#and you actually get to see that other side of him with an open face helmet —

[lvl1l1]

Yes hello I will sell my soul to you if you give us a “who did this to you” type reaction with the love and deep space boys WAIT walk with me their lover calls them trying not to cry asking them to come get them they show up BAM they see them with bruises barley holding it together the ask what happened BAM AGAIN tears just crying as they explain that someone they kind of knew made a pass at them and when they were shut down they hit them yeah they are a hunter but they were so stunned who’s losing it and about to commit a crime and who’s silently about to actually ruin their whole life for hitting their princess that the boys would love and die for

All seriousness I know I made light of the reaction but I fully understand the serious implications of it if you don’t feel comfortable or that this is maybe to heavy to post feel free to ignore it I couldn’t find any rules about what you wouldn’t write for I hope this request doesn’t make you uncomfortable or is triggering in any way and if it is I sincerely and deeply apologize

“Who did this to you?”

Or: LaDS men when someone hurts you

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader

WARNINGS: assault, harassment(please lmk if I missed smth)

content: hurt/comfort

a/n: someone tell me if the new format looks better

Xavier

The apartment was so quiet without you there.

Xavier was lying in bed, awake for a change.

He originally planned on taking a nap but as he noticed your side of the mattress being cold and untouched, he couldn’t fall asleep.

Sleep refused to come to him, while you were still out with your friends.

He couldn’t resist the unease in the back of his mind, gnawing at him.

He kept his phone close, just in case you needed him.

He finally felt his eyelids getting heavier, when the shrill buzz of his phone brought him back.

Your name lit up the screen and he instantly sat up.

His lips curled up into a small smile.

He picked up, anticipating your sweet voice.

But the moment he answered, all he was met with, were soft, broken sobs.

He felt the blood in his veins freeze.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

His voice missing its usually composure.

His was already moving before his mind had even caught up.

His posture was rigid as he got off the bed.

“Xavier, can you come get me, please?”

Your voice cracked, barely being above a whisper.

Before you could even hear his reply, Xavier already teleported across the city, he couldn’t be bothered to grab a jacket or change his clothes.

The moment he appeared before you, his heart broke.

You were standing under a flickering streetlight, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if to hold yourself together.

Tears were running down your cheeks and there was a slight tremble throughout your body.

But what made his hands curl into fists, were the bruises on your face, ugly, purple marks marking your perfect skin.

He didn’t move at first.

He couldn’t.

The fury raging inside of him was dangerous, violent.

He felt, that if he moved a muscle, he’d lose the weak grip he had on his restraint.

His jaw was locked, eyes raking over your form, taking in all your injuries.

His voice came out quietly, deathly calm but laced with barely contained anger.

“Who did this to you?”

You sniffled, forcing out the words,

“I thought he was a friend. The others left, we were standing here together and then-“

You interrupted yourself by choking on your words,

“He was-“

You inhaled deeply, trying to pull yourself together,

“When I rejected him, he got angry. He hurt me.”

The world around Xavier blurred momentarily, he felt consumed by the rage running through him, his ears were ringing.

But louder than that, was the sound of you, crying.

That’s what pulled him back.

You first

You were always first

He approached you, slow, careful steps, with his arms open but he wasn’t forcing you.

He was waiting, waiting for you to come to him.

You stumbled forward, collapsing into his chest.

The way he held you was oh so tender, one hand caressing the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles into your back.

He was shaking now, not out of anger but the overwhelming desire to protect, to heal, to be enough to make all your pain go away.

“I’m here.”

He whispered into your hair,

“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you again. I swear to you.”

Your sobs only came out stronger and he simply held you tighter, encouraging you to let it all out.

Minutes passed like that. Hours, maybe. Time didn't matter.

Once your cries finally turned softer, becoming hiccuping breaths, he pulled back just enough to tilt your head up.

His usually bright eyes were burning with something darker, colder.

“His name. Tell me.”

His voice was low, dangerous

You hesitated but you knew Xavier.

You knew he wouldn’t let this go, not when it came to you.

You whispered the name and watched Xavier’s expression harden into something even more terrifying.

“Let’s get you home.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing away any left over tears.

“I’ll have to go for a bit after.”

There was a finality in his words, a promise.

You grabbed onto his sleeve weakly,

“Xavier, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

He looked down at you, pausing and his gaze softened again.

“For you,”

His voice a murmur,

“there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”

In the blink of an eye, he brought you home, before turning.

The night swallowed him up, like a silent predator.

He was going to hunt down the man who dared to hurt the one who was most precious to him.

Zayne

Zayne stepped out of the hospital, watching as the last golden rays of the setting sun stretched across the city.

It had been another long day and he couldn’t wait to see you again.

Just as he reached his car, his phone buzzed up.

A smile immediately curled onto his lips, as your name flashed on his phone screen.

Maybe you had finished up shopping just in time for him to come pick you up.

He answered on the first ring,

“Hello, darling-“

But he stopped mid sentence, when he heard a soft sniffle.

His heart plummeted.

Your name softly left his lips,

“What happened?”

His voice was sharp with panic now, he felt his muscles tensing.

Fighting your sobs, you tried to explain, while tripping over your words.

You ran into this guy you barely even knew.

At first, it seemed harmless enough, just engaging in some casual small talk with him.

Your answers were short and clipped, trying to be polite.

Then, when you tried to leave, he wouldn’t let you.

He blocked your way, getting increasingly more aggressive when you made it clear you weren’t interested.

Zayne tighten his grip on his phone, something tightening in his chest as he heard how the situation had escalated.

How you had gotten hurt.

You sounded so small. So scared.

“I’m on my way.”

He said firmly, getting into his car.

“Stay on the phone with me, alright? Tell me where you are.”

You gave him the name of grocery store, telling him you were waiting in the parking lot.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, as he weaved through traffic, dreading every second he wasn’t by your side.

You kept talking.

Or rather, he kept you talking.

His voice was low and steady, even when you fell silent, he didn’t rush you, didn’t push.

Just making sure you knew he was there.

When he pulled into the parking lot, his breath caught in his throat.

You were sitting there, curled up on the curb.

Bruises visible on your skin, he noticed your wrist swelling from afar and the blood drying on the corner of your mouth.

But what really got him, was the hollow look in your eyes.

He wasted no time getting out of the car, he crossed the distance with long strides.

The moment you lifted your head and saw him, the tears started back up and you let out a broken sob.

You got to your feet, feeling almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Zayne. You’ve been working all day, I shouldn’t have dragged you here-“

He cut you off, his hands cupping your face gently, so carefully as to not hurt you further.

“Don’t. Don’t apologise for needing me.”

You could hear the emotion in his voice,

“I’m glad you called. You could never be a burden. Never.”

You finally let your body relax, falling into him and he caught you, arms wrapping around you, securely.

You two stayed still like that for a long moment, he was holding you safe against him and you clung to him.

He pulled back slightly, he brushed your hair out of your eyes, tenderly.

"Let’s get you taken care of."

He said softly.

He lead you to his car, opening the door for you and helping you in, a display of gentle care that made your eyes well back up.

The drive to the hospital was filled be a comfortable silence.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other rested on your knee in a silent reminder, showing you that he was by your side.

As soon as you arrived, Zayne parked hastily.

He held your hand as he helped you inside.

His face was grim and his whole body was tense but every time he looked at you, his gaze softened.

Once inside, he immediately called over Dr. Greyson.

After a few short, urgent words, Greyson took you under his care, leading you to a hospital room.

Zayne squeezed your hand before letting go.

"I'll be right here."

He said, voice low but certain.

As the door shut behind you, your boyfriend stood still before it.

He could feel his usually steady hands clenching at his sides.

His mind was racing, needing to make sure the man who did this to you would never come near you, or anyone else for that matter, again.

He sighed, thinking of how to best comfort you later.

Zayne would take care of everything.

You were safe now.

Rafayel

Rafayel stood off to the side of the gallery’s floor.

He thought tonight’s exhibition to be especially insufferably boring, the pretentious crowd leaving him annoyed.

He would’ve flat out refused Thomas if it hadn’t been for your soft kisses earlier that evening and your promise that you’d be fine hanging out with your friends.

That, however, didn’t stop him from mourning the time he knew he could’ve spend together with you instead.

All night, his mind kept drifting to you, your smile, your hand that had lingered on his cheek as you said goodbye.

He kept checking his phone, hoping for a message from you.

Nothing yet.

Some keen socialite kept trying to converse with him, throwing buzzwords around that he couldn’t care less for.

His phone finally vibrated against his palm.

Rafayel didn’t excuse himself, he simply turned and left, not sparing them another glance.

He lifted the phone to his ear, a grin pulling at his lips.

Then, he heard you.

You were crying.

His playful demeanour vanished in an instant.

He felt his heart constricting in his chest and his body snapped to attention.

“Where are you?”

His voice was low and commanding, not leaving any room for arguments, sounding like he was ready to tear through anything that stood in his way.

You managed to choke out your location through your sobs, somewhere a few blocks away from the location you had initially met your friends at.

You softly asked if he could pick you, not wanting to cause him any trouble.

“Trouble?”

He echoed darkly,

“I’m on my way already. Find a store and stay inside. Don’t leave until you see me.”

Rafayel hung up without another word, heading straight for the exit, ignoring the confused calls from the people around him and Thomas’s protests.

Non of that mattered. Nothing aside from you mattered.

The drive to you was a blur of red lights and the sound of cars honking, nothing that made him slow down.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel so tightly, the leather was creaking under his grip.

It was like the only thought on his mind was you.

You were standing by the door of a small convenience store, when he finally pulled up.

Your eyes were wide and red from crying.

Once you spotted his car, relief washed over your posture and Rafayel was out of the car and by your side in seconds.

He reached for you, one hand gently wrapping around your elbow and the other ghosting above your waist as he looked you up and down.

Bruises. Bloody fabric. The fear still lingering in your wide eyes.

Rafayel’s jaw clenched so hard the thought his teeth might end up cracking.

His body and mind were screaming for him to do something, to destroy someone but he forced himself to stay soft and gentle with you.

“What happened, cutie?”

He asked in a low tone,

He noticed the way you hesitated first but then you opened up.

You told him how your friends had all left one by one until you were alone with a man you barely knew.

You tried to leave before things got weird, but things ended up getting weird anyway.

He started making gross, inappropriate comments and when you tried to shake him off, he followed.

And lastly how when you turned him down for good, he decided to hurt you.

Rafayel didn’t interrupt you once as you were speaking.

He listened in silence, drinking in every word, every tremble of your voice and every tear that slid down your cheeks.

Once you finished, he pulled you into his arms, the way he touched you was so soft, so careful, almost reverent.

Like he was afraid any amount of pressure could hurt you.

As he held you close, he pressed his face into the top of your head, inhaling deeply.

“I got you.”

He murmured.

“I’m not letting go.”

He wasn’t pushing for the man’s name, not yet.

He wouldn’t ask for details he could find out later.

Right now, all you needed was him.

He carefully lead you to his car, helping you settle in.

You two spend the rest of the night relaxing.

Once you had gotten back home, he took all the time in the world to tend to you.

He gently cleaned the scrapes on your arms and knees.

He gave you one of his sweaters, having it frame you like a shield.

He made you drink water, brought you warm towels and curled around you on the couch.

Once exhaustion overtook you, you drifted off to sleep, leaning against him, your fingers curled loosely in his shirt.

And only when he was certain, that you were fast asleep, your breathing steady, did Rafayel slowly and carefully remove himself from under you.

He made sure to tuck you in properly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then his expression hardened into something sharp and dangerous as he picked up his phone again.

No one would hurt you and walk away.

He’d make sure of that.

By morning, that man would regret ever laying a hand on you.

Sylus

Sylus was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while the meeting was dragging on.

The men sitting across from him kept talking and talking about things he could easily fix in his sleep.

His mind was elsewhere, with you.

He couldn’t wait until this was done and he could get home, grab a bottle of something decent and have you curl up against him, just as you had planned.

Thinking about you, waiting for him, a sleepy smile grazing your lips, was the only thing keeping him from snapping at the idiots in the room.

Then his phone vibrated in his jacket’s pocket.

He knew it was you but that thought didn’t exactly excite him.

As he read your name on his phone, he straightened.

You never called him while you knew he was working, not unless something was wrong.

Sylus quickly lifted his hand, silencing the man who was mid sentence.

He stood up casually, answering the call with his usual teasing charm.

"What's up, kitten?"

The moment your broken sobs reached his ears, his expression shifted.

You were crying so hard you could barely breathe.

He didn’t care about anything else but you, didn’t care for the men hearing the desperation in his voice,

“Talk to me, love. Breathe. Tell me what’s wrong.”

It took you a few seconds, your voice shaking but you finally managed to gasp out,

“Can you please come pick me up?”

He stalked out of the room, offering no explanation.

“I’m coming.”

There was no need for Sylus to ask where you were, you had stayed late at the Hunter’s Association to finish some reports.

He was familiar with your routine.

He quickly send Mephisto to your location.

On his way, he broke more than enough traffic laws as he ripped from the N109 Zone to Linkon City.

Your broken sobs kept replaying in his head and it caused him to lose focus multiple times, you were the only thought running through his mind.

When he finally screeched into a street near the Association, his gaze locked onto you immediately.

You were sitting on the sidewalk, looking so small.

Mephisto was protectively perched near you.

Luke and Kieran look out from the car, feeling bad seeing you like this.

Sylus moved without thinking.

He dropped to his knees right in front of you, the expression he was wearing was heartbreakingly soft.

One of his hands landed on your leg.

You looked up at him with tired and red rimmed eyes, a weak smile tugging at your lips,

“Hi.”

You whispered hoarsely, voice weak.

His chest tightened as he looked at you.

The desire to tear the city apart burning inside of him.

He controlled himself,

“Ready to go home, kitten?”

You nodded, lips trembling.

Sylus helped you up, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you as if you were made of glass.

Once you were standing again, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand and started sobbing again.

Sylus was hurting with you.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, whispering calming things, trying anything to ease your pain.

You clung onto him as he lead you to the car.

Once you were both settled in, Luke took off, driving back to the N109 Zone, while Kieran was glaring daggers out of the window.

You two were sitting in the back together and he was cradling you against his side.

His fingers brushed through your hair.

When you gained the strength to open up, you did.

While your voice was hitching here and there, you told him about the man, some guy you only knew through mutual friends, who ended up cornering you once you left the association’s building.

You told about how he kept pestering you, making disgusting comments, refusing to leave you alone.

How, when you finally turned him down firmly, he got violent.

Sylus listened to every word, not interrupting you once.

He didn’t ask for the guy’s name.

He didn’t need to.

He already had everything he needed.

For now, you were all that mattered.

Arriving at the base, Sylus carried you inside like you weighed nothing.

He set you down on his bed, covering you with the soft blanket.

He cleaned your wounds with a patience he wasn’t known for.

His touch never hurt.

Every single one of his movements was an unspoken promise,

“No one will ever hurt you again.”

He stayed close all night.

Held you until you felt better.

Ran his fingers through your hair until morning came and you fell asleep, curled up in his arms.

And once he was sure, absolutely sure, you were truly asleep, did he slowly pull away.

He softly kissed you on the lips.

Then, he straightened.

Rolling his shoulders, his eyes turned dark.

He wasn't going to leave this to his men.

No, Sylus was going to personally make sure that bastard understood exactly what it meant to touch what belonged to him.

By morning, the world would be free of one more pest.

And Sylus would be back before you had even woken up.

Caleb

Night was just starting to roll around when Caleb finally returned home.

His uniform felt suffocating after such a long day.

He was halfway through unbuttoning his coat, when his phone buzzed.

Your name lit up his screen.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He figured you and your friends must've wrapped up earlier than expected, and you needed him to come pick you up.

He picked up immediately.

But the moment he heard your voice, that smile crumbled.

You were crying, not the usual soft sniffles from watching a sad movie or dropping your snack.

This was gut wrenching, helpless sobbing.

Caleb stilled, his body tensed, something deep inside of him breaking at the sound of your pain.

“Hey, hey,”

He quickly said, voice gentle.

“What wrongs, pips? I’m here.”

You were stumbling over your words, hiccuping,

“Do you think you could pick me up now?”

You sounded so small, so weak.

“Of course.”

He answered without hesitation,

“Stay where you are and keep your location on.”

Not that he needed it.

He already knew where you were.

Near the old library.

He always kept tabs, not because he didn’t trust you, but because he needed to make sure you were safe in a world that wasn’t always.

Caleb wasted not time, not even bothering to change out of his uniform.

The streets were relatively empty but even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Caleb wanted to get to you as quickly as he possibly could, that meant ignoring speed limits and red lights.

When he spotted you, his heart broke.

You were sitting on a pair of steps, rubbing your eyes sore.

You looked up when you heard the screech of his tires and the slam of his car door.

Caleb was running towards you.

He stopped a few steps away.

His purple eyes roamed over you quickly, taking in the bruises that were forming and how disheveled you looked, the way you were shrinking in on yourself.

His eyes darkened, hands balled into fists at his sides and his muscles were flexing under his uniform.

“Who did this?”

Voice rough, barely a restrained growl.

His whole body was screaming for violence, to hurt someone back, inflict what they had done to you.

You shook your head, tears spilling again.

Caleb instantly softened.

The fury on his face was replaced by a loving look.

"Come here."

He murmured, stepping forward.

His arms pulled you into an embrace, so carefully that it made you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

And to him, you were.

You leaned into him, your sobs were muffled and he was whispering sweet nothings against the crown of your head.

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice trembling.

You started explaining,

how your two friends had to leave early and how the guy one of them had brought along, had stayed behind.

At first, it wasn’t too weird.

A few uncomfortable jokes, some flirting you politely brushed off.

But it didn’t stop, even when you mentioned Caleb, your boyfriend.

He just became more aggressive, more persistent.

Until you tried to leave, that’s when he became physical.

Caleb didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

You knew what he felt through his arms tightening around you.

Showing his anger, how he was hurt for you, telling that no one would touch what’s his.

The kiss he pressed to your forehead was grounding.

He lead you into the car, buckling you in himself.

Once you two were back in his apartment, he ran you a warm bath.

He was staying close, helping you clean up if you as much as asked.

He fetched you some soft towels, your favourite hoodie of his, anything that he knew would comfort you.

He was sitting right outside of the bathroom door while you soaked, close for you to call his name so he could be there in an instant.

Later, as you were curled up in his bed, wearing his hoodie, lying under a mountain of blankets, Caleb sat beside you.

He was reassuring you, squeezing your hand that was holding onto his.

He kissed your knuckles, he lingered, murmured promises against your skin.

He whispered,

“I won't let anyone touch you ever again."

You eventually drifted off to sleep, coaxing you to.

And once he was sure, Caleb stood from the bed quietly, moving like a ghost.

He headed straight for his office.

He overlooked his screens, fingers flying over the controls, looking into camera footage, facial recognition, movement trackers.

It didn’t take long to find that bastard.

Caleb’s eyes were cold as he tapped a finger against his cheek, calculating.

Joining the fleet and ever had taught him how to fight in ways that left no witnesses, no survivors, no traces.

The man who hurt you would find his life dismantled piece by piece.

His reputation, his finances, his freedom, all gone in the blink of an eye.

No one could protect him from Caleb’s wrath now.

And when Caleb finally returned to bed, slipping under the covers and pulling you close to him, he softened once again.

He held you, trying to make you feel his silent promise.

The promise that no one would ever hurt you again.

Not while Caleb was still breathing.

[a-soft-aside]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

Summary: Your recent work trip is the longest time you and Robby have been apart since you two started dating. He’s thought of you non-stop and all the things he’s been wanting to do to you. He gives you a welcome home to remember. A/N: THIS IS PURE SMUT (with a lil exposition). +18, MINORS DNI. sorry y'all this got real freaky real fast. just Robby loving on you and then proceeding to rearrange your guts (not medically) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ CW: Explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is in her early 30s), FACE SITTING, oral f!receiving, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, p in v, creampie. WC ~2k.

You stroll down the terminal at Pittsburgh International Airport, luggage in tow, and look down to see a notification ping on your phone: Parked right outside. see you soon

You can’t help but smile. You’re tired, jet lagged, and in desperate need of a shower. Despite all of this, you’ve never been happier. The last three and a half weeks felt like some of the longest of your life. You normally looked forward to traveling for work; you enjoyed immersing yourself in a different culture, meeting new people, trying delicious food. But while you were overseas, all you wished was that Robby was there to enjoy it with you. Surrounded by bustling crowds and colorful open-air markets, you still longed for the domestic safe haven you had created together. Mornings spent in your warm bed with Robby were some of your favorites. 

You walk outside to the Arrivals lot and squint into the sunlight, searching for your boyfriend. You spot him to your left, leaning against his car, sunglasses on. He sees you walking toward him and beams. It makes your heart stutter even now. Your walk turns into a light jog and you fly into his arms into a bear hug. You allow yourself to fully melt in his embrace, and you hear a soft hum of contentment from deep within his throat. 

He reluctantly releases you to take your suitcase and place it in the open trunk. You hop into the passenger seat and stretch out your legs languidly. As the car pulls away from the airport, Robby asks about your travels in more detail, and you chatter excitedly for a few minutes. 

“It feels so good to be back,” you sigh, rolling down the car window to let in the breeze outside. 

“That makes two of us. I missed you.”

You take in his side profile, his crows feet, his aquiline nose, and feel as if your heart might burst. “I missed you too.” 

Of course, you didn’t know the half of it. Robby hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you actually. He’d find himself lost in thought at work, wishing for a moment of peace in his stressful day where it was just you and him. Still, his job was a much needed distraction from your absence. It was when he went home that he missed you the most. It felt like a light long since extinguished inside him had been lit again when he met you. His colleagues at the Pitt joked that he’d turned into a lovesick teenager. 

As time went on, his mind began to wander in other ways. He craved your lush body, the little sounds you’d make when he touched you in all the right places. You two had been at each other non-stop since you began dating, and the time apart only intensified his need. 

Robby scratched his beard before speaking. “So I was thinking...tonight…if you wanted to–”

“Yes,” you interrupt, understanding what he was getting at. You had packed your vibrator with you for your trip, but it couldn’t compare to Robby. You had laid in your hotel room night after night, your breathing rapid, imagining him on top of you, in you. 

Robby smiled. “I was wondering if you wanted to try something new,” he went on. You waited for him to continue, curious. 

“I want you to sit on my face.” he says plainly, almost casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other elbow resting on the car’s center console. Your breath hitches. He keeps his eyes on the road while your eyes are on him. You feel your face flush. You’ve had your fair share of sexual partners go down on you, try to get you off (key word being try), but never had someone blatantly request this. Nor had you ever done it. You wouldn’t describe yourself as naive or coy by any means, and yet the image his suggestion provides immediately leaves you flustered. You start to feel arousal stir between your legs.

“Sure. I’m down,” you say, hoping he doesn’t detect the slight waver in your voice. “I’ll do my best to try and not suffocate you, but no promises,” you joke to play off your nerves.

“I’d be fine with that.” He finally turns to look at you, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. His eyes have a mischievous glint in them, almost boyish. You feel like you’re being toyed with, and you hate how much it’s turning you on.

——————————————————

You emerge from the shower with your hair still damp, dressed in a camisole and sleep shorts that show off the slightest bit of cheek. Robby is already laying back in bed, his eyes on you.

“So fresh and so clean, clean,” you sing mostly to yourself, doing a little shimmy. Robby laughs, thinking about how you brought levity back in his life the moment you stepped into it. Most days he doesn’t believe in God, but just in case, he thanks him for bringing you. 

He looks you up and down, making a note to also thank God for your outfit. 

“C’mere.” 

You happily approach him and crawl onto the bed into his lap. He pulls you into a deep kiss, gripping you at the waist. His fingers slip underneath your top and caress your soft skin. You let out a quiet “mmmm” into his open mouth and roll your hips against his. 

You rush to remove your top and pull his shirt off his head, and pull him close again. Your kisses progressively grow more and more sloppy, until you’re both panting, all teeth and tongue. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and you lightly scratch his nape, where his hair is buzzed. He breaks the kiss suddenly to look at you. “Let me taste you.” His voice is gruff, and you feel your insides liquify. 

“I’m nervous,” you blurt out, before you can stop yourself. “What if you don’t like the way I look at that angle?” You wish you could bury the shame that’s seeping in. Despite your age difference with Robby, you don’t often feel it. In fact, it’s felt like the most natural relationship you’ve ever been in. No mind games, no immaturity. Just two adults with a clear expression of what they want; each other. The thought of coming across as needy or insecure makes you grimace. 

He takes a second to register what you’ve just said. While Robby may not be an open book, the softening of his expressive face speaks for him. He cups your face tenderly and looks into your avoidant eyes. “Sweetheart…I love you at every angle. But if you don’t want to, you can let me know. Right now all I want to do is make you feel good. But I can’t lie and say that wouldn’t make me feel really fucking good too.” He chuckles, running his knuckles down your bare back, something you find he absentmindedly does often when you’re cuddling in bed together. You shiver at his touch, the calluses on his hands, and are suddenly consumed again with a deep, insatiable, want. 

You bite your lip and without saying a word, you get up onto your knees on the bed. You take off your shorts and slowly pull your underwear down your thighs, where you’ve left a slick spot in the center of the fabric. Robby notices. He notices everything. He watches you almost reverently, his eyes growing dark. You approach him and swing your leg over his chest, have him straddled. You inch further and further up, until you’re hovered above his face, his eager mouth. You stay there for a moment, your core throbbing. He looks at you like the key to his deliverance is between your legs. 

In one swift movement, you drop down to meet his lips. You immediately moan at the sensation, and he lets out his own groan of pleasure. What happens next is an onslaught on all of your senses. You press your palms and forehead flat against the headboard in front of you for support as his mouth works under you with fervor, licking at your folds and lapping at your wetness. You squeeze your eyes shut, whining and bucking your hips, chasing the feeling. You feel the tip of his nose lightly brush against your clit and it’s like setting off a live wire. He drags his tongue against your clit again and the sensitivity is almost too much to bear. 

The wet sounds that fill the room are obscene, but you’re too far gone to care. All you hear are Robby’s grunts as he eats you, ravenous. Whatever insecurity you might have had prior to sitting on top of him have gone out the window—you forget yourself and where you are, only luxuriating in his worship. You throw your head back and arch your spine, bring your hands to your breasts and start fondling them, playing with your nipples. Robby emits a low rumbling hum of approval, enjoying the view you’re giving him.

You look down and admire how your thighs frame Robby’s face, the burn his beard leaves as it rubs against your most sensitive areas. You meet his brown eyes and see that he’s looking up at you possessively. You run your fingers through his greying hair and grind down further onto him. 

You start to ride his face, wanting more, more, more. Robby senses your frenzied energy and gladly reciprocates; he places his large hands on the sides of your hips, holding you down. He runs a hand over your ass, giving it a smack. You gasp and see him grin against you. You reach your hand back behind you and feel for his cock, the hardness bulging against his boxer briefs. His smile drops immediately and he lets out a guttural groan, thrusting into your touch. He grumbles something barely intelligible, though you can feel the vibrations against your pussy, sending a spark through you. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you tease, your voice breathless and airy. Suddenly, you’re yanked by your ankles and pulled further down the bed, until you’re flush against Robby’s sturdy chest. You let out a yelp as you land, and you feel the warm, solid strength of his arms locking you in place. You’re completely enveloped in him, and it’s dizzying. 

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck, when he finally growls in your ear “I said, you’re fucking trouble.” You whimper, fully aware of how drenched you are. 

Your legs instinctively spread, his knees propped up in between. He tugs the waistband of his boxer briefs down, and you feel his length, long and cut, rub against your entrance. He doesn’t break eye contact as he slowly pushes in, bit by bit.

Your mouth falls open, relishing in the delicious stretch. Robby is always nothing but careful when he first enters you, making sure you’re never in discomfort. Once he bottoms out, he pauses, letting you savor his fullness, every inch of him. He then tilts his hips down momentarily, before driving back into you. You let out a squeal. With each deep stroke, he goes faster and faster until he develops a steady rhythm. You begin to tremble, but his arms are still holding you in place, rendering you near motionless. 

Giving you no option but to lay there as he fucks into you. Robby cradles the back of your head as he keeps you anchored. Moan after moan is spilling from your lips with each deep thrust as he fucks you into oblivion, into a state of bliss. You feel like your eyes might roll into the back of your skull. You’re also vaguely aware that you might be drooling. Ever the multi-tasker, Robby gently brushes the hair out of your face and kisses you on the top of your head, the pace of his thrusts no less relenting. He lifts your chin to look up at him.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmurs. “My pretty girl.” You whine, so close to being completely undone. When Robby talks to you like this, it’s enough to take you over the edge. And he knows it. 

“God, you love taking it like this, don’t you?” 

You nod weakly, feeling nearly delirious. 

“M-Michael…” you hiccup. 

“I know baby, I know. Let it out.”

You sense your orgasm barreling toward you and yet you’re no more prepared; your vision goes white as if you’re staring directly at the sun. You come with a loud wail, your nails digging into the faded tattoos on Robby’s biceps, fingers scrabbling to find some release. 

He holds you close and fucks you through it, continuing to soothe you as you come down from your high. The way your walls clench around him makes him practically choke, and he comes hard, his voice strangled and hoarse. You feel him pulse inside you, filling you up again. 

You remain on his chest for a short while, the both of you absolutely spent. The only sound in the room now is your shuddering breaths. In a minute, you both will get up, wash off, and cuddle back in bed. But for now, you stay in this moment with Robby. 

“Welcome home,” he whispers, smoothing your disheveled hair. 

Home. You like the sound of that.

[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"You´re the Love That I´ve Looked for"

WC: 10.3k

Summary: Alexia finally got to feel the silence she made you live in, Tofu wouldn’t look at her and you wouldn’t answer. But she stayed, and slowly you start rebuilding what was broken.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3 , Pt.4 , Pt. 5

The door shut so softly it felt cruel. Not a slam. Not a scream. Just… a closing. The end of something that used to matter.

Alexia didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. She just stood there, duffel strap digging into her shoulder, heartbeat loud in her ears, like her body was trying to make noise in a silence that had already swallowed her whole.

Tofu didn’t move. He sat by the door, nose to the floor, eyes trained on the spot you had disappeared through. Perfectly still. Like he didn’t need the door to open to know you were gone.

Alexia let the bag fall first. Then her body followed.

She dropped to her knees like her legs had stopped knowing how to hold her, hands trembling, breath stuttering into something smaller. Quieter. She reached out to Tofu slowly, fingers outstretched like maybe he could fix it. Maybe he would let her hold on to something.

“Tofu,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Chiqui, I- I messed it up.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t shift. Just kept his eyes on the door like she didn’t exist.

A sob caught in her throat, sharp and ugly. She buried her face in her hands and tried to keep it in, but it clawed its way out anyway. Guttural, aching, desperate. Her shoulders shook. Her ribs folded. She curled into herself on the floor like grief had a grip on her spine.

“I just wanted her to talk to me,” she gasped to the dog. “I didn’t think she’d actually want to meet me.”

Another sob. Louder now. A broken, bitten-off sound that made her wince even as it left her mouth.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

Tofu gave a low whine. Not in sympathy, but annoyance. Then turned his back to her.

It felt like getting slapped.

Alexia pressed her forehead to the floor. Cried harder.

“I didn’t know how else to come home to her. I thought… I thought if I could be someone she didn’t hate, maybe I could find a way back.”

She turned her head. Tofu still faced the door, ears flicking, body tense.

“She’s gone,” Alexia whispered, throat torn. “She’s really gone.”

She reached for him again, fingertips brushing his side.

Tofu growled loudly and Alexia pulled her hand back like she’d been burned. She sat frozen for a moment, then broke down completely. Quiet sobs wracking her chest, fists pressed to her mouth like maybe shame could be swallowed whole.

This wasn’t how she imagined it. Not the reveal. Not the aftermath. Not this loss. She thought maybe there’d be yelling. Or slamming doors. Or one of those movie fights where someone cried and the other stayed. But this?

This was worse.

No sound. No forgiveness. No hand reaching back.

Just a closed door and a dog who wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She stayed there for too long. Knees pressed to the floor and tears soaking into the cuffs of her sweatshirt. Her phone lay abandoned somewhere next to her, face-down, like it couldn’t bear to be seen right now.

Eventually, she crawled over to it. Then sat on the floor against the couch, legs curled into her chest, staring at the thread that had meant everything.

[lostinthecrowd]: What if I want to see you anyway?

The message that broke the dam and set this ending in motion. She scrolled up, past the dumb jokes, the soft moments, the pieces of herself she only knew how to offer in writing. It all looked different now. Wrong.

She opened a blank reply. Typed:

“I’m sorry.”

Backspaced.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to talk to me if it was really me.”

Deleted that too.

Her fingers hovered. Then dropped.

Finally, she typed:

“I fucked up so badly.”

“I know I don´t deserve it, deserve you.”

“But I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

She didn’t send it.

She just hit save. Then let the phone fall from her lap to the floor again. Behind her, Tofu paced once, then settled in your usual spot on the couch.

Alexia watched him. “I gave you to her,” she whispered, voice splitting down the middle. “You’re supposed to be hers.”

Tofu barely turned his head when he let out a sharp, pointed bark.

Not startled. Not afraid.

Accusing.

Like he knew exactly what she did.

Alexia´s chest caved.

She didn’t deserve forgiveness. Not from him. Not from you.

She stayed on the floor until the shaking dulled. Until her fingers went numb against the tile. Until the grief stopped screaming and started whispering, meaner and closer. Like it had learned her name.

Alexia didn’t sleep that first night.

She tried. God she really tried. She lay in the bed the two of you used to share, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse, staring at the ceiling with dry eyes and a churning stomach. Your side of the mattress stayed untouched. Cold. Still smelled like the leave-in you always used.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay in the bed you’d walked away from.

So she ended up on the couch, knees to her chest, still in the sweatshirt she flew home in, head tipped back like maybe gravity would drain the ache out of her body.

Tofu had jumped up onto the cushions once. Just once. He stood on the armrest, surveyed the room like a tiny general, and then hopped down with purpose. She didn’t think much of it. Thought maybe he was headed for the kitchen.

But hours later, she found him.

Not in his bed. Not on the blanket you always tucked into the corner for him.

No.

He was lying on the doormat. Right in front of the door. Nose pointed at the seam. Completely still.

Like he was waiting.

Like he knew you hadn’t just left, you were gone.

She crouched slowly, heart lurching at the sight of him.

“Tofu,” she said gently. “C’mon, bebe. Come sleep with me.”

Nothing.

She reached out, hand tentative.

And he growled at her.

A sound that said: You don’t get to touch me.

She recoiled like he’d burned her. Swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. That’s fair.”

She backed away, hands up. Sat in the hallway until the sun started to rise, watching him guard the last place he saw you. Like if he blinked, he might miss you coming home.

The next morning, Alexia tried again.

She got up earlier than she needed to and moved through the apartment like it might bite her. The kitchen lights were too bright and the silence had teeth.

She filled Tofu’s bowl exactly the way you showed her in the photos you used to send. Warm water, just a splash. Not too much kibble. A few careful bites of leftover chicken from the fridge. She even cut them into perfect little cubes, tiny and bland, the way you insisted was better for his stomach.

She placed the bowl down gently. Sat back on her heels.

“Tofu,” she said softly, like a peace offering. “I did it right this time. Just like she does.”

He approached slowly. Sniffed the bowl.

Then sniffed her.

Then turned around and walked out of the room.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just… pointed. The kind of slow, deliberate rejection that didn’t need words to say: I don’t trust you either.

Alexia stared after him, lips parted like she might argue with a dog. Then closed her mouth, leaned back against the cabinets, and let out a bitter little laugh.

“Alright..” she muttered. Behind her, the untouched bowl sat in the quiet. Waiting. Just like everything else in this apartment.

By the third day, Alexia had fully unraveled into someone who talked to a dog like he was her therapist. Or a very small, judgmental roommate with better morals than her.

“Okay, here’s what I know,” she said, pacing the kitchen with a spoon in one hand and a towel slung over her shoulder like she had a plan.

“She left you with me. Which means, in her heart of hearts, she still thought there was something in me worth trusting. Right?”

Tofu blinked at her from his spot curled up near the radiator. His tail was tucked tight. His ears twitched once but didn’t perk. He looked unimpressed. Maybe even bored.

Alexia kept pacing.

“She didn’t say goodbye to you,” she pointed out. “Not really. She just said ‘stay.’ That has to mean something.”

Tofu yawned.

She turned back to the stove. The soup was already starting to bubble and something smelled off.

“Shit,” she hissed, spinning to turn the heat down. “No, no. Fuck!”

The pot hissed in protest as she fumbled for a spoon, knocking over a half-empty water glass in the process. It spilled onto the counter, into the drawer. She groaned, mopping it up with the towel on her shoulder, which immediately made everything worse.

“Okay. Okay. We’re still alive. That’s something.”

Tofu snorted behind her. Not a sneeze. A snort.

She turned around, hair a mess, hoodie stained with broth, damp towel dangling from her hand like a white flag.

“Don’t judge me,” she muttered. “This is grief. I’m grieving.”

Tofu stood up, stretched dramatically like she wasn’t even worth the energy it took, and walked out of the kitchen without a sound.

Alexia stared after him.

“Wow,” she said to the empty doorway. “Incredible bedside manner.”

Silence answered.

So she ate burnt soup alone. And when she left the bowl of kibble out for him later, chicken chopped, water warm and perfect, you still didn’t come back.

But Tofu curled up on your side of the bed that night, a huge space between him and Alexia, facing the door. Just in case.

The first crack came that same night.

Alexia woke up with a start, chest heaving, heart pounding like it had been running in her sleep. Her shirt clung damp to her back, her throat dry. She sat up too fast and blinked into the darkness, pulse roaring in her ears.

The bed was cold.

She reached across the sheets before she could stop herself. Habit, not hope and her hand met nothing but the tucked-in corner where you used to sleep. The ache bloomed again. Dull now, but constant. It was amazing how silence could hum when it wanted to hurt you.

The apartment hadn’t known laughter in so long. She hadn’t either.

She curled her knees toward her chest, burying her face in them, trying not to cry again. The grief was quieter now, but heavier. Not a wave, just weight. Sitting in her lungs. Stretching out behind her eyes. Every breath felt borrowed.

Then, soft. Barely there.

A gentle pressure against her ankle.

She froze.

Lifted her head slowly.

Tofu.

He was standing beside the bed, one paw on her leg, head low, ears flat. He wasn’t curled up like he wanted comfort. He wasn’t wagging. Wasn’t looking for affection. He was just there.

Present.

Watching.

Not forgiving. Not forgetting. But not walking away either.

“I know,” Alexia whispered, throat tight. “I miss her too.”

Tofu didn’t move. Just blinked once and stayed exactly where he was.

And god, it wrecked her more than if he’d snarled.

Because it meant something. Not trust. Not yet. But acknowledgement. She wasn’t forgiven, but she wasn’t alone.

The next morning, that crack became an argument.

Tofu, and her by extension, hadn’t left the house in four days. Every time she clipped the leash, he sat down. Every time she opened the door, he refused to budge. When she tried to lure him with treats, he turned his head away like she’d offered him poison.

But this morning? This morning he barked.

Loud.

Once. Then twice. Then again, louder, sharper, until she came stumbling into the room with her hoodie inside-out and one sock on.

“What? What do you need?”

He whined and walked in a slow, angry circle.

Then barked again. Shoved his nose into the leash where it hung by the door.

“Oh,” Alexia blinked. “You… want to go now?”

Tofu didn’t bark again. Just glared.

And when she reached for the leash, he let her clip it on but growled the moment she hesitated.

She winced. “Okay, okay! I’m going!”

It wasn’t a walk so much as a hostage negotiation. He pulled. She tripped. He stopped to growl at a leaf. She apologized to a trash can. He barked at a bike rack and nearly dislocated her shoulder.

But they walked.

Together.

And when they came back inside, panting and annoyed and soaked from the shoulders down because Alexia forgot to check the weather, Tofu shook out his fur, trotted back to the bed, and claimed your pillow.

Alexia stood there dripping in the hallway, heart thrumming.

By the end of the week, something shifted.

Alexia was on the couch, folding the same sweatshirt for the third time like it might somehow keep her hands too busy to unravel. The TV murmured in the background, some forgettable, low-effort reality show she wasn’t really watching. Just noise to fill the apartment that had been echoing since the moment you walked out.

She almost missed it. A flicker of motion in her periphery.

Tofu.

Not camped by the front door. Not glaring at her from across the room with that weirdly human look of betrayal. He was on the couch, awkward, stiff and clearly uncertain.

Not on your side.

But curled half on top of the hoodie she'd thrown off days before. The one still smelling faintly like her regret, like every night she hadn’t known how to be soft with you until it was too late.

Tofu must’ve dragged it down from the chair. Tugged it across the cushions like some grumpy little dragon hoarding relics that didn’t belong to him. His chin rested on the sleeve, tucked in like he was guarding it. Not in comfort. In loyalty.

Alexia didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Her phone sat on the armrest. She reached for it carefully, like a wrong breath might scare him off. Opened the camera and took one photo. Slightly blurred, off-center. But real.

She typed slowly.

[go4goald2]: He misses you. I miss you more.

But she didn’t send it right away.

She stayed on the floor, spine pressed to the couch, staring at him. At the hoodie. At the space where you used to nap, laugh, pull her down beside you like gravity.

Tofu’s breathing was steady. Peaceful. Not for her. Not yet. But not guarded, either.

Her finger hovered.

Then tapped send.

She didn’t expect anything back. Not after what she’d done. Not after the way you looked at her like she’d ruined something sacred.

But her phone buzzed.

She stared at it for too long before daring to open it.

[lostinthecrowd]: He looks cozy.

Three words. Not warm. But present.

Then, another.

[lostinthecrowd]: Thanks for taking care of him. I know he’s not easy.

She glanced at Tofu again, now flopped sideways, one paw tossed across the hoodie like he was dramatically exhausted by the weight of his own judgment. His tail flicked once. Almost lazy.

Alexia smiled. Barely.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

She typed:

[go4goald2]: He growled at me for three days. I deserved it.

Then her thumbs moved again.

[go4goald2]: I’ve been trying to get him to eat. Did the chicken the way you taught me. He licked it once. Stared at me like I insulted his ancestors.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sounds about right.

She smiled. It was small. Crooked. It cracked and healed her all at once.

[go4goald2]: But today he sat next to me. Like, actually next to me. No side-eyes. No dramatic huffs. It felt like a miracle.

No reply came for a while.

And she almost let it sit there, like everything else between you.

But then the typing bubble appeared.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe he’s waiting for me. But letting you try anyway.

God.

Alexia felt her eyes sting again. She blinked up at the ceiling. Then typed:

[go4goald2]: That’s what this is. All of this. Me trying. Not knowing how to fix it, but trying anyway.

[go4goald2]: I know you don’t trust it yet. I get it. But if there’s a version of us that can still be built... I want to build it. Even if it takes forever.

There was a pause. Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: He tried to steal my spoon the first night I had him.

Alexia laughed.

Like, actually laughed. A breathy, shocked sound that felt clumsy in her mouth.

[go4goald2]: Of course he did. He’s got main character energy.

[lostinthecrowd]: He really does. Threw a sock in the toilet once just to make a point.

[go4goald2]: A menace. A genius.

[go4goald2]: I think he likes being yours, though. Even if he pretends not to.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe. He always did want his own storyline.

Then, a beat.

[lostinthecrowd]: How is he now?

Alexia looked over.

Tofu had shifted closer without her noticing. Not touching her. Not curled into her side. But near. Watching her with half-lidded eyes. His ears relaxed.

She took a photo: soft light, tired dog, the sock still under one paw and sent it.

[go4goald2]: Still waiting for you. But not angry anymore. I think he’s starting to believe in me.

The reply came a minute later.

[lostinthecrowd]: He doesn’t do that easily.

Alexia exhaled, slow and uneven.

[lostinthecrowd]: But neither did I.

She let that one sit. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to push or stay still. But the quiet on the other side didn’t feel closed off anymore. It felt like breathing room. A window left cracked.

So the next night, she sent a photo of Tofu sprawled belly-up across the living room rug, paws twitching in some dream-fueled chaos. His tongue lolled sideways. One of her shoes rested between his front legs like he’d claimed it as a trophy. He wasn’t chewing it. Just… holding it. Like he knew it mattered to her.

[go4goald2]: Is this emotional manipulation or just standard pettiness?

The reply came quickly.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s a loyalty test. You’re failing.

Alexia smiled at the screen. Really smiled this time. Let the warmth stay a little longer than usual.

Later that week, she found him curled up in the laundry basket again. Not sleeping. Just there. Still. Silent. His body draped over one of your old T-shirts, eyes fixed on the front door like maybe if he stared long enough it would open.

She didn’t caption the photo. Just sent it.

The reply came five hours later, in the middle of the night.

[lostinthecrowd]: You’re doing better than I thought you would.

That one hit her differently. Not a punch. Not a sting. Just a shift. Like the first groan of thawed ground after winter.

Her thumb hovered, then typed:

[go4goald2]: I talk to him like you used to. Out loud. Like he understands me.

[go4goald2]: Sometimes I think he does. Sometimes I think he’s judging me with your voice.

The typing bubble blinked, then disappeared, then blinked again.

[lostinthecrowd]: That’s because he is.

It made something flutter behind her ribs. Not joy. Not quite. Just closeness. Something that didn’t feel so far anymore.

She leaned into it.

[go4goald2]: I think I’m getting better at hearing it. Your voice, I mean.

[go4goald2]: Even if it’s just in my head.

[go4goald2]: But I’d rather have the real thing.

There was no immediate answer.

No dot-dot-dot.

Just stillness.

She didn’t push. She couldn’t. Not now, at least.

That night, it rained. Not a downpour, just a soft, consistent drizzle that made the windows hum and the streets glow gold under the streetlights. The kind of rain you used to love. You once told her it made the city sound like it had a secret.

Tofu settled by her feet, chin resting on her ankle like he was claiming it in sleep. Alexia pulled a blanket over her knees, hoodie zipped high, and stared at the window like it might talk back.

She didn’t plan it. Just hit record.

Her voice was quiet. Steady.

“The rain’s asking for you.”

That was it.

She didn’t expect a reply.

But just before sunrise, her phone buzzed.

[lostinthecrowd]: Is the window still broken in the bedroom?

Alexia sat up so fast she startled the dog. Her hands were already shaking as she typed.

[go4goald2]: No. I fixed it last week.

[go4goald2]: It doesn’t whistle anymore.

[go4goald2]: … Do you want to come see for yourself?

Silence.

She waited, nerves crawling beneath her skin.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: If I do…

[lostinthecrowd]: Will there be tea?

Alexia bit down a breath that felt like it might wreck her.

[go4goald2]: There’ll be tea. And silence. And your side of the bed still cold.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to explain anything. Just… be here. If you want to be.

She hit send.

Then rested the phone on her chest like it might feel her heartbeat. Like it might carry the message further than words could reach.

Alexia hadn’t expected a reply after her previous one went unanswered.

But she sent the message anyway.

[go4goald2]: I keep wondering if we would’ve made it if I’d never let it get this far. If I’d just told you the truth right away.

You saw it that night.

Didn’t respond. Didn’t even open the thread right away. Just stared at the preview in your notifications, thumb hovering like maybe the message would disappear if you looked away long enough.

Because yeah. You’d wondered too.

Wondered what would’ve happened if she’d been honest. If she hadn’t hidden behind a screen. If it hadn’t taken pretending to be someone else to finally say the things you needed to hear. Would you have come back on your own? Would you have stayed? Would it still have felt like a betrayal?

You didn’t have the answer. But you knew one thing for sure:

That version of the story, the kinder one, the easier one, it didn’t happen.

So you left the message unread.

And far across the city, Alexia stared at the lack of a reply like it had weight. Heavy. Expected. 

Still brutal.

That night, the rain started again.

Not a storm. Just a slow, steady drizzle that tapped against the windows like a heartbeat she couldn’t shut out. She lay in bed, hoodie still on, legs tangled in sheets she hadn’t bothered to straighten in days. Her arm moved before her mind did, stretching across the mattress toward the other side. Your side.

It was cold.

Always was now.

Just a dent in the pillow. Just a memory of weight. No warmth. No hand reaching back.

“I should’ve said it was me from the start,” she whispered into the dark, barely louder than the rain.

No one answered. Not the room. Not the ache in her ribs. Not even the dog curled at the far end of the bed, resolutely not touching her.

The next day, while doing laundry she’d put off for way too long, her hand brushed something soft. Worn. Familiar. She pulled it out slowly, already knowing what it was by feel alone.

Your shirt.

The one with the stretched-out collar. The faded hem. The smell that hadn’t quite faded even though it’d been days. It was the one you used to wear when you needed comfort but didn’t want to say it out loud. She remembered it vividly. And holding it now, Alexia sank straight to the floor, laundry forgotten. Not crying. Not breaking.

Just breathing through it.

Holding the shirt like maybe it could tell her what to do next.

But the shift didn’t happen in her hands. It happened later, in the dark, when she couldn’t sleep again.

Alexia sat on the floor that night, back against the wall, wrapped in the blanket that still smelled like you. Tofu padded over around 3AM. Paused. Judged. And then without any fanfare, curled up beside her. Slowly. Deliberately. Head on her thigh. Like he’d finally decided she wasn’t going to ruin everything.

She didn’t move. Just let her tears fall quiet. Gentle.

The dog didn’t even flinch.

In the morning, she picked up her phone and typed without thinking:

[go4goald2]: He slept on me last night. Not for long. But he stayed.

She didn’t add anything else. Just let it hang there. Let it exist without expectation.

You didn’t see it right away. You were trying not to obsess over every word. Every tiny signal. But when you did open the thread again, something in you softened.

You typed, slowly:

[lostinthecrowd]: I kept waiting for the moment you’d lie to me again. Or disappear. Or make this about fixing things on your timeline, not mine.

[lostinthecrowd]: But you didn’t. You just… stayed. Even when I didn’t answer. Even when I said nothing back.

You stared at the screen for too long after that. Thought about erasing it. Thought about softening it. But for once, you didn’t.

Because it was the truth.

And then, after a few more seconds of breathing through it:

[lostinthecrowd]: And that’s the part I keep thinking about.

The staying.

The quiet.

The fact that she didn’t try to talk you out of your anger. She just sat with it. Let it be heavy. Let it be real.

Alexia read the messages once.

Twice.

A fourth time. A fifth.

She didn’t type anything back right away.

Her thumbs hovered over the screen, then curled into her palms like if she gripped them tightly enough, maybe the words would settle on their own.

And finally, slowly, like she didn’t want to startle the moment:

[go4goald2]: Take all the space you need.

[go4goald2]: I’ll still be here. However long it takes.

Then nothing else.

No heart emoji. No typing bubble.

Just space.

Offered freely.

Not as pressure, but as proof.

And if you were still out there on the other side of it.

Still reading. Still thinking.

Still maybe, maybe starting to come home..

Then for Alexia, that was enough.

It had been three weeks since the last real message.

Three weeks since the slow stretch of hope gave way to silence again. Not sharp, not final, just quiet. Like space being offered, not punishment.

Alexia didn’t text anything after that night except the updates.

“Tofu still hates my omelets.”

“He barked at a moth for five minutes straight.”

“He sat by the door today. Not growling. Just waiting. Like he knows something I don’t.”

You never responded.

But she kept sending them anyway. Like little postcards addressed to a version of you that might still be listening.

This morning was like the others. Still, cool and gentle around the edges. She pulled on a hoodie, grabbed Tofu’s leash, and let herself walk slowly through streets that had stopped feeling familiar without you in them.

Tofu was better these days. Still picky. Still temperamental. But the growling had stopped. And sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, he’d walk closer to her side. Not touching. Just near.

They got home just after eight. Alexia kicked off her shoes, dried off his paws, and set about making breakfast. Toast. Soft scrambled eggs. Coffee that didn’t taste like anything unless you put your whole back into the sugar.

She made Tofu’s food first, humming under her breath as she cut the chicken into tiny pieces. It was routine now, the kind that makes you feel like you’re doing something right just by doing it again.

He wandered toward the kitchen, sniffed the bowl, and miracle of miracles started to eat.

Alexia smiled to herself. A tiny win.

Then, 

A sound.

So small she almost didn’t hear it.

The lock turning.

She paused, spatula mid-air. Blinked. Waited.

Nothing.

Then the quiet click of the door closing.

She didn’t turn around right away.

But Tofu did.

He froze. Head snapping toward the hallway. Then without hesitation, he bolted, paws scraping across the tile as he launched into a full sprint, tail high and wild.

Alexia’s chest went still.

And then she heard it.

Your voice. Breathless. Gentle.

“Hi, baby.”

She turned slowly.

Saw it unfold from the kitchen like it was happening in another room, another life.

Tofu crashed into your knees like he was trying to fuse your atoms back together. You dropped your bag right there, sank to the floor without thinking, arms already around him. He whined. Whimpered. Climbed half into your lap. Your hands moved frantically over his ears, his chest, his back, like you were making sure he was real, or maybe making sure you were.

Alexia didn’t move.

She stood there, heart in her throat, spatula still in one hand like a prop she’d forgotten to put down.

Her heart tripped over a beat.

You looked up.

Met her eyes.

The breath she didn’t know she’d been holding caught hard in her chest.

Your mouth moved first. Not a smile just yet. But soft recognition and something like exhaustion.

Alexia blinked. Swallowed.

“Did you…” she started, then cleared her throat. “Did you eat yet?”

You shook your head, still on the floor with Tofu curled into your side like he hadn’t seen you in years.

Her smile came slowly. Uneven. A little shaky.

“Sit,” she said. “I’ll make you something.”

You stood without saying a word. Walked to the table. Sat down like you still didn’t know if was a good idea to be back here so soon.

Tofu followed, laid at your feet again like he’d never moved.

Alexia turned back to the stove. Cracked two new eggs. Burned the toast again but didn’t curse this time. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was louder now, steady and panicked.

Once she was done, she laid it in front of you and sat across from you, slowly, still trembling. Her knee bounced under the table.

“I didn’t know if you’d…” She trailed off. Bit her lip. “But I kept waiting.”

You looked at her, quiet, unreadable.

Then, softly:

“I know.”

The moment sat between you.

Not forgiveness, but the first breath of it.

Like a slow song at 3AM, playing quietly in the background while everything rearranges itself inside your chest.

And God, Alexia would’ve waited a hundred more mornings for this one.

That night, you made your way into the bedroom first. It was your first full day back, and you were exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Your ribs ached like something had been let go too fast.

Alexia came in later, slow and careful. She stood in the doorway with her pillow against her hip like a stranger in her own house.

You were already on the far side of the bed, blanket pulled to your chin, eyes half-lidded but open. Watching.

Alexia hesitated. Then stepped back.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said gently.

You didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Okay.”

She deserved the couch. She knew that. She made it up herself. Blanket, a slightly too-flat pillow, a soft exhale when she laid down like she was bracing for the ceiling to collapse.

Sleep didn’t come easily. Not for either of you.

You turned once in the night and saw her there, sprawled uncomfortably, one arm over her face like it might erase the guilt.

The next few days passed like ghosts. Echoes of what you used to be. You existed near each other, but never quite with. Enough to share the air, but not the weight.

Alexia still cooked.

You still ate.

Tofu wedged himself between the two of you like clockwork. Head on your knee. Tail tapping once against Alexia’s leg like an afterthought. He’d chosen to stay with her. That was your choice. But God, did he know how to keep the tension perfectly preserved. Every time Alexia shifted an inch closer, he countered. A living buffer.

Conversation didn’t come easily, not yet. It was mostly small things.

“Do you need more toothpaste? I think I used the last of yours.”

“No, it’s fine. I brought some.”

Silence.

“There’s clean laundry on the bed,” she offered. “I didn’t fold yours. Wasn’t sure if you still… like your socks inside out.”

You blinked. “I do.”

More silence.

But she kept discovering new versions of you, now quietly spoken: the way you curled your fingers when you were anxious. How you tapped your thumb against the mug handle while you thought. That you still hated mushrooms but now loved cherry marmalade, which made her smile against the rim of her own cup.

You poured her coffee on day three.

With whipped cream and a lot of cinnamon.

She almost cried into it.

By day five, she stopped trying to talk. Just listened. Let you move around the apartment like it belonged to both of you again, even if it didn’t feel that way yet.

You fell asleep on the couch watching a documentary one night. Tofu at your feet. Remote halfway off the cushion. Your head tilted against the armrest in that vulnerable way you used to hate being seen in.

Alexia stood at the edge of the room for a full minute.

Then walked over. Blanket in hand.

She draped it over you slowly. Her fingers brushed your shoulder as she tucked it under your chin.

You didn’t move.

But your hand curled around the edge of the blanket like maybe you felt it. Maybe that meant something.

The next morning, she found you in the kitchen.

Two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of home-made churros sat side by side.

She blinked. “You remembered.”

You looked over your shoulder, voice soft. “How could I forget?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Tried not to cry again.

You still didn’t touch much.

But that night, in the hallway, you passed too closely, and her shoulder brushed yours. You didn’t flinch.

She didn’t step away, but she let it linger.

The air between you had changed, it was no longer charged with hurt. Just full. Full of waiting. Full of maybe.

And Alexia?

She could live in maybe.

As long as you were still here to keep filling it.

It started with the laundry. Not dramatic. Not symbolic. Just a pile of shared life folded into fresh corners. Shirts, socks, a hoodie that might’ve been yours but ended up on her side once, back when there was a “her side” to anything. Alexia stood in the hallway, watching you fold a pair of your own leggings with practiced detachment. She hadn’t meant to watch, hadn’t meant to hover, but there she was. Arms crossed, thumb picking at her nail, heart doing that nervous skip it always did around you now.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look up.

But you didn’t leave either.

She stepped closer. Careful. Soft.

You didn’t flinch.

Not even when her hand brushed the towel you’d just folded, her knuckles grazing yours for half a second too long. Electricity passed between you like a memory. Like want. Like maybe the version of you that used to lean into that kind of touch was still there, buried under all the ache.

Neither of you said a word. But when you turned away, your shoulders weren’t tight. You let her stay in the room with you. That was new.

And it was enough for now.

The nights stayed quiet, but the silence changed color.

You were back in the bed since the first day, but not in the middle. Not curled into her like you used to be. But finally, your pillow smelled like your hair again, and your blanket had a shape to it.

Alexia still didn’t join you.

She slept on the couch without complaint. Every night. A blanket to her chin, the room always just a little too cold, your breathing just out of reach.

Sometimes, you left the door open.

And sometimes, she lingered in the hallway with a glass of water she didn’t need, staring through the crack at the curve of your leg beneath the covers. At Tofu, curled in the crook behind your knees like a sentry. At the way your lips parted in sleep.

She never crossed the threshold. Not once.

But she always whispered, “Goodnight.”

You never answered. But your breathing slowed a little when she said it.

Evenings meant parallel lives in the same space.

You watched documentaries with the volume low. She scrolled through her phone with headphones in, but her eyes never stayed focused. Not really. Not when she could watch your face instead. The way your eyebrows furrowed. The little exhale you gave when you smiled. The way your fingers curled into your hoodie like you didn’t trust yourself not to reach for something or someone.

One night, she sat closer.

Not beside you.

But not across the room anymore either.

You didn’t look over.

But you let your leg rest just a breath away from hers on the cushion.

When Tofu climbed up and draped himself across both your laps, you didn’t shoo him off. You let him be the bridge. The wall. The truce.

Alexia pet him slowly.

You didn’t stop her.

That was something.

Some nights, you fell asleep on the couch. Exhausted, TV humming quietly, the light from the kitchen still on. You never made it to the bedroom. You didn’t have to.

Alexia always found you. She always brought a blanket. She never woke you. Just tucked it around your legs and let her hand brush your shoulder for a second longer than necessary.

One night, she let her fingers linger near your cheek.

Didn’t touch.

Just hovered.

She whispered, “You looked peaceful.”

Then walked away like saying it out loud made it real.

On day seven, she stood at the foot of the bed, pillow in her arms like a white flag.

You looked up, already under the covers.

Not asleep. Just waiting.

She shifted.

“I’m not staying,” she said quickly, like a promise. “I just can’t sleep without hearing you breathe.”

You didn’t tell her to leave.

You didn’t say anything.

Just scooted over, barely.

She took it for what it was. A maybe. A mercy.

She laid down, stiff and small, the blanket pulled to her shoulders like it might keep the apology inside her from slipping out.

You stared at the ceiling. She did too.

Minutes passed.

Then, like it broke free without permission,

“I’m scared to ask if you hate me.”

Silence.

You turned your head, just slightly.

“I don’t,” you said.

Then quieter:

“But I’m scared to need you again.”

Alexia swallowed hard.

“I never stopped needing you.”

You didn’t move closer. You didn’t run away either.

Your voice cracked when you whispered, “I know.”

That night, sleep didn’t come easy.

But peace did.

In pieces.

And maybe, just maybe, you were letting her earn her way back in.

Not with promises. But with presence.

With patience.

With staying.

The rain came back on a Tuesday.

Soft, steady, the kind that made the city hum quieter. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs, a book you weren’t really reading open on your lap. Tofu lay at your feet, chin resting on your ankle, completely still except for the occasional twitch of his ear.

Alexia had been pacing the kitchen for a while now.

Not loud. Just… aimless. Restless. Pulling mugs down, putting them back. Opening the fridge like something new might’ve appeared since the last time she checked. Her hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair pulled back like she’d tried to distract herself with anything practical.

But it wasn’t working.

And eventually, she just stood there.

Back against the counter. Arms folded. Staring.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the weight of her needing to say something.

Then, quietly, her voice broke the quiet.

“I keep trying to earn this house back.”

You blinked. Closed the book. Looked over your shoulder.

Alexia’s eyes met yours.

“And I keep realizing… I don’t care about the house. I care about what it felt like when you were in it.”

You didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not when her voice was already trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’ve said that before. But I don’t think I ever said it all the way. Not like this.”

She stepped forward. One pace. Then another. Until she was standing just a few feet away, hands shaking at her sides.

“I was selfish,” she said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to lose you, so I lied to keep you close. And I know that’s not love. Not the kind you deserve.”

You stared at her. Every part of you tense, ready to harden.

But she kept going.

“I let you grieve alone. I let you wonder if I still saw you. And then I showed up in another skin because I didn’t believe I could be someone worth staying for.”

Her voice broke there. Fully. Like something inside her gave out.

“I didn’t want to trap you. I just… I missed the sound of your laugh. I missed the way you made space for me. I missed being the one you turned to when things felt heavy. And I thought… maybe if I came in quietly, I wouldn’t scare you off.”

You swallowed hard. Still frozen.

Alexia stepped closer again.

“I was scared to be seen. Because you always saw me. Even when I hated myself. And I thought… Maybe if I could be someone new, I could earn you without all the baggage. But all I did was hurt you worse.”

Her hands reached out, then dropped. Like she didn’t trust them not to ruin everything further.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I’m sorry for not being brave enough to tell the truth. I’m sorry for making you fall for a version of me that should’ve just been me from the start.”

Her shoulders crumpled, and suddenly she was on her knees.

Like her body couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I’m not asking for everything back,” she said, voice barely holding.

“I’m not asking to be your wife again. Not yet. Not if you’re not ready. But please…”

She looked up at you.

And god, her eyes were wrecked and hopeful and utterly open.

“Please just tell me there’s still a version of us that’s possible.”

You didn’t move for a long time.

The silence stretched until it hurt.

Then you stood up.

Crossed the room slowly.

Tofu shifted at your feet but didn’t follow. Didn’t interfere.

You stood in front of her. Looked down.

She didn’t look away.

And then finally, you dropped to your knees, too.

Not in forgiveness.

Not in surrender.

But in meeting her.

You reached forward. Pressed your forehead to hers.

And whispered, “I wanted you to say that. I needed you to.”

She let out a sound that was almost a sob. And not the broken kind. The released kind. 

Your arms came around her first.

Hers followed. Tight. Desperate. Familiar.

You stayed there on the floor, wrapped in each other, while the rain traced patterns on the windows and the weight between you shifted into something lighter.

You finally held each other like you both remembered how.

After that first hug, the dam broke. Not into a flood, but into a steady trickle. Small, careful moments began to collect between you like puddles after rain. Nothing rushed. Nothing loud. Just choices.

Repeated. Intentional. Yours.

The morning after that floor moment, the apartment felt different. Not louder. Not warmer. Just... less hollow. Like something had been let back in overnight. Not everything. But enough.

You woke up first. Not because you slept well, your body still curled in on itself like it was waiting for a storm, but because your eyes had opened, and that was enough. The sheets still smelled like unfamiliar quiet. The air still carried the kind of tension that hadn’t decided if it would stay. But you got up anyway. You moved on instinct. Coffee. Eggs. The last of the smoked salmon. Pancakes, because she liked them with crispy edges and you’d finally remembered how to get it right.

You didn’t think too hard about the tray. Just filled it. Balanced it. Carried it to the living room where she was still half-curled on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes, blanket bunched around her knees like she hadn’t moved all night. Tofu was snoring gently against the back of the cushions, his little gremlin body spread like he owned the place.

You stood there for a second, tray in hand, and considered just setting it down on the table. Saying nothing. Letting her come to it on her own.

But then she stirred. Blinked up at you, hair in her eyes, the sleeve of your hoodie caught between her teeth like she’d been trying to keep herself quiet in her sleep.

You held out the tray.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat up slowly, like the weight of kindness was heavier than anything else. Took the tray. Set it between you on the coffee table.

She stared at the plate for a beat too long.

“You made it like” she started, then stopped.

You didn’t make her finish. Just nodded. “Yeah.”

She smiled, barely. A quiet twitch of the mouth that looked more like disbelief than joy. “Thank you.”

You sat beside her, carefully. Close but not too close. Then paused. Looked at the table. At the space in front of her. Then shifted the tray an inch to the left and pulled her chair closer. A silent nudge.

She blinked. Eyed the new space. Then slid into it without comment.

You sat like that for a while. Eating. Sipping. Phones untouched. Her shoulder brushed yours when she leaned forward for the coffee, and she didn’t pull away. Not when she sat back. Not when your arms accidentally knocked against each other. Not when the silence turned easy.

Tofu snorted awake and rolled dramatically off the couch, landing on all fours like a gymnast who stuck the landing. Then he trotted over, sniffed the edge of the salmon, and sneezed directly onto Alexia´s plate.

She groaned. “Seriously?”

You laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was small and wrecked but real. And she didn’t even mind that her breakfast was now dog-adjacent. Not when you were laughing again. Not when your knee bumped against hers and stayed there.

She glanced sideways at you. Something soft in her eyes. Something quiet.

“Sorry about your breakfast,” you murmured.

You looked at her.

“I can share,” you said.

And maybe that was the moment that landed the hardest.

Not the food. Not the laugh. Not even the shoulder-to-shoulder warmth that neither of you backed away from.

Just the offer.

The I still want you near me, even if it’s messy.

Even if it’s dog-sneezed.

Even if it’s new.

And she leaned in. Not all the way. Not dramatically.

Just enough to let her temple brush your hair for half a second too long.

Just enough to say: thank you for letting me be close again.

The day was kind. That was the only way to describe it.

It was an afternoon that didn’t ask for anything. The kind that just let you be. The kind of warmth that came through the window in honeyed angles, catching on dust motes and the curve of your cheek as you sank onto the living room floor.

You’d been out that morning. A walk through quiet streets, Tofu leading the way with his usual chaos. He barked at a passing leaf. Peed on the same pole three times. Pulled so hard at one point you almost dropped your coffee. Alexia had laughed until she choked, her hand brushing yours every time she pointed out something stupid he was doing. It had been light. Easy. Easier than it should’ve been. But you didn’t question it.

Now, hours later, he was flopped belly-up by the balcony, snoring in a sunbeam. The TV played something soft, one of those comfort movies you’d seen a dozen times and didn’t really need to follow. The kind of film you could drift in and out of, just for the vibes. You sat with your back against the couch, knees drawn to your chest, hair still a little tangled from the wind.

Alexia was behind you, stretched out on the couch, a book open in her lap. Not reading it, not really. She was watching the screen with the kind of half-interest that said she just wanted to be where you were. Her socked foot was tucked gently behind your shoulder, not pressing, just touching. Just… there.

And maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the golden light. Maybe it was that you hadn’t asked her for anything in so long.

But your voice came out low and soft.

“Will you braid my hair?”

She didn’t answer right away.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

You just waited.

You weren’t asking for something big. Not a promise. Just her hands.

Just the memory of being cared for.

There was a beat of silence, then the book shut with a gentle thump.

Her legs shifted behind you. You heard the rustle of the couch cushions, the stretch of fabric as she sat up straighter. Then, quieter than anything:

“Yeah. Of course.”

You exhaled slowly as you moved, settling between her legs, back resting lightly against her knees. She pulled your hair over your shoulder gently, fingers brushing the nape of your neck as she smoothed it out. Her touch was reverent. Like your hair was made of something fragile. Like it might break if she didn’t get it right.

She started slowly. No rush. No practiced rhythm. Just her fingertips running through the strands, separating and gathering them like she was remembering how. Like she was trying to relearn a map she used to know by heart.

You closed your eyes.

Her breath caught the first time you leaned back into her legs. Just a little. Just enough to settle.

She didn’t say anything. But her hands stilled for half a second before moving again, slower now. Gentler.

It wasn’t about the braid.

It was about the closeness. The permission.

Her fingers working through the knots. Her knees bracketing your shoulders. Her thumb brushing your temple every now and then, absent, affectionate, like she couldn’t help it.

You breathed deeper. The kind of breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

And maybe she felt that.

Because her voice came out rougher than she meant it to. Barely above a whisper.

“You used to let me do this all the time.”

You didn’t open your eyes. Just nodded slightly.

“Still like it,” you murmured.

She swallowed hard. You heard it.

When she finished, she tied the braid off with the elastic from her wrist. Then her hands didn’t move. Just hovered. One still cradling the end of your hair. The other resting lightly on your shoulder like she wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Neither of you said anything.

You didn’t have to.

The sunlight kept moving. The movie kept playing. Tofu let out a dramatic sigh in his sleep.

And you stayed right there, back to her chest, her hands in your hair, the space between you smaller than it had been in weeks.

You let it be sweet.

She let it be sacred.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself be shaken by the simplicity of being allowed to hold you again.

The couch had never felt this full.

Not just of bodies, but of choices. Of presence. Of something warm trying its best to be safe again.

You didn’t mean to fall into her, not exactly. It just… happened. Tofu made a pleased little groan as he rearranged himself across both your laps, smug and sprawling like a dog with a personal stake in your reconciliation. You shifted to get more comfortable, and your shoulder bumped hers again. This time, you didn’t correct it.

Neither did she.

The episode played on, voices droning low in the background. Something about a mountain trail in Norway, or maybe a food tour in Prague, you weren’t really paying attention. Not when the silence between you and Alexia was turning into something that didn’t ache anymore.

It was soft.

Steady.

Bearable.

Your fingers found the edge of the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tugged it down. You didn’t ask, didn’t offer, just pulled it over both of your legs in one smooth, quiet motion. Your thigh pressed against hers more firmly this time. You let it stay.

Alexia didn’t say anything, but her breath caught. Barely. Just long enough for you to feel it in your own lungs.

You sat like that for a few minutes. Shoulders touching. Tofu slowly sliding further into your lap like he wanted to become a sentient heat pack.

Then, maybe because the moment asked for it, or maybe because you were too tired to overthink anymore, you leaned your head against her shoulder.

Just… let it rest there.

Her hoodie was soft. Her body warm. She stiffened, just for a second. You felt it.

But then,

Her arm moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

And wrapped around your back.

Her palm settled between your shoulder blades like it belonged there. Not gripping. Not asking.

Just holding.

You let out a breath you hadn’t meant to keep.

She felt it. Exhaled with you.

No words. No shift in position. Just her hand, flat and steady against your spine, and the soft brush of her cheek against the top of your head when she let herself tilt just enough to meet you there.

You didn’t say thank you.

You didn’t need to.

Because letting your head fall onto her shoulder was already an answer.

And her arm around you was the reply.

Tofu shifted, sighed, then let his full weight drop across your lap like a sandbag of approval.

You laughed, quietly. Felt Alexia’s chest rise with it.

She murmured, “He thinks he orchestrated this.”

You whispered, “He kind of did.”

And that was it.

No confessions. No tension. No declarations.

Just you. Her. Your dog. A blanket. And the space between you folding itself into something that finally felt like home again.

It didn’t happen with a grand gesture. No whispered "please stay." No late-night sob.

It happened with teeth brushed and lights low, the smell of clean sheets in the air, and the quiet sound of rain nudging at the window like it had a right to be part of this, too.

You stood in the doorway of the bedroom, pajama shirt tugged low over your hips, one hand holding the edge of the door like it might stop time. Alexia hovered behind you, socked feet silent on the floor, thumbs hooked in the cuffs of her hoodie sleeves. She wasn’t looking at you. She was looking past you to the bed. The one she hadn’t touched in weeks. The one that still remembered the shape of your body and not hers. You turned, slowly. Tilted your head toward the room. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft nudge.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Hope, immediate and terrified, flashed across her face.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice already splintering.

You nodded. “Just… sleep. That’s all.”

She didn’t answer. Just stepped past you carefully, like one wrong move might make the moment vanish. You climbed into bed first, Tofu thudding to the floor at your side like the world’s most dramatic bodyguard. You tucked yourself under the covers, leaned back into the pillow, and let your breath settle.

Alexia followed slower. Slid into the other side, hoodie still on, drawstrings twisted between her fingers like a nervous habit she hadn’t outgrown.

She didn’t lie back right away.

Just sat there, legs curled, hands in her lap.

You looked over. Waited.

Then, softly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain, you opened the door wider

“You can lie here. If you want.”.

Her head turned.

You patted your chest, just once.

Alexia blinked.

And then she moved.

Careful. Tentative. Like she couldn’t quite believe she was allowed to be held by you again.

She tucked herself down slowly, cheek pressed to your sternum, breath catching the moment your arms came up around her. One over her back. One curled at the nape of her neck. Your fingers slid into her hair, slow and steady.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way she melted into you, limbs folding in, body pressing close like it was trying to memorize the feel of this again, that said everything.

Her hand found the hem of your shirt. Slipped under just enough to rest against the warm skin of your waist. Not possessive. Not searching.

Just anchoring.

You felt her chest rise. Shudder once. Settle.

Then her voice, small and buried:

“Thank you.”

You whispered back, lips brushing her hairline:

“I know.”

And that’s how you fell asleep.

Her head on your chest.

Your fingers tangled in her hair.

The rain still speaking against the window.

Tofu snoring at your feet like a guardian who had finally been relieved of duty.

And in the quiet dark, for the first time in a long, long while, neither of you dreamed of being somewhere else.

It had been a month.

A month of choosing again. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just in the quiet, ordinary ways that mattered.

The way she made coffee how you liked it. The way you bought her favorite cereal again. The way Tofu began sleeping curled between your knees like he belonged there and more than that, like you both did.

And that night, the night it all shifted for good, started the way most did lately: soft. Familiar.

You’d both had long days, but she offered to help with dinner anyway. You didn't stop her.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and thyme. Music floated in from the speaker she’d finally remembered to charge, and the wine, real wine this time, not guilt-poured or sorrow-sipped, was breathing in glasses beside you. 

You’d always told her it was better that way. “Let it open,” you’d said once. “Like people.”

Now, she did it without thinking.

She was slicing tomatoes beside you, standing too close on purpose, bumping your hip with hers every now and then like muscle memory. You rolled your eyes. She grinned. She was wearing that hoodie again, the one you secretly loved because it always slid off one shoulder.

You were about to ask her to stir the sauce when the song came on.

That song.

“If you like piña coladas…”

Your head snapped toward the speaker. She froze, spoon mid-air.

You both burst out laughing.

Full-bodied, ridiculous laughter. The kind that made your ribs ache. That stupid song, that absurd, perfect song you hadn’t heard since Chattr. Since before you knew.

“Of course it’s this,” you wheezed, wiping your eyes.

Alexia shook her head, smiling like it was too big for her face. “Of course it is.”

Then she stepped forward, took your hand, and said quietly, “Dance with me.”

You hesitated, fingers twitching in hers.

“It’s our song,” she teased gently. “Tragic and stupid. Just like us.”

You snorted. “Fine.”

You let her pull you close, one arm around your waist, your free hand on her shoulder. You swayed like idiots in your own kitchen, sauce forgotten, burner probably too hot, wine half-spilled and hearts completely open.

And then, somewhere in the middle of that moment, her head resting against your temple, she whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

You looked down at her.

“I’m sorry I made you find me behind a screen. I’m sorry I made you beg for effort. I should’ve said everything straight out, when it mattered most. I should’ve come home honest.”

Her voice was shaking now, low and cracked in the way that only happens when something’s been waiting too long to be let out.

You blinked hard. “You’re here now.”

Her eyes welled. “I don’t want to leave again. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” Your hand tightened on her side. “Because if you do, I don’t think I can go through that again. I don’t think I'll come back from it next time.”

“I won’t,” she promised, breath trembling. “I’ll stay. I’ll take care of your heart. I’ll protect it like it’s mine.”

You stared at her then, your thumb brushing the side of her face, and the words slipped out before you even had time to breathe them.

“Please kiss me.” you asked softly.

Her answer was to pull you in.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not shy. It was everything else. Desperate, aching, too much and not enough. It was grief and healing and every unsaid thing collapsed between your mouths. Her hands buried in your hair. Yours fisted in the back of her hoodie. Both of you crying, not because you were breaking, but because you finally weren’t.

She kissed you like she didn’t expect to be allowed to stay.

You kissed her like you couldn’t survive if she left.

And when you finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, the taste of tears on both your lips, you whispered, “You’re home.”

Alexia closed her eyes. Let the weight of that settle in her chest.

And then, with a trembling exhale, said, “Only if you are.”

You nodded.

Together, you returned to the stove, hands brushing. Dinner burned a little. Tofu barked once, loudly, like he was annoyed no one had invited him to the emotional climax.

You fed him first.

Later that night, tangled together in bed with her head tucked beneath your chin and your fingers stroking her back in absentminded circles, she murmured, “I still remember the first night I met you. You were holding a wine glass and pretending you didn’t know the words to that song.”

You smiled into her hair.

“I wasn’t pretending,” you whispered. “I just wanted to hear you sing.”

She laughed softly.

And this time you fell asleep together not out of exhaustion, but peace. Because the worst was over and you had found each other again.

[miaoua3]

hiii Can you write something about clingy Cheol? Like sleeping in arms?

sure!! i love love LOVE writing fluff with cheollie so this is one of the best requests i could’ve gotten tbh lol hope you enjoy!

(pairing: husband! scoups x wife! reader)

one thing to know about cheol?

the moment he gets home from work he will be all over you, not letting you out of his reach for hours to come.

it actually isn’t even bad, compared to how needy and cuddly he gets after he comes back from tour, this is actually very healing and relaxing for you.

you were just reading something on your phone, eyes closing on their own but your consciousness fighting against the sleep because you wanted to welcome cheol home.

just as you were about to doze off yet again, you hear the door open and close, his soft and tired voice calling out “im home” from behind the door.

his arrival makes you immediately wake up all the way, as well as make you get out of the bed and jog lightly to him.

cheol’s fluffy hair gets in his eyes as he tries looking up at you while untying his shoes, gentle smile immediately grazing the corners of his lips the moment he sees you standing there, looking all sleepy and cute in just his pyjama shirt, bare legs calling for him to touch and kiss on, but not now, maybe some other time.

right now he just needs to hug you and cuddle with you. and maybe kiss you for hours to no end.

his heart coos a little when he see you walking over to him with your arms raised above your head, slippers dragging against the wooden floor.

cheol doesn’t think too much before he wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you up, your legs bent slightly so they wouldn’t drag as he carries you.

as he walks you over back to your room, he presses a soft kiss against your cheek, whispering a soft “hey baby” right into your ear.

you don’t respond to his words, instead you just nuzzle your face deeper into his neck and wait until you reach your bedroom.

once you do, cheol playfully throws you onto the bed, your giggles bouncing off the walls, before he proceeds to jump onto you, almost like a diver would jump into the water. you giggle turns into a full blown laugh, arms and legs wrapping around his body once his body stops bouncing from the force of his landing.

he proceeds to nuzzle his face against your chest, kind of like a cat does when it feels cuddly on occasion. except this cat in particular would cuddle with you all the time of he could. after a minute or so, he raises his head, face a bit red from all the rubbing he did with it.

he just looks so cute you can’t help yourself but to gently grab his face and pull him towards you. he immediately gets the hint and lets himself get pulled, eyes closing on their own in preparation. before long, he feels your kiss softly parting his own in a soft kiss, rush and excitement all left to the side in the name of letting him feel all your love through that kiss.

the kiss goes on for a few minutes, unhurried and deep, before cheol slowly pulls away. he gets up to get undressed but not before he lays another short peck to your soft lips.

you watch him slowly get undressed to his boxers, and you still look at him lovingly just like you did the first time you got to see him like this.

his usually hard and prominent muscles, now covered with a light layer of softness. his cute little tummy makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, knowing it’s there because of you-because you continue to take care of him and feed him, because you make him feel safe enough to let himself…enjoy life. it makes you smile in happiness and love.

before long, cheol is completely changed, wearing only his pyjama bottoms (considering you stole his pyjama set, this is what he has to settle on). once he finishes with washing his face, he excitedly walks over to the bed and gets under the covers, wiggling his cute butt and toes as he gets comfortable.

you chuckle at his silly antics, eyes filled with love scanning his tired but soft looking face.

cheol squints his eyes at your chuckling, his own eyes filled with ideas to get back at you for laughing at him.

before you can even react, he grabs your hands and harshly pulls your body towards him, a gasp escaping you as you basically fly over the bed and towards him.

he immediately wraps his limbs around you-legs tangling with your own, arms wrapping around your torso, hands sticking under his your shirt in the name of gently rubbing your back, short nails softly scratching the soft skin.

you look at him, his soft and big eyes staring right back. he chuckles at you shocked expression, lips kissing your forehead as a way to apologise for being a bit rough on you.

and so, the beginning of the end of your day starts-you two stay like that for hours to come, softly caressing each others skin, even softer kisses exchanged between softly spoken words. the rest of the world eventually quiets down, leaving only you two, in each others arms.

everything about this night is just…soft.

even if he’s so very tired, cheol stays awake the entire time in favour of simply spending time together. cheol loves his job so much, but he absolutely hates that it’s the reason why you two have to settle on quiet, late night conversations so you can say that you two actually spent some time together.

eventually, you two fall asleep between the slurred words and slow blinking.

and as you wake up the next morning, still in his arms, you want to tell cheol that it doesn’t matter that his job keeps him busy, that he doesn’t have to feel guilty about being so busy, that he doesn’t have to sacrifice his sleep so you two can spend a few hours together.

you want to tell him that as long as he comes back home to you, as long as he keeps on loving you softly and gently, just like he always does, that it’s enough.

he is enough.

his love is enough.

soft life with cheol is enough.

[thepitlanepress]

EVERYTHING –

↳ oscar piastri + rb driver!fem!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: I AM LIVING FOR THIS OSCAR DOMINTATION ACTUALLY LIKE YESS THATS MY AUSSIE !!!! also ahem excuse me sorry i disappeared for a month i lost the will to write 😭😭😭 i also think i forgot how to write bc why is it SO BAD??? anyway

oscar was the first who saw it. the first who brought his car to a stop, the first to launch out of said car and run towards you.

other cars stop behind him, george, lando, max, so many drivers come to a stop and bolt over to where you sat frozen.

marshals were running, but they were slow. drivers were climbing over the tires, scrambling desperately to get you out, get help.

-

it was your mistake, you had gone too wide and tried to correct yourself, but you didn't see carlos behind you and collided you briefly, he was able to correct himself. you were not.

the car spun, flipped four times your body being assaulted with each tumble before you eventually black out.

you had landed on an angle on the tires, half the car propped on them and the other on the ground, you weren't moving. the crowd was freaking out, screaming loudly in worry.

oscar was following behind you when he saw the incident. "is she okay? shit that was bad. has she said anything?"

"we're waiting for an answer," was his engineers response.

but that wasn't good enough, that was his best friend sat in the seat of that car he was doing something. quickly stopping, he launches out of his seat like his ass is on fire, max your team mate, hot on his heels.

"y/n!" oscar yells as they approach the car, you probably can't hear him, but it was a knee jerk reaction, one he was waiting for a response back for, a sign that you were okay.

you weren't moving though, your head was still, you were still. not even your signature, goofy middle finger you usually give after a crash. nothing.

oscar was ten thousand percent panicking now. you were fine. you were fine. you were fine, right?

more drivers arrive beside the car then, helping unbuckle your limp body and pulling you gently from the car just as marshals and a medic team arrive getting straight to work.

you were loaded into a ambulance and oscar, much to his dismay, was told to stay back, that there was a race to finish. not that he would be focusing on the race at all.

max clapped him on the shoulder as they both made their way back to their cars, "she'll be okay osc, its y/n, when has she ever been been taken down, knowing her she'll be giving the paramedics shit for getting there so slow?" his words were light and clearly meant jokingly but oscar couldn't think past your limp body.

you have to be okay right?

please be okay.

he couldn't lose his you, his crazy, his everything.

–

the crash looked awful on tv, you winced everytime you saw it - mainly because you had been replaying it for as long as you've been awake - but thats not the point.

the point is you have been awake for a little, while in an immense amount of pain and watching the rest of the live of the race and then replays of your crash.

probably a stupid thing to watch but you wanted to make sure you never made a mistake like that again.

also it was nice seeing the way oscar bolted out of his car, his pure desperation clear in his run - this was not something you should like considering you we're literally unconscious. but what, can't a girl have hidden feelings for her best friend that come out at the worst time?

speaking of that, loud shouts catch your attention from outside your room "i don't care. i want to see her! let me see her!"

your heart practically melts at his tone, oscar piastri never yells but he is for you. and thats special because you said it is.

the door bursts open and in rushes the man of the hour, his face pulled in a tight frown, worry clouding his eyes. worry that only dissipates (a little) when he sees you propped up in bed wide-eyed at his current outfit choice.

"y/n," he says rushing over to your side and picking your hand up careful not to hurt any of your injuries. "im so glad you're okay. are you? i can go yell at some more nurses if need be."

a small laugh erupts from your chest and you try not to wince, instead focusing on oscar.

"are you okay?" he asks his hands cupping yours.

"i am," you smile back at him, relishing in his hands warmth because this stupid hospital is way too cold.

"really?"

"i am osc, don't worry," you try to reassure him, but his frown only becomes more prominent.

"you were unresponsive, you weren't awake, do you know how scary that was?" he asks resting his head down on your blanketed lap, exhaling sharply. "i was petrified. so beyond scared and then i had to stay back and finish that fuckass race-"

"which you won oscar, by a whole thirty seconds," you cut him off trying to get him to see how amazing that was.

"that doesn't matter i was just trying to get the whole thing over with," he raises a hand and drops it on you leg - softly. "i had to stay and enjoy a win while who knows what happened to you. do you know how annoyed my race engineer was because i was asking for updates on you that frequently?" he takes a shake breath. "i was so fucking scared."

"osc..." you raise you hand and run it through his hair, a shudder running through his whole body. "i had no idea you were that scared."

"i was petrified baby," he mumured.

if this were any other moment you would started screaming internally at the fact he called you baby but now, now you just comforted you very best friend in one of his darkest moments.

–

after about a day or two, you were moved from the hospital to your home- well not your home oscar's. that was something that popped up when the nurse asked if you had anyone to help care for you, or look after you at all, oscar instantly stepped in of course.

so now you're curled up on a couch, wrapped in possibly the worst most comfortable blanket ever, sipping a hot chocolate and watching as oscar makes his way around the kitchen in the afternoon sun.

he's wearing your personal choice of a fitting white tee, and grey sweatpants- best decision you've ever made. you cannot lie.

he's also cooking pasta- the second best decision you've made. because oscar makes a heavenly bolognese.

he finishes plating the dishes and brings them over to the couch opting to sit down next to you rather than have you move to the table.

you practically inhale the food, being stuck for a few days with only hospital food is no joke. "this is so much better than the dog shit we were given at the hospital," you smile licking your fork clean.

oscar stilled, his mind replaying the moment your car flipped in the air, then flashing to your smiling but fragile body in the the bed just laying there.

you notice his change in demeanour right away, "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to say it like that," you whisper, putting your plate down and gently touching his shoulder. "its probably a little too soon to start that type of talk."

oscar puts his own plate down and looks over at you, "it was so unbelievably scary seeing that y/n, i don't think i'll ever get that image out of my head."

"i'm still here," you say, your voice soft, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently.

"but you almost weren't," his voice is also soft, scared almost.

"but i am, look at me oscar," you say, your voice firm. his eyes drift to yours, a swirling mix of fear and adoration and- wait adoration?

"you're still here," he whispers, looking back down at your hands, threading his fingers through you own, and squeezing your palm.

"i'm still here."

he brings you joined hands to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. "you're still here."

"and im not going anywhere okay?"

"okay."

"good, now eat your pasta before i do," you shove him gently.

"eat up," oscar says letting your hand go and picking your empty dish up pressing a kiss on your forehead. he heads over to the kitchen running the tap and washing the plates.

once you finish your second plate you stand up tenderly walking over to the sink and placing the plate on the counter, not noticing the way oscar stops and watches you. the way he sees your slight winces.

what you do notice, is when he envelopes you in a soul reviving hug, not hard, simply a fierce reminder he was there for you, and that he was scared. he was scared he would lose you again

"i'm not going anywhere, osc, i promise."

"don't make promises you can't keep y/n i nearly lost you," his voice is muffled in your collarbone.

"well this promise i can keep oscar piastri, because no god or heaven or crash could keep me from you. you're my oscar. and nothing will ever change that, yeah?"

he smiles, you can feel it. "... yeah."

"i love you osc, always and forever."

you said those words, hiding your feelings and simply telling the truth. with or without your feelings though, you loved him. like a friend, a partner, like an everything.

because he wan your everything.

and you were his.

you were each other's everything.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[lynbels]

can I request 38. Smut with Jake but they both use toys to pleasure themselves 😫🙏🙏🙏🙏

until I break - sjy (m)

#38: You’re both too riled up to wait—so you sit across from each other, eyes locked, touching yourselves until one of you breaks first.

pairing: Jake x reader - prompt request list - ✉️ wc. 840

‼️tw: mutual masturbation, sex toys (dildo, fleshlight), phone sex, dirty talk, explicit language, crying from pleasure, long-distance relationship

You were frustrated.

Frustrated and aching, lying back against your pillows, a toy buzzing between your legs but doing absolutely nothing to scratch the itch clawing under your skin.

You missed him too much.

It was different now — now that Jake was gone, thousands of miles away back in Australia, you couldn’t just crawl into his arms. Couldn’t just bury your face in his neck and let him take care of you the way only he knew how.

The ache wouldn’t go away.

Biting your lip, desperate, you tossed the toy aside and grabbed your phone instead. Fingers trembling a little, you hit Jake’s contact before you could overthink it.

The phone barely rang once before he answered.

“Hey, baby,” Jake said, voice all soft and smiling like he’d been waiting for your call. “You okay?”

You shivered at the sound, thighs rubbing together unconsciously.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I just… missed you. Can we talk?”

“Of course,” he said immediately, his voice soothing and warm. “Tell me about your day.”

You picked up the toy again, this time pressing it inside — slow, needy — as Jake’s voice washed over you. It wasn’t enough. You needed more — needed him — but you were too embarrassed to say it.

“Keep talking,” you whispered, hips starting to rock, trying to match the rhythm of his voice.

Jake chuckled a little, amused. “Okay… uh, I woke up early today. Took Layla for a walk by the beach. Thought about you the whole time. Wish you were there.”

You whimpered quietly, moving faster now, cheeks burning with need.

Jake’s voice softened, like he heard it. “You sure you’re okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you lied, squeezing your eyes shut, biting your lip to keep from making too much noise. “Just… don’t stop. Please.”

There was a pause.

A slow, knowing pause.

“…Baby,” Jake said, voice suddenly low and rough. “Are you… are you touching yourself right now?”

You froze, mortified.

But before you could deny it, he exhaled sharply — not mad, not teasing — just wrecked.

“God,” Jake muttered. “You’re bouncing on that toy, aren’t you?”

Your thighs clenched tighter around the toy, hips grinding down helplessly.

“Answer me, pretty girl,” he whispered. “I wanna hear you.”

You let out a tiny whimper, shame curling in your stomach. “Y-Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m trying but it’s not enough. I miss you too much.”

Jake groaned low, the sound crackling through the speaker. You heard a shuffle — him moving fast — and then a drawer opening on his side of the call.

“Hold on, baby,” he said, a little breathless. “Gimme a second.”

You barely had time to register it before you heard it — the soft, slick sound of Jake grabbing his fleshlight, the toy he had teased you about before but never actually used when you were on the call.

Until now.

“You made me like this,” he said roughly, and you could hear the way his hand shook a little setting it up. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.”

You whimpered again, fingers tightening around your own toy, hips rocking harder as you imagined him — messy hair, flushed cheeks, panting into the phone while he thrust into it.

“Touch your clit for me,” he said, voice low and thick. “Rub it nice and slow, just like I would. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see, fumbling to obey. The second your fingers brushed over your swollen clit, a jolt of pleasure shot through you, your back arching.

“That’s it, angel,” Jake murmured, and you could hear the faint wet slap of him thrusting into the toy now, getting louder by the second. “Wish I could see you. Wish I could grab you by the hips and make you ride me instead.”

You whimpered loudly, the image too much to handle.

“You sound so pretty,” Jake continued, voice rough. “Bet you look even prettier falling apart without me.”

You moved faster, whimpering into the phone, the sound of Jake’s breathing getting heavier too, matching yours. His soft grunts and whispered curses filled the line.

“Faster, baby,” he urged. “You can do it. Wanna hear you lose it for me.”

It didn’t take long after that.

You came with a sharp cry, gasping his name, legs trembling, the toy falling out of you as you collapsed against the bed. A second later, you heard Jake groan — low and broken — and then the wet squelch of him finishing, the toy dropping onto the bed beside him.

For a few seconds, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the connection between you.

Then Jake spoke again, voice soft and wrecked.

“I wanna book a flight,” he said. “I need you.”

You laughed, breathless, heart thudding. “Hurry.”

“I will,” he promised. “Just stay on the line a little longer, okay? Wanna fall asleep with you.”

You smiled through the haze of pleasure, curling under your blankets, the phone pressed to your ear.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

prompt request list

[ddejavvu]

i think hiccup likes watching you. it can be spun into the 'quality time love language', it can be written off as him reading over your shoulder, it can look like he's dozing across from you on the couch. but really, he's using the entire time to soak up your presence. he likes seating you with your back to his chest, so that he can see what you're doing in front of him by peering over your shoulder. sometimes he'll look at the back of your neck, counting freckles or roving over the baby hairs that escape your haphazard updo, staring at the skin he's lucky enough to get to kiss whenever he wants. very frequent back-of-the-neck kisser, this guy. he thinks its chaste and therefore meaningful.

if he's 'reading over your shoulder' he's actually just watching you read from over your shoulder. he watches your fingers twitch on the page, he watches the way you lose focus and have to restart a few paragraphs, he watches the way you toy with the corner of the cover while deep in the zone. he wants to commit everything to memory, he wants to know you deeper than he knows himself, he wants to have every minute twitch of your body recorded in something much more potent and permanent than charcoal on a page.

he studies the world around him, and you're no different. he finds out that you stuff your feet beneath the cushions on the couch because you like pressure holding you in place, so he takes to sitting on the tips of your toes with a cheeky smile, pretending its an annoyance instead of a deliberate act of thought. he watches you grapple with those same baby hairs he'd kissed and fashions some hair pins for you, pretty and effective. he knows it bothers you when your washcloth doesn't dry out in the cold winter months, so he takes them to the forge in the mornings and dries them over the fire so that they're toasty when you wash your face that night. he finds you interesting, watching you is his own hobby while you're doing yours. he doesn't get bored or feel the need to engage in his own activities if you're reading in his lap, or sewing up your shirt, or cooking, or stretching out your sore muscles, he's occupied with watching you live.

he's lost a lot in life. he's felt scarcity, not in food or shelter but in love. in tenderness, in being needed. so the way that you're so eager to sit between his legs, to lean back against his chest and crack open a book- something you could be doing alone on the other side of the couch if you wanted to- that's something special to him. he knows what it's like to feel discarded and unworthy, and he deliberately takes time to bask in the gratitude he feels towards whatever god sent you to him. he's fairly certain you didn't come from loki himself like the twins did, but he knows someone, somewhere out there, wanted him to have you, and he won't take that for granted.

[16ferrari]

release and escape | M.R

pairing: Michael “Dr Robby” robinavitch x fem!reader

Summary: Robby’s escape when he’s home from work is you

Warnings: oral (f!male and male receiving), fingering, marking, crying, cum eating if you squint. Edited but maybe some errors!

Exhausted, sore, back pain, headache, hungry, feet hurting.

is all Robby felt as he opened the door and walked into the beautiful home whom he shared with his wife. He stopped at the door when he walked in, to just let out a deep and exhausted breath. He felt right at home but his brain was still at work, which is a habit he can’t seem to control his brain to understand when to shut down when he’s at home.

as he wandered farther into the house he took in the familiar scent and feel. Feet touching the soft fluffy carpet, instead of the hard white concrete floor that he wished everyday he wouldn’t have to face when he walked through those doors

His Nose filled with your signature scent of a coffee candle you always left running, even if he’s told you multiple times not to leave things that could catch on fire while you slept. he chuckled to himself in an almost dark, barely lit room, thankful for once you actually left it on so he could smell something other than the horrific scent the hospital gave him.

He walked into the kitchen, placed his backpack on the barstool and opened the microwave, to see the plate you had left him, now normally he be very would hungry, hungry like he hadn’t eaten in days or weeks, but tonight he shut the microwave door and just opted for a huge glass of water and made his way upstairs into your bedroom.

He quietly pushed open the door, not wanting to wake you up, but the creaking sound the door made, which he swore he was going to fix, creaked extra loud tonight and woke you up. “Robby?’’ Your voice was low and soft, with a Hint of excitement that he was finally home after a long night’s shift.

He walked over to your side of the and sat down in front of your legs, “sorry honey, stupid door couldn’t hide my secret entrance” he raised a gentle hand and moved the hair from your eyes, a smile appearing on his face once he saw the face he’d been thinking about all shift.

you light chuckled, “the door you said you would fix?, wow it came in handy tonight” you jokingly kicked his back with your foot.

“I’m gonna fix it soon, sweetheart” he pitched your thigh, and got up to take off the god awful blue sweater he usually wore to the hospital. Taking it off felt like a reward, like he was taking off a cape after working all night, saving people, losing people and getting them better. He threw the sweater to the floor, not wanting to care about it for a night. Next he took off his shirt which he took off groaning, arms and shoulders hunting as he lifted them to take off the shirt.

he heard movement from the bed and then the sound of your drawer opening, he looked at you and saw you pulling out the bottle you always pulled out when you saw any sort of body part of his hurting, muscle relaxer written on the front like it was going to work on his poorly worm out back, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you no, that it wasn’t going to work. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed, like he usually did, so you could apply the relaxer on his back.

he felt the tips of your knees hit his back softly as you filled the palm of your hand with the relaxer to rub into his shoulder blades. He groaned as he felt the small of your hands start rubbing against the parts that ached so badly. You continued like that for the next few minutes, pressing your hands and fingers into his back, drawing motions with your fingers to hopefully relieve his pain.

However you hit that one particular point that had Robby’s head falling backwards to meet yours. “Fuck right there, honey” you jabbed your thumb deeper into the point that hurt him the most, and continued on from there.

he could only groan and grasp, the relaxer actually helping him just for the night and just so right.

you pressed a kiss to his forehead, making your way down to his neck. He let out a deep breath of a laugh. “What are you doing?, honey” his hand found the back of your head, fingers getting lost in your locks.

You hummed, biting gently on his exposed neck. Your hand creeped up from behind him to run all over his toned stomach, you felt him suck in a deep breath. “Relaxing you?’’ You giggled, turning his head around so you kiss him. you felt him escape into the kiss, it was soft and gentle. Something he needed to heal his wounds that his line of work opened up, he missed your lips on his. He turned his whole body around so he was chest-to-chest with you. His palm came up to cradle your face, the kiss deepening, turning rough and passionate.

He wrapped an arm around your waist to lay you down on the bed. It felt right, so right. Having you there beneath him, the light from the opened window shining into the room, landing on your face creating a blue and beautiful silhouette to focus on your face.

You moaned into the kiss as he opened your legs and brushed his knee against your core hidden beneath your panties. He broke the kiss to follow a trail down to your neck, painting kisses and bites that surely left marks and colored lines that would be visible to the public eye, also hard to cover up. But you couldn’t care, robby didn’t either.

Your hands scratched down his back, head falling back into the pillows, the now intense pleasure getting the very best of you. “Supposed to be taking care of you” you groaned feeling the palm of his hand ceasing your breast through the pink silk nightgown you wore to bed.

he hummed tugging down one of the straps on the dress, he dropped his head to mouth at the exposed bud. “You are’’ his hand slipped under the dress, tips of his fingers messing with the seams of your panties, “by letting me use you” he pushed them aside, inserting his ring and middle finger in your now wet and pulsating cunt.

you cried out, back arching off the bed to meet his exposed hairy chest. ‘’ fuck robby” is what only could fall from your lips as he kept hitting that particular spot that had you seeing stars. The sounds that filled each corner of the room were nasty, and loud, something that Robby would rather listen to than the stupid sounds the hospital made.

Without removing his fingers Robby pushed your legs further apart and scooted down the bed so he could come in contact with your pussy face to face. You screamed into your hand as you felt his wet tongue make contact with your clit, sucking and licking, making circles with his tongue. He was getting nasty, drool falling down his chin, soaking his beard.

“Needed this” he replaced his fingers with his tongue, “needed you, needed your sweet pussy, honey” he spread your pussy lips more open with his fingers so he could make room for his tongue to go dig deeper into your extremely wet pussy.

You couldn’t speak. Tears started to fill your waterline as you felt your stomach start to tighten up, and legs began to shake impulsively from where they laid around on Robby’s shoulders. “Fuck, I’m close’’ he sped up his movements which made you cum faster and harder. You screamed in silence, back arching far off the bed. “fuck!, fuck! Fuck!” You tried to push Robby’s head away, but he refused to leave his spot from between your legs, he continued to lick your cunt clean, soaking up whatever you left behind.

‘’Robby please” your fingers ran through his hair, hoping he’ll stop, but he didn’t. He continued mouthing at your cunt, tongue slipping in and out of your cunt, before mouthing at your clit. “Fuck, am gonna cum again” your legs were shaking again uncontrollably, feeling his hand move up and down your leg was your final straw as your vision went white, you had came hard again.

Robby crawled over to hover above you, his hand laying against your cheek to soothe your cheek, which was stained with tears. “Did great sweetheart’’ he leaned down and kissed those tear stains, washing them away with his kisses.

You played with hairs on the back of his head. “I wanna take care of you now” he hummed, letting out a breathy laugh.

”you did take care of me?” You shook your head.

”yeah, but” you wrapped your leg around his waist, flopping him over so he was on his back, and you on his waist. “I wanna take care of you in my own way” he placed his hand on the small of your back drawing soft circles with his fingers.

”really how so?” You giggled, he really was clueless. Instead of saying, you decided to just show him. You moved down a bit to unzip his pants, freeing his cock which you immediately got your mouth around.

Robby’s head fell into the pillows, chest heaving up and down. Little murmurs of cuss words leaving his mouth. You bobbed your head up and down his thick cock, taking him the furthest down your throat, swallowing up those gags and tears that threatened to break from your eyes. You felt him grip the back of your head, helping you, moving your head at the speed he wanted you to.

”fuckk, sweetheart” Robby looked down at you, only to see you already looking at him. “You’re an angel” he took a photo in his head, your batted soft eyes looking up at him, cheeks hollowed, sucking on his dick like your life depended on it. Robby's hand tightened on your hair as he got closer and closer to his end, he couldn’t warn you to stop, was too caught up in his own pleasure to say anything. But, he came with a loud groan and that was enough for you to know that he clearly needed that.

you pulled your head off his cock with a pop and a sting of saliva falling from down your chin onto your chest. Robby sat up and pulled the back of your head towards him to crash his lips onto yours, he could taste a mixture of himself and you. The kiss like earlier was messy, needy, and nasty. You both fought for dominance, deepening the kiss, tongues fighting their way into each other’s mouths.

you pulled away from the kiss breathless and wanting more, “want more, robby. Way more” you whispered into his ear, hands clawing at his skin, neediness and desperation setting in.

His hand twitched against his thigh, he nodded his head agreeing in silence. He forced you onto your back, spread open your legs and lined his cock up with your wet folds. “Can’t hold back dear’’ he warned you. you didn’t want him to, you wanted him to let loose. Release all his stress and worries into you.

”don’t hold back, robby’’

[sherriievalance]

SUMMARY: Waking up with Justin!

WARNINGS: Second person point of view, established relationship, light kissing, and fluff!

You slowly open your eyes, barely moving as you move your hand around for your phone, it still being somewhat dark outside. As you check the time it reads 6:30. You groan and shut your eyes, attempting to lay comfortably again.

Justin feels you move around, causing him to sit up, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you awake?” He groans, yawning in between his sentence.

You open your eyes again, shaking your head. “I don’t know, it’s six thirty though.” You mumble, laying your head back in your pillow.

Justin nods, lying back down as he wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you close to him.

You hum in response, feeling your body relax fully.

After thirty minutes of you two saying mumbled sentences to each other you decide to fully get up.

You attempt to slither out of Justin’s arms, failing as he tightens his grip.

“Justin,” You slightly whine, automatically giving up. “I need to get up, I have stuff to do.” You say clearer, lightly hitting Justin’s hands.

Justin quick shakes his head, “Like what? It’s still so early.” He huffs, a hint of annoyance in his voice as he yawns.

“It’s seven, it’s not ‘so early’ still. And I need to make breakfast and stuff.” You mumble, failing again as you tried to get out of his arms.

Justin yawns again, finally letting go of you. “What are you going to make?” He mumbles, finally sitting up right, his eyes flickering over you.

You shrug, getting up lazily and slow. “Maybe oatmeal.” You say, yawing as you stand up to stretch.

Justin tilts his head, “Oatmeal?” He laughs, shaking his head.

You roll your eyes, fixing up your side of the bed. “Well I don’t know what else to make, and oatmeal sounds really good right now.” You chirped, a small smile escaping your lips.

“Okay suit yourself, I’ll find something else.” Justin says, getting up also, immediately fixing his hair.

A comfortable silence falls between you two as you both fix the bed, the only sound is of the pillows being pat and the blanket being crinkled.

You make your way into the kitchen, Justin right behind you as he keeps his hands on your hips.

“Justin, let me make my food please.” You whine, leaning back into him as you tilt your head up at him.

Justin lets out a quiet huff, giving you a light kiss as he lets go. “You’re seriously making oatmeal?” He murmurs, leaning back on a kitchen counter as his eyes flicker over your body.

You nod, grabbing out the oats. “Yeah? What’s the problem with oatmeal?” You defend yourself, tilting your head.

Justin shrugs, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing..” He trails off, yawning. “It’s just that there’s so much more stuff you could make, like pancakes or something.” Justin laughs, shaking his head.

You roll your eyes, laughing a little with him. “Mhm pancakes? Oatmeal is actually healthy for you, and you’re a football player. You of all people should know healthiness.” You ramble, getting out the rest of the stuff from out the pantry.

Justin rolls his eyes also, “Well it’s a bye-week right now, so I don’t have to.” He replied, crossing his arms.

You nod, letting out a quiet hum as you start making your oatmeal, pouring in all the ingredients.

A silence falls between you guys again, until Justin slowly makes his way to you, leaning slightly over you to see what you’re doing.

Justin shakes his head, trapping you between both of the counter. “Still can’t believe you’re making oatmeal.” He whispered, his eyes flickering over your face and your concentration.

You look up to him for a few seconds, then looking back to your food. “Well it’s delicious, and it’s good for you.” You say simply, Justin’s body heat radiating off of him onto you.

Justin huffs, moving his hand to his hair as he fixes it again.

Your eyes gaze up to him doing so, seeing his hand get caught in the ends. “You should really get a haircut, even if it’s an inch shorter.” You hum, giggling a little as you turn around to get a better view.

Justin shakes his head, “Nah, I think I’m good for another month then I’ll cut it.” He quickly replied, sneakily moving his hands to your hips. “You know I’m still tired, we should go back to bed.” He quietly hums, slowly pulling you closer to him.

You look up at him, tilting your head as a smile escapes your lips. “You’re still tired?” You said, barely more than a few feet away from him.

Justin nods, bringing his arms around your waist. “Mhm.” He murmurs, his eyes flickering over your face.

i had a cute little idea and i really wanted to post it!! anyways hope you guys like it, i’m currently making a Joe and Paige fic

[drewsctover]

something meant to be.

you lost faith in yourself and in the world, but destiny is already written — and when you least expect it, happiness finds its way to you. 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

warnings: none !!! maybe just reader overthinking and almost having an anxiety meltdown.

prologue.

chapter one. 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

it’s your first day, and joel’s not even home.

what kind of dad hires a nanny to take care of his daughter and doesn’t bother to be there to meet her — y’know, the person who’s going to look after the most important human in his entire life every single day? jesus. this man is insane.

you’d never leave edward alone with a nanny before getting to know her really well. like, stalk her on social media and check her astrological-sign. you’d have to be absolutely sure she’s a good person.

edward... god, stop thinking about him. you cannot have a panic attack on your first day.

when you stepped into joel’s apartment, it totally caught you off guard — clean, organized, almost suspiciously perfect. spacious and immaculately decorated, with these big windows overlooking a postcard-worthy view of kelowna — a small town in canada where it’s always cold, but people are warm, smiley, and weirdly eager to help strangers.

the dark hardwood floors, sleek grey couch, black-and-white furniture — it all screamed modern minimalism. like, straight out of a high-end magazine. pretty? sure. but also cold. impersonal. it didn’t feel like a seven year old little girl actually lived there too. poor ellie.

you left the living room behind in silence, your eyes trailing down the long hallway toward what you assumed was ellie’s bedroom — thanks to a cute snoopy plushie hanging on the doorknob. you let out a slow breath, trying to think of a gentle way to approach.

since losing your son, you’ve done everything you could to avoid children. that sharp, unbearable ache in your chest always finds a way to show up when you see one.

he could’ve been that age. he could’ve had a room like this. would he like snoopy too?

damn it. fet it together.

your brother warned you it wouldn’t be easy — that you'd want to turn around and bolt back to the comfort of your own home. but you didn’t think it would be this hard.

it’s fine. you’ve got this.

you walk up to ellie’s door and knock softly. on the other side, you hear a grumpy little mumble, followed by hesitant footsteps. then, the door creaks open — just a sliver.

a tiny face peers out, eyes squinted with suspicion.

“you my new babysitter?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, sizing you up from head to toe. she looks bored. maybe mildly annoyed.

you nod and smile. she’s so stinkin’ cute.

“yes, ellie, i’m your new babysitter,” you reply in a whisper to match hers. “joel, your... dad...” the word sends an odd little chill down your spine. weirdo. you don’t even know why. “he told me on the phone that you’re really good at making new friends, and that you’d play with me until he gets back. can i come in?”

she doesn’t answer right away. her bright blue eyes watch you through the crack in the door. then, with the slow, deliberate movement of someone making a very important decision, she opens it the rest of the way.

she just stands there for a second, staring at you with this funny little expression, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, chubby fists clenched like she’s bracing for battle.

“okay,” she says, her voice suddenly softer, gentler — none of the earlier suspicion in sight. “you can come in…”

she steps aside and you walk in, carefully, trying to keep your emotions in check. and thank god — the inside of her room is nothing like the rest of the apartment.

it’s full of life, not like a hospital room.

colors everywhere. dolls and toys scattered across the floor. stuffed animals lined up on shelves. crayon drawings taped to the walls. it’s messy, but in that magical way only a kid’s room can be.

he could’ve had a room like this...

your thoughts are cut short when ellie grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a pastel yellow shag rug in the middle of the room.

she’s shy, clearly, maybe a little worn out. but then she casts a quick, hesitant glance toward a little open box of nail polish sitting on her bookshelf. you catch the tiniest glimmer in her blue eyes — and that’s your cue.

you scoot a bit closer and sit beside her.

“these are amazing, ells! did you paint your nails all by yourself?” you ask, genuinely impressed.

“i did,” she says, her voice small and quiet. but you spot the ghost of a smile starting to tug at the corner of her lips. “but daddy always says i make a mess.”

“mess is part of the fun! i’m totally clumsy with nail polish too,” you admit, because honestly, it’s true. you reach for a little white bottle and hold it up, eyes wide. “this one matches my dress! will you show me how to paint?”

and just like that, her ghost of a smile becomes a full-on, toothy grin.

“okay. but don’t mess it up, okay? i know how to do it right.”

your heart basically melts right there.

she scoots in close and offers you her tiny hand. you gently place yours on top of hers. ellie picks up the bottle from the floor with both hands, carefully, and leans in like she’s working on a masterpiece.

and while she paints, you notice it.

your heart’s no longer racing. the lump in your throat is gone.

if she looked up at you now, she’d probably laugh at the dumb, starry-eyed expression you’ve got on your face.

ellie is magic.

you’re so glad you took this job.

hours pass like soft echoes in the apartment — cartoons fade, laughter quiets, ellie drifts into sleep — and now it’s just you and the dim hum of the fridge, the ticking clock, and the hush of your own breath.

you’re curled into the corner of joel’s gray couch, legs tucked under you, wearing one of ellie’s forgotten scrunchies like a bracelet and still smelling faintly of bubblegum polish.

and then, the door clicks.

you freeze, barely turning your head — like movement might break the spell — and in steps joel, finally home.

he looks… tired. worn around the edges in a way that feels permanent. his flannel’s half unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair’s a little damp, like he ran a hand through it too many times or maybe got caught in the rain. there's a weight to his presence — not heavy, exactly, just undeniable.

when his eyes land on you, there’s a flicker of confusion. then something else. curiosity, maybe.

you sit up a little straighter, brushing your fingers over your knee like that’ll make you look less… like a person who just had her heart melted by a tiny human and is trying not to fall apart about it.

damn it, joel, you didn’t tell me your daughter’s a heart-stealer.

“hey,” you say, your voice a little softer than usual. “ellie’s out. like, out-out. didn’t even make it to the second bedtime story.”

joel raises an eyebrow as he walks farther in, tossing his keys in a bowl by the door. “that’s a record. she usually tries to negotiate at least three.”

you laugh under your breath. “yeah, she offered me a deal. if i let her watch tangled twice, she’d go to bed early.”

he chuckles. the sound is deep, low, warm in a way you weren’t expecting. “smart kid.”

“she is,” you agree. “and funny. and bossy.”

“that she is,” he mutters, like it’s a badge of honor.

you’re both quiet for a moment, the kind of pause that stretches just a little too long but doesn’t quite cross into uncomfortable. he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like he’s trying to figure something out. like you surprised him.

and yeah, maybe you’re watching him back. maybe your stomach does a tiny, ridiculous flip when he smiles — just a twitch of his lips, crooked and lopsided.

you’re not supposed to notice stuff like that.

but you do.

“thanks for taking care of her,” he says, quieter now. “i know it’s the first day. that’s not always easy.”

you offer a small, genuine smile. “honestly? she made it easier than i thought she would.”

and then he nods — slowly, like maybe that means something to him — and says, “still. appreciate it.”

you nod back, heart doing that low thrum thing it hasn’t done in a while.

joel glances toward the kitchen, then back at you — a little hesitant, like he’s debating whether or not he should say what he’s about to say.

“want a coffee?” he asks, casual enough, but there’s something curious in the way he says it. like he’s testing the waters, seeing if you’ll stay just a little longer.

and for a second — just a second — you almost say yes. you picture the two of you sitting at the table, mugs in hand, the soft clink of ceramic filling the quiet, maybe talking about ellie, or life, or… whatever this little buzz in your stomach is.

but you take a slow breath, offer a soft smile, and shake your head.

“i’d love to, but… i should head home. first day and i’m already wiped out,” you say, rising slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“of course,” he nods, understanding — though something flickers behind his eyes, something that might’ve been disappointment. just a flicker. “i get it.”

you walk toward the door, and he follows, opening it for you. the warm yellow hallway light spills into the apartment like it’s gently nudging you out.

“thanks again,” he says, his voice a touch lower now, eyes meeting yours. “for everything with ellie. and… for taking the job.”

you smile, soft and genuine. “thank you for trusting me.”

you both linger there for a beat, maybe two. like there’s something else hanging in the air — something that wants to be said but refuses to take shape.

so instead, you just say:

“good night, joel.”

and he answers, steady and quiet:

“good night.”

you take a few steps down the hallway, and it’s not until the door clicks shut behind you that you realize you’d been holding your breath.

your heart’s still steady.

but your stomach… your stomach hasn’t quite caught on that this was only day one.

authors note. HELPPP i can't believe i posted this fr WHAJSBD like it says on my pinned, english isn't my first language so pls bear with me if there's any mistakes lol <3 hope u guys like it !! 🥺 if u wanna be on the taglist just lmk in the comments !!!!

[yoshikis-cat-hairclip]

Heyyyy!!! I saw your haikyuu reacting to kisses post and now I want to request a what would haikyuu boys be like before dating you specifically daichi but please feel free to add other characters!!

Also if you don't mind could I be 🥟 anon??

❝ #⋆˚࿔ ꒰ঌ Haikyuu boys crushing on you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ! ໒꒱ ❞

tagsજ⁀➴ᝰ.ᐟ╰┈➤.ᐟ.ᐟ GN!reader, fluff

featuring...Hajime Iwazumi, Daichi Sawamura, Nishinoya Yu

warnings .ᐟ : use of y/n, slightlyy ooc for Iwazumi I fear

A/n: AHHHH I love daichi sm. He was suppose to be in the kisses one but then I got tired and just said fuck it and posted it. But I love him smm (also yes you may be 🥟 anon)

★┊[Hajime Iwazumi ] .ᐟ

- he’s so nonchalant…until he’s not.

Like he’ll be very regular around you until you throw a compliment his way

The most awkward smirk will make its way onto his face.

And he’s trying his absolute hardest to act like a normal human around you but he literally just can’t and then as soon as you leave he’s buckling down onto his knees in sheer embarrassment and agony internally

Because— what the hell is his deal? your literally just his friend he should be able to take a compliment (he’s in DEEP denial)

Another thing is that sometimes he’ll just like stare accidently

Half the time he doesn’t even realize it but when he’s disturbed he swears to god his heart palpitates just a little

oikawa takes full advantage of this to scare him, because usually, he can’t. It’s borderline impossible to scare this man.

But boy oh boy when he stares at you there is not a hint of social awareness going in in that brain.

Despite alllll of this, takes him forever to catch on to the fact he likes you

And it would be something painfully simple that would make him realize it too like..

You two walk together, synchronized in each step you take as the rain paves a path on the sidewalk to your house. Iwa holds an umbrella overhead, his bag slung over his shoulder lazily As you talked on and on about your day while he listened silently. Only adding little hums and chuckles once in a while. Too busy committing every little detail of your stories to memory to actually be an active participant of the conversation. But still, he was listening. Every muse, every smile and giggle and jest thrown his way he caught. And when the ground seemed to dissipate under your feet like the was world opening open and sucking you under. Iwa acts. And fast too, Faster than you’ve ever seen him (damn near gave you whiplash). His hand flies to your wrist and pulls you back up and against him. His hands are firm maybe a bit too against your frame, only tightening slightly. The umbrella forgotten somewhere behind the two of you, sustaining the beating of the rain and the rapid nearly audible beating of his heart.

“Jesus— you okay there?” You nod as you slide away from him to sit up right, a small termor could be felt in his hands as you move and they ceed back and to his sides. “Mhm, though now I gotta wash this when I get home..” a small pout forms as you notice you slipped on a dip in the ground of all things; and now your shoes and pants are drenched as the dip had flooded. He wanted so bad to say something but nothing comes out. His throat cranks out air instead of words. Slowly, it turns into a laugh. “Hey..” you murmur, your glare meant to be taken as a warning but doesn’t. “Alright, alright. Sorry. C’mon let’s get you home. I’ll get you something tomorrow, anything my treat.” And Shit free food? Who were you to argue? And Iwazumi was glad you did it to, because if you even looked at him a second longer he would’ve noticed. How red he was and the was his palms became moist.

That evening when he gets home, he thinks over it and realizes then and there that he had fallen, and hard too.

From there internally how he feels about that ranges from “when he sees me” from waitress to screaming, crying, and throwing up that this happened to him of all people.

Tells NO one. And I mean NOBODY.

And it works because nobody even thinks he likes anyone

The way you find out is because it accidentally slips out one time from him. I don’t know how yet, but I’m convinced that’s the case.

₊˚๑ ꒰Daichi Sawamura꒱ ໑‧₊˚.ꪆ

I think he’s the type to notice you in class or something and then spend the whole year trying to get close to you and be your friend

Mostly through school, since he is not the best with introductions,

probably got paired with him for a group project and got your phone number, then from there, you two become friends

It's not very obvious that he likes you; he always acts perfectly normal.

Walking you home? pft-- well that's a common thing! Doing whatever you ask of him with little no questions? He's just doesn't ask many questions! Having a keen interest in whatever you show him and making an effort to learn more about it so you two can talk more? He's just a good friend and likes to be around you!

just his nice, kind, regular, and utterly hospitable self. And it works too because, because he's nice to literally everyone.

however his friends? Yeah they know.

"Oh! yeah I was just hanging out here. Oh this is y/n's class?--" Packkkk it up bucko, you're fooling absolutely no one here.- suga (probably )

Again, It's not extremely obvious when he has a crush but when you know Daichi and watch him when you're around? Very obvious.

it's very much little things like the way he hangs onto every word you say, the way his tone softens just slightly when it's just you two speaking, his stolen glances every now and again.

when suga finds out he is relentless with his teasing towards daichi.

god for BID, you come to visit one of his practices. It's over for him

as soon as you leave; they are on his neck, questioning him about you. If he doesn't? Well, why not just ask the source in the first place!

"hey, y/n right? Daichi's friend?" Tanaka calls, his voice breaking out of the trance you were in, listening to the echo of volleyball's smacking around the gym. He races up to your spots on the stands. "yeah, you're... Tanaka right?" He nods and sits next to you with a bit of hop in his step. "so I wanted to ask you—“ suddenly a smaller boy, noya popped out like a groundhog beside him. “we wanted to ask you, how does daichi act around you? Like do you two walk home together?” “Well— sometimes, we get some food—“ “he buys you food?! No way!” “Dude he never gets us stuff no fair!” “Really? He always does for me no questions asked.” They look like they’re gonna have an aneurysm from his knowledge alone. From there the floodgates just open. Do you work part time? Oh? He gives you things when he passes by? How often does he pass by? Hmmm, hm interesting… “You two!times up we've gotta get to work!" Daichi hollard loud enough to cause a bit of a jump. “but we have three minutes--" "now.”

He apologizes relentlessly over and over again once he gets the time to.

However all the questions does make you wonder…

It takes him a longgg time to build up the courage to actually say something. but when he does he's so romantic and sweet about it.

Flowers, chocolates, the whole nine yards.

He's usually really good with words... that all flies out the window. His hands are sweaty, stiff as a board and is probably on the verge of passing out. while the rest of the team is watching from a window or something

𐔌 . 𓎟 Nishinoya yu ᐟ｡୧ ꒱

Bold. so, so bold.

Play flirts CONSTANTLY with you

"haha you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid" type beat yk

However gets embarrassed immediately if you flirt back

he knows everything about you. Favorite color, food, part-time job, sport(s) you play, friends, he knows it ALL. he's obsessed,

He'll wear something he knows you like, and act's surprised when you compliment him and start twirling his hair and giggling like a schoolgirl

Either that or he puffs his chest out and tries to act so suave and cool

"yeah you know, I was just out, in my car strolling and I saw this necklace and I just- felt compelled to buy it" mind you, he has neither a car or a license or permit of any kind; and he begged his mom to have it.

he tries to act at least halfway decent around you and not be a complete pervert. if anyone brings up anything remotely weird he's done past or present, they will get attacked at his nearest convenience

You get invited to all his games

gives you the biggest grin ever whenever he even touches the ball

he also does just the absolute most when you're around. Complete show off

He blabs about you to everyone non-stop so he is frequently told to shut up. Like at any corner he just HAS to bring you up it's a compulsion atp

despite this, is so chicken at even the NOTION of confessing

"Dude, just get with her already the worst thing she can say is--" "no!! shut up! shut your dirty little mouth Tanaka!"

listen..he's just waiting for the right moment to strike he'll do it ...eventually...

⋆˙⟡ — Requests are always open and reblogs are always welcome!⋆˙⟡ —

[cherryforchuu]

His puppy eyes

Puppy play with Phainon

NSFW, Puppy!phainon x master!reader, fem! reader, sub!phainon, collar and leash, dog ears and dog tail buttplug, face slapping, edging, face sitting, handjob, vaginal sex, praise

The collar on Phainon's neck was clipped a bit tighter than it should be. But that's what Phainon liked the most about the collar. It had a light blue color that matches perfectly with his hair and especially with the dog ears and the tail attached to the buttplug he wore.

He was looking at you with those eyes again. Those puppy eyes that you always adored. But sometimes the adoration you felt turned into aggression which you needed to take off on him.

"Don't look at me with those eyes." You said and slapped his left chest. "Again, please." He looked back at you and begged for more. He asked so politely that you couldn't argue. So you gave him a few more slaps, which he responded by giggling and smiling. After the last slap landed on his cheek, you put your thumb on his mouth. He licked eagerly at it before he sucked lightly.

"You know you've been a naughty puppy lately. I still have the scratches you left on my back" Phainon only waved in agreement, too focused on sucking at your thumb. "And the hickeys on my neck faded away only a week ago. It's only logical for me to punish, so you can learn how to behave, am I right? Answer me." You ordered him and took the thumb of his mouth.

"Yes master, I need to be punished." He said with his head low and a sad tone on his voice. But that wasn't enough.

"Ok then," you bent over and tugged at the leash of the collar and coldly held at his already semi-hard cock "no cuming for you tonight, till you actually think what you did wrong and apologize and stop agreeing with everything I say" "I'll do my best, master" he answered, still not daring to look at you.

"Good boy, now let me see the tricks you've learned at your training." This time he didn't answer verbally, only nodded, getting on his puppy role.

" Give your paw." Phainon rested his right hand on your palm in front him. "Give me the other one now." He gave his left hand. "Good boy." You praised and patted his head, he loved it.

"Turn around for me." Phainon turned his whole body, on all fours, till he was looking back at you. "You're doing great, pup." You praised him and ruffled his hair again. "Now, bark for me."

Phainon always had his limits as a pup. As much as he was willing to lose his ability to speak, barking was something that embarrassed him. But it was never impossible to get it out of him.

You sighed in annoyance and pulled the leash towards you and unzipped the cheap corset you wore, your full chest was now on display just for him.

Phainon's whole face lit up in excitement and after a second of hesitation he started barking. His cries echoed the room. A small laughter escaped from your lips, which surely made him feel embarrassment again. But he continued barking which left you with no other option but to give him a small reward. A reward he was going to regret letter but was still a reward.

"You're doing so good for master." You praised him and your hand reached down to his cock. Stroking his shaft, pulling down the foreskin, circling a thumb around the tip. Phainon was really loving it, his eyes were sat and his mouth slightly opened, leaving behind a trace of low groans and moans.

Then his shoulders started to tremble, his breath became heavier and his voice was cracking. You looked down at his cock, to look at his tight balls and the redness that had already started to spread on his dick. He was definitely about to cum, but you wouldn't let such a thing happen. You pulled your hand and reached for the whip on the bed, throwing it on the other side of the room.

"Go catch it." Phainon sighed in annoyance for not coming but obeyed, crawling down to catch it with his teeth and take it back to you. "Good boy" you rubbed his face "Give it to me again." You throwed the whip again. He went back to catch it with more eagerness.

That act continued until you were satisfied enough to move on. "You did so good, pup. You deserve a reward, lay down on the bed." The reward was actually the beginning of his punishment but he didn't need to know that. Phainon could not hold his excitement for himself, he didn't even need the hard pull of the leash, he just crawled to the bed and lay down at the edge of the bed with his legs hanging out.

You took off your leather skirt and climbed over Phainon's body. "Do you remember what to do if I asphyxiate you?" "Yes master." He nodded. After ensuring he'll be alright, you sat on his face.

Phainon quickly started licking at your pussy, his tongue inside you occasionally sucking and pulling at your labia. Naturally good at it, Phainon made you get lost on the pleasure and almost forgot that was the moment you were supposed to punish him.

You reached down to his hard penis that was resting on his abs. You stroked him hard and fast, making him unable to keep his moans on himself, vibrating on your folds and made you squirm on his face. You pulled at his hair and continued stroking him hard, regaining focus.

When Phainon's thighs started twitching, you knew he was about to cum. You stopped messing with his cock and Phainon immediately protested, whining on your pussy and desperately hitting his legs on the bedframe. He tried to move his hand on his cock, but you took his hands right away and placed them on your tits to keep him busy.

"You are being punished, you're not cumming until you think what you did wrong and apologize about it." Phainon nodded in agreement and his mouth was back at you, licking your clit. You went back to jerking him, his body tensing again, as he focused on eating you out and massaging your breasts.

It took him way less to reach his almost peak and your hand moved away from his cock. The lack of stimulation made him toss around his body and kick his legs again. "Let me cum." He cried. "No. You're being punished, you aren't supposed to talk, pup." You reminded his role, while brushing your hands on inner thighs and anywhere on his crotch that wasn't his hard, red cock.

You put more weight on his face and continued edging him. The more edge he was getting, the less it took him to get close, his cock slowly turning purple-red. You were still edging him when he pinched at your thigh twice. You sit up from his face ."Sorry for asphyxiating you, Phai-" "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have scratched and mar-ked you. You always told me to n-not leave any marks on your skin and visible ones b-but I didn't want to listen. I'm so sorry.

Phainon apologized with tears on his eyes and his face hidden on his palms, trying to hide the guilt and the edge he felt. "You are sorry, pup." you took his hands away from his face. "My pup's so smart for understanding his wrong behavior. How about a reward? My pussy is all yours-"

Before you even finished your sentence Phainon was already on top of you. He thrusted inside your sensitive cunt with a fast pace while his thumb was playing with your clit. You were both a moaning mess, filling the room with synchronized lewd noises. Both of you climax almost at the same time, too edged to last long anyway.Phainon fell onto you, his heavy body crashing yours, It was a familiar weight.

Your hand reached for the dog ears, taking them off, softly brushing his hair while the other hand was rubbing his muscled back. "You did so well for me today Phainon, I'm proud of you. Now, let me clean you up." "No, I want cuddles." He whined and hugged tighter.

He was looking at you with those puppy eyes again. But this time instead of slapping him you close eyes and hugged him back, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

[camradacheri]

leona kingscholar x reader

you are cold in savanaclaw and leona is your warm boyfriend. based during book 5 when the sdc posse takes over ramshackle.

“this is like low grade torture! maybe i should just go back to ramshackle.”

the goal of the savanaclaw dorm seemed to be to freeze you to death tonight! usually the cool nights were a gift after the hot sun gave you a beating throughout the day. but tonight, you were turning into an ice cube!

“you’re fine” leona said in response, his voice came from the left of you, half muffled by him laying face down into his pillow. he turned his head towards you to be heard more clearly. “you said it yourself, babe. you’d rather die than spend another minute with those “heathens.”

it’s true…you did say that…but that was before you knew savanaclaw was a whopping 10 degrees tonight.

“well, you know, i’d rather have vil fuss over my lack of a self care routine than get hypothermia! also did i tell you that rook can’t sleep without listening to whale noises? i swear, every night for the last week i’ve been having this dream where i’m on a little sailboat and i’m trying to row myself out of this big ass whale’s mouth! i didn’t really know what to do the first time it happened, but i think tonight is the night that i will be able to defeat that monster! he won’t know what hit h-“

you’re cut off by glancing over to see that leona had opened his eyes and was making a face at you. it’s not a look of annoyance over you keeping him awake by complaining about getting frostbite to detailing the events of your reoccurring, traumatic, nautical dream. it’s something softer than that, adorned with a small smile, it’s a look of adoration.

“…stop it.” you say, not knowing how to deal with tender moments like these just yet in your relationship.

you had grown a mutual fondness for each other last fall after the ‘seize ramshackle’ conundrum when he so graciously let you and grim sleep on the floor of his room.

it was a time of feeling like there was a greater power working against you while you fretted over the fate of your friends and the threats of the damn octavinelle fish mafia. simultaneously, it was also a beautiful time of feeling blessed by fate when you got to hear leona’s raspy morning voice and see him come out of the shower wet and shirtless every day. who could blame you for flirting! i mean, you didn’t think you’d actually stick the landing!

it came as a shock, but you knew you had him when he sweetly offered for “only you and not that damn cat” to sleep beside him on his bed on the last night of your stay.

seasons have changed since then and you have found yourself beside him more often than not. freeing the tangles in his hair with your fingers after spelldrive practice, sitting between his legs as he braids your hair, laying on top of him as he runs his hands up and down your bare back, and very simply living alongside each other.

leona never struck you as someone who would shy from physical affection and you were right. he was leaning on your shoulders and wrapping himself around you before you two had even shared your first kiss. you just weren’t expecting his words to be as dear as his touches. not quite honeyed, but sweet enough to make your eyes light up.

“you’re so pretty, especially when you’re yapping, baby.” leona says softly. he lets out a hum before pulling himself towards you. warm arms encircle you and cold hands instinctively encircle him back. you tuck your head into his chest and let out a sigh of contentment from the cocoon of warmth your boyfriend has wrapped around you.

“…you’re warm, ona.” you say with a smile.

“mm hm. don’t go anywhere.” you hear him respond from above your head.

“don’t cry, little baby boy. i was just teasing, i know you wouldn’t let the love of your life turn into a popsic-HEY!” the bullying of your boyfriend came to an abrupt stop by him tightening his hold on you and abruptly rolling you overtop of him and to the opposite side of the bed.

“…what the fuck just happened?” you say, gripping at his shoulders as you try to get your bearings.

“well i was just laying there. it’s still warm. you wanted to be warm, didn’t you?” he says and you look up to see him smirking with half lidded eyes.

you roll your eyes as you feel him fixing the positioning of the blankets around you to keep you cozy before he nestled himself closer to you and you moved further into your lion’s warmth. silence overtook you both as you bask in each others presence.

“…..”

“you know…rolling like that just now…it really reminded me of somersaulting around in that bitch whale’s mouth…” you mumble out before losing consciousness.

leona let out a barely audible chuckle before kissing your forehead.

“night, baby.”

[nicksbestie]

next door neighbor!chris ... moves in!

"do you need help with that?" or, the one where chris is moving into his new apartment, and quickly makes his first friend. warnings: none! word count: 654

turns out unloading a u-haul is a lot harder when you're doing it alone.

chris was pulling boxes out of the back of the truck, setting them on the sidewalk, trying to clean out the vehicle before beginning to carry them inside.

his moving experience had gone fairly well so far, but the exhaustion of driving across state after state was beginning to catch up to him. each box was starting to feel heavier than the last, and his arms were killing.

he was getting around to the last few boxes, when he noticed the apartment door next to his crack open, and someone peek their head out.

you knew that you would be getting a new neighbor eventually. you had seen the previous family move out of the place, and you were excited for someone else to move in. you hadn't really gotten along with the last people. so, when you saw a moving truck pull up on the side of the streets, it sent a little joy through your body.

oh, and your new neighbor was cute.

you couldn't help but watch him begin to unpack, admiring him. you weren't normally one to stare, but this man was beautiful. when you got new neighbors, you were the type to bring them food, or a housewarming plant on their first day in the building, because you knew from firsthand experience how exhausting it is to move into a new place and still have to figure out what to cook for yourself.

you were planning on doing the same thing for this new neighbor, but then you saw him drop a box, defeat and tiredness beginning to wrinkle his face, and you decided to offer your hands.

chris looked up, noticing that you were now leaving your apartment, walking towards him.

"hi, do you need help with that?"

he stood up completely, smiling at you before responding.

god, even his smile was gorgeous. this was so unfair.

"hey, thanks. i'd actually really appreciate that. my arms are turning to jell-o."

you laughed, moving to grab the box he'd just dropped.

"no worries! i remember moving in here. my arms about fell off from carrying all of my stuff."

he grabbed another box, beginning to walk with you towards the front door of his apartment.

"yeah, the tiredness is definitely setting in. i'm ready to crash, to be honest with you."

"i completely get it. happy to help any way i can."

he shifted the box to one arm to open the door, holding it as you walked through after him.

"well, it means a lot. i'm chris, by the way."

you smiled, introducing yourself as you walked into his apartment, currently just full of a few pieces of furniture and some boxes.

"where do you want me to set this?"

he motioned to a corner, waving his hand absentmindedly.

"anywhere is fine, it's all gonna get rearranged as i unpack. so, how long have you lived here?"

conversation between you two flowed easily as you continued to help him bring boxes inside, even going as far to help him unpack a few of them. you didn't realize how much time had passed until chris' stomach growled, and he smiled sheepishly at the sound.

"sorry, i didn't even realize how much of your time i'd stolen. if i'm hungry, i'm sure you are too. thank you so much for helping, again."

you stood up, smiling back.

"not a problem at all. it was wonderful to meet you! i hope i see you around more."

you weren't sure if you were just being delusional, or if chris' smile turned into a smirk, and there was a slight tinge of something flirty in his eyes.

"i'm sure we'll see each other again."

you left his apartment feeling like you were walking on air, and hoping that you weren't just hallucinating.

time would tell you that you weren't.

a/n: first post in this au!! hope you enjoy!!

taglist: @courta13 @rafecameronsbitch @edoc07 @h3arts4harry @cherryystemm @blahbel668 @spookytimetravelllama @miasturniolo2

[fuctacles]

@genderthings Stobin at Work: custodians T | 771 | Hellcheer, Stobin, one-sided Steddie and Buckingham | Hellcheer's POV, pining, Stobin sharing a braincell, Humor, Everybody Lives AU, banter

Life is good. Everyone is alive and well, escaping Vecna with only minor injuries. And now Eddie and his best friend Chrissy, safe and sound, can focus on the mundane things in life once again. Like evading their gay crushes as they try to figure out their sexualities and not make a complete stuttering idiots out of themselves. 

It seems simple, at first--ask the boys of Corroded Coffin to rent movies for them so they can avoid Family Video, or just keep up to date with what's currently showing. 

It's at one of the latter instances when they first learn how difficult it could be to actually avoid them. 

They're at the late night screening of some hyped up thriller. On a weekday, there were barely any people at the cinema, and Eddie was taking advantage of it by having his legs thrown over the backrest in front of him. The lights are already back on and Chrissy is ready to leave, but she settles in to wait him out--he's a firm believer of having his money's worth and he's paid for the whole movie, end credits included. 

The employees usually hate him for it, but worst case scenario they'll start cleaning everywhere around and get to his seat last. But it's not like they come in vacuums blasting as soon as the lights are on. 

Well, unless it's a weekday and there are literally just two assholes between them and going home. 

"Hey man, could you put your feet down?"

Eddie almost falls on his ass in his haste to fix his position. Because he knows that voice. 

He cranes his neck to see down the row of seats, where an unimpressed figure stands with a broom in one hand, the other one resting on his hip. 

"Steve?" he asks, unwilling to believe his eyes. 

"Yeah, don't get so excited." Steve rolls his eyes in that bitchy ways of his. And then he's walking down the aisle towards them, so Eddie straightens himself up. Chrissy throws him a judgmental look, but is otherwise occupied looking for her own kryptonite, undoubtedly hiding nearby. 

Now that he can see him better, he can tell Steve is wearing a shirt in cinema's signature colors, thrown haphazardly over his civilian clothes. 

"Don't you work at Family Video?" he blurts out.

Steve shrugs, stopping next to them and leaning against one of the seats. He finally seems to spot Chrissy, giving her a small finger wave. 

"Hi, Chris. Robin is right behind, had an accident with a butter nozzle," he tells her, because her looking was not subtle in the slightest. Then he turns back to Eddie. "Well, they've cut our hours so we're looking for extra gigs."

Before Eddie can ask any extra questions, there's a clatter at the entrance, followed by a sound of distress. 

"Steve! Everything is buttery!" 

Steve sighs, turning around. 

"I told you to use the paper towels. And the dish soap. You said you had this!" 

"Well, I don't!" Robin pointedly waves her hands around, shiny with, presumably, butter residue. "I had to touch the doorknobs and the sink and the soap bottle and now everything--! Oh, hi, Chrissy!"

Chrissy waves at her, stunned.

"Well, sorry to interrupt your chit-chat but I really need Steve to be doing his job right now."

"I am!" he pointedly waves his broom around. "And what are you doing? Adding more job to our job!" 

"It was not my intention! Now come help me, it's an all hands on deck situation!" 

"It will be an all hands situation when we clean yours from grease!" He sighs, leaning the broom against the wall. "Sorry guys, we'll talk some other time." He smiles apologetically to their friends while trying to dodge the hands trying to oil up his face and hair. "You okay to see yourself out?"

That's a weird question. Eddie has been to the movies enough times to know his way around, and the doors stay open until the last screening is over. 

The credits are still rolling, but he nods his head. 

"Sure, don't worry about us Steve-o." Eddie hastily stands up, pulling Chrissy along. "We'll get out of your hair."

"Bye Chrissy, bye Eddie!" Robin yells as she's pulled into the dark depths of cinema corridors by her wrists. 

"Bye guys!"

"Bye Buckley!"

"Good luck with the butter!"

Once safely outside, they scream into the dark night sky. 

"Nowhere is safe," Eddie sighs, looking at the joke of a universe spreading above him.

"Not anymore," Chrissy sighs along.

"Let's just grab a TV guide on the way back."

[applecidersturniolo]

rainy days.

( coffee & conversations au.)

in which..record shop!matt and barista!reader have their first real interaction.

you walk into the shop, slightly shaking off the water droplets that have landed on your coat. your nose is filled with the scent of teakwood and vanilla, rubbing the souls of your shoes along the rug you hear the sound of matt rummaging through the boxes, doing his daily stock before you guys open.

“hey matthew,” you hum with a small wave as you make your way to the café section of the small building, “hey y/n,” matt mumbled back, his eyes focused on the task as hand. you shrug off your coat and hang it on one of the hooks, grabbing your apron from the other, you walk behind the counter as you tie the fabric around your waist. at this point, you’re locked in, quick on your feet. the soft hum of the record player that is spinning the ‘sling’ album by clairo fills your ears while you fill the beans to each grinder, add cups to the pile, put more sugar in the containers and add the pour toppers to each and every syrup.

you’re snapped out of your trance when you ear the bell ring, the bell that customers love to slam when business is booming, mostly little kids. but when you turn around you don’t see a impatient old woman who is gonna complain that her coffee is too bitter or a grumpy toddler who can’t keep their hands to themselves, no. you see matt, who has a soft smile on his face as his hip rests against the marble of the counter, “you got any chocolate chip muffins?” he asked drumming his fingers against the hard surface, “i do,” you reply simply, a small smirk on your face as you tug open the small fridge to pull out the prepackaged pastry, you weren’t sure why matt was so obsessed with the goodie, he’d have one before every shift, it wasn’t like it was a fresh and warm baked good, it was a slightly cold prepackaged chocolate chip muffin from a company that you are pretty sure elementary schools order from. you toss the package over to matt and he catches it with ease, “ ‘m gonna have to start charging you, you know? swear your mom is onto us” you giggled, matt smirked as he opened the plastic, “yeah, yeah. what is she gonna do? fire me?” he scoffed.

the day goes on and the rain gets harder, sure, a few customers have strolled in, but not enough to keep you entertained. your eyes wander to the opposite side of the shop where matt stands, he’s behind the cashier counter, his palms against the cold granite as he nods his head at his mothers words,

“i’m just tellin’ you honey, i think it would be a really good thing for you! you could fix this place up f’me..im sure you’d get more customers if you revamp!” mary lou encouraged, matt huffed a breathed and ran his hand through his brown locks, “i don’t know, mom. becoming the owner? that’s a lot of responsibility that i just..i don’t think i’m ready for all that.”

mary lou tilts her head, “well jus’ think about it for me, okay? please”

matt nodded and adjusts his sweater that hung loosely on him, “saw your car in the driveway,” mary added, trying to meet her sons gaze, matt ran a hand over his face, “yeah it um..it wouldn’t start this morning, so i uh, i couldn’t take it to work today” matt cleared his throat, trying not to make it a big deal, even though this is the fifth time this month that his car has taken a shit on him.

“so you walked? in the rain?” mary lou questioned, her hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose, “mom, i’m fine,” matt insisted, “i have an umbrella and the house is just down the street, it really isn’t a big deal”

but it was a big deal, it was matt’s breaking point actually because on the way here he had to fight back every little tear he managed to choke up because he was exhausted, he’s tired of doing the same thing every day, tired of shit not working out in his favor, tired of constantly being asked ‘when are you are going back to school?’, tired of his mother’s constant worrying, tired of it all.

the end of the shift came, thank god. it had felt like the slowest day in the world because of the dreary weather. the rain still pattered on the window, you had just finished cleaning the coffee stations and scrubbing off expresso stains from the white mugs that mary insists you keep using, even though you swear that you can still see the almost permanent shadow of purple on the rim of two or three mugs from the elderly lady that always comes in with that deep purple lipstick that is definitely not her color, but who are you to judge? you just shut up and make the coffee.

you hang up your apron and rub your eyes, noticing matt wander around the shelves of records that he has grazed for months. he was getting his daily vinyl, after every shift he would buy a new record and leave the money on the counter for his mom to find in the morning so he wouldn’t mess up the already counted drawer.

“whatcha gonna get today?” you asked as you stepped closer to stand next to him, you can tell it startled him, your presence, the small talk. matt is used to the simple greetings and fairwells you guys shared on the day to day. even though it was just the two of you working in this shop you guys never really made an effort to genuinely talk to each other. but today felt..different.

“um..uh..i was thinkin’ of getting the new malcolm todd album.” matt replied in a monotone voice as his finger tapped on the hard covered record. you nod, “yeah? you listen to him a lot?” you question, matt fiddles with the rings on his fingers aimlessly, almost like he’s trying to come up with a casual reply that’s not just..yeah

matt nods and glances at you, “do you um..listen to him?” he questions. you nod and tilt your head a bit, like you’re debating your answer, “just a few songs though..wouldn’t consider myself a fan or anything but..yeah. he’s good.”

matt picks up the record and fishes in his pocket for the money, stuffing it underneath a mason jar that’s filled with a variety of different colored pens.

your hand seems to tighten on your car keys that rest in your palms as you glance out the open window to see your car, the rain making it look like a melted painting through the glass. you couldn’t help but think of matt walking in this weather, sounds fucking miserable even with an umbrella, you turn back to him, he’s putting on his coat and placing his fitted cap backwards on his head before grabbing the navy blue umbrella that was leaning against an old crate of miscellaneous books, another thing mary insists on keeping around, convincing herself that one day a kid is gonna pick up one of the books from there and it’s gonna some how change their life and they’ll never pick up an electronic device ever again. if only things were that pure and simple.

you get this weird pit in your stomach, like you should say something, and you are never one to ignore a gut feeling.

“let me give you a ride home,” you offer up, the words spilling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

matt looked back at you, his jaw clenched, he’s aware you had over heard his conversation that took place earlier with his mom, the shop was small, you could probably hear the music coming from his headphones if you listen hard enough. his hands stuff in his pockets, eyes shifting from the window, back to you.

“yeah..yeah, okay” he gives in.

the drive is short and quiet, as you pull up to the two story house you notice the car in the driveway, matt’s old two-toned 1968 ford bronco. the same car your dad had when you were a kid, you had always seen it parked in front of the store but seeing it in his driveway for some reason gave a different vibe to it, something personal.

“that’s your car?” it’s a dumb question, of course that’s his car, you know that, he knows you know that. which is why he gives you a soft laugh, “yep..there she is, all fucked up and ugly” matt muttered as his eyes were fixed on the vehicle itself. you couldn’t help but smirk, “you know what’s wrong with it?” you question softly, matt huffs, “more like what isn’t wrong with it,” he pathetically mutters, “i mean there’s fuel in the tank, new oil, i just put in a new fucking transmission i don’t know what else i could do” his frustration is evident, you bite your cheek. you know what you want to respond with but you question if it’s appropriate. “i mean, im almost scared to go to the fucking auto shop because what if they tell me a need a new engine? already need new breaks, know that for sure. and fuck, there’s probably something wrong with the motor, the ac doesn’t work unless i hit the dash hard enough,” matt rambled on and on. you let out a breath, “well, i could always take a look at it,” you hum, matt looks at you like you have three heads, “you know a lot ‘bout cars?” he questions, he didn’t mean to sound shocked because he didn’t want you to think he meant it in a derogatory way. he was shocked because if you were so confident in helping him with his car after he listed all those issues then why aren’t you working as a mechanic or something and not as a barista at a run down record shop that has a coffee bar stuffed into it.

you shrug, “i know a bit,”

matt nods, at this point he is desperate for any kind of help, plus, if you could tell him what is exactly wrong with the hunk of junk then he could go to the automotive store and know exactly what he’s talking about and won’t have to deal with the grimy engineers that always make up a problem to get him to spend more money.

“yeah..yeah. that would be great, really.” matt agrees as he takes off his seat belt, you give him a friendly smile and nod, “does tomorrow work f’you..i mean i wouldn’t mind looking now it’s just the-“ matt cuts you off, “the rain,” he huffs, you nod, “tomorrow is perfect”

you feel relief slide through you, you’re glad he is accepting the help that you’re offering up instead of pushing you away or insisting that he can figure it out himself or he would simply rather drop a grand at the over price auto repair.

“see you tomorrow then,” you reassure with a small smile, matt hums a response and opens the car door, sticking his umbrella out to open it before stepping out, he shuts the door and you turn back to put your car in gear before you hear a soft tap on the passenger window, it’s matt, he’s crouching down, head tilted to the side, you fumble with the buttons on your door to find the passenger side window to roll it down, as the glass slides down the droplets of rain dampen your interior a bit, not enough to soak it, it’ll dry by the time you get home.

“sorry..” matt points to the seat before continuing, “i just..i wanted to tell you thank you, that i appreciate you,” matt nods, you get that warm feeling in your gut as you smile and shake your head a bit, “it’s not problem, really,” you hum, “anything for a friend.”

it’s the first time you said it out-loud, calling him a friend after being merely acquaintances, coworkers, for the past few months. matt is feeling the same warm feeling in his gut. “have a good night, y/n,”

divider creds: @malsmind

tags: @sturns-mermaid @courta13 @55sturn @oopsiedaisydeer @thecrawlys @chrisslut-04 @rriverscuomo @joanakaulitz