to release her treasures onto him.

“Fuck yes!” She screamed out in pure ecstasy.

He watched as her body jerked from the orgasm it was experiencing, the way her pussy increased in wetness damn near sent him over the edge but he wasn’t done with her just yet.

“That’s right baby, get all that shit.” He said into her ear, placing kisses on her neck and cheek while she came down.

She moaned, still trying to catch her breath and relax her body underneath him.

After a few more seconds, pulled out and walked backwards until he found one of the large chairs in his study.

“Come here.” He demanded, his eyes still never leaving her. He sat down, placing his arms on the rests of the chair as he watched his wife struggle to get across the room.

“My legs are a little sore.” She whined as she walked to him.

“Come. Here.” He repeated impatiently.

Finally crossing the room, she stood directly in front of him and dropped her robe.

“Sit on this dick.”

She climbed onto him, her coffee colored skin tainted in sweat, her large breasts decorated with nipple rings that complimented her large dark brown areolas, she was a sight to see. She positioned herself right above his dick and sat down slowly, staring down at her husband.

She rolled her hips into him as she looked for pleasure in his stare. All she could find was lust and a hint of anger. She didn’t know what to expect from him, he was actually fed up with her tonight.

She rode him anyway, deciding that she’d take this moment to be selfish and get her pleasures regardless of the stern look on his face. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as she held onto him, her hands on the back of his neck for support.

“Mmmmm.” She moaned in enjoyment, her hips rolling at a steady pace as she felt the wetness from her pussy spread to her inner thighs.

He sat back and watched his wife take control. He loved that she wasn’t afraid to take full control to reach her orgasm. He appreciated the fact that she was a sensual woman and proud of it.

But he was the one calling the shots tonight. He snaked both of his hands up her body reaching for her neck, gripping her throat.

“Yes daddy.” She moaned, still caught up in her own pleasure.

Without warning he began thrusting his hips into hers, making her eyes open in surprise. He had let her have a few minutes to come down from the last climax but it was time to remind her who was really running the show.

“Yes, fuck me baby.” She cried out. She held onto his wrists as he fucked her. Her cries became louder as he continuously hit her spot with every single stroke. She looked down at him again as he brought her face to his, still stroking in and out her pussy.

“You like making me mad don’t you?”

“No.” She replied out of breath.

“You wanna embarrass me again?” He asked, his lips touching hers.

“No Daddy.” She cried, as she felt her climax coming.

The way he was fucking her, the way he was talking to her had unlocked another level of sensual satisfaction. The hold he had on her neck, the way he caressed his thumbs against her lips, his deep sultry tone of voice and spicy smell of liquor on his breath was a combination that would send another orgasm through her body.

“You cum when I tell you to.” He barked through his teeth, daring her to climax.

“I can’t hold it anymore.” She cried, a small tear of ecstasy running down her face. She came harder than the first time.

“Yes!” She screamed out, unashamed and completely out of body. Her pussy pulsated and slightly stinging from pain due to his size. He let the tear run down her face as the rest of her emotions ran down his legs. She squeezed her eyes shut as her body responded to yet another orgasm.

“I knew you’d beg me for it.” He smirked with his cocky ass attitude.

”Fuck you.” She whimpered, taking in every moment of her peak.

”I know, baby.” He said, soothing her after ruining her. He caressed her cheek as he watched her come down from yet another orgasm. He had to admit to himself that this tantrum she had thrown earlier had unlocked a different beast inside of him. He kinda liked it.

“You okay?” He asked in a calm tone, he could never fully get rid of the gentle side of him.

She nodded her head slowly then finally collapsed onto his chest still struggling to catch her breath.

“Please don’t make me wait that long again.” She said in between breaths.

“I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and the two laid together until night became dawn.

Please excuse any mistakes! 🩵

(Y’all ate that last one up so I thought why not write another one. Thank y’all! 🥹)

[crownofgildedlilies]

sick days

pairing: aged up!bakugou x reader summary: Katsuki is sick, which means forcing him to slow down. wc: 1.9k event masterlist

You should have known you were in for trouble the moment you woke up. 

While you were waiting until the very last second until your alarm sounded to get up, the other half of your shared bed was suspiciously empty. A box of cold medicine still sat on the bedside table where you had placed it, alongside a nearly empty box of tissues and a half full glass of water.

You frowned. Katsuki was clearly trying to go to work. 

Groaning, you climbed out from under the covers and shivered at the cold air permeating the room. The winter months were only just starting, but they had already brought forth their punishing symptoms. 

Ice, snow, holiday cheer, and—

“Katsuki Bakugou,” You huffed as soon as you found your stubborn boyfriend dutifully going about his morning routine in the kitchen. “You’re sick.”

And colds.

He froze, his back to you, but you knew exactly what expression he wore. He knew he was supposed to be in bed, preferably still knocked out on cold medicine that made the stuffiness of his nose and increasingly frequent cough just a tad bit more bearable. It wasn’t often that he got sick, but in all the years you had known him, it always was a fight you rarely won to get him to slow down and take time to heal. 

Though, when his head had been too foggy with sickness the night before to even hold a conversation with you over dinner, you had stood your ground in convincing him to call Kirishima and swap patrol days. 

“Katsu,” Your voice wasn’t going to be confused with soft, but the use of his nickname seemed to convince him that you weren’t going to chew him out for trying to sneak off to work while you still slept. Turning to face you, he copied your stance of crossed arms and firm looks, except he’s leaning back against the counter and you’re blocking the exit of the kitchen, like he’d try and bolt past you and out the front door. “We decided you were going to take the day off and rest.”

“No, you decided.” His response was quick, but he even sounded ridiculously sick, so much so that he grit his teeth and turned his head away from your glare. You could tell, just from the way he held himself, he knew that he was in the wrong. 

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Don’t do that.” Dating Katsuki meant calling him on his shit, and it was a talent you had perfected before you had even gotten together. And though the day he asked you to be official with him he had said he loved that part of you, the way his jaw ticked in stubbornness told you that maybe he didn’t appreciate it all the time. Not that you would ever set aside your beliefs to cater to his explosive tendencies. “Don’t turn this around on me because I want you to take care of yourself, instead of rushing into the next mess at half your best.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighs, still managing to sound exhausted despite having just woken up. And you know it’s as close as he’ll get to apologizing, and that he really does mean it, but you meant what you said, too. “You know that, angel.” 

“Don’t angel me.” You snap, a little too quickly, glare mixing with a pout and Katsuki smirks. Because he knows that he’s winning you over with his stupid pet names and even more moronic face you struggle to say no too. 

“I promise I can make it through the day with some medicine.” He swears, and for a moment you want to believe him, especially as he uncrosses his arms and opens them with a lopsided grin, clearly trying to convince you to come closer. “C’mere. Come kiss it better.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but your feet are already carrying you across the well-worn and loved kitchen floor towards him. 

Except, you only make it halfway before his body shakes with the force of his cough, and any of your resolve he had chipped away comes back twice as strong. 

You don’t even wait for him to finish coughing, as rude as it sounds, before you knot your fist in the front of his shirt and tug him from the kitchen. Even sick, he could easily keep you rooted to your spot and refuse to budge, but he manages to find it in him to silently admit defeat—a fact that proves to you just how poorly he felt—and shuffle along behind you.

“Stay home today and rest.” You order, still tugging him by the shirt all the way back to your shared room. You only let go when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and that’s so you could stand between his knees and hold his face in one hand to get him to meet your eye. “Get better so you can kick villain ass the way I know you can.” 

“Fine,” He grumbled, pouting, but his hands still ghost up the backs of your legs in search of familiar comfort, so you know he’s not too chastised. “But ‘m going to work tomorrow.”

Rolling your eyes, you duck down just slightly to press a quick kiss to his cheek. He finds a reason to grumble about that, too, and you’re forced to listen to his complaints that it wasn’t a real kiss while you ready yourself for the day. 

“I’ll be home as early as possible,” You promise, blowing him another fake, long-distance kiss from the doorway to keep from catching his cold. Katsuki seemed to have finally accepted his fate, lounging back against the headboard with an arm behind his head as he scrolled through the various television channels to try and find one entertaining enough to distract himself. 

“Yeah, whatever.”

He would have gotten away with it.

Katsuki was so close to getting away with it, that it would have been amusing, if you weren’t so royally pissed off. 

He had your coworker to blame, when he no doubt looked for a scapegoat for the situation. Your poor, innocent, concerned coworker, who had ducked her head into your office and asked if you were following the incident, a live broadcast open on her phone. 

It only took one scan of the headline for your annoyance to boil over into anger and you to call out for the remainder of the day. 

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight detonates on burglary ring!

You hadn’t even cared to watch the various clips attached to the article about your boyfriend’s latest victory in your race to the agency he spent his days at. No one even batted an eye at your presence as you swiped the badge Katsuki had given you for emergencies that gave you access to the building—and more importantly, his office. 

Predictably, he was there, sorting through the pile of paperwork that never seemed to shrink on his desk. A consequence of being a top rated pro, you assumed. But Katsuki had a few other consequences he needed to worry about first.

“Bank robbers? Are you kidding me?” You shouted as soon as you slammed open the door. Your boyfriend’s attention shot up at the sound of your voice, eyes wide and shoulders tense, like he was a child caught stealing sweets before dinner.  

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He tried, and the almost nervous, almost bashful, attempt at a placating smile was halfway to amusing. But you were annoyed enough to see right through his flattery. 

“Save it.” You huffed, shutting the door behind yourself. “I’ve got half a mind to yell at Kirishima, too. He was supposed to cover your patrol, not cover for you to sneak out to patrol.”

Though, if Katsuki hadn’t listened to you about not working, then he probably didn’t even tell Kirishima that he was going in. 

“I wasn’t patrolling, swear.” He leaned back in his chair, clogged nose making his voice sound nasally. Sick or not, you weren’t going to go easy on him. 

“Half my office couldn’t wait to show me the newest footage of you fighting in the streets today.” It was a lie, but you felt like exaggerating.

“Really?” Confusion shot through you at the shit eating grin on his face, as if he wasn’t the one in trouble. 

“Yes!” Exclaiming, you crossed his office to lean your palms against the top of his desk, desperate to regain control of the situation you suddenly felt on the losing end of. 

“And you watched it?” He was smirking despite the dark bags under his eyes and the redness tinting his skin from blowing his nose so frequently, and you felt like you were missing something important. 

“You really want to try bragging right now?” Narrowing your eyes, you dodged his question. You hadn’t watched the clips from the broadcast, too mad at him for effectively sneaking out from the bed rest you had forced him into. 

“Angel, you didn’t watch it, did you?” His smug tone was interrupted only by a small cough as he grinned up at you from his stupidly comfortable office chair. Pursing your lips and standing tall, you crossed your arms over your chest and tried to find his angle. 

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I wasn’t on patrol. I happened to be walking down the same street those dumbasses tried escaping on and just helped the pros actually on patrol get them.”

It made sense, considering he wasn’t in his hero suit like he usually was at the agency, but a set of workout clothes he frequently lounged around the house in. He smirked even wider at your frown, and you knew he enjoyed watching you piece together the fact that he was right. 

“Okay,” You scrambled to find the upper hand in the conversation. “But you weren’t supposed to leave at all.” 

“Right, fine.” He huffed, his previous air of superiority quickly replaced by chagrin at being called out. “But I needed to get some paperwork to bring home. I was going stir crazy by myself.”

“It’s barely lunch, Katsuki. You couldn’t just relax?” 

“Not by myself.” He confirmed, managing to weasel his way back into your good graces with his charming excuses. Huffing, you make your way around the desk to lean back against it, next to his chair. 

“Well. I’m still mad you snuck out,” You watched as his hands clenched into fists on the armrests at your words, managing to pull a shred of pity out of you. You should have known better than to assume he would have been able to let himself relax after so many years of relentless training to be the best. “But I took the rest of the day off.”

“I’m fine, and all,” Katsuki dropped his attention from your face, suddenly finding a spot on the opposite wall incredibly interesting. And you knew if you pressed him about it, he’d only tell you that the flush high on his cheeks was only due to his sickness. “But let’s go home.”

“You look like shit, Katsu.”

“I deserved that one.”

“Like, death warmed over, bad.”

“Alright!” He shouted, though his volume triggered a coughing fit shook his shoulders. 

Snorting, you pushed off the desk and made your way towards the exit, waving over your shoulder for him to follow you. With a frown, he grumbled something akin to ‘bet you’re happy’ that had you humming your one word agreement. 

“Karma.”

[satellite-evans]

right where you left me

Pairing: Max Verstappen x ex girlfriend!reader

Summary: You're still where Max left you.

Word count: 2.8k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is the first fic that I’m posting for the folkmore series, I am so excited!!! Can’t wait to hear what you guys think <3

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The restaurant still smells the same. The warm scent of buttered bread, the faint tang of expensive wine in the air, the subtle undertone of aged wood and candle wax melting into soft pools of gold. It’s been months—years, maybe—since the night Max walked out, yet the place feels untouched, frozen in time. Just like you.

You sit at the same table, your fingers brushing against the linen napkin, tracing invisible patterns on the surface. The same table where his laughter once curled in the air, where his hands would have reached for yours without thinking. Your glass of water remains half-full, just as it was that night. Untouched. Forgotten. A relic of a moment that still lingers in the corners of your mind like an echo you can’t quite silence.

The candlelight flickers, its glow catching the delicate ring you still wear on your right hand—the one he gave you as a promise before he decided promises were too heavy to keep. You twist it absentmindedly, the metal cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth of memory.

Outside, the city hums with life. Cars glide past, their headlights flashing like distant stars. The murmur of strangers, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter—all of it moves forward, untethered to the past. But here, at this table, in this restaurant where time seems to hold its breath, you sit in the hollow space he left behind.

And for the first time in a long while, you wonder if he ever comes here, too. If he ever stops just outside the door, hand hesitating on the handle, breathing in the familiar scent and remembering. Or if, like the promises he made, he’s let it all go.

“Are you ready to order?”

The waiter’s voice pulls you from your trance, gently but firmly, like a hand on your shoulder bringing you back to the present. You blink, your gaze shifting from the flickering candlelight to the young man standing beside your table, his notepad poised, his expression polite but unreadable.

You only shake your head, offering a tight smile. “Not yet,” you murmur, though you already know the answer.

He doesn’t question it. He never does. Maybe by now, he recognizes you—not just as another customer, but as a fixture of this place. The girl who always sits alone. The girl who never changes her order. The girl who lingers too long over a half-full glass of water, as if she’s waiting for it to fill itself. The girl who still waits for someone who isn’t coming back.

Does he wonder? Does he piece together the story in his mind, constructing quiet theories about why you return to the same spot, why your fingers still play absentmindedly with a ring that should’ve lost its meaning by now? Is he used to people like you—the ones who haunt old memories like ghosts who refuse to be laid to rest?

Or does he just think that you’re a girl frozen in time, that time went on for everyone else but that you wouldn’t know?

A girl that just can’t move on.

He nods, stepping away without another word, leaving you alone once more. Alone with the past. Alone with the quiet hum of the restaurant around you, the soft clatter of silverware, the muted conversations that blur together into white noise.

You exhale, glancing toward the empty chair across from you. It remains untouched, just as it was that night. Just as it has been every night since.

You wonder if Max ever thinks about this place. If he ever remembers the way your fingers used to trace lazy patterns over his knuckles while he rambled about race strategy, his voice animated, his eyes alight with passion. If he recalls how you’d bite your lip to keep from laughing when he confidently—yet disastrously—mispronounced the names of the wines on the menu, only to scowl at you in mock offense when you corrected him. If he ever sits in a quiet moment, caught off guard by a passing scent or a familiar song playing in the background, and suddenly, inexplicably, thinks of you.

If he feels even the slightest pang of nostalgia when he hears your name.

If he even knows that you come to this restaurant, even though you felt the most heart crushing pain here.

That he left you no choice but to stay here forever.

Or if he’s forgotten all of it. All of you.

You hadn’t meant to check, but old habits die hard. One second, your mind was wandering, and the next, your fingers were already scrolling, moving with a muscle memory you wished you didn’t have. Before your brain could stop them. Before your heart could brace itself.

And suddenly, there it was, a picture trending on Twitter.

Max Verstappen & Kelly Piquet expecting their first child together!

The words seem to blur for a moment, your vision tunneling, breath catching somewhere in your throat. And then, below the headline, a photo.

You wanted to say that it was irony or even faith that you found out that he was expecting a baby with another woman in the same restaurant where he would whispered sweet words about how he wanted to be father to your children so badly, but you don’t believe in faith anymore. This restaurant was just destined to haunt you forever.

At least he looks happy.

Happier than you remember. Happier than he ever was with you.

Your grip tightens on your phone, but your body remains still, frozen in place. The sounds of the restaurant fade into static, the clinking glasses and quiet laughter around you suddenly feeling like background noise to a scene you no longer belong in.

You exhale slowly, pressing your lips together as you force yourself to look away from the screen, as if that might erase the image from your mind. As if that might make it hurt less.

But it doesn’t.

The ring on your finger feels heavier. It presses into your skin like an anchor, pulling you back to a past you can’t escape, a past you’re still tethered to. You blink rapidly at the screen, hoping, praying, that the words will change. That maybe this is some cruel joke, some mistake, but they don’t. The image doesn’t blur. It’s real. It’s him.

Another picture.

Christmas. They’re spending it together.

A perfect family. The kind you used to imagine when you’d sit together, planning for the future, talking about how one day, maybe, you’d have a house full of children and laughter.

The cruelest part is how ordinary it all looks. A picture-perfect moment, the kind you once dreamed of having with him, now shared with someone else. A life you are no longer a part of.

It’s funny, really. How time moves forward for everyone but you. How the world shifts, the seasons change, new memories replace the old ones. Love finds new homes. But you? You’re still here, frozen in place, gathering dust like an abandoned photograph tucked away in a forgotten drawer, one that’s too painful to even look at anymore.

You can’t help yourself but eread the headline over and over again and look at the pictures of them spending Christmas together, as if the repetition might somehow make it easier to swallow. Your heart clenches, a familiar ache spreading through your chest. The kind of ache that never really goes away. The kind of ache that lingers, festers, and refuses to fade no matter how much time passes.

You want to scream, to throw your phone across the room, to erase the image, the words, the entire situation from existence. But you don’t. You sit still, paralyzed, watching the truth unfold in front of you, as if you’re witnessing something that’s no longer your story but someone else’s.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always was.

You think about the night he told you. The memory lingers, every detail sharp as if it just happened yesterday. The dim candlelight flickered between you, casting warm, uneven shadows on the table, making his eyes look darker than usual. Your hair was pinned up, just the way he liked it, because all you wanted was to be enough for him, to be loved and cherished by him just the way you loved him. You remember the way he fidgeted with the water glass in his hands, the way his fingers trembled slightly, betraying the calmness his voice tried to convey. He didn’t even drink from it, just held it there like it was something to anchor him. And you? You could feel it before he even spoke. The knot in your stomach, tight and twisting, the way your heart seemed to freeze in place, like it already knew what was coming before your brain would allow it to acknowledge the truth.

"I met someone."

The words barely make sense. They hang in the air between you, impossible to grasp. For a moment, it feels like the world tilts on its axis, like reality itself has cracked and this is some sort of cruel dream you’ll wake up from.

You almost laugh, bitter and disbelieving, because it doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t sound like Max. Not the Max who once whispered forever into your hair, promising you a future where nothing could tear you apart. Not the Max who swore he couldn’t imagine a life without you, who said your names together like they belonged in the same sentence, forever linked. But the words still come, and somehow, despite everything, they are his.

The restaurant around you starts to fade away, the sounds dulling to a distant hum, muffled like you’re underwater, as if the world is pulling away from you, inch by inch. Your heart races, but your body feels oddly disconnected from it all, like you're watching someone else’s life unfold before you, helpless to stop it. You take a shallow breath, but it doesn’t reach the depths of your chest, and the weight of the moment settles in there like a stone you can’t dislodge.

"What?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips, a fragile whisper, so quiet that for a second you think he won’t even hear you. But he does.

His gaze drops to the table, his eyes avoiding yours, as if he can’t bear to see you crumble, as if he’s already sorry for what he knows he’s about to do. His voice is quieter now, almost too soft to catch. "I didn’t mean for it to happen."

You shake your head, disbelief clouding your thoughts. Your hands curl into fists in your lap, nails digging painfully into your palms, trying to hold on to something, anything. The ring on your finger suddenly feels like it’s choking the life out of you. "But it did."

The words escape from your throat like shards of glass, sharp and cold, biting as they land between you. He swallows hard, and you wonder if he’s doing it to hold back tears, or if it’s just the weight of what he’s about to say.

“She has a daughter,” he adds, his voice thick, but the words hit you like a slap, sharp and unforgiving. You feel your mascara run as your eyes sting with the hot, unfamiliar ache of betrayal. But you don’t wipe the tears away. You don’t move. You just sit there, paralyzed, staring at him, waiting for him to say something—anything—that could take it all back. That could prove this isn’t real. That could remind you of the love you thought was enough.

“She’s not mine,” he continues, his voice wavering, like he’s trying to make it sound better, like he’s trying to convince you this is somehow okay. “But I love her like she is.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. A sudden, cold numbness spreads across your chest, a pain that feels both sharp and hollow. The space between you and him stretches, filling with the things he can’t say.

“And her mother?” You force the words out, each one heavier than the last.

His silence is loud enough to drown out everything else—the clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversations from nearby tables, the soft jazz music playing in the background. Everything around you fades into the background until all that’s left is him and you, caught in the unbearable weight of what he won’t say.

When he finally speaks again, his voice barely rises above a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth. “I love her too.”

And just like that, it’s over. The last thread of hope you had been clinging to snaps, leaving you floating in a place where nothing makes sense anymore. The ring on your finger burns, searing into your skin, but you don’t take it off. Not yet. You can’t. Because somehow, it’s the only thing left of him, of the person you thought you knew, of the future that is no longer yours.

You know where he is now. He’s winning. He’s thriving. The world sees him on podiums, champagne in hand, his new life already unfolding in the bright lights. He’s standing beside someone else now, someone who doesn’t carry the weight of the past, someone who fills the space you left behind with ease. The world loves him, adores him. And you? You’re still at the restaurant, in the ruins of what he left behind, trapped in a love story that never got its happy ending, a story that no longer belongs to you.

You press your phone to your chest, as if it could somehow stop the ache from spreading. As if holding onto the past will make the present hurt less. But it doesn’t. The weight of the truth is suffocating, a heavy fog that settles over your heart, and you realize, with painful clarity, that you were never meant to be a part of his forever. You were never meant to last.

The whispers around you grow louder, piercing through the fog of your thoughts, and it doesn’t take much to understand why. You hear his name before you see him, and when you finally do, it feels like the ground beneath you tilts ever so slightly.

Max.

He looks different—sharper, somehow. More defined, more polished by the world that shaped him after you. His eyes sweep over the restaurant, and you wonder if they’ll stop on you, if he’ll look at you and see something from the past, something worth acknowledging. But no.

He’s here’s. At the restaurant. With her.

He really brought her here.

Kelly is beside him, her laughter effortless, untouched by the weight of history, the burden of old wounds. She leans into him, her hand resting gently on her stomach, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at him with the kind of love you used to think was meant for you. She doesn’t know what it’s like to sit in this seat, to watch someone walk away, to feel the years stretch endlessly before you as you wonder if they ever think about you.

Max’s gaze flicks across the room, and for just a split second, it lands on you. It’s so brief that you almost convince yourself it didn’t happen. But it did. His steps falter for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening around Kelly’s hand before he looks away, as if something inside him is trying to hold onto a memory that’s already slipping through his fingers.

And that’s it. No smile. No apology. No acknowledgment. Just a glance, a flash of something unspoken, and then—nothing.

You knew that he didn’t care about you but, facing with that reality hurt you more than you thought. Here you were, coming to the same place a man hurt you because you loved him so much, only for the same man to come too because he didn’t love you at all.

What a shame.

Maybe it is true. Maybe you really are unawarely frozen in time. Maybe that would explain why you still feel the same pain now as on the day he left you.

You swallow hard, blinking away the burning in your eyes. The candle on the table flickers, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly across the walls. The world outside moves forward, time marching on relentlessly, but you remain frozen in place, clutching onto the past like it’s the only thing that hasn’t slipped away.

The moment passes, and Max moves on, just like he always does.

But you? You’re still right where he left you.

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing and saw that your requests were open so I thought I’d shoot this over. If you don’t vibe with it don’t worry about skipping it. I was wondering if I could request a James x reader where they are living together and definitely love each other but they’ve kind of slipped into a roommate phase. Like they’re just living around each other and reader starts feeling insecure and scared and doesn’t know how to get back into normalcy. Maybe a little angsty with some fluff at the end

Thanks lovely!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.4k words

When James comes in the front door, his shoes squelch. You look him up and down, dripping wet and mud caked up to his knees. You wince. 

“Rough practice?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” James says, dropping his bag by the door and heading for the kitchen. 

There’s an exhausted slump to his shoulders, and his shoes leave a muddy trail of footprints, and you hate to do it, but—

“Would you mind taking off your shoes?” 

“Oh.” James looks down. You see him follow the trail with his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

You hate yourself as soon as it’s out of your mouth, because that’s exactly the sort of thing you’d say if it wasn’t fine. And yeah, you’re a bit peeved that he’d track mud inside after you’d mopped the floors just yesterday, but you know he wasn’t thinking about it and you’d promised yourself just this morning that you were going to be nicer to him and now he’s sitting on the floor looking like his day is getting worse instead of better. 

You try again. 

“Um, I made dinner.” You step over him awkwardly, setting a hand on his head to help yourself. James doesn’t shrink from the touch, but he doesn’t lean into it like you could swear he used to either. The stove turns off like it’s relieved to do it, having idled for close to a half hour while you waited for James to get home. You wanted to try and eat together tonight; you used to do it all the time, but lately you’ve been having too many couch dinners by your lonesome. “Macaroni and cheese, is that alright?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You jolt a little at James’ hand on your back as he reaches around you for a bowl, and he looks at you, lips quirking like you’re funny. 

You find yourself smiling back by muscle memory, a reflex almost forgotten. It lifts your heart. 

“So, how was practice?” 

James glances up at you, then goes back to filling his bowl. “I’ve already told you,” he says. “Rough.” 

“Oh, right.” You huff out a little laugh. He passes you the spoon, and you take it without really looking at him. “Sorry.” 

His answering smile is weaker this time. More a press of his lips than anything. 

“Don’t be.” He kisses you on the cheek, then goes, pulling out his chair at the table. 

You take your seat, too. A lot of these base routines have begun to feel empty lately. They used to be an assurance for you, like if you always wore your same paths into the carpet you’d become so entrenched in this house, in James’ house, that neither he nor it could ever let you leave. You loved knowing that if he was back from his run when you woke up in the morning, there’d be a glass of orange juice waiting for you on the counter. That when the flowers on your kitchen table started to wilt you’d come home to a fresh bunch, and that if you called and told him you were having a bad day lunch from your favorite sandwich shop would miraculously show up at your work. Those things used to make your heart feel full to bursting, because they meant he was thinking of you. 

Now you’re not sure what they mean. They seem like things James does because he’s supposed to, like part of a script, a routine. Chores. 

As soon as he’s sat down, he’s digging into his dinner. James eats like a boy. Wolfing, like someone’s going to take it away from him. You hope it means he likes it. 

“What’d you do today, m’love?” he asks through a mouthful.

And see, he says things like that. Calls you his love, asks about your day. It’s all started to fall flat. You know he’ll take whatever answer you give him, because you’ve begun to suspect he doesn’t really care. 

“Nothing crazy,” you answer honestly. “Shayna’s baby came early, so I’m taking on a bit more at work until they can find someone to fill in for her. So that’s a bit stressful, but it’s not awful.” 

“Mm.” James nods, but doesn’t offer more than that. His mouth seems to be perpetually full. 

You fork a macaroni noodle, pretending you have more appetite than you do. Truthfully, you’ve felt weird and off and vaguely nauseous all day. 

Last night had been a bit of a breaking point for you. It came on rather suddenly. You’d gone to bed long after James, but you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from him, the way the moonlight snuck in through the slats in your blinds to fall across his sleeping face. He was so beautiful, and you loved him so much you didn’t know what to do with it all, and then you were crying. 

You’d wept silently, wishing James would wake up, but you were unwilling to rouse him and he wasn’t going to do it himself. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep with your pillowcase damp and cold under your cheek and woke to find James’ side of the bed empty as usual. Orange juice on the counter. 

“I was wondering if you might want to watch a film tonight,” you say lightly. “I saw they’ve put that sci-fi one you like back on Netflix.” 

“Ah, have they really?” James swallows, forks another bite. “Wish I could, but I’m supposed to meet everyone at Spoons in a few minutes here.” 

Oh. The realization hits you like a dull thud, smack in the center of your chest. He’s not eating quickly because he likes your food; it’s because he wants to leave. 

“Can’t you stay here?” Your voice is small. James looks at you like he’s not sure what to make of it. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He offers you a smile. His fork clinks in the bottom of an empty bowl, and his chair screeches as it’s pushed back. James brushes his lips across your cheek as he goes by. “We’ll have to do it this weekend, though, definitely.” 

You know by now these sorts of promises aren’t meant to keep. They come written in disappearing ink.

He heads upstairs to change, and desperation grips you. It forgets he’ll be home later and puts you hot on his heels, your own dinner left on the table barely touched. 

“Jamie, wait.” He pauses with his shirt half off, looking over at you in the doorway of your bedroom. “Don’t you feel like we’ve not had much time together lately?” you ask. 

The plea is naked in your tone, and James’ eyes soften. He tugs his shirt off, straightens his glasses.

“I haven’t had time for much of anything lately,” he says, shrugging good-naturedly. 

It’s true. He’s been busy. His new coach seems to think the team has nothing but time, and as captain James is expected to commit even more than most. When he’s not at training, he’s keeping fit on his own or running errands for his mum or sleeping it all off in your bed. 

“But you should come tonight,” James goes on brightly. “Dorcas and Marlene will be there, it’ll be fun.” 

He tosses his clothes in the laundry bin and makes his way over to the dresser. You cross your arms, then uncross them. Parse your words. “I don’t…I just feel like you hung out with your friends last night.” 

“You could’ve come then, too,” he says, stepping into a pair of jeans. “They all love you, you know that.” 

“I don’t want to hang out with your friends.” It comes out sharper than you intend, though still less sharp than the look James gives you. He’s finished getting dressed but doesn’t make to leave. “That’s not what I mean. I like your friends, but it’s not…the same as spending time with you. It doesn’t count, for me.” Your voice softens on the last two words, knowing that for James, it might very well count. 

For him, you’ve gathered, social time is social time. So long as you’re there, he’ll feel just as connected to you as if you were curled up on the couch together having a private conversation. You wish your brain worked the same way, but it doesn’t. 

He’s looking at you with something like trepidation now, so you state it plainly. 

“I really miss you, Jamie.” A blockage rises in your throat. You swallow it back down. “I feel like…I don’t know what’s going on with us lately.” 

“We’re the same as we have been.” He looks confused, worse when your face pinches painfully. 

“And that’s all?” You try to blink them away, but tears burn in your eyes. “This is just what we do now?” 

“No.” James looks appalled, but you catch the quick glance he gives to the digital clock on his nightstand. “It’s only for now, just until the season’s over and Coach mellows out. Where’s this coming from?” 

You blink hard, angling your head away from him. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just being emotional.” Your breath scrapes on the way in. You pretend it doesn’t. “It’s okay if you have to go.” 

He shakes his head, and when you start back towards the stairs anyway, he says, “No, come on.” In a few long strides, he’s got your elbow. He tugs you gently back into the room. “Let’s sit down, okay? What’s going on?” 

“Sorry.” Your voice is pitchy and tight. You think you hear James inhale softly before he’s drawing you into a hug. It doesn’t feel quite like it used to, but it’s still warm, still nice. 

He sits you both down on the edge of your bed, arms still wrapped loosely around you. “What are you sorry for, baby?” 

“I was going to try not to make your life harder today,” you laugh wetly, pulling back from him to swipe under your eyes. 

“You don’t make my life harder,” James says, somewhere near to dismayed as he slides his hand to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t.” 

You give him a look meant to say, Oh, come on, but you’re not sure how it comes off with your face blotchy and snot starting to run from your nose. You take in a big breath.  

“I think I’ve made it harder more than I’ve made it easier lately,” you admit, looking at your bedcover and also at nothing at all. “I didn’t even really realize until recently, but I’ve just felt so…disconnected from you lately. It’s like even when you’re here, I’m just around you and not with you, and—” Your voice catches. You inhale again. “And I know you’re really busy, but I’m just trying to find ways to fix it.” 

James’ hand drops from your shoulder, into his lap, and you lift your gaze. He looks crestfallen. “What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly, his own voice starting to sound raw. “I can’t control these things. And we live together, I see you all the time. It doesn’t seem fair to ask me not to see my mates.” 

“I’m not asking you to do that.” You’re horrified. “But that’s just it, Jamie, it’s like we only live together anymore. Saying hi when you come in, waving when you go back out, those don’t count as quality time for me. And I wish I could get the same feelings from being in a big group that you do, but I can’t.” 

James looks at you helplessly. You shrug, just as powerless. 

“I know it’s not your fault,” you tell him. A tear drips off your chin. “I don’t know what to do, either. I just want you to know that I’m trying, okay?” 

James nods for a minute. Thoughtful, heartbroken. He lets out a big breath. Your arms come around each other at almost the same time, so in sync you can’t be sure who reaches for the other first. You’re trying not to get snot on his fresh shirt, but he palms the back of your head, pressing your face to his shoulder. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right, we should both be trying more. I think I’ve let myself get so overwhelmed that I’m not…I’m almost not even thinking throughout the day, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this by yourself.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, and a little laugh rumbles through James’ chest. He hugs you tighter. 

“It is a little bit, though, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying attention. But okay, let’s make a plan for now.” His hand splays out between your shoulder blades, and you clutch at the material of his shirt, both of you wordlessly trying to get closer as if you can make up for lost time. “Come with me tonight, please.” You go still, but James goes on, “I know it’s not a solution, but I can’t back out and I’d really feel so much better if you were there. Please, angel. And tomorrow, we’ll stay in and watch something. Not a film only I like,” he gives your back a teasing little squeeze, “but something we can both enjoy. Or we can just talk, or play a game, I don’t care. Tomorrow is our night, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sniff, nodding and pulling away slightly so you can wipe your face. James joins in, pinching your nose clean for you and wiping the snot on his jeans carelessly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to clear my busy schedule.” 

He smiles. It’s like the sun beaming through clouds. “I’d appreciate that. Really hard to get ahold of you these days.” You let out a little laugh, and his grin spreads. “Good. So that’s for now, and at training on Friday I’m going to talk to Coach about cutting down on our hours.” 

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Jamie, you don’t have to—” 

“I do,” he says. “I’ve been a wuss about it, but everyone on the team is miffed and it’s really my job to handle it. Coach doesn’t know everything yet, so I can at least give him some advice about how we operate best.” 

James palms the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and meeting you halfway. His forehead presses against yours. 

“I’m really glad you said something. Thanks for being the smart one, as usual.” Your smile is small at first, but James nudges his nose against yours until it blooms in full. “We’re gonna make it better, okay?” 

You swallow thickly. “Okay. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Don’t thank me.” His voice takes on a tender quality, and you push your forehead into his. He palms your cheeks in response, stamping his lips to your forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“I love you, too.” 

That was never up for debate. 

[dulcescorderitas]

dean’s knuckles were bone-white around the impala’s steering wheel. the engine idled, the low purr filling the suffocating silence between you two. his jaw was clenched so hard you swore his teeth might crack. his leg bounced—anxious, angry energy rolling off him in waves that could choke you. he wouldn’t look at you, just stared straight ahead, face set in stone, while the weight of his ultimatum crushed the air in the car.

“last chance,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “either you come with me, or you stay with sam and waste your time on some dumb cure that ain't gonna work.”

your heart thudded against your ribs. you’d seen dean mad before. you’d seen him wrecked, broken, torn apart, but this? this was something else. this was the mark of cain talking, twisting him up from the inside out, and you hated it. hated that he couldn’t see what it was doing to him. hated that he thought this was the only way.

“dean—”

“don’t.” he finally turned his head, eyes sharp as shattered glass. “don’t start with the goddamn speech. just answer the question.”

you swallowed hard, fingers twisting the ring on your hand, the one dean had given you. "i can’t leave sam, dean. but that doesn’t mean i’m leaving you."

the muscle in his jaw jumped. his fingers flexed on the wheel, like he was imagining wrapping them around something else. “right.” he nodded once, a tight, clipped motion. “that’s all i needed to know.”

then he threw the car in gear, gravel spitting up behind the tires as he peeled out, leaving you standing there on the side of the road with your heart in your throat.

the taillights burned red as he sped off, disappearing into the night, and you exhaled a shaky breath. sam was waiting back at the bunker, surrounded by lore books and dead-ends, trying to find a way to fix this. but standing there, watching dean drive away like that, you wondered if there was anything left to fix.

when you found him later, he was holed up in some dive bar, half a bottle of whiskey down, shoulders hunched over the table like he was trying to fold in on himself. the air reeked of sweat and booze and something sour—hopelessness. he didn’t look up when you sat across from him.

“told you to stay with sam.” his voice was hoarse, rough like gravel.

“yeah, well, you don’t get to tell me what to do, dean.”

his lips twitched, something bitter that never became a smile. “you should’ve listened.”

you sighed, leaning forward, hands clasped together. “i’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground.”

he scoffed, shaking his head. “ain’t your call.”

“the hell it isn’t.” you reached out, fingers brushing his arm, and he flinched. not much, but enough. “you’re my family too, you jackass. my stubborn, impossible, pain-in-the-ass jackass. and i love you. you think i can just sit back and watch you go full dark side? that’s not happening.”

his eyes flicked to yours then, something raw bleeding through the cracks in his armor. for a second, just a second, you saw the real dean, the one buried under all that rage and grief. but then he blinked, and it was gone, swallowed up by the mark, by everything that had led him here.

“you don’t get it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “it’s already done. there’s no coming back from this.”

“bullshit.”

he exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head. “just go back to sam. you guys will figure something out, you always do.”

“and what about you?”

he didn’t answer. just knocked back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on the table. the sound cut through the tension like a gunshot.

“dean…” your voice softened, breaking a little. “i love you, you know that?”

his shoulders tensed. his fingers tightened around the empty glass. he didn’t look at you, didn’t speak, just sat there, staring at the table like if he tried hard enough, he could burn a hole through it.

“you think i’d fight this hard if i didn’t?” you swallowed, heart hammering. “i’m not leaving you.”

his throat bobbed, an almost imperceptible movement, but you caught it. for a moment, you thought he might say something—anything—but instead, he reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink.

“you should,” he muttered. “it’d be easier.”

“for who?” you shot back, voice shaking. “because it sure as hell wouldn’t be easier for me.”

he closed his eyes, took a slow breath, but didn’t argue.

it wasn’t a victory. not yet. but you weren’t giving up on him.

not now. not ever.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @deanssun @ambiguous-avery

[dreamlandcreations]

OPLA men - I licked it so it's mine

Shanks / Mihawk / Zoro / Sanji x Reader

this is @justnerdystuffs' fault idea with a little twist here and there and it has been sitting in my drafts for ages 🫣

Warnings: implied mutual pining, idiots (all of them), fluff, kissing, implied relationship afterwards and other stuff , height difference, not proofread (I just wanted to finish something finally 😭🤧)

• Shanks masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

It's been weeks since you have had a decent meal.

After such a long time, you finally landed on an island with a nice-looking bar where the rest of the crew could celebrate whatever excuse they could come up with for drinking and partying. You couldn't care less at the moment.

You had half the menu ordered, knowing full well some of the guys would join in on the feast whether you invited them or not. And that was fine, really, until they tried to take a bite of your steak. Roux was indeed lucky not to lose a hand.

However, your dearest captain had no such self-preservation instincts. You were on very good terms with the man, Shanks was easy to get along with, but he could be such a child sometimes.

He was sitting right next to you and he moved in the moment you turned your head in the other direction to look at some stunt Yasopp was trying to pull. You turned back just in time at the sound of the fork being stabbed into meat.

You moved fast, but not fast enough. The red-haired manchild took the last piece of your steak and quickly licked it from bottom to top, grinning at you with sauce staining his cheek right from under his scars all the way to his chin.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I licked it so it's mine."

From the other side of the table Ben was watching the scene in morbid fascination, ready to save his captain from certain death once again and he didn't like the sinister grin slowly pulling at your lips.

"Hmm," you leaned closer as Shanks put down the food on his plate, reaching for a napkin to wipe his face before you grabbed his hand, yanked him closer, gripping his chin in your other hand, you slowly licked the sauce off the side of his face before you pulled away and smirked at him as you claimed, "I guess that means you are mine now."

The room turned silent, all eyes on you two, as Shanks regarded you with a strange expression, and Ben stood still right where he jumped up when you launched for the captain, while you just stared at the man before you with slowly widening eyes as you just realised what you have done.

Before you could pull further away, Shanks quickly lifted you from your chair, making it tumble back as he pulled you into his lap with his smile quickly returning but with a new warmth to it, and you already knew you were in trouble before you heard what he had to say.

"Yours, huh?" he asked, cupping your cheek gently as he leaned in impossibly close, playfully nudging your nose with his and whispered, "I think I like the sound of that."

Steak forgotten, the crew's cheering ignored, you kissed the grinning idiot and you could't help but smile into the kiss too.

Ben in the background collapsed back into his chair, grabbed a large bottle of rum, and took a big gulp, already dreading what these two will put him through together.

You didn't know how Shanks convinced the swordsman to stay for the celebration but you were having fun watching your captain get on his nerves and when you saw the opportunity to join in that fun, you just had to do it.

There was no shortage of alcohol but Dracule Mihawk has a certain taste and you knew he would go for the good stuff, so you acted as soon as he got up from his seat from next to Shanks.

You took your time to pour out the remaining wine from the last, almost empty bottle and waited until the warlord got close enough that you could tease him without too many witnesses.

He towered over you somewhat menacingly, slightly raising his eyebrows expectantly as his gaze travelled down to the glass in your hand and back to your face in a meaningful motion. You were not intimidated in the slightest though.

On the contrary, you faked innocence as you mimicked his gesture before locking your gaze with his and letting your lips pull up into a little smirk then you lifted the glass and slowly dragged your tongue around the edge of it.

"I licked it so it's mine." you stated cheerfully and shrugged at his almost unperceivable widened eyes that betrayed his surprise or anger. Definitely disbelief, you decided.

Following a tense silence, a rare smile graced his lips, and you stopped breathing for a moment as he leaned in closer. 

"Is that right?" he murmured. His usually bored tone a mix between amusement, mocking and challenge.

Mihawk didn’t wait for your response but took a hold of your chin and smashed his lips against yours just as you gasped, and he took the opportunity to immediately deepen the kiss and lick into your mouth, letting you taste the wine he has been drinking throughout the night and you had no opportunity to sample because you dropped the glass as soon as his lips touched yours.

He didn't seem bothered by the pricey drink going to waste or you knocking down his hat as you desperately reached out and hang onto him by his nape while you tried to keep up with his maddening, passionate, slow, seductive kiss that made you feel like the room was spinning around you.

He pulled away just as abruptly as he started the kiss but he didn't let you go while he regarded you with a smug expression.

"I believe that makes you mine." When you failed to reply, he faked thinking about it for a second, then his smirk returned and he added, “Hmm. Perhaps I’ll have to be more thorough with my claiming.” before capturing your lips again and lifting you up into his arms to take you away somewhere private to make good on his promise.

Luffy claimed most of the food as you sat down, and he did it in the most disgusting but interesting way possible. He stretched his tongue out and licked over all the plates at his half of the table, grinning as he yelled excitedly, "I licked it! So it's mine!"

A moment of horror passed then everyone dug into (the safe part of) the feast. Everyone, except the green haired menace next to you.

Zoro collected both bottles of wine to himself opening them and storing them on his other side, even though he knew that was the only drink you'd find acceptable and it was pretty much all the same to him as long as it had alcohol in it.

He didn't react to you theatrically clearing your throat as you turned to him so you kicked his leg with a force that made him jump up a little.

He looked at you with surprise that quickly turned into annoyance then a wordless challenge. When the silent staredown didn't end with his win he sighed and reached for both bottles, and he extended one of them towards you but pulled back before you could grab it and went to lick over that bottle opening and then the other. Smiling at you in triumph as he said,

"Heard the captain. Rules are rules!"

Huffing at the audacity, you waited until he raised a bottle to his lips and hit the bottom, tipping it so he would spill the wine on himself.

He stood abruptly, making the chair almost fall over as you laughed.

The others' only reaction was a look in your way, they were used to your antics by now, they expected a fight as soon as you sat down beside the ex pirate hunter.

What no one, including you saw coming was your next move. Your eyes followed the droplets of wine dripping down Zoro's neck as he tried to dry his shirt with a napkin. It was all in vain, the fabric was soaked through.

You blinked a few times, trying to gather some sense into you, and obviously failing as you batted away his hands, produced a knife and slit his shirt open in a flash. Then, as you stood up you licked over his toned abdomen and chest, all the way up to his jaw before biting him teasingly there.

He blinked rapidly, taking in a staggering breath as he looked down at you, fixing his gaze on your now wine red lips. You licked them to savour the taste then you took the other bottle, sauntered over to the door and paused, looking back at Zoro with a challenging eyebrow raise before you left.

"Huh," was all he said before he followed you to your room.

You narrowed your eyes at Sanji, eyeing him with growing annoyance as he ate the rare bite-sized food that was gifted to you as the last creation of the chef who the cook obsessed over for the entire week. He moaned and swooned over the taste as you clenched your teeth together, trying to come up with an appropriate revenge.

Sanji looked at you with innocent eyes, smiling sweetly as he ased, "What?"

You looked down at the empty plate pointedly and then back at the thief just in time to see him shrug. "You know the rule, I licked it so it's mine."

Your body moved before you could think it through, grasping his chin with one hand, brushing away his hair from his face and grabbing him by the back of his head with your other hand as you quickly licked the side of his face and pushed him back a little as you stepped back. There, the gesture says.

Waiting for his disgusted reaction, you started to grin, satisfied with your little revenge for now, at least for a moment or so because he didn't react how you thought at all.

He seemed to be frozen in place except for his slowly widening eyes, then he gasped, giggled, and turned to you with a grin, exclaiming loudly that, "I'm yours now, no takebacks!"

You huffed at the ridiculous train of thought and turned to leave but he hugged you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, arms circling around your waist and you couldn't help but smile as you sighed dramatically but placed your hands on his, letting him pull you into an even tighter embrace that you would be trapped in for a while.

• Shanks masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

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[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Trigger warning. Joel triggers your PTSD when you see him drunk for the first time causing you to have flashbacks of your abusive ex.]

Mentions of DV

“You weren’t suppose to see this, baby” he stumbled in your direction.

Joel knew how you felt about alcohol, he knew the hell you had gone through with your ex boyfriend because of it. Having known him for a year, you and him both traveled alone surviving together. Never had you seen Joel intoxicated, neither of you had come across liquor during your journey and when you did Joel ignored it out of respect for you. Of course, Joel missed the alcohol helping him somewhat sleep at night yet he never mentioned it.

Tonight the two of you had gotten lucky, after being on your feet for nine hours walking through the woods you both came across a cabin that looked as if it had been abandoned for a while now. After making sure it was empty you both claimed it as your own, at least until you had to keep moving again.

“Oh it’s nice to finally have a bed tonight” you looking at the bed at the other end of the room. Joel smirked as he looked around, peaking through the cabinets where he found two full bottles of whiskey. God it had been so long since Joel had a taste, the only thing that numbed him entirely, he craved just a glass.

“What cha find?” You asked as you began to unpack your bag. Joel quickly closing the door and clearing his throat as he moved along.

“Nothin’ uh, a few cans of food and towels” Joel knowing damn well it was nothing to mention.

“Good, I’m hungry” you spoke excitedly as Joel grabbed the cans to sit at the table.

Joel and you lay on the couch, your body slouched against his for a moment as his hand brushed through your hair.

“Oh I’d love to be able to just watch a movie now, have some popcorn” you sighed, the thought making Joel slightly smile.

“What movie would we watch?” He asked curiously.

“Hmmm…I don’t know, how about a romantic comedy?” You winked at him as he playfully shook his head rubbing his eyes.

“Oh baby, I’d watch anything with you” he whispered looking down at you before kissing you softly.

“Who knows, we probably wouldn’t even watch anything” he chuckled as you playfully shoved him.

“We should get sleep” your lips brushing against his as you spoke. He nodded before you pushed yourself up and walked to the bed.

“Are you coming?” You yawned as you dusted the bed off a bit and pulled back the covers.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few” he called out to you before looking back at the cabinet that held the two bottles of whiskey. Too exhausted to wait, your eyes closed and you fell right to sleep.

Once Joel was sure that you were asleep, quietly he got up and stopped right at the cabinet. Looking back at you he reached for the first bottle, slowly opening it up. Without thought Joel began to drink savoring the taste he hadn’t had in so long, wiping his lips feeling the burn in his chest.

“Fuck” It’s just what he needed after not being able to sleep properly in weeks.

Closing his eyes in relief he took another chug before taking the bottle back with him to the couch. Within fourty minutes he was half way through, slowly getting to the bottom. The buzz creeping up on him as he leaned his head back and took a deep breath.

Joel began slowly walking around the cabin, reading some of the frames on the wall when he began to stumble. Reaching for a frame Joel accidentally knocked it to the ground causing you to wake up.

“Joel?”

“Shit” he whispered.

Rubbing your eyes you go out of bed to see Joel across the room.

“You ok?” He turned to you revealing the half empty open bottle in his hand, that’s when you looked at his face and realized he didn’t look like the Joel you knew.

“Didn’t mean to…wake ya..” he whispered as he noticed the way you stared at the bottle in his hand.

“Where’d you get that?” You asked softly as Joel took a deep breath with regret.

“You…-“ he began to walk towards you.

“You weren’t suppose to see this, baby” he stumbled in your direction.

“Maybe you should….lay down” you spoke nervously as he stopped right before you.

“Shit baby, I fucked up..” he whispered. The smell of alcohol making your stomach turn, the memories of the nightmare you lived with your ex boyfriend now coming back to you. Your heart racing as you felt a panic you never thought you would feel again.

“You’re mad at me, ain’t cha?” He couldn’t hold himself still as he stood before you, you took a step back feeling the wall behind you as you slowly shook your head. Mad wasn’t the word as your nerves took over. You trusted Joel yet seeing him in a way you never had…seeing him in a way your ex had his violent outbursts, you were terrified.

“Don’t be…mad at…..me, baby. Ima make this..right” he slurred.

You watched as he dangled the half empty bottle around before closing the top in a clumsy manner and placing the bottle on the table beside him.

“There” he placed his hands up showing you he was done. As drunk as he was he could see the fear in your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad at me-“ he unexpectedly reached for you causing you to step back against the wall harder than you meant to.

“I ain’t gonna hurt cha” his eyes desperate for you to trust him. Yet, his words only seemed to make it worse. It was something your ex would love to say just before he actually would hurt you.

“Fuck” Joel shoved the chair beside him causing you to jump.

“Stop it! Just stop!” You felt yourself begin to lose any control you thought you had.

“Baby-“

“Just go lay down! Go to sleep!” You couldn’t even look him in the eye. All you wanted desperately was for him to get away from you. Joel stood silent as he took a step back and did as you asked. Quietly going to the bed he lay down and let you be.

As soon as he walked away you began to silently hyperventilate. Squeezing your eyes shut you tried to fight off the memories, the trauma…you tried to fight the fear.

You knew you would no longer be able to properly sleep that night. Joel was out in a matter of minutes while you sat up on the couch watching him. Your eyes feeling heavy, it was getting harder to stay awake until eventually you fell asleep.

After a few hours Joel began to wake up. With a slight headache he slowly pushed himself up with a groan before looking up and noticing the bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. Quickly he looked around the room to find you sitting on the couch asleep facing him.

“Shit” he whispered to himself brushing his hand through his hair. Bits and pieces of the night before flashed in his mind, one thing he couldn’t stop picturing was how afraid you seemed of him.

Joel stood up walking towards you, he could tell you didn’t mean to fall asleep. You seemed cold and so he grabbed a blanket from the bed and slowly placed it on you. The feel of the blanket covering you causing you to slowly open your eyes and when you did, you jumped not expecting to see Joel standing over you.

“It’s me-“ he tried to assure you.

“It’s me, baby I’m sober, I ain’t drinkin’ I promise” it took a moment for you to realize he actually was sober. There was the Joel you knew staring down at you with concern. Staying silent for a moment you looked around a bit confused, you hadn’t even realized you fell asleep, let alone for how long. You looked at him quietly as you slowly sat up and took a deep breath.

“You-“

“I know” he quickly spoke as he stood up straight.

“I’ve never seen you like that before” you whispered.

“and I….I thought about Cameron and-“ he noticed you begin to slightly tremble.

“I just didn’t know what you were capable of” you blurt out as you held back your tears.

“Scared the hell out of me” Joel brushed his hand over his lips before quickly getting down on one knee.

“Look at me” he spoke low looking directly into your eyes.

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. You understand that?” He was serious. He meant every word he said.

“I wish I could find the prick that did this to you, I guarantee you he’d never have a drink again” you quietly nodded yet he could still see you trembling. It was getting harder for you to control.

“Hey” he placed his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up.

“I ain’t gonna drink again alright? I should’ve never done that” he whispered. You let out a breath of relief and threw your arms around him pulling him in. Joel held you hold close and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, get into bed with me, baby” he slowly lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You watched as he walked to the counter and poured the left over liquor down the drain. As much as Joel loved a drink, your peace of mind was more important to him. Throwing the bottle out the window he walked back to you and lay beside you pulling you close as you fell asleep..

[marysfics]

Spinning on Vinyl

''You remind me of a song that I can't seem to skip''

Angst, Happy Ending, Fluff

The apartment feels eerily quiet without her. The kind of quiet that presses in on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been alone here—Alexia has always been traveling for matches, for training camps, for endless commitments that took her far away from this small, shared space. But tonight, it feels different. Heavier.

You glance at the half-empty wine glass sitting beside you on the floor, untouched for a while now. The rich, red liquid doesn’t hold the same allure it did an hour ago when you first poured it, hoping it might numb the ache growing steadily in your chest. But wine can’t drown out everything, and it certainly can’t drown out memories.

In a slow, deliberate motion, you reach over to the vinyl record player resting on the shelf. The same one the two of you had found in some vintage shop on one of those rare days when Alexia wasn’t rushing to the next match or the next media appearance. You remember her smile when she saw it, how she picked it up with delicate hands, her eyes lighting up like a child’s. She had said it reminded her of her childhood, of Sundays spent with her family listening to old records, the music mingling with the smell of her mother’s cooking.

Now, the player feels like a relic of something lost—something you’re trying desperately to hold on to, even as it slips through your fingers. The needle touches the vinyl, and the first crackle fills the room. The static noise that used to sound comforting, like a prelude to something magical, now feels like the space between you and her. Thin, fragile, barely holding it all together.

The music begins, soft and slow, an old song that you both loved. It was the kind of melody that wrapped around you like a blanket, pulling you into each other’s arms without a word. You close your eyes, sinking into the sound, letting it carry you back to a time when everything felt simpler. Back when Alexia was yours—not just in fleeting moments, but truly yours.

The bassline vibrates through the room, echoing in the emptiness, and you can almost hear her voice in your head, low and soft, singing along under her breath as she always did. You smile faintly at the memory of it—the way she used to sing off-key just to make you laugh. She wasn’t a performer, not in that way. She saved her grace for the pitch, but in these quiet moments, she was unguarded, playful, completely at ease.

God, how long has it been since you’ve seen her like that?

Your eyes drift to the framed photos on the wall. There’s one of the two of you, her arm slung around your shoulder, both of you grinning at the camera after one of her games. Her jersey is still drenched in sweat, hair messy from the action, but her eyes—her eyes were on you. You remember the moment clearly. It was the first time she’d kissed you in public, right there in front of the cameras, after she scored the winning goal. She had pulled you close, pressing her lips to your forehead, murmuring something in your ear that made you laugh, but now you can’t remember what she said. Just the feeling it left behind, warm and safe.

But that warmth has faded, replaced by the cold void of her absence.

The vinyl continues to spin, the needle gliding effortlessly through the grooves. Each note feels like a heartbeat, each lyric a whisper of something lost. You don’t even try to stop the memories now—they flood your mind, unrelenting, filling every corner of your thoughts with her.

You can picture her so clearly. The way she used to curl up on the couch after a long day, her legs tucked beneath her, that soft smile on her face as you laid beside her. The smell of her shampoo, something fresh and clean, the way her hair would fall into her eyes when she was too tired to push it back. The sound of her laughter—low, almost raspy, but full of life. You can still hear it, like an echo bouncing off the walls, even though it’s been weeks since you last heard it in person.

God, it’s been weeks.

You glance at your phone again, your thumb hovering over her name. It feels like it’s always been there, waiting for the right moment to press call, or send a message, or do anything that might pull her back to you. But you can’t. You haven’t. The space between your last conversation and now feels too wide, too difficult to cross with just a text.

She’s always somewhere else. Even when she’s here, she’s always got one foot out the door, ready for the next game, the next match, the next chapter of her story that you’re barely a part of anymore. It wasn’t always like this, though. Once, there was balance. There was her, and there was you, and it felt like the two of you existed in this beautiful harmony, like two notes perfectly in sync. Now, it’s as if you’re playing different songs, neither of you willing to change the tune.

The music picks up, the tempo quickening, but it doesn’t bring comfort. If anything, it reminds you how things have been moving too fast. How her career is growing and expanding in every direction, while you feel like you’re standing still, watching from the sidelines.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

You never wanted to be a spectator in her life. You wanted to be a part of it, truly part of it, not just someone she comes home to when the world isn’t watching. But lately, that’s all you’ve been—someone who waits, who watches, who wonders if there’s still space for you in her world.

The song swells, and with it, so does the ache in your chest. You lean your head back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, letting the music wash over you. You focus on the rhythm, trying to lose yourself in it, trying to forget the gnawing emptiness that seems to grow with every passing day.

But you can’t forget her. You never could.

The song changes, a softer melody now, and with it comes the familiar pull of nostalgia. You know what’s coming next. This was your song—the one you and Alexia always danced to, barefoot in the kitchen, her hands on your hips, your head resting on her shoulder. The first time she heard it, she’d laughed, pulling you into her arms without hesitation, spinning you around as if no one was watching. You’d laughed, too, feeling weightless, like the rest of the world didn’t exist beyond that moment.

The memory is so vivid, you can almost feel her now. The heat of her body pressed against yours, the way her breath would ghost across your neck as she whispered something silly, something that would make you giggle, even though the moment was already perfect. She’d twirl you around, her fingers never leaving your waist, like you were the only thing tethering her to the ground.

You open your eyes and sigh, the weight of it all pulling you back to reality.

But there’s no Alexia here. Just the music. Just the memories. Just you.

The room fades around you, swallowed up by the growing intensity of the music. The song on the record shifts, and with it comes a memory so vivid it pulls you in before you can stop it. It’s one of the earliest memories you have of her, back when things were new and easy. Back when every look, every touch felt electric, charged with possibility.

It was your first time at one of her games. You remember the nerves—the restless energy in your stomach, unsure of what to expect. Sure, you’d seen Alexia play on TV, heard her name shouted in crowded rooms, but watching her from a distance was nothing compared to being there in person, seeing her live in her element, where she shined brightest.

The stadium was a sea of faces, all of them there for her, but you felt like the only one who mattered. There, in the cold evening air, with your heart beating faster than it should, you found your seat and waited, the anticipation growing with every passing minute.

The moment she stepped onto the pitch, everything else fell away.

Alexia was magnetic. There was no other way to describe it. The way she moved—so effortlessly, so fluid—it was like watching art in motion. Each step was deliberate, each pass precise. It wasn’t just a game to her. It was something deeper, something that coursed through her veins like it was what she was made for. She owned the field, commanding it with a quiet intensity, and you couldn’t take your eyes off her. You didn’t want to.

For the first few minutes, you were just another face in the crowd, just another fan cheering her name. But then it happened. That moment when she looked up, searching the stands, and her eyes found yours.

It was like time stopped.

You froze, breath catching in your throat, heart hammering against your ribs. Alexia smiled—a soft, private smile that didn’t belong to the roaring crowd or the flashing cameras. It was yours, and yours alone. And in that moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. Not the game, not the people, not the pressure that came with being Alexia Putellas. Just her and you, sharing a moment that felt sacred in a sea of chaos.

You could still remember how your chest tightened at the sight of her. The way your pulse quickened as she ran down the field, weaving between defenders, her eyes sharp, focused, a silent determination etched on her face. Every movement was so deliberate, so graceful, like she was painting something only she could see. And every time she touched the ball, it felt like a promise—a promise that she would win, for you, for both of you.

As the game wore on, the energy in the stadium shifted, growing more intense with every passing minute. The crowd’s cheers were deafening, their voices rising with the action on the pitch. But you weren’t focused on the game. You were focused on her.

You could see the exhaustion starting to creep into her movements, the weight of the match bearing down on her. But she didn’t slow down. She pushed harder, her body moving with a fierce determination that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Because you knew—somewhere deep down—you knew she wasn’t just fighting for the win. She was fighting for you. For this. For the life she was trying to balance between the demands of her career and the fragile, growing thing between you.

Then it happened.

A breakaway.

Alexia darted through the defense, her eyes locked on the goal. The crowd surged around you, their voices a tidal wave of anticipation, but all you could hear was your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you watched her close in on the moment. It was as if the world had narrowed to just her and the ball, and then—

She struck.

The sound of the ball hitting the back of the net was almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but you heard it. You felt it. It was victory—sharp, sweet, and undeniable. The stadium erupted around you, people leaping to their feet, cheering her name. And amidst it all, she turned, her eyes finding yours once again, that same soft smile tugging at her lips.

It was for you. The goal, the smile, the unspoken promise between you—it was all for you.

You stood, your legs trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline, unable to stop the grin that spread across your face. It was impossible not to be swept up in her energy, in the joy radiating from her like sunlight after a long storm. For a moment, it felt like nothing could touch you. Like you were invincible, riding the high of her victory as if it were your own.

After the game, you lingered by the stadium entrance, waiting for her. The night air was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat that still pulsed in your veins. The minutes stretched on, each one a little heavier than the last, until finally, you saw her.

She emerged from the locker room, still in her kit, her hair damp from the shower, strands falling into her eyes in that careless way you loved so much. Her cheeks were flushed, not from exertion but from the glow of the win, her confidence radiating like a halo around her.

When she spotted you, her face softened, the sharp edges of the competitive athlete melting away. She was just Alexia again. Your Alexia.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice low and a little rough from the match. There was a hint of vulnerability in her eyes, like she was unsure of what came next, even after all that had passed between you during the game. “Did you—?”

“You were amazing,” you cut her off, shaking your head in disbelief. “Like…breathtaking.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, that crooked smile that always made your heart skip a beat. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours in that familiar, gentle way that was more intimate than anything else. Her fingers curled around yours, and you squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin, the slight tremor in her grip from the adrenaline that still hadn’t faded.

“I wanted you to see this,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “I wanted you to understand…this part of me.”

You nodded, unable to find the right words to respond. Because how could you explain to her that you didn’t just understand this part of her—you loved it? You loved all of her, even the parts that scared you, the parts that took her away from you for weeks at a time. You loved the way she poured her soul into her sport, the way she gave everything, even when there was nothing left for herself.

“I’m proud of you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “So proud.”

Alexia’s hand tightened around yours, her eyes softening with something that looked like relief. “Thank you,” she breathed, her forehead resting gently against yours. “I’m proud of you too.”

You smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. In that moment, it didn’t matter that the rest of the world was watching her, or that her life was so much bigger than you could ever be. All that mattered was this—her, you, and the quiet understanding that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

But now, sitting here, listening to the vinyl spin, the memory feels bittersweet. Because somewhere along the way, the promise you’d felt that night slipped through your fingers. The connection that had felt so solid, so unbreakable, had started to fray at the edges, pulled thin by the relentless demands of her career, by the endless distance that seemed to grow between you.

And even though you told yourself it would be enough—her love, her smiles, the quiet moments you stole between the chaos—you can’t shake the feeling that something is missing now. That maybe, just maybe, the space between you has become too wide to cross.

The soft hum of the vinyl fades into the background as your thoughts drift, wandering through the memories you’ve been holding onto so tightly. It's strange how the things that once brought you so much comfort—like the music, the photos, the laughter you once shared—now weigh heavy on your chest, like they’re relics of something you can’t quite touch anymore.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Alexia. Weeks of lonely nights spent with your phone in your hand, wondering if you should call, if you should say something—anything—to bridge the ever-widening distance between you. But every time you pull up her name, your thumb hovering over the screen, something stops you.

Maybe it’s fear. Fear that the space between you has grown too vast to close with a simple text. Or maybe it’s the nagging doubt that’s been creeping in lately—the doubt that maybe you’re not enough for her anymore. Not enough to compete with the whirlwind that is her life, her career, her success.

You hate thinking that way. You hate feeling like you’re waiting in the wings of her life, a spectator in a relationship that once made you feel so alive. But you can’t shake the sensation that you’re slowly being left behind, even though you’re desperately trying to hold on.

The apartment feels colder now, as if the memories of her have seeped out of the walls, leaving only emptiness in their wake. You wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the blanket tighter as if that might somehow fill the void she’s left behind. But it doesn’t. It never does.

She’s always on your mind. Even when you’re not actively thinking about her, she lingers in the back of your thoughts like a half-finished melody. You can hear her laugh, see the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, feel the warmth of her hand slipping into yours. But those memories feel so far away now, like they belong to someone else—someone who existed in a time when things were simpler, when you weren’t questioning every unreturned text, every missed call.

You try to tell yourself that it’s just temporary, that this is just a rough patch. After all, Alexia has always had a demanding schedule. It’s part of who she is, part of what makes her so extraordinary. You knew that from the beginning—knew that she would always be pulled in a thousand different directions. But back then, it didn’t feel like a threat. Back then, it felt like you could weather anything, as long as you had each other.

But now… now, it feels different.

The record clicks as the needle reaches the end, the soft static filling the room, pulling you out of your thoughts. You sit up, the sudden silence amplifying the emptiness you’ve been trying to ignore all night. The apartment feels too big without her, too quiet, and the loneliness presses in around you, suffocating.

You reach for your phone again, your hand trembling slightly as you scroll through the messages. Her name is at the top, of course. There are texts from her—short, sweet messages telling you she misses you, that she can’t wait to come home. You read them over and over, hoping that somehow they’ll soothe the ache in your chest. But they’re not enough.

Because you want more than just texts. You want her. You want her here, beside you, her arms wrapped around you, her voice soft in your ear as she tells you about her day. You want the little moments—the mornings spent tangled in the sheets, the evenings spent cooking dinner together, the quiet laughter that filled the spaces between words. You want all of her, not just the parts that she can give when she’s not busy being someone else’s hero.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on you. This isn’t the first time you’ve felt this way, but it’s never been this intense before. The doubt, the longing, the frustration—it’s all building up inside you, threatening to spill over. You don’t know how much longer you can keep it all inside.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, typing out a message you’ve written a hundred times before.

"I miss you."

Three simple words. Words you’ve said to her countless times, but now, they feel heavier than ever. You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the send button. Part of you hopes that this will be the message that changes things, that maybe she’ll respond with something that will make all of this feel worth it. But another part of you—the part that’s been growing louder and more insistent—wonders if sending this message will only serve to highlight the growing gap between you.

Because as much as you miss her, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe she’s getting used to life without you.

That thought hits you harder than you expect, a cold rush of fear flooding your chest. You’ve been trying so hard to stay positive, to tell yourself that things will get better, that this is just a temporary phase. But the truth is, you don’t know that for sure. You don’t know what’s going through her mind when she’s out there, traveling from one city to the next, surrounded by people who worship her, who don’t see the side of her that you do. The side that’s vulnerable, that’s unsure, that needs someone to ground her.

And that’s the part that scares you the most. Because what if she doesn’t need you anymore?

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay where they are. You’re not ready to face that possibility. Not yet.

But as the silence stretches on, broken only by the faint crackle of the record player, you start to wonder if maybe this is the beginning of the end. Maybe all those little moments you’ve been holding onto, all those memories you’ve been replaying in your mind, are just that—memories. Moments that belong to the past, not the future.

You stand up slowly, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you make your way to the window. The city outside is alive, bustling with people, with life, but you feel so far removed from it all. You lean your forehead against the cool glass, staring out at the lights below. It’s strange how the world keeps moving, even when it feels like yours is standing still.

You wonder what Alexia is doing right now. Whether she’s thinking about you, too, or if she’s wrapped up in her world, too busy to notice the growing distance. You want to believe that she misses you as much as you miss her, but the longer this silence stretches between you, the harder it is to hold onto that belief.

Another message from her lights up your phone, and your heart skips a beat. You glance down at the screen, hoping for something more than the usual pleasantries. But it’s just a quick, “Training was tough today. I’ll call you tomorrow, love you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone as you read the words. Tomorrow. It’s always tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll call, tomorrow you’ll talk, tomorrow things will be better. But tomorrow never comes, and you’re left here, waiting in the space between promises and reality.

You type out a quick reply—something supportive, something sweet, because that’s what you do. You’ve always been her anchor, her steady ground when everything else is chaos. But right now, you feel like you’re drifting, and you’re not sure how to find your way back.

The music starts again, the same song as before, its familiar melody wrapping around you like a bittersweet embrace. You let the sound wash over you, filling the empty spaces where her voice should be, and for a moment, you allow yourself to sink into the feeling of it all—the longing, the love, the uncertainty.

Because that’s all you have right now.

The city lights blur through the window as you stand there, forehead still pressed against the cold glass, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You’ve spent so long in this space—this liminal place between hope and despair—that it’s starting to feel like home. A home you never wanted.

Your phone buzzes in your hand again, but this time, it’s not a message. It’s her.

Alexia.

The name lights up the screen, and for a moment, you just stare at it, heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t expecting her to call tonight—not after the brief message about tomorrow—but here she is, reaching out when you were least prepared.

Your thumb hesitates over the green button. Every muscle in your body feels tense, as if you’re holding your breath, unsure if you’re ready for this conversation. Because deep down, you know it’s not just going to be small talk this time. It can’t be. There’s too much unsaid between you now, too much that’s been left hanging in the silence.

With a shaky breath, you press accept.

“Hey,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you intended, almost fragile.

“Hey,” Alexia replies, and you can hear the weariness in her voice, the strain of a long day clinging to her like an invisible weight. There’s a pause, the quiet stretch of unspoken words filling the space between you, and for a second, you wonder if she can feel the tension too.

“How was training?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, though it feels like a thin veil over the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

“Exhausting,” she admits with a sigh, “but that’s not really why I’m calling.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thick. You can hear the seriousness in her tone, the shift that tells you this conversation isn’t going to be easy.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” she continues, her voice quieter now, like she’s testing the waters. “About…everything.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. This is it. This is the conversation you’ve been avoiding, the one you’ve been dreading but also needing. Because no matter how much you’ve tried to pretend that things are fine, that this is just a rough patch, deep down you know that something has to change. You just don’t know if you’re ready to face what that change might look like.

“Me too,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You bite your lip, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to find the right words that won’t sound like accusations, like blame. “It’s just… it feels like we’re losing each other, Alexia.”

The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. It’s the truth you’ve been holding back for so long, the fear that’s been gnawing at you in the quiet moments when she’s not around.

There’s a soft exhale on the other end of the line, and for a moment, you think maybe she didn’t hear you. But then she speaks, and her voice is full of something you didn’t expect: guilt.

“I know,” she says softly, her voice breaking slightly. “I know I haven’t been around as much, and I hate that. I hate that I’ve been making you feel like this, like I’m slipping away.”

You close your eyes, letting her words sink in. There’s something comforting in hearing her acknowledge it, in knowing that you’re not imagining the distance between you. But it doesn’t erase the ache in your chest, the loneliness that’s been gnawing at you for weeks.

“I don’t blame you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay composed. “I know how important your career is. I’ve always known. But sometimes it feels like... like I’m just waiting for you to have time for me. And it’s hard, Alexia. It’s really hard.”

“I don’t want you to feel that way,” she whispers, and there’s a heaviness in her voice that makes your heart clench. “I never wanted to make you feel like you’re not important. You are. You’re everything to me. It’s just—” She pauses, searching for the right words, the frustration clear in her tone. “It’s hard to balance everything. The games, the training, the travel… Sometimes I feel like I’m failing you, like I’m failing us.”

Her vulnerability catches you off guard. You can hear the strain in her voice, the cracks in the facade she’s been holding up for so long. She’s always been so strong, so composed, but now, hearing her admit that she’s struggling too, it hits you in a way you didn’t expect.

“I didn’t realize,” you murmur, your heart softening just a little. “I didn’t know it was so hard for you too.”

There’s another pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, more tentative. “It’s just… I’m scared, you know? Scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize that this—my life, my schedule, everything—is too much for you. That you’ll get tired of waiting for me, tired of not having me around when you need me.”

Her words hit you hard, because they echo the fears that have been swirling in your own mind. But hearing her say it, hearing the raw honesty in her voice, makes you realize that this isn’t just about you. It’s about both of you, trying to navigate a love that’s complicated by the realities of her career and the demands that come with it.

“I’m scared too,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m scared that one day, you’ll realize that maybe you don’t need me as much as you used to. That maybe your life is easier without trying to fit me into it.”

The silence that follows is heavy, the weight of all the unsaid things pressing down on both of you. But instead of making you feel more distant, it somehow makes you feel closer, like you’re both standing on the same edge, looking down at the same uncertain future.

“I do need you,” she says finally, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t want a life where you’re not part of it. But I also know that I haven’t been showing you that. I know that I’ve been letting you down.”

You sit down on the edge of the couch, your heart pounding as her words settle over you. There’s a deep ache in your chest, but it’s mixed with something else now—something warmer, something that feels like hope.

“I miss you,” you say again, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I miss us. I miss what we used to have before everything got so... complicated.”

“I miss you too,” she replies, and there’s a rawness in her voice that makes your throat tighten. “I hate that I’ve been so far away, not just physically, but emotionally. And I don’t know how to fix it overnight, but I want to try. I need to try.”

The honesty in her words cracks something open inside you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. Like you’re both acknowledging the distance between you, but also agreeing to fight for what you have.

“I don’t need everything to be perfect,” you say softly. “I just need to know that we’re in this together. That I’m not the only one holding on.”

“You’re not,” she promises, and there’s a steadiness in her voice now, a determination that wasn’t there before. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of her words sink in. It’s not a perfect solution, and you know there’s still a long way to go. But it’s a start. A step toward finding each other again, toward rebuilding the connection that’s been fraying at the edges.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back.

“I love you too,” Alexia replies, and this time, the words feel like a promise.

The next few days feel different.

There’s still the same space between you and Alexia—miles of distance, long hours, and time zones that never seem to align—but now, there’s something else. A thread, thin but unbreakable, pulling you closer together with every word exchanged. The tension that once filled the silence between you has eased, replaced by something softer, something that feels like hope.

She calls more often now. The messages come in with regularity—small updates on her day, pictures of sunsets and unfamiliar cities, jokes that make you smile in the quiet of your empty apartment. It’s not perfect. You still miss her, still feel the ache of wanting her beside you. But there’s a comfort in knowing that she’s trying, in knowing that she’s holding on just as tightly as you are.

It’s late one evening, almost midnight, when your phone buzzes again. You’re wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, the low hum of a record spinning in the background, when you see her name flash on the screen. It’s a video call this time.

Your heart flutters as you swipe to accept, the familiar chime of the call connecting filling the room. And then she’s there, her face filling the screen—messy hair, no makeup, her eyes soft with exhaustion but also warmth.

“Hi,” she says, her voice a little crackly through the phone, but it’s enough to make your heart skip.

“Hi,” you whisper back, your lips tugging into a smile. Just seeing her like this—raw, unguarded—makes you feel like the distance between you is shrinking, even if only for a moment.

“I miss your face,” Alexia murmurs, her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s not the same seeing you on a screen.”

You chuckle softly, curling deeper into the blanket. “Tell me about it. I’m starting to think I’ve forgotten what you look like in person.”

She lets out a small laugh, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes that lingers. “Not for long, though.”

Your brow furrows, and before you can ask what she means, she shifts slightly, glancing at something off-camera. When she looks back, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, you know?” she starts, her tone soft but full of intent. “About what you said. About how we’ve been drifting. I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to keep waiting for ‘tomorrow’ to fix things. I want to make it better now.”

Your heart speeds up, her words sinking in. “Alexia, I—”

“I’m coming home,” she interrupts, her voice steady and sure. “Tomorrow. No more delays, no more excuses. I’ve talked to the team, and I’m taking a break for a few days. I just want to be with you.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait—tomorrow?”

She nods, a small, almost sheepish smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. I’ll be there by the afternoon. I know it won’t fix everything, but… I miss you. I need to be with you. We can figure the rest out together.”

The rush of emotion that washes over you is overwhelming. For so long, you’ve been holding onto the idea of her coming back, but it always felt like something just out of reach. And now, hearing her say it—hearing her make this promise—it feels real in a way that fills your chest with warmth.

“You’re really coming home?” you whisper, almost afraid to believe it.

“I am,” she says softly. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat, tears prickling at your eyes. “I think I can make room for you.”

Alexia’s smile widens, and there’s a lightness in her expression that you haven’t seen in weeks. “Good. Because I’ve missed your cooking. And I’m pretty sure I left one of my hoodies at your place, and I want it back.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a joy bubbling in your chest that you can’t contain. “I’ll think about it.”

The conversation continues, lighter now, filled with soft laughter and quiet jokes. For the first time in a long time, it feels easy again. The weight of the distance, the uncertainty, all of it starts to melt away as you talk about nothing and everything. The connection between you feels stronger, more tangible, and you hold onto it, refusing to let go.

When the call ends, the apartment feels a little less lonely. You curl up in bed, her promise echoing in your mind, and for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

The apartment feels warm the next day, glowing with a soft light from the fading afternoon sun that streams through the windows. It’s quiet, save for the gentle crackle of the vinyl spinning on the record player in the corner. You’d put it on earlier, a song that holds so many memories between the two of you. The room smells faintly of vanilla and clean linen, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a stillness in the air that brings peace instead of loneliness.

Alexia stands in front of you, her hand in yours, as you both sway softly to the rhythm of the song. You catch her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she pulls you closer, her other hand settling against the small of your back.

Neither of you says anything. You don’t need to.

There’s a tenderness in the silence between you now, a shared understanding that doesn’t need words. The conversation you’d had—the raw, vulnerable honesty—has left you both feeling lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. And now, with her here, the familiar melody wrapping around you, everything feels right in a way it hasn’t for so long.

The song playing is slow and melodic, each note weaving through the room like it was made for this moment, for you and her. The kind of song you’d listened to on lazy Sunday mornings, back when time wasn’t something you worried about. Before the distance.

Alexia tightens her hold on you, her body pressing close as her forehead rests against yours. The gentle brush of her skin sends a shiver through you, but not from cold—from the quiet intensity of the moment, the electricity humming between you. It’s the first time in weeks you’ve felt this close to her, not just physically but emotionally.

You close your eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her—something warm and soft, like home. The vinyl’s soft crackle and the quiet strumming of the guitar fill the air, creating a cocoon around you both.

“I missed this,” Alexia whispers, her breath brushing against your lips, her eyes still closed. “Just being here with you. Like this.”

Your heart swells at her words, and you lean into her, pressing your face into the curve of her neck. “I missed this too,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, the emotions threatening to spill over.

For a while, you just sway like that, foreheads pressed together, hands resting on each other’s bodies. It’s a slow dance, the kind you fall into when time doesn’t matter, when the only thing that exists is the warmth of her touch and the steady rhythm of her breathing. The world outside feels distant, like it can’t reach you here, in this small bubble of peace you’ve found together.

The song shifts slightly, a new verse playing, and Alexia’s hand slowly slides up your back, her fingers tracing a path up to your shoulder before she gently lifts your chin to meet her gaze. Her eyes are soft, deep brown pools filled with something you haven’t seen in a while—a kind of certainty, a promise that she’s here, and she’s not leaving.

“I’m sorry for everything,” she says, her voice barely a whisper between the notes. “For making you feel like I was slipping away. I never meant to.” Her words are quiet but heavy, carrying the weight of all the moments that had felt so distant, so full of silence.

You shake your head softly, your forehead brushing against hers as you do. “We both made mistakes,” you reply, your voice gentle but firm. “But we’re here now, right? We’re fixing it.”

She nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, we are.”

The music continues to fill the room, the crackling of the vinyl blending with the soft melody of the song. Alexia’s arms wrap around you fully, pulling you against her chest, and you let your hands rest on her waist, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of her shirt.

Her breath slows, and for a moment, you can feel the beat of her heart through her chest, steady and sure, like it’s syncing with the rhythm of the song. There’s something so intimate about this—no grand gestures, no need for words—just the quiet presence of being with each other, of knowing that after everything, after all the distance and the doubts, you’ve both chosen to stay.

As the song winds down, the notes fading into the background, you look up at her, catching her gaze again. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability that mirrors your own, and before you can think twice, you lean in and press your lips to hers. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, full of all the unsaid things that have been building between you for so long. A kiss that speaks of forgiveness, of love, of the quiet promise that you’re not letting go.

When you pull back, Alexia’s smile is small but real, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I love you,” she whispers, the words full of warmth and certainty.

“I love you too,” you reply, the weight of the words settling comfortably between you, like they’ve found their rightful place again.

The vinyl spins to a stop, the quiet crackle filling the room as the music fades. But neither of you moves. You stay wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying gently to the rhythm of a song only the two of you can hear. The city outside hums with life, but in this moment, it’s just you and her, dancing in the quiet, letting the world melt away.

Alexia leans her forehead against yours again, her eyes closing as she holds you close. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers softly, the words like a promise.

And as you stand there together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you know that this is what love is—messy, complicated, sometimes painful, but always worth fighting for. You tighten your hold on her, your fingers brushing her back as you sway gently to the silence.

Right now, in this moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place. And it’s enough.

-

Note: I've been experimenting with a new writing style that uses a lot more words than I typically do. l'd love to know if this is the kind of writing you'd like to see more of in the future.

[anika-ann]

Sweet and Ours, Tonight - S.R.

Type: one-shot, established relationship, domestic... filth

Pairing: Steve Rogers x wife!reader   Word Count: 5,8k

Summary:  You and Steve had a long, long week.

You both deserve a reward. Perhaps an evening with undivided attention to each other... and maybe to end the endless week with a bang.

The thing is, Steve has no idea about what’s awaiting him at home. Yet, you have a feeling he will like it - and he'll be happy to show you.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, praise kink, slight authority kink, soft dom/sub elements (with a tad dominant Steve), a sprinkle of possessiveness, potential blasphemy, lingerie kink, marriage kink (if that's a thing), mention of (tender) hair pulling, mention of semi-public sex if you squint really hard, language, FLOOF

A/N: At the time of Cum Together: Community Revival Extravaganza  hosted by @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420, there were two potential stories on my mind – the soulmate AU one, which I ended up writing, and this one, which fulfils multiple prompts from the list (see the end). The extravaganza is long over – but hopefully, you’ll enjoy 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @saradika; enjoy, but it's smut y'all - read at your own risk and responsibility

Setting the half-full glass of water on the counter, you smiled to yourself as you heard the keys rattle in the lock. The sound meant one of your favourite things in the world: Steve was home.

‘Home’ was your spacious shared apartment near the new upstate Avengers facility, one you and Steve had chosen not because the large complex hadn’t included living quarters, but because you had wanted a place that was truly your own.

On days like this, you were more grateful for that decision than ever. Here, the work and the weight you carried from it could be left at the doorstep, and you could enter a truly safe space, shielded by your love from the outside world. World which could be loud, overwhelming, and at times, evil.

Today, it meant that Steve would try to leave behind the exhaustion and frustration of a week-long conference of the United Nations and adjoined organisations. You, you had left behind the very same sentiments lacing the endless week of extra shifts. Sometimes it felt like the work was never done; be it patching up international relations or patching up the dumbass of the day. Be it dealing with diplomats who barely even listened, let alone acted on their empty promises; or be it repairing damage to human body made by another supposedly human being, battling to keep alive agents who not so rarely held zero regard for their own safety in the process of saving the very world for whose safety Steve was advocating in DC. You wondered where the agents could have possibly got the inspiration for their reckless behaviour – but that was not the kind of thoughts you wanted to entertain tonight, especially since you knew the answer all too well.

Tonight, you wanted to cherish your husband’s company.

You had missed Steve; even when swamped with work, you both took care to stay in contact, confiding one another on as much of your longing for each other’s company as on feeling drained.

You were glad for having had enough wits to plan ahead and be able to come home before him.

It had been no surprise to you that Steve had called you that he was about to arrive home as scheduled, but crankier than planned despite finally leaving the self-contained self-important jerks behind. The relief in his voice had been palpable; and his voice had only grown warmer when he learned you were to already wait for him at home. Your lips had twitched at the guttural sigh he released upon learning, whispering he was really happy to hear that; as were you to hear that he was coming home in one piece, which was unfortunately not a rule.

He loved you, he had said too. So damn much.

You had told him the same, wondering if that was what would leave his lips when he’d see you. Especially since he had no idea what coming his way, should he want it.

The lock barely clicked open and you were already on your way. A rapid carpet-muted staccato of your heels welcomed Steve as he entered, his curiosity clearly piqued in an instant.

He had but a second to take in your appearance – the bloody red pumps, the peek of nude nylons, the beige trench coat reaching just above your knees, your simple but effective hairdo and make-up, dominated by berry-red lipstick – or get his suitcase through the doors and close them. Before he could say as much as hi, you were already cupping his face and kissing him softly, for once not having to stand on your tiptoes too high.

There was a significant part of you which was dangerously close to jumping on him with enough force to slam him against the door and pour all your enthusiasm at seeing him into the kiss. It had taken all your willpower not to do so since your body throbbed with the need – but you didn’t want him to feel ambushed, unsure about his mood. So you revelled in the precious opportunity to touch him, in the feel of the figurative and literal warmth he was radiating, in the taste of his lips you had missed so viscerally; and with the minute mental capacity left, you tried your best to read his reaction.

It would be a shame for your plan and efforts to go to waste; but the last thing you’d want was to push thoroughly exhausted Steve who’d just want some peace into something he’d… be willing but not excited to do.

Your worries were fruitless, however. Steve’s hands came to life immediately, one reaching for your waist, the other to cradle your cheek. His lips responded in kind, even as his smile tasted of surprise. The tension you had got a brief glimpse of melted away from his shoulders, fingertips caressing your skin, nose gently nudging yours as your lips parted, forehead to forehead.

“Hi,” you breathed out contentedly, feeling the tension leaving you as well, warmth spreading through every vein and nerve in your body at Steve’s gentle chuckle instead.

“Hi, love.”

“Welcome home.”

His smile was as nothing short of blinding when he retreated just a bit to look at you and grace you with a shining gaze roaming your face, as if taking in every feature, every line, every arch, every last eyelash for the first time. Your heart thump-thumped in your chest happily as your hands slid to his neck, unable to tear your gaze away from the beautiful image he made.

A man with love.

Your man.

Your husband.

Your extremely handsome husband; every suit, be it a formal wear or his tactical one, accentuated his wide shoulders and sharply cut jaw you couldn’t but run your fingertips over, marvelling at the pure delight in his face.

“I feel very much welcomed, sweetheart,” he assured you, squeezing your waist. Despite being clearly exhausted, his smile was radiant; until it fell a fraction. “Are you going out?”

Your heart hummed with a soft ache; it was impossible to miss his effort not to look disappointed as not to make you feel guilty for having a social life outside your marriage, even if rather inconveniently timed. Bless his good, good heart.

You shook your head with your smile lingering, barely hiding a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Rogers.”

His expression perked up again, his arm sneaking further around your waist as he observed you with playful curiosity. “Oh? Are we going out? Did you plan something, Mrs. Rogers?”

To highlight his indulgence in calling you that – and god knew hearing him say that still sent butterflies to your stomach even after months of that being a reality – his hand moved from your cheek to take you left hand, fingers interlacing; your wedding bands made a soft clinking noise as they met, Steve’s gaze flickering to their combined light with such undiluted joy in that little action you couldn’t but brush your lips over his again, something deep inside you trembling and preening at once.

Your husband.

“Would it be a bad thing? If I did plan something?” you asked, part coy, part genuine. “It’s okay if you’re not in mood for that.”

Steve only smiled wider, dropping a kiss to your knuckles and then your lips, before pulling back just a fraction. He observed you silently and almost absently, yet seemingly with mission-level intent. 

The silence stretched as you awaited his answer, encouraging him – and yourself, because the silence was growing louder with every beat of your heart – with a suddenly unsure smile.

“Steve? Love?”

He blinked, shaking his head lightly. Before you could feel your stomach drop in disappointment at this being his answer, he spoke up.

“Sorry, you… you look beautiful. Got a little distracted here.”

Your belly did a funny flip-flop that had no right to be so deep within; but this gorgeous man had no right to be so perfect either. And you loved him for it.

“I don’t mind going out or staying,” he said softly. “I’m honestly just glad to be home. With you. That’s my favourite thing in the world. Being with you… here, in the home we made together.”

Tremble. Something within you trembled and it was almost comical how those words shook and soothed your soul, a sharp contrast to how very non-poetic your intention to seduce his body was. But that was how you seduced each other the first time and did so over and over again; body, mind and soul alike, tipping the scales in favour of one and then the other and back as the situation allowed.

It was your turn to blink now, fighting the burn of tears in your eyes, threatening to spill at the profound sincerity in Steve’s voice and the adoration in his beautiful blues; they turned all the prettier as a spark of mischief lit them up and he stepped back, releasing you from his warm embrace.

“But, since you got all dolled-up and clearly made plans, it would be a waste. Want to tell me what my orders are, ma’am?”

Excitement lighting up your nerves anew, you stepped back with a hum.

“Well… actually, I made plans to stay in…” Steve’s eyebrow arched a bit, but something beautifully dark flashed in his eyes – a mute understanding that whatever you had planned, you had dolled up for him. For him and him only. “And since you said those people there were all talk, no listening, no action… I thought that maybe you’d a like a change of scenery.”

As you took another step back further into the apartment, Steve discarded his shoes in a lightning speed, his gaze never leaving your face, hanging on your lips for every syllable. 

You bit back a satisfied smile, something hot stirring in your belly. “That maybe, you’d like someone who can listen very well, and is willing to… act? Would you like to tell me my orders, Captain?”

His gaze went to roam – from the top to bottom, drinking in your attire, a perfect trap you had set for both of you to tangle in. The tall red heels. The coat for him to untie. The nylons – which Steve at this point must have understood were, in fact, thigh-highs, perhaps strapped to a garter belt. The hair. That lipstick. That damn lipstick that turned his eyes a shade darker and hungrier, his voice dropping two octaves.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

You raised a challenging brow, a coy smile adorning your red red lips as you toyed with the hem of your coat; Steve knew you well-enough by now to know that you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if you hadn’t wanted that. You wanted.

You wanted him, with every fibre of your being, lit alive and reborn divine under his searing hot gaze. You longed to be his, however he pleased. To please him however you could.

At last, he got the message. He seemed to very much revel in that message, in fact.

“Let’s go to the bedroom then.”

He led you by the hand, even though you both knew the way and had walked it many times before, even when blinded by desire, with lips never parting, frantic stumbles and wandering impatient hands. Tonight, there was no rush; steps deliberately slow, you followed his lead, standing still by the doorway when he let go of your hand in favour of stripping his suit jacket as soon as you entered.

Your eyes followed his every move, indulging in the sight of his muscles rippling under the smooth fabric of his white shirt; indulging in the shudder of realization running down his body, coming after his brief confusion of finding you obediently exactly where he had left you.

You barely bit back a smirk at the way his breath hitched.

“Alrighte,” he breathed out as he walked to the foot of the bed, turning his back to it to look at you.

You had never had a man to look at you like that before; his gaze was like the most delicious shockwave igniting every cell in your body with desire and pride.

His. You were your own woman, but goddamn, were you his.

“Alright. Come here, sweetheart.”

You did. Hooked on his burning gaze as he seemed hypnotized by your every step, by every inch erased between you, you walked to him, only stopping when he settled his wide palm over your hip, his other hand soon joining on the other side.

For a moment, he simply observed you, your parted lips, your eyes blown wide, just as aroused by the dynamics as he was. Then, a warm yet mischievous smile lifted the corners of his lips, hands squeezing your hips.

You weren’t sure what you had expected – a kiss, a toss on the bed, his hands ripping the fabric, all things you had encountered and more – but of all options, he chose the one your mind had not offered at the moment. His hands slid lower, inch by inch as he kneeled in front of you, sitting back on his heels, the heat of his skin seeping into yours the second his palms slipped past the edge of the fabric of your coat.

Sensual. Steve was most definitely in mood for sensual tonight and you were not going to complain if for nothing else than for having trouble breathing as his fingertips traced the thin ankle strap of your shoe, warm fingers delicately circling your ankle, cupping your calf, sneaking past your knee to spread over the back of your thigh, inching your legs apart so he could move the coat out of the way and press a lingering kiss to your where the lace of your thigh-high met bare skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched in your throat when his free hand reached for the loose knot on your coat, dextrous fingers undoing it with ease and tugging, all while his lips brushed over your sensitive skin higher and higher towards the apex of your thigh.

“Take it off, love,” he whispered into your heat, tugging at the hem of your coat, the index finger of his other hand slipping under the strap of your garter belt, nosing along your inner thigh and inhaling deeply.

A shudder ran down your spine at the huskiness of his voice, leaving you with no space to even consider embarrassment at your husband’s need to drown himself in the scent of your arousal; you busied yourself with stripping the coat in five seconds flat and dropping it on the floor, rewarded by his warm breathy chuckle.

“So good for me…” He looked up from his spot, caressing along the line of your panties, feasting his eyes on the delicate lace hugging your breasts, at the elaborate but feather-light pattern on your garter belt, at the barely-there panties covering your sex. The smoulder in his pupils as his gaze zeroed on his price was almost too much to bear. Whether you were shy or impatient, you couldn’t tell, but your chest was heaving with every breath, your back arching just a bit at the praise that stroked something deep within you. “My beautiful, irresistible wife…”

“Steve-“

He returned his attention to your thigh, sucking a lovebite just above the hem of your stocking, soothing the offended spot with a butterfly-soft kiss you couldn’t help but sigh his name at again.

He hooked his fingers at the front straps of your garter, urging you forward, closer, as he sat on the floor, back leaning against the foot of the bed, tilting his head back and resting in on the mattress; a content smile played on his lips as if it was the most comfortable spot in the apartment, his hands roaming appreciatively. Over the curve of your hip. Following the pattern of the lace. Along the straps, along the hem. But never, never where your need for him burned, soaking the excuse of underwear over your sex.

“Didn’t have such pretty view in D.C.,” he mused, gaze trailing over the thin fabric already shining with your arousal, trailing all over your body to your face, to your red lips painted just as you knew he loved them. “Never ceases to amaze me. Like a piece of art. So damn perfect… mine to touch.”

You didn’t have timefor body insecurities with Steve. Any imperfection you saw, it didn’t bother him; he’d kiss you everywhere, claiming and loving every piece of your body and soul and mind, as he hadn’t forgotten to mention when he proposed; and then followed up with proving the first part of his claim with intense but the softest damn loving.

The memory of him getting on one knee with a glimmer of tears in his eyes quickly dispersed when his maddeningly delicate touch finally brushed over your slit, your hips instinctively bucking forward; Steve instantly used the opportunity to spread his palms under your bottom, urging you closer and closer until the front of your thighs met the mattress, effectively caging him in, mouth not more than an inch from your mound. He smiled up at you wickedly, forefinger drawing nonsensical patterns over your clothed sex.

“Steve, love-“

You lost your voice when he guided your knee to prop on the mattress next to his head, a violent tug of desire gripping at your core at the implication of what he wanted – stirring as much want as insecurity and hesitance.

You voice was shaky as your gaze found his, the question on your lips so quiet he might miss it hadn’t it been for his enhanced hearing.

“Steve, are you… sure?”

One glance into his eyes told you was more than that.

And the mere thought of him doing what he was leading you towards felt like molten lava poured into your veins, nothing but smouldering heat left behind.

You had never done that. Not with him, not with anyone else.

It was true that Steve could get rather intense when it came to love making – or shameless fucking – but he always drew significant amount of his pleasure from your own. Your husband was but a giver, even as he always coaxed you to give it to him. He had sure been far from shy or prudish in the privacy of your quarters – or in certain cases no one must ever learn about, elsewhere – and he enjoyed all kinds of things, his mouth on you among them. You had explored together, dived into depths of pleasure you hadn’t thought were possible. But you hadn’t---not like this.

Not with you basically on top of his goddamn face.

“Are you?” he asked, pressing a brief kiss to the juncture of your thighs, looking at you from under his eyelashes with a challenge and a plea.

In your exploration, he had pushed your limits; but never you. He’d never do anything that seemed even tad too uncomfortable for you. As of consequence, there was virtually nothing you wouldn’t let him do, because you trusted him to stop at the first sign of your protest.

Okay. Okay. The utter wanton in his eyes shining through the sincerity was melting your brain. No choice to make.

You nodded, rewarded by a satisfied smirk that would have earned anyone else a smack to their face. But with Steve, there was something dangerously alluring about that instead; that smirk meant paradise aligning with hell awaiting you, whispered of you soon begging him – to stop or to continue, you’d never quite know yourself.

“Well then, remember you promised to listen… and do.”

Little shit, was as far as you got in your thoughts.

Because then he was wrapping a firm arm around your leg on the bed and pushing your panties aside and after a few teasingly careful licks, he began his feast like a starved man seated at the royal table.

Your hands found purchase on his hair and the bed, knees nearly buckling under the assault of pleasure, burning through your body like a wildfire. The way his wicked tongue played with you had you gasping his name in need bordering on desperation, chest tight as you were forgetting to breathe, core clenching so soon you couldn’t quite believe it as the tidal wave of bliss washed over you, hips rocking in aftershocks, knees eventually giving out.

It was only for a split second that you worried you might smother Steve or splatter ungracefully on the floor; because Steve had you. He always had you. His supersoldier part undeniable, he caught you, manipulating your body so he could cradle you protectively as you came from your high and literal height, holding you against his chest as you straddled him with seemingly boneless legs.

You were hyperaware of every bit of praise spilling from your lips, whispered to your skin warmly, but you couldn’t form words.

Not until his lips found yours, meeting in a soft kiss spiced with the tang of your essence, the most intimate kiss between lovers. He pushed the hair from your face tenderly, eyes both hungry and soft as if you weren’t soaking his dress pants where your core met his evident arousal and you weren’t both panting as if you had just run a marathon. His hand caressed up and down your spine, over and over, as if to ground you in reality.

A peck to your cheek. To your mouth. Your lips coming back to life at least, pressing to his jaw, to his smile.

“Could stay like this forever,” he whispered, nose trailing along your cheek, leaving a kiss under your ear, drawing a breathless chuckle from you. “With you in my arms, your taste on my lips, head swimming from your sweet perfume and everything that’s you… my wonderful wife… “

Blinking owlishly, you met his gaze as he cradled your cheek, hair a beautiful messy hallo from where you had tried to hold on when he was devouring you. His lips found yours again, a gentle murmur.

“You’re my everything, you know that?”

You did. By god you did. It was impossible not to, even as that fact was but a pure stroke of a miracle. He was your everything too. Your alfa and your omega. Your weakness and your strength. Your love, unshakable foundation even on days when everything including his own hands did shake. Your home, whenever you’d go.

You ran your fingers through his golden locks, expression nothing short of tender, touch nothing short of reverent – as one should be when in face of a miracle.

“And you’re my home,” you whispered back.

Seconds ticked by in soft silence, pleasure still tingling all over your body, but it was the overwhelming love and need in Steve’s gaze that consumed you completely.  

You didn’t dare to blink. You didn’t dare to breathe. You simply watched him living through a moment as precious to him as he was to you, electric tension rising and almost audibly crackling in the air.

And then he was gripping your nape, mouth claiming and devouring, one hand sliding under your bottom to lift you in a display of strength that never failed to make you dizzy and blinded you with desire unmatched despite having just come down from your high. You returned his kiss with the same fervour, hands grasping at his shirt, frantically searching for buttons to undo and then simply tugging hard until the thread gave out and sent the buttons flying, a nip of teeth to your lips accompanied with Steve’s dark chuckle like the sweetest song of victory.

He sat down at the bed with you still straddling him, helping you strip the shirt without your lips ever parting, his hands leaving you but for the fraction of second necessary to get rid of the fabric in your way and then you were both sighing in relief when your palms met the burning skin of his sculptured chest, his wide shoulders, his clenching abs.

“Need you,” you confessed as soon as you got to breathe in, back at his lips the very next second, Steve’s large palm kneading your bottom, hips thrusting into yours and eliciting a wanton moan from you both. “And I want you in my mouth-“

A delicious growl rumbled in is chest, fingers tangled in your hair pulling just a little, tipping your head back to give him access to leave a string of kisses down the column of your throat, the deliberately slow bucks of his hips into yours never ceasing.

“You’re a wicked little thing.”

You chuckled, a cheeky remark on your painfully free lips, the delightful friction between your bodies not nearly enough to sooth your thirst.

“You do say I’m wicked smart. Why this time?”

The nip of teeth on your collarbone and the way his fingers dug into your flesh had you barely stifle a gasp, but his answer was a reward for a work well-done.

“Goddamn you, woman, you know what you do to me, especially that lipstick-”

“I know what it does to you to see it smeared in certain places,” you breathed out, silenced by a bruising kiss to your lips and a light sting on the back of your thigh as Steve pulled at one of the strings of your garter and let it snap against your skin. Your wandering hands reached for his belt, almost tasting the salty tang of him already as you’d get on your knees for him.

“Wicked,” he grunted against your mouth, lifting his hips – with you still on top – to help you strip his pants, “I thought I was giving the orders tonight.”

“Oh you do, Captain,” you assured him, revelling a little too much at the twitch against your core as you blatantly used his title against him. “Just informing you I’m willing.”

“Driving me crazy. Want you to want me just as much, to need me-“

“I do. Need to taste you-”

“Jesus Christ-“ he choked out, releasing you so you could press one last thorough kiss to his mouth and then slide down to your knees, grateful for the soft carpet.

Ridding Steve of the last piece of clothing, you took great care to maintain eye-contact as you stroked him, feather-light, and licked at the tip. The breathy sound resembling your name that left his lips when you wrapped your lips around the head sent a jolt of heat down your spine, hot satisfaction pooling in your belly and making your heart thunder in your chest.

Nothing had ever made you feel more powerful and treasured than Steve looking at you with half-lidded eyes, groaning as you took him deeper and bobbed your head, closing your lips tight around him as you pulled back to smear as much of the sinful red colour down his cock, his hands gripping the sheets so hard the fabric might tear.

God, he was gorgeous; a wrecked angel-like figure made for worship and sin, they only deity you needed, sculpted to divine perfection.

His fingers tangled gently at your hair, only to twitch repeatedly as he was holding back the strength he wanted to use keep you right there, always making you want to swallow around him harder to make him lose that control; the curses, the deliciously prolonged fuuuck tasting like a victory, the fuck-- sweetheart, you feel like heaven a blessing that stirred pure lust deep within your core.

He was done for almost too soon; a little work, a hint of a sinful smile in the corner of your lips as you watched him lose layer after layer of control to reveal the primal drive that made him just as human as any. Once your hands joining your efforts, he was spilling down your throat, eyes squeezed shut in an image of absolute heavenly ruin.

You waited for him to flutter his eyes open; not having even gone soft in your mouth, you dragged your lips down his length to leave the last red and glossy mark, the string of blasphemy leaving his mouth telling you he didn’t give a damn thing about your tear-smeared mascara but cared a whole lot about the prettily ruined lipstick. When you licked your lips as if he had just given you your favourite treat, he practically dragged you back to his lap, seemingly torn between proposing all over again and lamenting you were going to be his death.

Yet, he kissed you tenderly like a precious porcelain doll and reached for the wet wipe in the nightstand drawer to gently clean the black smears down your cheek. The smudged lipstick he indulgently wiped with his thumb before his mouth slanted over yours again, the thrumming passion between you growing louder again; you were dripping down your thighs from the appreciative gaze and the taste of him alone and Steve was rarely ever sated with climaxing just once. Especially after a week apart.

With his most acute hunger sated, however, he took time to admire the view again, even with your shoes finally discarded, indulging in the delicate lace instead, in the warmth of your body, in your perfume and the scent of your skin. His voice dropped low in volume, intimate whispers of how he wanted to see you take him deep and make you his, fingers gently stretching you to accommodate his impressive size before he led you to sink down on his length at last, filling you up so deliciously and completely.

With bodies stilled, the time seemed to slow down too. Eyes blown wide and dark, but with a sweet curl to your lips as you tasted each other over and over again, you both revelled in the sensation of being connected; brushes of fingertips, kisses to your lips, to your neck, to your sternum and breasts; to his chest, to his shoulders, to his kiss-swollen lips, wherever you could reach.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he confessed between encounters of lips, the softest voice with a husky aftertaste. “Missed this. Never going to another conference again.”

You almost chuckled at the unrealistic prospect, touched all the same.

“Missed you more… might go to a conference every once in a while. For science.”

Steve grunted in protest, palms framing your face as he observed with a slightly amused pout to his kiss-swollen lips.

“Hm. Sounds like your argument contradicts your hypothesis there, Doc.”

This time, you did chuckle a bit, raising an eyebrow even as you caressed his cheek, index finger tapping the pouty lower lip. “Well sue me, I’m a little dazed. I’m allowed. I finally have you for myself after a week, Steve.”

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to the pad of your finger, something devilish flashing in his eyes.

“That you do. I’m all yours. My smart, beautiful wife…” he coaxed with a kiss, hand landing lightly on your waist, hips thrusting up to encourage you to roll yours. There was no need to do so twice. You rocked your pelvis, jaw falling slack at the delightful sensation. A single movement and pleasure was spreading to every nerve ending, coil in your belly forming; Steve responded in kind, urging you on to keep going and set a pace.

“So good to me, sweetheart… so precious.”

“That’s it. So damn gorgeous like that--- look at me, love.”

“Making me feel so good… love having you like this. Never gonna get enough of this, of you…”

Golden. You felt so damn golden under his touch, from inside out, caressed with every single appreciative word spilling from his lips so naturally.

God, you had needed that. You needed that more than you had realized, having pushed down all the unpleasant interactions that had piled up during the week, interactions that made you feel everything but good, precious, brilliant or gorgeous. With every word, Steve poured his faith and love into the cracks in your being and healed them, silencing every doubt, grounding you so profoundly in the pleasure you shared that every single cell in your body ignited with something divine. The coil in your belly was strung so tight you almost felt yourself falling, if you’d only--- if he’d-

“Steve, please, I need-“

“I know what you need, love. I’ve got you.”

Your climax erupted through your body with Steve’s mouth wrapped around your nipple, his dextrous fingers digging into your ass and playing with your clit.

He found his release as he kneeled behind you and caged you to his front, one hand around your throat to angle your head for a sloppy kiss, the other spread wide over your lower belly, sneaky fingertips having coaxed another Earth-shattering orgasm from you.

Somewhere along the way, your lacy attire had ended up in shreds where Steve pulled a little too hard; the remnants of garter belt and stockings were carefully stripped by Steve’s tender fingers as he cleaned you up with a warm cloth before covering you with several kisses and only then with the comforter.

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to his side and simply holding you as close as humanly possible, living and revelling in the moment just until his stomach growled.

After a semi-serious joke about taking you as a dessert for the second time, you lazily ordered take-out for three since you had worked up an appetite, moving to the couch. A movie in the background, Steve shared some of the highlights and escapades of the past few days from the conference and DC – as much as he could anyway. In return, you shared your own – as much as you could anyway. When in each other’s embrace, the trouble seemed far away; and what had felt like a path to the next Armageddon suddenly appeared considerably more manageable.

You were practically asleep, half-sprawled over Steve’s chest, when he pressed another kiss to your scalp, this time lingering.

“I love you… and thank you. That truly was a nice welcome home,” he said, bringing a ghost of a tired smile to your lips.

“It’s our home, Steve… You should always feel welcome. Loved.”

“And I do. Coming home to you is the most precious thing,” he mused, caressing your hair when you snuggled impossibly closer to him, inhaling the comforting scent of all that was him. “But you walking the extra mile… that truly makes me the luckiest guy in the universe.”

You hummed, his words warming you more thoroughly than his body and the blanket combined. You pressed a kiss to his sternum over his sleepshirt.

“And I’m the luckiest woman. I love you, Steeeve… I’m sorry-”

His chest shook under your cheek softly as your confession turned into a yawn, but he took it as a sign. He half-carried you to the bathroom and carried you entirely by the time you were done with your nighttime routine.

You murmured another love you, sleep well as you laid your head on the pillow, cradled in Steve’s protective embrace, his words reaching your ears from a terrible, terrible distance, but tasted just as sweet as ever.

“I will, love. I most definitely will.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Aren't they just sweet? 🥺 Happy belated birthday, Stevie 💕 I hope you enjoyed - feedback is always welcomed💕

Prompts, as promised:

Pouncing on your partner as soon as they arrive home from a trip away

“My favourite thing in the world is being here with you.”

Kinks: praise, soft!dom, oral

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go bath in holy water and pray to my muse that she'll let me write longfic too 🤭

[sosasturns]

spin bout u - c. sturniolo

the lounge was packed-dark neon lights flickering against glossy walls, the bass heavy and rolling through the air like a heartbeat. it was a prime night, weekend chaos in full swing, but this was your zone. the crowd, the music, the game of balancing trays and dodging wandering hands—it didn't faze you. in your sleek black dress and heels, you moved like water through it all, flashing practiced smiles and racking up tips with every stop.

but your night flipped when you spotted him. meech.

he was sitting at a table in vip, surrounded by his boys-trey, dashaun, and a few others you didn't know. and next to him? his new girl. the one who'd been starting drama since the breakup. her group of friends was there too, laughing loud and throwing side-eyes like they were trying to make you crack.

your stomach dropped, but you played it cool, not letting the irritation show as you passed by. they didn't deserve that satisfaction.

but it didn't stop there. the new girl called your name all sweet, pretending like she was gonna order something, just to snicker when you leaned down. her friends giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world, whispering behind their hands.

you kept it professional, swallowing the heat rising in your chest. but when one of her friends "accidentally" knocked into you, making you stumble with a tray of empty glasses, you were done.

in the back storage room, you paced, trying to breathe through the anger bubbling inside you. the phone in your hand felt like a lifeline, and before you knew it, you hit chris's name.

he answered on the second ring. "what's good, mama?"

hearing his voice calmed you a little. "it's meech," you blurted. "him and his girl are here, and they're acting so fucking childish, chris. like, it's messing with my whole night. i can't even think straight."

he hummed quietly, his tone steady. "what they doing?"

you vented, laying it all out-how they were trying to embarrass you, how it felt like they were testing you on purpose. chris stayed quiet for most of it, his occasional "mhm" and "yeah?" grounding you.

finally, he broke the silence. "don't let them get to you. you good?"

you sighed. "i'll be fine… just needed to hear your voice."

there was a pause, then his low, calming tone came through. "alright. don't let them ruin your bag. i'm busy right now, but call me if you need me, aight?"

you nodded even though he couldn't see it. "yeah... thanks, chris."

"always, ma."

you hung up, taking a deep breath before heading back out, but you didn't know what chris meant by ‘busy.’ not yet.

the hours dragged, and by the time your shift ended, you were drained. brina's place was the safe spot for the night-chris had sent you money for an uber and insisted you crash there. you didn't argue, knowing he always had his reasons.

but the whole time you were there, sipping wine and half-listening to brina rant about her situationship, your mind wandered to chris. something about his tone earlier stuck with you, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

when your phone buzzed after 3 a.m., you weren't surprised to see his name.

"i'm out front," he said simply.

you grabbed your bag, heading outside in your pajama shorts and an oversized tee, too tired to care how you looked. chris was leaning against his black maxda3, arms crossed and hoodie pulled low.

he smiled when he saw you, stepping forward to wrap you in a hug that felt like home. "you good?" he asked, voice soft.

"better now," you mumbled, letting yourself melt into his warmth for a moment before pulling back.

he opened the car door for you, tossing your bag into the backseat. as you slid into the passenger seat, your eyes caught something-the edge of his sheisty mask on the backseat, and his bmw keys next to a pack of raws in the cup holder.

you didn't say anything, but your mind started to piece things together.

back at your place, the clock read well past four a.m.

you were curled into him on the couch, the faint glow of the tv casting soft shadows across the living room. one of his arms was draped around your shoulders, holding you close, while the other rested lazily on your thigh, his fingers drawing slow circles against your skin.

it was quiet, the kind of silence that only came after a long night-comfortable, familiar, like you'd both been here a hundred times before. his hoodie hung loosely on your frame, the scent of his cologne still clinging to the fabric as you buried your face in his chest, breathing him in.

"you good now?" his voice was low, almost a whisper, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke.

"yeah," you murmured, your fingers playing with the chain resting against his chest. "just tired."

but the way his hand started to wander-fingers dipping under the hem of the hoodie, brushing against your bare skin-told you he wasn't ready to call it a night.

"you tired-tired, or just saying that?" he teased, his tone light but the subtle press of his hips against yours said otherwise.

you looked up at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you smirked. "what you think?"

he chuckled, the sound low and warm as his hand slipped further up your thigh, his touch slow and deliberate. “i think you ain’t that tired.”

before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your knees pressed into the couch on either side of him. his hands settled on your waist, his grip firm but not rushed, like he had all the time in the world to just sit here and admire the way you looked in the dim light.

"this what you wanted?" you asked, your voice soft but teasing as you let your weight settle against him, the thin material of your pajama shorts doing little to hide how close you were.

he tilted his head back against the couch, his lips curving into that familiar smirk. "don't act like you ain't been waiting on this too."

you rolled your eyes, but the way your hips shifted against his gave you away.

the pace was lazy, unhurried, the two of you moving in sync like this wasn't the first time you'd ended the night like this this week. his hands slid under the hoodie, gripping your waist as you rocked against him, your movements slow but deliberate, the kind that made him bite his lip to keep from letting out a sound.

the quiet of the room was broken only by the soft, breathy sighs that slipped past your lips and the occasional creak of the couch beneath you.

his fingers dug into your hips, his head dropping forward so his forehead rested against your collarbone. "fuck," he muttered, his voice muffled but heavy with tension.

you smiled, leaning down to press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "what's wrong? you can't keep up?"

that earned you a soft chuckle, his hands tightening their hold on you as his hips rolled up to meet yours.

"you talk too much," he shot back, his lips brushing against your neck as he spoke.

you didn't reply, too caught up in the way his touch felt-possessive, steady, like he didn't want to let you go. the warmth between you was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but let your head fall back, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kept your pace slow and steady, savoring every second.

his hands trailed lower, squeezing your thighs as he leaned back slightly, his eyes meeting yours in the low light. "why you lookin' at me like that?" he asked, his tone teasing but curious.

you smirked, leaning in closer so your lips were just barely brushing his. "who's block you spin tonight?" you asked, your voice soft but laced with curiosity, your hips never breaking their rhythm.

his smirk faltered for a split second before it returned, a little sharper this time. "you don't need to know all that."

"don't i?" you pressed, your hands sliding up to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. "was it meech's?"

he didn't answer right away, his grip on your hips tightening slightly as he leaned in to kiss you, trying to distract you. but you weren't letting it go that easily.

"chris," you muttered against his lips, your tone equal parts amused and demanding.

"damn, you nosy as hell," he finally said, pulling back just enough to look at you.

you raised a brow, your lips curving into a small smile. "so it was."

he shook his head, his smirk growing as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. "i told you," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "i'd spin bout you."

his words sent a shiver through you, and before you could think of a response, you found yourself leaning down, your lips brushing against his as you murmured a soft, "thank you."

you didn't give him time to question it before you started sliding lower, your fingers trailing down his chest as your lips followed. his breath hitched, his hands moving to rest on the back of your head as he watched you. his smirk melting into something softer, something more vulnerable as you showed him exactly how thankful you were.

@ sosasturns

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef

[shomatoriashi]

08/24/24; 05:45pm

sung jinwoo x wallflower!fem.reader

[ the academy arc - 10 stages of love ]

{ i never met you, but i wanted to invite you to the party | and you walked in with those [...] eyes, never stolen by nobody… }

1 - first sight

the girls were being too loud again, you think to yourself, trying to focus on finishing your assignments for the day as you flipped through your notes and textbooks.

"god, he's really so dreamy!"

"i can't believe he's in our grade, but is already like, 6 feet tall!"

annoyance was felt coursing through your veins, and you swore that you felt a gentle ache beginning for form against your temple. it was currently lunchtime, and instead of enjoying lunch (or doing homework, like yours truly), these girls in your class decided to gawk at the track team from the windows. the more the girls in your class gushed over some guy, the more you quickly felt your patience running thin.

not wishing to cause a scene (or be even more hated), you slam your textbook shut, making sure the impact was heard echoing throughout the classroom as the girls let out a gasp in response. their hungry gaze looks away from the window, purposely turning their heads to glare at you.

"what's her problem?"

"honestly, if you keep acting like you have a stick up your ass, no one is going to like you."

you ignore their biting words, gathering your bags and notebooks together to head out of the classroom. feeling your strands of hair fall across your face, you blow against it, removing the annoying strands from your eyes.

being known as someone that's quiet and keeps to herself, if you had a superpower, then that superpower was to remain invisible to everyone. you were achingly...average. it seemed like you blended in with your surroundings unless you truly tried to draw attention to yourself. your grades weren't incredibly high, but you never failed any classes and just did enough to get by.

with you already finished with your lunch, you decided to spend the rest of your free time doing some homework so that you could relax when you came home. as you walked through the hallways, uproarious laughter catches your attention. with curiosity felt coursing through you, you step closer to the window, ignoring your reflection while pressing the palm of your hand against the cold glass.

several feet below you, you saw the track team finish their mock race, with some of the members laughing at the utterly exhausted boy that lay in the grass. amidst the teasing words, a single member remains silent, his smile gentle and kind as he got down to the boy's height and helps him up.

you take in the kind boy's features, lightly admiring his side profile and the way his ebony locks of hair fell so perfectly across his face. despite how he was the only one that wasn't laughing, you couldn't miss the amusement shining within his grey eyes and the way his full lips seemed to tilt slightly upwards in response to the whole situation.

as if drawn in by his features, you press yourself even closer to the glass, making the boy's expression shift when he suddenly meets your gaze. the eye contact lasted for a mere few seconds when you let out a soft squeak before landing on all fours against the linoleum floors. your heart was pounding, and you felt as though your mind was getting dizzy at the thought of such a perfect tall boy had noticed you enough to look at you.

feeling grateful that the halls were empty (for now), you crawl away from the window, making sure that your visage couldn't be seen by him-

yet oddly enough, you had a feeling that he had still noticed you.

2 - introduction

there was no way you could possibly go home when such pandemonium was occurring outside your school right now.

according to at least half of the female students, the track team was holding a competition with the rival school this afternoon, and everyone was eager to watch the ever so famous sung jinwoo in action.

after that embarrassing moment where jinwoo manages to meet your gaze, your stomach began to twist and fill with uncomfortable butterflies at the thought of his stormy, grey eyes meeting with yours again...

ah, but you digress.

here you are, someone who takes no interest in extracurricular activities, being forced to stay a few hours longer in school so as to avoid the crowd and being noticed by either your peers, or total strangers from a rival school. had your parents not been at work, you would have called either one of them to pick you up from school to free you from such an event.

knowing that you would need to wait it out for a few hours, you decide to go to the one place that brought you comfort: the library. with everyone outside, eagerly watching the track meet, you were gratefully alone, able to bask in this quiet sanctuary as you were surrounded by millions of stories printed on pages upon pages of books.

with your headphones settled comfortably within your ears, you listen to your favorite music on your phone, exploring each aisle of books with a casual hum while choosing a few books to read and pass time with.

holding the precious books within your hands, you go into the corner of the library, spreading out your chosen novels before picking one that had the most captivating cover. a tiny smile graces your features when you open the tome and began to read, immersing yourself within the story and your music.

you lose track of time with each turn of the page, your eyes completely focused on the printed words while imagining each scene within your mind. as you reached the climax of the story, a hand felt on your shoulder makes you gasp, your eyes going wide as you look back to see the track star himself staring back at you.

his hair was damp from the sweat, and you saw that he was dressed in his track uniform, donning your school's colors with his jacket. he meets your gaze in an unwavering manner, the sight of it all making your heart seem to lurch in response.

the same, tiny smile graces his features, and he takes a step back before introducing himself (as if you didn't know who he was already-)

"hey, sorry for startling you... my name's jinwoo, and it didn't feel right to leave you here when the school's about to close."

3 - interaction

his sudden appearance was enough to make your heart jump within the confines of your throat. feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you take off your headphones and really look at the time, eyes going wide when you realized that it was close to 8pm.

"shit, i didn't realize it had already gotten so late!" you take the books with you, carefully placing them within your bag as you slung it over your shoulder. you had every intention of making a mad dash home, yet it was jinwoo's large hand felt against your wrist that stops you from going forward.

"wait, it's too late for you to walk home by yourself. let me come with you."

your mind was spinning, and your eyes kept looking down at the spot where jinwoo held your wrist. "u-uhm, well, you probably live in the opposite direction, so it's okay! i can w-walk home by myself."

jinwoo scoff, now purposely sliding his grip toward the palm of your hand as he held it all while saying your name. "don't be ridiculous, you're a girl, and it's dangerous for girls to walk out so freely when it’s so late out."

the dizzy feelings refuses to cease, leaving you a stuttering mess when jinwoo casually leads you out of the school and into the fresh air. you shiver at how cold it had gotten, looking up at the night sky as you saw the stars twinkling back at you. he stops walking and takes in how goosebumps seem to appear across your arms from beneath the sleeve of your blouse, clicking his tongue while slowly shrugging off his jacket.

"here, put this on."

you blink up at him, giving him a questioning glance, yet still, he simply holds out his jacket for you to take. you murmur a quiet thank you, taking it from him as you zipped it up, feeling his lingering warmth surrounding you.

the next 20 minutes for you were spent in a bit of a haze, with jinwoo walking you back to your place with zero complaints. as you arrive at your front door, you were ready to take off jinwoo's jacket and return it back to him, but he holds out a hand to stop you.

"keep it, you can give it back to me some other time."

the heat was felt traveling down your neck, with you only managing to give jinwoo a nod as he walks away from you with a gait that was filled with confidence. you simply stood there, not moving until jinwoo was no longer seen.

only when you unlocked the door to your house did you realize something vital:

you had never told jinwoo your name before-

yet somehow, he still knew it.

4 - attraction

ever since that night he had walked you home, jinwoo seemed determined to become your friend, remaining ever so close to you when you least expected it.

despite being in different classes, jinwoo never seemed to care. he always made time to see you, and you could never say no to spending your lunchtimes with him. in fact, he worked wonders when it came to mitigating your loneliness.

currently, it was late in the afternoon. jinwoo didn't have any track practice today, and was able to spend some time in the library with you. as you both worked on your respective assignments, you and jinwoo end up sharing your headphones together, listening to your music as you snuck glances at jinwoo.

there was something strangely... intimate about listening to music together. for starters, since jinwoo was using the other half of your headphones, it automatically puts him in a position that was closer to you. because of his proximity, you caught the undertones of his minty cologne and an even closer look at his side profile-

a side profile that was, admittedly, utterly gorgeous.

hence why you kept sneaking glances at him.

after you finished answering a question, you decide to look back at him-

only to see jinwoo casually meeting your gaze as well.

not expecting it, you let out a tiny squeak in surprise, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks as you coughed, trying to pretend that you were not looking at your best friend and taking note of how attractive he was.

his rich chuckle fills at the air, yet he makes it worse when he casually says, "what? see something that you like?"

jinwoo's teasing question makes the heat seem to deepen against your skin, as you struggled to come up with a plausible excuse.

5 - date

"i'm not going to play games with you." jinwoo suddenly says, walking up to you in a bit of an arrogant and haughty manner as he traps you against the row of lockers.

"w-what? what are you talking about, jinwoo?" you held your notebooks close to your chest, making jinwoo chuckle before shaking his head.

"i'm trying to tell you that i like you, and i won't let you say no or reject me, since i know you feel the same way about me."

blood was felt rushing to your ears, blocking out the resounding gasps coming from the girls in your class.

"you can't be serious!"

jinwoo scoffs, ignoring the girls as he was truly focused on you alone. taking a hold of your hand, he leaves the classroom and takes you to a more secluded area. your mind was unable to comprehend what was going on, repeating jinwoo's confession over and over again, seeming to play the memory in an endless loop.

was he playing a prank on you? had he been set up by one of the popular upperclassmen? were you just some bet-

the sensation of the fresh air hitting at your senses finally breaks you out of your fervent reveries, with you looking up at jinwoo as he pins you against one of the walls. you were dimly aware of how you were both on the rooftop of the school, with jinwoo's eyes seeming to flash a glowing purple briefly before morphing back to his usual grey eyes.

"i really like you... and i wish to be with you." jinwoo confesses to you once more, taking a hold of your hand before placing a kiss at the back of it, "so please, say that you'll give us a chance."

at the end of it all, you could only manage to give him a nod-

yet you swore that his smile would forever be burned into your memories.

6 - holding hands

jinwoo had taken you to a nearby amusement park for your first date-

and never once did he let go of your hand.

when he asks you what rides you would like to go on, you tell him with a shy grin, "every single one of them, if at all possible."

never one to deny you, jinwoo actually spends a little extra money on your respective tickets, giving you both a free pass to the front of the line for all the rides. you had spent some time in amusement parks before with your family, but always had to spend a good chunk of your time waiting in line.

now, however, you could skip the long waits altogether and was able to bask in all the rides. it didn't matter if you and jinwoo rode the carousel or a fast paced rollercoaster-

jinwoo still held on to your hand each time, making sure to sit beside you at every chance possible.

with the sun beginning to set, jinwoo takes you out to lunch, letting you enjoy all of your favorite foods. as you bit into a corndog, jinwoo simply smiles at you while taking sips of his soda.

even when your hands were preoccupied with food and couldn't be held by jinwoo, he still made it his life's mission to remain close to you, choosing instead to use his legs to reach out and gently caress at your calves and ankle, the intimacy of it all making you shiver. you tried to play it cool, only to have jinwoo laugh at your poor attempts of keeping your composure.

7 - first kiss

the sun had long set, and you had spent nearly the entire day at the amusement park. still holding hands with jinwoo, he asks what ride you would like to finish the day with, and you could feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck.

"w-well... i've always wanted to ride the f-ferris wheel and enjoy the night sky with s-someone special. y-you know?"

a knowing smile graces jinwoo's handsome features when he interlocks his fingertips with yours, pulling you along before leading you to the ginormous ferris wheel. cutting toward the front of the line, jinwoo flashes his special ticket, allowing you both to get on first.

with you safely tucked against jinwoo's side, the door closes, and you feel the way the cart moves, making its steady ascent while giving you the perfect view of the amusement park. all the lights seemed to sparkle like gemstones from this height, and it was difficult to hide the pure amount of joy you felt.

your giggles echo throughout the cart, with jinwoo softly saying your name. you focus on jinwoo once more, grinning widely at him when you feel him suddenly lean forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

the kiss was a chaste one, with only the sensation of his slightly chapped lips meeting with yours-

but it was still oh so perfect, with you closing your eyes as you pressed yourself even closer to him in hopes of deepening the kiss. with jinwoo's lips perfectly slotted against yours, you forgot all about the gorgeous scenery, completely and utterly focused on the boy who was slowly stealing your heart...

8 - relationship

you didn't think it was possible to feel such a powerful connection with another human being-

yet against all odds, fate had given you just that. ever since your first interaction with jinwoo, the seemingly perfect boy remains vigilant when it came to staying by your side.

your relationship had some bumps here and there, mainly coming from those who became envious of what you had with jinwoo, yet without fail, he would shield you from those hateful gazes and take you within his embrace, always promising to protect you even when things got tough.

somehow, jinwoo broke through all of your walls and made a secure spot within the depths of your heart, one that could only be filled by him as you found yourself constantly daydreaming about the future with him.

sung jinwoo had given you hope and a new reason to find beauty in life again-

and you wouldn't have it any other way.

9 - love

despite being with him for nearly a year, never once were you brave enough to come clean about your feelings for him.

what you felt for him wasn't as simple as just being love for him-

it felt so much stronger than that.

jinwoo fit you in every way possible-

he was like your other half-

your missing puzzle piece.

you had read about romance and the concepts of soulmates before, but never once had you believed in it until now.

you knew that love felt like an almost meaningless word with how much it was carelessly thrown around-

yet at the same time, it was the only word that you could use to properly convey your feelings for him.

as you were settled in bed with him, with his arms wrapped around you, keeping you cozy and warm despite the storm that was brewing outside, you found that you couldn't focus on the movie that was playing on his laptop. your emotions were running haywire, and the memories you shared with him were making you realize how important jinwoo was to you-

that there was no way you could live without him now.

with these thoughts swirling within your head, you clenched your eyes shut and decided to finally tell him. "jinwoo, i love you."

the change was immediate, with your heart seeming to plummet within the depths of your stomach at how strangely silent jinwoo became. tears were felt welling up within your eyes when he pauses the movie all while softly calling out your name.

your sniffles echo throughout his room, and you were ready to apologize to him when jinwoo faces you, his handsome features turned up in a smile that made your breathing hitch.

"those better be tears of joy, jagiya." he softly coos at you, using the pad of his thumb to gently trace at your bottom lip, "there's no need to cry because i love you, too... so fucking much."

jinwoo ends up swallowing your gasps with another searing kiss, refusing to move away from you for even a second as he presses himself even closer to you, becoming a tangle of limbs as he continues to kiss you passionately against his bed.

10 - commitment

your alarm was heard going off right at 5am, and despite how you still felt so exhausted, you knew you had to get out of bed.

your back aches with the sudden weight felt against your abdomen, and you quickly head to the bathroom to relieve yourself all while doing your usual morning routine. with your teeth brushed and your face freshly washed, you head into the kitchen to start making breakfast for your husband.

getting out all of the ingredients from the fridge, you settle them against the counter while switching on the light. you began with cooking the rice, then making some scrambled eggs while frying up some breakfast sausages. in the midst of your cooking, you felt a powerful presence coming from behind you.

you smile all while using your spatula to cook your eggs. jinwoo lets out a yawn before placing the palm of his hands against your swollen stomach, being evidence of the way you were carrying his and yours first child.

"how are my loves doing this morning?" you giggle upon feeling him press a kiss against the side of your neck. "no fair, your daughter and i wanted to surprise you before you headed to work for the day."

"oh? i'm so lucky, being so spoiled by my beloved wife and daughter."

you hum, shutting off the stove so that you could give jinwoo your full, undivided attention. he smiles down at you, looking as handsome as ever even in his adulthood. his hair had gotten slightly longer, appearing a bit wavy with his locks seeming to perfectly frame at his face.

unable to stop yourself, you lean up at the same time jinwoo leans down, your lips meeting with his in yet another kiss that takes your very breath away. not even caring about making breakfast anymore, you continue to bask in his sweet kisses, feeling his smile against your lips when he suddenly picks you up and holds you within his embrace.

you would never tire of your husband spoiling you with his affections, feeling like you were on top of the world the moment you caught sight of your matching wedding bands glimmering beneath the light.

end notes: i've always wanted to write a 10 stages of love story for jinwoo, and i'm so happy i was able to accomplish it today! i've been in such a writing block for the hubby, and i'm incredibly proud at how this turned out 🥹 it's currently unedited, but i'll make any necessary changes once this is posted!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[vitalverstappen]

The Manuscript - F. Colapinto

summary: looking backwards might be the only way to move forward

pairing: Franco Colapinto x playwright!reader, Carlos Sainz x ex!reader

warnings: age gap (~8/9 years), mentions of sex, use of y/n

word count: 3.3k

a/n: after a brief hiatus, and one of my moots telling me I should post something, i'm BAAAACKKK

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

It had been a few weeks since you moved to Barcelona for work. You were a playwright, and were drawn into the bustling theater scene that the city had to offer. With your first production gaining worldwide popularity, the move had been relatively easy. 

You were in the corner of a cafe, the one down the street from your apartment, working on the next script. The warm air from the open windows blended with the fresh smell of espresso and pastries. Outside, the city hummed with life, the sound of bicycles ringing by, the chatter of locals and tourists mixing in the vibrant street. 

The notebook before you was filled with scribbles - ideas, dialogue, fragments of scenes that were still in their infancy. You were trying to catch the muse, to shape the story into something that felt right, but the words weren’t flowing the way they had before. 

“You know,” A voice said, causing you to look up from your notebook. “I’m not an organ donor, but I’d give you my heart if you needed it.” 

You rolled your eyes at the man’s remark, but gestured your hand to the empty seat in front of you. “Yeah, like you’re a professional.” 

“No, just a good samaritan” he said, taking the seat. “I’m Carlos”

“Y/n” you replied, closing your notebook, putting your full attention on the man in front of you. But if you were a good samaritan, you’d offer to buy another cup.” you teased, giving Carlos the invitation to flirt just a bit. The rest of the morning was spent learning about the man instead of working on the play. 

The coffee dates became a weekly thing. You’d get there an hour or so early to write and design, then when Carlos would show up, you’d put everything away and talk with him. You quickly learned he was older, a whopping thirty compared to your freshly twenty one. 

“You’re incredibly wise beyond your years” he had said when he learned your age. “I never would have thought you to be so young.”

Those morning coffees in the cafe soon turned into late night drinks at the local clubs. The same intelligent conversations flowed, but now they were accompanied by the hum of bass and the clinking of glasses. You didn’t mind the loud music or the flashing lights, but it was far from the quiet cafe mornings you had adored. 

But even then, the mornings are what stayed with you. You would wake up next to him, tangled in sheets, his body pressed against yours, skin to skin. The familiarity of it was comforting, yet there was a part of you that couldn’t shake that you were somehow too young for this. 

The simple act of sharing coffee - something so ordinary - soon transformed into something entirely different. No longer was it about caffeine and ideas. You found yourself sitting together at his kitchen table, him expertly brewing coffee with his French Press while you tried, and failed, to learn how to use it yourself. It took a few tries to get the method down, but now, after countless mornings spent in his kitchen, you were practically a professional.

One morning you found yourself alone in the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of coffee in the French Press. The silence of the morning was peaceful, comforting even, reminding you of the life you had when you woke up alone. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. Carlos wrapped his arms around you, nestling his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Morning” he mumbled, the sleep still thick in his voice. 

“Morning” you mumbled back, mimicking his tone 

You could hear Carlos laugh as he released his arms from around your waist. “God if only the sex was half as soon as the conversation was. We'll be pushing strollers soon.” he remarked 

But as soon as the relationship started, it was over. Thankfully, your job didn’t tie you down to the city, allowing you to fly back home and spend time with your family. You found yourself sleeping in your mother’s bed a little more than you’d like to admit, and most of your meals consisted of Lucky Charms and Coco Puffs. 

It took a few years, but eventually, you found yourself back in Barcelona. You don’t know why, but you felt the need to return, like the city was calling you. Maybe you needed another change of pace. The play you had written while you were involved with Carlos had been released and performed, but didn’t do nearly as well as your debut one did. Your spark had been lost, and you were having a hard time getting it back.

To occupy your time, you enrolled in a few classes at the University of Barcelona to try and spark something. The classes gave you a sense of structure amidst the chaos of the uncertainty. While the classroom setting was different - less free flowing than your usual writing process, but at least it was a way to sharpen your craft and relearn the discipline you had once thrived on. 

“For your next assignment,” your professor began, her eyes scanning the classroom, ensuring that everyone was paying attention. “I want you to write what you know. I want you to reflect on something in your life, and write a scene based off of it.” 

You sat up straighter, the weight of the assignment settling in. The professor’s words lingered in the air, as if the universe itself had conspired to drop the challenge in your lap. Write what you know. You had spent the last few years running from what you knew, avoiding the raw, messy parts of your life that still clung to you like a shadow. 

The sound of your professor’s voice faded to the background as you thought of the past few years - your time with Carlos and the messiness in the aftermath of it all. The late-night conversations, the mornings in the kitchen, the feeling of being caught between two worlds. And then, the way it ended. The slow unraveling that left you with more questions than answers. 

Your time in your mother’s bed, eating sugary cereal to numb the discomfort, was a chapter you tried to ignore. But now, it was all rising to the surface. You had never written about it, not in any way that felt real. You had always skirted around the pain, hiding it behind clever lines and distant characters. But this assignment - write what you know - gave you the chance to meet it head on. 

You found yourself back at the cafe you used to meet Carlos all those years ago. The familiar hum of the place, the clink of the coffee cups and the rhythmic chatter of clients, immediately transported you back to a time when things felt simpler. The same warm air from the open windows, the same scent of pastries and espresso, hung in the space. 

You were beginning to settle into the rhythm of writing, the ink flowed freely for the first time in a long time. The quiet hum of the cafe was broken through by a voice. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

Startled, you looked up to find a man standing beside your table, a half-smile on his face, his dark hair messy like he had just walked through a windstorm. His eyes were warm and inviting, the kind of brown that reminded you of autumn, deep and rich.

You got to know him, inside and out. His name was Franco, and he was a professional racecar driver. Getting to know him was like a breath of fresh air, a stark contrast to the cold nights you had spent with Carlos. He laughed at all of your stupid jokes, listened to your ideas, and supported you through your writing process. 

Late one night, the two of you were in his apartment, your boyfriend aimlessly throwing darts at the board that hung from his door, and you writing your next project. The class you had taken was long since over, but your professor’s words stuck with you as you wrote. Instead of trying to force something fantastical, from a world made up, you opted to continue with the scene you wrote, turning your experience with Carlos into a full length play. 

“How’s it coming along?” your boyfriend asked, throwing a dart in the process. It bounced off the board, landing on the floor in front of it. 

You looked up from your notebook, a small smile tugged at your lips as Franco picked up the dart from the floor and sat back down on the bed. The simple motion felt so at ease, so natural, a reflection of your relationship. 

“Honestly, really good. It’s nice to finally write everything down and let go.” you said. Franco knew about your ex and the baggage that came with it. It’s not that you didn’t feel comfortable telling him who it was, you just didn’t want to be the reason if things got awkward in the paddock with him. “Though the sound of darts hitting the floor is quite distracting” you told him.

He scoffed, pretending to be hurt. “Rude, I can make it.” he said, adding a little more force to the dart throw. It hit the board with a satisfying thunk, landing right in the middle. 

“See? Told you.” he grinned, leaning back on his bed, looking quite proud of himself. 

A laugh escaped your lips at your boyfriend’s antics, the light of the moment making you forget, even if just for a second, the weight of everything you were writing about. “Okay, okay, you win. You’re officially the dart champion.” 

Franco smirked, tossing another dart onto the board with dramatic flair. “I don’t just win, y/n. I excel at what I do.” 

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Next time I need someone to win a race, or become the champ of something less pointless like darts, I’ll let you know.” 

He rolled his eyes with a playful chuckle, but there was a softness in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed. 

As you continued to write, you stole occasional glances at him. The way he lounged on the bed, the ease in his posture, the quiet joy he took in the simple things - it was the kind of presence you had always needed, but hadn’t recognized before. It was different than what you had with Carlos, less intense, but much more grounded. It didn’t try to be everything. It just was. 

The pen moved fluidly across the page as the world you were creating started to breathe, taking on a life of its own. You weren’t just writing a play anymore. You were writing a part of your own healing process, turning the messy reality of your past with Carlos into something artful, something that could be explored and understood from a distance. The rawness of it didn’t feel like a burden anymore - it felt like a gift, a chance to move forward. 

Franco broke the silence, his voice light. “So, this play, is it gonna be your next big hit?” 

You looked up from your notebook again, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile. “Maybe. I think it’s more about finally getting it out there. I just need to write it and let go of everything.”

He took your hand, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing.” 

It took a while, but you finally got the manuscript wrapped up. After countless hours of critiquing and editing, you found a venue, held auditions, hired a team, and got to work. Months were spent watching your written work come to life, scenes of your past relationship on stage. 

When Franco was in town, he’d come with you to rehearsals. He was quiet and attentive, sitting in the back of the theater, a comforting presence amidst the chaos. He’d watch as you worked with the actors, ensuring they were hitting their marks. He chimed in occasionally, making notes on the script, offering suggestions, but mainly stuck to observing how the scenes evolved. There was something about his focus that made you feel seen, like he understood the weight of what you were doing, appreciative he got to see this side of you. 

His support had become a quiet foundation beneath the entire process. His belief in you never wavered, even when the doubt crept in. There were moments, late at night, when you found yourself staring at the script, unsure if it was the right story to tell. And those were the moments when Franco would gently remind you that your truth was enough. That it was always enough. 

Opening night went beautifully. The audience laughed at the jokes, but cried during the heart-wrenching moments, the kind of tears that came from somewhere deep. You could feel their reactions, their collective breath held during the tense silences, the weight of the emotions filling the room. It was more than you had hoped for.

When the show wrapped up, you, along with the actors and the crew, were out greeting the audience members. Your family and friends had come and gone with praises and congratulations. You and Franco were walking out, when a voice spoke that you hadn’t heard in years. 

“Y/n!” 

You turned at the sound of the familiar voice, a rush of emotions flooding you before your eyes even found the source. Standing there, in the midst of the crowd, was Carlos. 

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The noise of the night, the laughter, the chatter of some of the people around you faded into a distant hum as you locked eyes with him. He looked the same - older, sure, but that familiar spark in his eyes was still there. His smile was still warm, though there was a quiet uncertainty in his expression, as if he didn’t know what to expect from this reunion. 

“Carlos” you said, your voice coming out a little softer than you intended. You hadn’t thought about him in so long, seeing him in person felt surreal. 

Franco, standing beside you, shifted slightly. You knew he was questioning how the two of you knew each other, but he said nothing, only moved his hand to rest on your lower back. 

Carlos stepped forward, “I had to come” he said, his voice genuine. “I heard it was your opening night… and well, I couldn’t not see it.” 

You smiled, a little awkwardly, but still, there was something comforting in his words. “It means a lot. Thank you for coming.” you replied, your gaze flickered briefly to Franco before returning to Carlos. 

Franco, having put the pieces together on how you and Carlos knew each other glanced at his fellow driver warily, then back at you. There was a brief silence between all of you, and you could feel the tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… a remeeting of two different chapters in your life, coming together in one moment.

“I’ll let you two catch up.” Franco said, a smile in place, though his eyes held a different story. He placed a small peck on your cheek before he took a step back, giving you the space to reconnect with Carlos. 

You watched as your boyfriend walked away, feeling the weight of his gesture - giving you this moment, yet without a hint of jealousy or hesitation. It was something you admired about him. He trusted you, trusted that this was a chapter of your past that needed its own space. 

Turning back to Carlos, you found yourself smiling again, a little more genuinely this time. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” 

Carlos gave you a small chuckle. “I’m full of surprises.” He paused, studying you for a beat. “But seriously, I’ve been meaning to reach out. I heard about your play… and I couldn’t let it pass without coming.” 

You nodded, unsure of what to say next. There were so many things left unsaid, but somehow, it didn’t feel like the right moment to dive into all of them. 

“I’m glad you came.” you said finally, “It’s been a while.” 

Carlos smiled back, the kind of smile that felt familiar, yet still so distant. “It really has. But you’ve done something amazing here, y/n. I’m proud of you.” 

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you let them settle into the space between you. The old hurt, the unresolved emotions - those things, for a moment, didn’t seem as heavy. Not with Carlos standing in front of you, not with the weight of the past turning into something more like a memory than a burden. 

“Well, thank you.” you said, feeling a weight lift off your chest that you hadn’t realized was still there. “That means a lot. It’s… it’s been a journey.” 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Carlos said softly, his gaze flickering to the stage behind you. “But I’m happy that you have someone who genuinely supports you, even if he is a few garages down from me.” he added, a small chuckle laced in his words showing there were no hard feelings. 

“Yeah,” you said with a soft chuckle, your gaze flickering over to where Franco was now talking to some of the actors. “I’m lucky. He’s been a big part of all of this.”

Carlos nodded thoughtfully, his eyes following your gaze. “I can see that. You two seem… good together.” 

Though there was no jealousy in Carlos’ tone, it was clear that he was reflecting on the changes both of you had undergone. The years that had passed between you, the people you had become. It was strange how time could shift things, yet certain parts of the past had a way of resurfacing, unbidden but not unwelcome. 

“We are, yeah.” you said, finding comfort in the truth of the statement. “It’s different, but it’s good.” 

“Well,” Carlos began after a brief silence, his expression shifting to one of lightheartedness as he shifted on his feet. “I’m sure you're busy tonight, celebrating opening night, and I don’t want to take up your time.” 

“No, of course” you said quickly, understanding where he was coming from. “Thank you for coming, Carlos. It really means a lot.” 

With that, Carlos offered a small nod and turned to leave, his figure slowly merging with the crowd as he walked away. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you, processing the unexpected yet peaceful encounter. 

It took a while for you to make your paddock debut, the show’s performances conflicted with the crazy schedule of Formula One quite a bit, but when the championship made its way to Barcelona, you had no reason not to go. 

Most of your weekend was spent in the Williams garage, getting to know Alex, Lily, and Franco’s engineers and mechanics. The atmosphere was oddly similar to that of a production going through rehearsals - chaotic, messy, but building into something greater. 

You had a moment to slip away from the madness in the Williams garage to get a peek at all of the other teams. Of course, the one that stood out the most was the red of Ferrari, and one of its inhabitants. Not a lot of your time was spent there, just enough to drop off a present for the driver. 

It didn’t take long for Carlos to find it, the black cover stark against the sea of red surrounding him. Even though it had the name of your play on the front, he wasn’t too sure what it was until he opened the book up, reading the note inside. 

One last souvenir from my trip to your shores since the story isn’t just mine anymore - y/n

[unconventional-lawnchair]

We'll heal together: Chapter One

Little Talks Of Monsters and Men

Harry Potter x Reader (Platonic) / Remus Lupin x Reader (Ambiguous)

Masterlist

Summary: Harry Potter sees a familiar face on the train, from the mirror of Erised. Remus Lupin and harry talk about his mother, along with {Y/N} {L/N}. (This is a lot of rehashed scenes. Next chapter will be from {Y/N}'s Perspective.}

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, Dementor attack, grief, sassy Harry, depressed bish Remus (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 2180

“I didn't mean to blow her up! It just sort of... happened!” 

Harry once again found himself explaining the same things he explained moments ago. It wasn't that he felt guilty... not exactly, he probably should, all things considered. But that old hag's shrill voice echoed in his head, and he could only find himself having a bit of pride at the moment. 

“Brilliant.” Ron snickered, the smile in his voice very prominent. Harry could almost see it with his back to the red head.

“Honestly Ron, that's not funny. Harry was lucky not to be expelled!” Hermione huffed out as she shoved her way past him to catch up with Harry’s long strides.

“I think I was lucky not to be arrested.” Harry mumbled, slowly smirking to himself. Doing his best to avoid Hermione’s judgmental eyes.

“I still think it was brilliant.” Ron chuckled as he followed them down the hall. Harry paused as he noticed the only half empty room, with a sleeping figure. His eyes narrowed, why did his presence seem so familiar? It reminded him of that night, walking back to the dorms between flickering moonlight. That comfort he felt before, returning as he once again, saw the moon through the glass windows.

“Come on, everywhere else is full.” Hermione muttered after a moment of pause, watching Harry's confused and curious expression.

“Who's that, then?” Ron mumbled as he sat down on the seat closest to the window. 

“Professor R. J. Lupin.” Hermione’s self-satisfied tone filled the now packed compartment. Harry pursed his lips. Never heard that name before. 

Still, he found himself sitting beside the sleeping figure, across from Hermione, as both her and Ron’s voices faded out. Harry found himself staring at the lump of clothes that covered the professor. 

“Do you know everything? How is it that she knows everything?”

“It's on his suitcase, Ronald.” She snarked and he muttered a soft ‘oh.’

Harry snapped out of his daze and leaned back, frowning at the sleeping figure. “Do you think he's really asleep?”

“Yes, I do think so.” She remarked calmly. “Why?”

“I have something to tell you.” Harry declared and slid the door closed.

~~

“Let me get this straight. Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, to come after you?” Ron asked in a scandalized tone, eyebrows raised as he struggled to keep Scrabbers calm in his hand. Tutting before he slipped him away into his damaged cage and held his hand over the broken door he escaped from before.

“Yeah.” Harry mumbled.

“But they'll catch Black, won't they? I mean, everyone is looking for him.” Hermione declared, looking between the two with reassurance and determination in her eyes.

“Sure- Of course, but no one's ever broken out of Azkaban before and he's a raving, murderous lunatic…” Ron mumbled out in a bitter tone and Harry gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks, Ron.”

Then there was a sharp piercing sound of metal grinding against the iron of the train tracks, the engine falling to nothing but a murmur from within the box. 

“Why are we stopping? We aren't there yet.” Hermoine mumbled and watched as Harry stood and peaked out the door.

“What's happened?” Ron asked as the train rocked and Harry was flown back to his seat by the sheer force.

“Dunno... Maybe we've broken down?”

The lights cut out.

There was a choking silence, so low and painful Harry’s ears almost began to ring. Then the cold came, voices could be heard outside the train. They were haunting and drawn like they were in too much anguish to utter a full statement, making Harry swallowed thick, trying to clear the back of his throat. 

“ ... die. One by one. Until all is... “

“I think someone is coming aboard.” Ron croaked in dread. The entire train wobbled once more, the door swinging open before slamming shut. The haunting voices now fill the halls. They were like whispers, but somehow right against Harry’s ear.

There was a moment of peace before Ron’s breath hitched as he watched black tendrils float their way down the hall in front of their door. Like a floating cloth that tangled in the very air, thick with weary and terrified silence between the three.

Ron began to bunch himself onto the bench, giving a high-pitched inhale as the creature waved its hand in a gesture like motion, willing the door of their compartment to open without once touching it.

Everyone was silent, and Harry felt his hands begin to clam up. He shuffled back into his seat as best he could, as the creature lurked into the closed space, eyes locked on the raven-haired boy. Crookshanks hissed, and Scabbers began to freak out within the cage.

The creature suddenly leaned closer to Harry, and he felt his breath hitch, his entire body lurching forward in a silent but painful gasp. Harry grew dizzy, body growing weaker and his eyes slowly rolling back. 

As if on cue, summoned awake by Harry’s loss of control, the sleeping professor snapped to his feet. Waving his wand as a blip of bright blue light filled the entire train car, just as Harry slipped under and fell to the floor.

~~

“Harry? Harry, please wake up.” Hermione’s pleading voice came, slowly rubbing his arm. His thoughts were split, As the shrill and horrible tone of screams that filled his dreams slipped into Hermione’s soft and caring voice. It brought him comfort. 

Harry’s eyes snapped open wide, slowly he huffed and sat up, looking over at Hermione as she handed him his glasses, muttering a thanks as he slipped them back on his face.

“Here, eat this. It’ll help.” The professor called out to him in a stern but lively tone, holding out an unwrapped bar of chocolate. Harry didn't quite meet his eyes.

“What was that?” He mumbled out and ate the candy the stranger provided.

“A Dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban. It's gone now. It was searching the train.” He remarked before Hermione spoke up.

“For Sirius Black.” She rubbed his shoulder again and encouraged Harry as he munched the treat in his hand. Muggle candy, he would die on the hill of it being the best.

“I need to have a word with the driver. Excuse me.” Lupin mumbled and stood, Harry finally looking up at him to watch him go. When Lupin turned to nod to the trio, closing the door before him and wandering off, Harry’s face filled with shock and his jaw went slack.

“What is it, Harry? Don't tell us you've gone mad.” Ron snarked and Harry snapped out of it, looking over to Ron and Hermione, still stunned. “I... I've seen him before.”

“What? You have?” Ron pried.

“The Mirror of Erised.” Harry breathed and tried to shoot to his feet. That night, he saw his face. That man stood beside his father and who he now knew to be Sirius Black, along with another woman and the rest of his immediate family. “I saw him, he was with my parents. And... and Sirius!”

He quickly stumbled before he could even get to his feet, Hermione quickly getting him up right to sit. “You stay put; I know you're curious, but you were attacked by a dementor! You’ll see him at Hogwarts, I'm sure of it.” She tutted. Harry groaned and covered his face. He was too weak to argue.

“Well, what a fun first day.” Ron piped up with a nervous smile, eating at Harry's abandoned chocolate from his perch on the window ciel. Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron ran his lip over his now brown stained face. “What?”

~~~

The next time Harry saw Professor Lupin outside of the classroom was when he faced his Boggart, once again, he saved him as he did on the train. He had been moping about, not allowed to go to the Hogsmeade trip, he spent his time wandering the grounds. Eventually, he ran into Lupin once more. Without a word to each other they fell into an easy and silent step beside each other, hands in their pockets as they made it out of the courtyard and onto the precarious bridge.

“Professor Lupin, can I ask you something?”

“Is this about me stopping that Boggart? I assure you; it was not out of a lack of belief in your ability to stop it. I assumed the worst, that it would take the form of Lord Voldamort.”

Harry nodded faintly before he thinned his lips in thought. “I thought of him first, yes, but... Then I remembered that night on the train.” He mumbled and Lupin nodded thoughtfully. He was so much like James, he thought, it looked like when the unruly kid he once knew was being scolded by Professor McGonagall. It brought a small sad smile to his face.

“That's quite impressive.” 

Harry scoffed and gave him a weary smile. “Is it?”

“I'm being truthful.” Lupin patted him on the shoulder before leaning forward on the railing of the bridge, overlooking the lake. “It takes bravery, for one's fear to be fear itself. It’s wise of you.”

Harry slowly nodded and looked off into the distance as well, Lupin peeking at him for a moment before Harry spoke up once more. “Before I fainted... I heard something. A woman. Screaming.”

“Dementors force us to relive the worst memories of our lives. Our pain becomes their power.”

Harry took a deep breath before he spoke his next words, he wanted to give Lupin the chance to speak on his relationship with his parents first, before he pried. He wanted, no, needed to know. But he wanted to give him the choice to come forward first. “... i think it was my mother.” He admitted and Lupin took a deep breath before he sighed.

“The first time I saw you, Harry, I recognized you immediately.” He spoke carefully. “Not by your scar,” He leaned in. “As ever famous it may be.” He mused a bit of a playful tone, giving Harry a small smile and he nodded, encouraging Lupin to continue.

“It was your eyes.” He spoke next in a much more Solemn tone. “They were your mother, Lily’s.” He spoke carefully as to not provoke the frog that tore apart the lower base of his throat, begging for a sob of relief. “I knew her. I knew her better than I knew myself most days.”

He allowed himself to reminisce, thinking back on the days he spent at school, walking down the halls with Lily and her. He had known and allowed himself love, the brotherly kind that fills you with adrenaline and makes you make stupid decisions. The kind that would get you into trouble every other term for the risk of thrill with every new prank idea presented to them. He knew wild, fun, free love.

It wasn't until he met Lily Evans and {Y/n} {L/N} when he learned what gentle and quiet love could do. How powerful silence could be, how much a simple touch could mean, and how the looks shared between flickering eyes could be filled with so much more care and empathy than he ever knew. From silent study sessions to moments comforting him after a full moon, the two girls made him feel peace he had never known he could have, something he never thought he deserved. Knowing their love was the worst possible outcome, losing their love was the second. “Your mother. Your mother and... An old friend of mine, they were there for me when no one else was. I have never known kindness and power, until I met your mother. I had never known forgiveness and wisdom until she introduced me to {Y/n}.”

“{Y/N}?” Harry mumbled out the new name and looked to the professor as Lupin nodded. “Lily Evans and {Y/N} {L/N}. They were inseverable, if you spoke of one of them. the other wasn't far behind. Even their names chased each other through the halls. Much like me and... well, your father. There was no Lily Evans without {Y/N} {L/N}, and the reverse was also true. They had a way about them, a way and a sight that saw something no one else could see in someone. They saw wonders and lights in the darkest rooms, they gave forgiveness and compassion to those who deserve nothing close to it. And they saw a wizard in a monster.” Lupin muttered the last part and hung his head before he looked up at Harry’s wide curious eyes.

“A monster, sir?”

“A story for another time.” Lupin mused and sat up straighter. “Your father on the other hand, now he had a talent for trouble.” He nudged Harry before he put his hands back into his pockets. “Rumor has it he's passed it onto you.”

Harry couldn't help the small smile that grew onto his face at the remark. So, his father was a lot like him, it seemed. That made him feel warm. 

He wished he could talk to Lupin all day.