#comfortable silence. hands touching while sitting

[st4rofeden]

Phainon pretends he's fine. of course he does, always been. the moment something wounds him— he masks it with louder talks, wider smiles, fills every room with his poetic antics. he complimented everyone he walks past, starts a tragic limerick mid-sentence, even bantering with anyone at his field of vision. but the jokes lands too fast. the smile dont quite reach his eyes. you'll notice when he misuses a metaphor. when he says "sunlight" but his eyes meant lonely. he becomes to theatrical, trying to convince himself he's still bright.and when it gets bad, he vanishes to the highest rooftop, not to sulk, but to shrink. you spot him there with wind-tossed hair and hands folded tightly in his lap, staring at the stars without speaking. he'll still joke when you sit beside him. he'll still say things like “What is a heart but a messy, red clock prone to melodrama?” but when you rest your head on his shoulder, he'll finally exhale, long and slow. and eventually— quietly, like a confession he'll say: “Sometimes I wonder if I burn too much just to hide how hollow I feel.” and when you wrap your arms around him? That's when he cracks, pent up anxiety begin to follow up, he slumps “Ah I'm fine truly! the stars are no—” you cut him off before he finishes. “I need a hug.” you didn't, cheeky. but he did. he'll caress your back soothingly, praising and comforting you like it's his duty. all while he's the one clinging tightly to your warmth, almost squishing you as he buries his face to your neck, to hide himself against the world in your solace

When Anaxagoras is upset, he disappears—but not physically. he's still there, standing exactly where you left him earlier, still doing what he’s supposed to— organizing files, adjusting blueprints, giving sharp lectures with zero stutters. but his voice loses cadence. his sentences turn clipped. he speaks only when necessary, and when he does, it feels like a door half-closed. He won't tell you what’s wrong. Not until he sorted it, dissected it, classified the pain and determined whether it’s irrational. you'll find him in his office late, sitting in the dark, staring at his hands like he doesn't quite trust them. he won't ask for comfort, but when you quietly sit beside him— bring him tea, brush your fingers against his knuckles—he'll pause, just briefly. and if you say nothing, if you give him the silence he understands, he'll lean toward you, just enough that your shoulders touch. Later, maybe hours later, when the lights are still low and your head is on his lap, his stiff shoulders slowly relax as you run your fingers on his scalp, other hand softly rubs your thumb on his cheek. he'll murmur quietly,  “I don’t like this version of myself. But I’m grateful you still choose to be near him.”

Mydeimos gets quiet. not in a cold or distant way— he's never cruel to you— but in that heavy, suffocating silence of someone who doesn't want to burden you. his jaw clenches more than usual. his responses shrink to nods and low grunts, and when you try to get close, he almost flinches— not from you, but from the fear of spilling something he’s worked too hard to lock down. he trains harder on bad days. days in the sparring yard long after sundown, fists wrapped tight, his body glistening with sweat, pushing himself to the edge of collapse. and still, he'll say he's "fine". but if you find him after— press a cool cloth to his bruised knuckles, gently clean his face with cloth and cold water, kiss the lines between his brows, and whisper “you don’t have to hold it all in”— he’ll stop. you'll feel the exhale in his throat. and then, almost reluctantly, he'll sink into you. maybe sit on the bench, head bowed into your chest , arms around your waist like you’re the only thing tethering him, all while his warriors glanced when they get past. no, he doesn't really care. and he won’t speak for a long while. but when he does, its hoarse. “I don’t know how to say it. but... I needed you today. I always do.”

[fiastomatocheek]

TOO YOUNG TO MATTER

requested: yes | req: angsty request for will smith!! maybe a relationship where the reader is a bit older and will feels anxious about being enough for them. reader babies mack a lot and will gets upset from a combination of insecurity about being younger (ex: “if mack is a baby what am i..”), jealousy of the way reader talks about mack in general (ex: “mack is so grown up now!! he looks so mature), etc and starts avoiding reader instead of talking it out, which makes the reader confused and spend even more time with mack since will is always gone. reader finally confronts will, they fight and spend a day apart but makeup at the end with a cuddle!!

pair: will smith x older f!reader

genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff.

warnings: emotional angst, insecurity, jealousy, age gap (implied, not specified), heated argument, brief mention of self-doubt.

summary: you and will have been together for a while now, despite the slight age gap that people love to point out. you’ve always brushed it off, will’s maturity, his heart, his everything has always been enough. but lately, things have shifted. you’re spending more time around mack, your longtime friend, and your casual, affectionate remarks about him don’t go unnoticed. will’s insecurities about his age, about being ‘enough,’ start to eat him alive but instead of talking to you, he pulls away slowly, painfully.

fia’s note: yayyy so happy to be back!! i think i’ll be free until september, so hopefully that means more time to write and (fingers crossed) finally finish all the requests that have been accepted, i’ll also be scrolling through the ask box to see if anything else sparks inspiration so if you’ve sent something before, who knows 👀 as always, please enjoy this fic, and thank you all for being so lovely and patient. love you all sm!!

tagging team fia! — @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

“I swear Mack grew a foot over the summer,”

You say with a quiet laugh, scrolling through the latest team photo from the summer training camp.

“Look at him, he’s all broad-shouldered and serious now. He looks like a real pro.”

Will doesn’t say anything.

You glance up from your phone. He’s sitting on the other side of your living room couch, hood up, one leg bouncing as he stares blankly at the muted TV.

“Will?”

He blinks and shifts like he just remembered he’s supposed to be present.

“What?”

“I said Mack’s all grown up. Doesn’t he look different?”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

You frown. It’s the third time this week he’s shut down on you mid-conversation. You used to joke that he could talk through a commercial break and still make it back before the show resumed. But now? Every word feels like pulling teeth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

That’s all he gives you. You study him for a second longer of how he’s been wearing the same shirt for two days, how he hasn’t really smiled at you.

You nod slowly and turn back to your phone.

At first, you blame the season. Early practices, post-training fatigue. But then he stops texting you good morning, he skips your Sunday lunch. When he does come over, he barely touches you anymore like his hands used to live on your waist, his thumb always resting at the curve of your back.

Now he sits beside you like you both are nothing.

You tell yourself not to assume.

But when you vent to Mack about it one afternoon at the rink, you feel Will’s gaze burning into you. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as you playfully nudge Mack’s arm and laugh at something stupid he says.

And then later, when you look for Will? He’s gone.

It keeps happening.

You reach out, he pulls away. You text, he leaves you on read. You joke, he gives you silence.

So you lean on what’s familiar, Mack. He’s easy to talk to, unbothered by your spiraling thoughts. He doesn’t flinch when you ask, ‘Am I hard to be with?’ He just says, ‘You’re not hard. You’re just real. And that scares people sometimes.’

You tell Will where you’re going, every time. But it doesn’t stop the pit from growing in your chest.

One night, you’re curled up on your couch in his hoodie and you check your phone again.

Nothing.

Dinner’s cold.

You’d planned it. Lit candles and everything. Told him to come by after practice. He said he would.

But he didn’t.

You call him. No answer.

You see him the next morning in the player’s lounge. He’s laughing with a teammate like nothing’s wrong.

You snap.

“Will.”

He looks over. His smile falters.

You don’t give him time to pretend. You tug him into an empty hallway, voice shaking.

“What’s going on with you?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been ghosting me for weeks. You bailed on dinner. You don’t talk to me. You barely look at me. So either you’re over this and too cowardly to say it—”

“I’m not over you,” he says, sharp.

“Then what is it?” you demand.

“Because I’m going insane trying to figure it out.”

He runs a hand over his face. “It’s not you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I’m serious. It’s me, okay? It’s…”

His voice trails off, like he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding pathetic. He looks away.

“It’s the way you talk about Mack.”

“What?”

He exhales like it physically hurts.

“You call him ‘baby Mack,’ and then say he’s grown up, and mature, and strong, and… what am I supposed to be then? If he’s grown up now, if he’s the mature one, and what the hell does that make me?”

You blink, stunned.

Will’s voice a little shakes now. “I know I’m younger than you. I’ve always known. But it’s different when you start sounding like it matters.”

You take a step back. “You really think I see you that way?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters.

“I just know it’s been eating me alive.”

Your eyes sting. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to sound insecure.”

“I want your insecurity. I want the messy shit too, Will. That’s what being in a relationship means.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough,” he whispers.

“I thought maybe you were realizing that too.”

The silence between you is unbearable. You look at him, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, like he’s bracing for heartbreak.

So you say the only thing you can.

“Then you’re an idiot.”

His eyes flash up to yours.

“I chose you,” you say, voice trembling.

“I keep choosing you. And you started acting like I didn’t. You don’t get to punish me for something I never said.”

He nods slowly face crumples. “I know.”

You leave before the tears fall.

After that day, you don’t text, he doesn’t call. Mack asks if you’re okay. You nod, but it’s a lie, the truth is that you cry in the shower.

You sleep in his hoodie but bury it under your pillow the next morning.

You check your phone ten times.

Nothing. Until…

Smitty: Can I come over?

You open the door.

He’s standing there like he hasn’t slept. Eyes red. Shoulders small. No hoodie this time, just a worn t-shirt and the weight of regret.

“I was wrong,” he says softly.

“I was scared, and I acted like a kid. And I made you feel like you didn’t matter and… I hate that.”

Your lip trembles.

“I’ve never felt like this about someone before,” he whispers. “And it made me so fucking afraid of losing you, I started making it happen myself.”

You step forward, your hand finding his.

“I don’t care how old you are,” you say, tears falling freely now.

“I care that you love me. And you do. I know you do.”

“I do,” he breathes, pulling you in, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I do.”

You hold him like the world is ending. And in a way, it is the end of the fear.

You curl into the couch an hour later, legs tangled, limbs heavy with exhaustion. He plays with your fingers like he’s never letting go again.

You whisper, “I’m never calling Mack ‘baby’ again.”

He laughs, just once, muffled against your shoulder.

“That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

“I just want to be yours,” he murmurs, curling closer. “The way you’re mine.”

“Will, You are,” you whisper, kissing his lip. “You always were.”

[dgaftilwedie]

one more chance (namgyu x reader)

wrote this instead of working on my massive list of wips because i got a sudden burst of inspiration?? uhmmm here have this it's like basically hurt/comfort

contains: talk of addiction and rehab, namgyu's kind of a shitty boyfriend but he wants to get better for you, barely dodged breakup, namgyu finally agrees to get help after fucking up for the umpteenth time, the ending is a little vague but everything works out and you and namgyu are happy <3

It had been three days. Three whole days since you last saw Namgyu. He’d left for work one night, pressing a kiss to your forehead and leaving you with a “love you baby, I’ll see you when I get home”. You’d texted him when you woke up, confused as to why he wasn’t in your bed. He didn’t respond. You’d text him every hour – panicked, confused, worried – and you wouldn’t get a response back. Unfortunately, you knew exactly why he hadn’t responded.

It was 2 AM when he finally showed up at your doorstep. He could see you through the windows. You were sitting on your couch, scrolling through your phone. You were wearing one of his hoodies. He watched as you pressed the home button and opened your text messages, typing out another “please gyu text me when u get this” before pressing send. He felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Namgyu’s hands were shaking as he knocked on the door. God, you were going to be so fucking mad at him. He’d promised you he was going to try to get clean, but he always ran back to his drugs. He tried so hard this time. So fucking hard.

When you opened the door, there was a mixture of betrayal and worry on your face. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to hug your boyfriend or punch him in the face. You stood there, staring at him. He was clutching a single rose in a clenched fist. He looked like a wet kitten. 

“Namgyu, listen-”

“No, baby, no, you gotta listen to me.” His voice was low and shaky. He grabbed onto your shoulders. “I fucked up. I fucked up real bad.”

You bit the inside of your lip. He did. He went back on his promise. You knew Namgyu was struggling, but he declined every ounce of help you tried to give him. You tried to be his shoulder to lean on. You tried to offer him professional help. It was the same thing every time. He’d be doing ok for a while and inevitably relapse before crawling back to you and begging you for forgiveness. He promised that he was going to get better for the both of you. It was the same story over and over and over again.

“Gyu, come inside. We need to talk.”

Namgyu could feel it coming. There was a pit in his stomach. He knew what he was in for and worst of all, he knew he deserved it. He trudged behind you like a bad dog on a leash. You sat down on one end of the couch and he sat down on the other. For as much as he wanted to touch you, hold you, feel your skin on his, he felt like he’d lost that privilege. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. Your house was so silent you could hear the faint hum of the lights. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you sighed, finally breaking the silence. Namgyu finally looked up at you and fuck, you looked like a hot mess. Your hair was knotted, eyes puffy and dark. He could tell you had been crying. He didn’t know what to say. You were so fragile. He didn’t want to ruin what little of you he had left.

“I’m sorry I keep fucking up.” His voice was shaking. You didn’t seem mad at all. You sounded disappointed and he wasn’t sure if that was worse. He didn’t want you to be upset with him but you were. You were. How was he supposed to accept that?

“I want to forgive you, Namgyu. I really do, but this has happened so many times. So many fucking times. I’m getting tired, Gyu.” 

“Baby, please,” his voice cracked. He was seconds away from breaking down. Please don’t leave me. He wanted to scream and sob, get on his knees and tug on your clothes and beg you. He could get better. He wanted to get better. Just give me one more chance and I’ll get better.

There were tears in your eyes. You couldn’t look at him anymore. If you did, you’d start crying. You’d forgive him like every other time he disappeared and wasted his money on drugs. You’d coddle him like a puppy and he wouldn't learn his lesson. You knew Namgyu like the back of your hand. He’d promise and he’d succeed and you’d praise him and then he’d go right back down the same path. Not this time. You had to make him choose. What was more valuable to him: you or his drugs?

“This is the last time, Namgyu. You need help. I know it’s hard,” you spoke softly, reaching your hand out towards his shaking one. “I know it’s going to be scary, but you need to get better. If not for yourself, then for me."

Just like that, the dam was broken. A single tear trickled down his cheek. He grabbed your hand, squeezing it like a vice. He needed to feel you. Somehow, you were still here. Somehow, you hadn’t given up on him. Nobody he’d been with before had tried to help him like you did. Even though he consistently fucked up, you still cared. A year later and you still cared. He kept disappearing and you still. Fucking. Cared. One more chance.

“We’re going to get you checked in somewhere tomorrow.” You could feel him tense up as you spoke but he said nothing. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, ok?”

��You’re an angel, baby, a fuckin’ angel.” He leaned across the couch, resting his head on your lap. He stared up at you, reaching his hands towards your face and cupping it. “I’m gonna get better this time. I promise. This time it’s gonna be different.” 

“It has to be, or else… I’m not going to be able to do this anymore.”

“You have no idea how bad I need you. You’re all I have left.”

You stared down at him and smiled weakly. There was a spark of something in his eyes – something desperate yet hopeful. You knew all too well that this could turn out like it did every other time, but this time, it really did feel different. Namgyu rolled over, face buried in your lap, tears streaking his face. Before he fell asleep, you could feel him mumble something into your leg.

“One more chance. I promise, baby. I’m gonna do it for you.” 

Silence.

“Namgyu?”

He hummed against your leg, already starting to drift off.

“I love you.”

He squeezed your leg, nuzzling into your skin like a cat.

“I love you too,” he mumbled. “Love you more than anything.”

God, you hoped he could prove that was true.

[xiletay]

The Weight You Cannot See

TW: Depression, suicidal ideation, emotional exhaustion, feelings of worthlessness, mental health struggles. Please read with care!!

Summary: In the middle of what should’ve been a lighthearted evening at Finneas’ place, Y/N quietly slips outside. Overwhelmed, hollow and carrying a weight no one else can see. In the stillness of the garden, a conversation with Finneas unravels the quiet truth of living with depression.

The day is a bad one. Another one. Lately, it feels like that’s all you’ve been having, just one bad day after another. Nothing seems to lift the weight from your shoulders, and even your strength feels like a burden now. It’s like trying to breathe through a straw: barely enough air to stay alive but never enough to feel like you’re really living. You always knew these lows would come. You’ve been through them before. But somehow, every high makes the fall afterward feel sharper, deeper. The higher you climb, the harder the crash. And you’re just so damn tired of falling.

It’s a quiet evening, supposedly, at least. Billie and you were invited to Finneas’ place for a small get-together. A few friends, some music, good food. On the surface, everything points to laughter, joy, and connection. But to you, it doesn’t feel like that at all. More than anything, you’d rather be curled up in bed, trying to sleep your depression away. But Billie had been so excited about this night. A night without cameras, without pressure, just a taste of normalcy. So you went with her. You tried. You really did.

But the voices were loud, the laughter piercing. The physical proximity of other people—their touches, their movement—it was too much. So you quietly slipped outside into the garden. The garden that holds so many memories. A place that once brought you comfort. It should fill you with warmth now. It should make you feel something beautiful. But you don’t. You can’t. You look around and you know it’s beautiful but it’s like watching it all through glass. You’re here. You’re alive. You’re loved. But none of that lands in your body. You want to feel awe. You want to feel the warmth. But it’s like your soul is separated by a thick pane of glass, and nothing truly reaches you.

“You okay?” a voice pulls you from your thoughts. You flinch a little, startled. It’s Finneas.

You give him a small, tired smile as he hands you a drink. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I mean… no, but yeah. I’m used to it.”

Finneas doesn’t respond right away. He takes a sip from his cup and lets the silence settle. That’s his way, inviting honesty without forcing it.

“Do you ever think about disappearing?” you ask suddenly, eyes fixed on the grass. He swallows hard. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Your voice is flat, emotionless. “Not dying. Just… not being here. Like, being gone, but without causing pain. No one missing you. No one noticing. Just… gone.”

“I think a lot of people feel that way,” he says carefully, unsure of where this is headed but not pulling away.

Neither of you speak for a while. The quiet is not uncomfortable just dense. The wind brushes softly across your skin, sending chills down your arms. It’s strange, isn’t it? That you can’t see the wind, but you can feel it. The air is cold, but somehow, it’s soothing.

“I’m broken,” you say quietly, wiping at your face.

“You’re not,” Finneas replies instantly, no hesitation. And you know he means it, you just can’t bring yourself to believe it.

“I feel like a clock that’s stopped ticking. It doesn’t move, it doesn’t speak, it just sits there, pretending to matter,” you whisper. The words are heavy, like dead leaves falling between you.

“A broken clock still tells the right time twice a day,” Finneas offers, trying for a light smile. But his eyes are too full of concern to hide behind the line.

“Yeah, but that’s just luck. Even when it’s right, it’s not trying to be. It’s not working. It’s just stuck, forgotten on some dusty shelf. People glance at it, realize it’s useless, and move on. No one waits for it. No one sets their life by it anymore.”

The silence that follows stretches wide and long. It aches with unspoken thoughts.

“That doesn’t sound broken to me,” Finneas says at last, slowly. “That sounds like pain. Like something that once meant a lot… and still could, if someone just wound it up again.”

You look up at him, surprised by the way his words settle in you. Something about them feels like truth, even if your brain won’t let you believe it yet.

Neither of you speak again for a while. The silence now feels almost sacred. Thick with things too big for words.

“So… how long has it been?” Finneas finally asks, breaking the hush. Your head snaps up. “What?”

“How long have you been in this depressive episode again?”

Billie knew you had depression. From the very beginning, you’d been honest. You wanted her to understand who she was loving. But she wasn’t the only one who knew—Finneas, Claudia, even her parents. Still, you hadn’t expected him to ask it so directly. You thought he’d just move past it, like everyone else did. Your way of coping was silence. Heavy silence. Like you were always one breath from the edge, but didn’t want anyone to see you fall.

“A while,” you answer finally, barely above a whisper. Finneas scoffs not at you, but at how easily you say it. “You always say it like it’s normal.”

You offer him a tired smile, shrugging. “It is. For me.”

He doesn’t argue. He knows better. Billie must’ve told him. You’re the soft one. The kind one. The one who never forgets birthdays, who carries band-aids in your bag, who always reminds people to drink water. You smile easily. You love hard. You make people feel safe. But not tonight. Tonight, you don’t have the strength. You feel like a ghost wearing your own skin. Heavy, but hollow. Present, but detached. And it aches for all the things you can’t fix.

“My therapist said… I’ll always have depression. That I should stop hoping I’ll grow out of it. That I’ll learn to manage it, but it’ll always be part of me.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “I didn’t even cry. I just nodded. Because I already knew. I’ve known for years. There’s no ‘before’ and ‘after.’ There’s no getting better.”

Finneas looks at you not with pity. Never pity. Just understanding. Recognition. “That’s what they don’t tell you,” he says gently. “Healing isn’t a fix. It’s just learning to carry it better.”

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper. “I want to want to live. Just… not like this. Do you know how exhausting it is? I smile. I cook. I go to work. I laugh when people joke. I tell Billie I love her and I mean it. I really do. But inside? Nothing moves. It’s like I’m watching it all from behind a wall. I’m just here. Breathing because that’s what you do. Being kind because that’s all I have left to give. But every morning I wake up and think, ‘Fuck, again?’ And I get so angry. What did I do to deserve this?”

It’s the raw truth, and it cuts through Finneas like a knife. He knew you were struggling but hearing it like this… it shakes him.

You let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No one ever does,” he says softly. Not to be cruel. Just to speak the truth. No one chooses to suffer. To carry pain that’s invisible to most, but never leaves you alone. “But it’s there,” he continues, “and it pulls at you until the ground doesn’t feel solid anymore. Until you don’t know when the floor will give out… just that it will.”

„I don’t know if I can do this,” you say. Finneas tilts his head, concerned. “Do what?”

“Be like this. Forever. Wake up every day and wonder how I’ll pretend to be okay. Try not to scare the people who love me. Pretend I’m fine because they wouldn’t know what to do if I wasn’t.” Your voice cracks. “How do you love someone when you hate being alive?”

“Do you love Billie?” he asks.

“With everything I have,” you say without hesitation. “Then that’s your answer,” Finneas says simply.

“I love her so much. But she’s bright. She’s fearless. People listen when she talks. I know she’s not perfect but she’s worth it,” you ramble, emotion rising.

“And you’re not?” he asks softly.

You shake your head. “Not really. Not most days. And I’m scared she’s going to see that. That one day she’ll realize it’ll always be like this. Even on good days, it’s still there. Lurking underneath.”

“Okay,” Finneas says, voice firm but gentle. “So be scared. But don’t run. Billie loves you. I see it. I see the way she lights up when you walk into a room. The way she misses you when you’re apart. She knows who you are on your good days and your worst ones. You don’t get to decide for her if she loves you or not.”

You want to say something but Finneas isn’t finished. “If anything ever happened to you… I wouldn’t survive it. And Billie? She’d break.”

You blink, stunned. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.”

“Don’t.” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend. “You don’t say things like that to people like me. You’re supposed to tell me it gets better. That I’m strong. That I’ll be okay. You don’t say you won’t survive if I die. That’s not fair. That’s not how this works.” Your voice is barely holding together. “It’s not.”

Finneas nods slowly, biting his lip. “I’m not trying to guilt you. I’m trying to tell you how much you matter.” He can see the battle behind your eyes, so he reaches out. Gently. A hand on your shoulder, solid, grounding.

“You’ve been a great friend to me,” he says quietly. “And an even better girlfriend to Billie. Maybe the only one who really sees us. So yeah, if you go, Y/n… we break too.”

Tears fill your eyes. This time, you don’t stop them. “But that doesn’t mean you owe us staying,” Finneas adds softly. “It just means… we’ll be here. No matter how dark it gets.”

═══════✦═══════

A/N: This piece came straight from the heart and honestly from a place I’ve been in more often than I’d like to admit. I should’ve been studying, I know. But this was louder. I needed to write it out, to let it breathe because sometimes carrying it alone just gets too heavy. This isn’t just fiction. It’s pieces of thoughts I’ve had, feelings I’ve tried to explain and words I wish someone had said to me. Maybe someone out there needed to hear it too. please take care of yourself. Pause if you need to. Breathe. You are not alone even if it feels like it sometimes.

Thanks for reading. Truly.🤍

[sebstanaddict]

You Were Never Small

Bucky Barnes x You One Shot

Summary : When your confidence takes a hit and your couch turns into a crash site, Bucky Barnes shows up - armed with a threadbare henley, emotional precision, and the kind of slow-dance therapy that should be prescribed. Turns out, feeling small doesn’t stand a chance against a man who remembers every reason you never were.

Warning : none just pure fluff

Word count : 982 words

Read more soft Bucky / Sebastian scenes in Scenes for The Soul (A series of soft, fluff scenes between you and Bucky / Sebastian to help you get through the day)

Read more of my stories here.

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You barely manage to get the key in the lock before your fingers slip. Twice.

When the door finally swings open, the weight of the day walks in with you - heavy, bitter, and sitting right between your shoulder blades. You drop your bag by the door like it personally offended you and kick your shoes off without ceremony. They bounce into the wall, but you don’t care.

Bucky looks up from the kitchen, spatula in hand, wearing that threadbare henley that should be illegal. He takes one look at you - and freezes.

“Hey,” he says, voice cautious, soft. “What happened?”

You try to wave him off, muttering, “Nothing, just a long day.”

But he sees right through you. Of course he does. He was a sniper. He reads the silence as easily as a scream.

You make it to the couch and collapse like you’ve just come back from war.

He follows, sits beside you, close enough that his warmth seeps in, but not touching yet.

You stare blankly ahead. “One of the guys at work said I don’t take initiative. That I fade into the background. That I’m not leadership material. In front of my manager.”

Bucky’s brow furrows. “They said that? To your face?”

You nod. “I laughed it off in the moment. Tried to act cool. But I don’t know… it got in. I keep replaying it. I feel… small. Like I’ve been faking being capable and now everyone’s starting to notice.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “You want me to go scare him a little? Just a mild intimidation. No broken bones. Maybe one.”

You almost smile. Almost.

“I’m serious,” he says, gently tilting your chin so you’ll look at him. “Do they know what you’ve done? What you’ve overcome? The crap you’ve put up with to get where you are? They have no idea, doll.”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. I just feel like a loser. Like I’m running and running, and everyone else is already at the finish line, sipping protein shakes and posting about it.”

Bucky sighs and sits back, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“The part where I remind you that you’re awesome and they’re blind.”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky - ”

“Nope. You don’t get to stop me. Let’s start with the time you got promoted twice in a year. And the time your boss trusted you to onboard the entire new team, alone, because you’re the only one who actually knows how anything works.”

You exhale. “That’s - ”

“Shhh,” he hushes, holding up a finger. “I’m not done. You also took night classes while working full-time. You advocated for a better mental health policy at your office. And you once comforted a crying intern in the bathroom stall with nothing but your voice and a stick of gum. I’m sorry, if that’s not leadership, I don’t know what is.”

Your throat tightens.

“And also,” he adds with a tilt of his head, “You still somehow make time to text your mom, remember your friends’ birthdays, and keep me alive - even when I forget how to properly use the toaster.”

You huff out a small laugh, brushing at the sting in your eyes. “You’re being too nice.”

“I’m being accurate.” He leans forward, brushing a thumb gently across your cheek. “You’re not small. You’re not background noise. You’re the kind of person people remember long after you leave the room. And if someone’s too dense to see that? That’s not your failure - it’s their limitation.”

You swallow, trying not to cry because if you start, you’re not sure you’ll stop.

He reaches for the remote, clicking on the speaker. A soft oldies track starts playing - something from the '40s with a slow swing beat, warm and dreamy.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“C’mere,” he says, standing and offering his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Bucky…”

“Humor me. For old times’ sake. And because I love you.”

You hesitate. Then you take his hand.

He pulls you close, one hand on your waist, the other holding yours like you’re made of glass and gold. You move slowly, swaying in the soft light of your apartment. No steps to follow, no fancy turns. Just two people finding rhythm in each other.

The weight in your chest lightens, just a little. Enough to let some air back in.

You close your eyes and breathe him in - warmth, safety, a hint of aftershave and the chocolate he probably stole from the kitchen. He hums along with the music, cheek resting against your temple, swaying with that impossible calm he always seems to find for the both of you.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and warm in your ear, “if they saw you dance like this, they’d rethink everything.”

You blink up at him. “What do you mean?”

He smiles. “Confident steps. Excellent posture. Mysterious allure. A+ execution of the gentle sway.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed. “Gentle sway?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. The gentle sway is criminally underrated. It says, I am elegance. I am power. I can run a department and also make lasagna from scratch.”

You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re mine,” he says, giving you one last spin - just a little one, more of a guided shuffle - before pulling you back into his arms.

You rest your head on his chest again, grinning quietly to yourself.

Maybe the world felt sharp today. Maybe people were careless with their words.

But in Bucky’s arms - in the middle of your small living room, to a song older than either of you - the edges feel softer.

And for the first time all day, you remember who you are.

Not small. Not background.

Just… deeply loved.

Exactly as you are.

[uhuhmaries]

https://www.tumblr.com/uhuhmaries/788874172079161344/still-into-you-part-10

this was so cringe

also how long was she gone for and how is he STILL in college?😭

they’re so dramatic they fucked a couple times and you’d swear they were a divorced couple like MOVE ON OR BE TOGETHER it’s repetitive af at this stage

BAEEEE IM SO SORRY I DEFINITELY GET THAT SO LETS BREAK DOWN THE TIMELINE.....

You: Start college at 18, majoring in fashion at Pelican Hill.

Harry: 23, a senior at Northcrest with 1.5 years left to finish his psychology degree and master's.

Throughout your freshman year: off-and-on situationship, loaded with sex, emotion, and drama.

Milan Internship: You leave after your freshman year (second semester or summer), gone for a few months (1 semester).

You return one week before Harry's graduation, now 24.

I HOPE THAT MAKES SENSE LIKE IM TRYING TO GET THE MAN A DEGREE I SWEAR!!!! Also it's college... everyone's indecisive so definitely a lot of push and pulling BUT HERES THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!!!

Still Into You | CHAPTER 11

Warnings: NSFW/18+

Series: PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10

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You lie there in silence for a moment. Your pulse still skipping. His chest rising and falling against your back.

The sheets are a mess— damp and tangled. You’re both flushed, slick, marked in places no one else will ever see. Or maybe... they will. But slowly, the weight of the moment shifts.

It’s not just lust anymore. It’s the reality that hits as soon as your feet hit the floor.

You sit up and glance over your shoulder. Harry's staring at the ceiling, hand behind his head, jaw clenched. Like he's chewing on thoughts way bigger than sex.

You pull the blanket off and head toward the bathroom, body aching, thighs sticky. A second later, you hear him pad after you while being silent and barefoot, always a little boyish after he's just been filthy.

You clean each other off under warm water. No moaning. No teasing.

Just quiet rinsing. Soapy fingers. Gentle touches.

He brushes your hair off your neck. Kisses your shoulder softly.

“I’m leaving this place in six days,” he finally says.

You pause. Your breath tightens.

“About time. But shit, yeah.”

“And I don’t wanna leave with this thing between us still... undefined.”

You slowly turn to face him. He’s serious. Eyes low. Vulnerable in a way that makes you nervous.

“Let’s do it right this time,” he says, voice raw. “No more games. No more disappearing. Just you and me.”

“You mean—”

“An actual relationship. Exclusive. No bullshit.”

Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be working soon,” you whisper. “It’s not like you’ll be hanging out around campus anymore.”

“I will be around.” His tone firms. “I’ve got offers. Good ones. High-paying. And they’re local.”

You study him— this golden boy who used to be chaos and ego and sex on legs. Now here he is, talking about job offers and you in the same breath.

“You’re serious?” You murmur.

He nods. Steps forward.

“Dead serious. And... one more thing.”

“What?”

“My parents are flying in the night before graduation. We’re doing dinner. Just us and a few close friends.”

Your breath catches.

“Are you saying—”

“Come with me,” he says. “Let them meet you.”

“Harry—”

“I know it’s sudden. But you’ve always been the most real thing in my life. Even when I didn’t know how to hold onto it.”

You hesitate.

“Let’s see in five days,” you say softly. “If this sticks. If we both still feel the same.”

He exhales. Nods.

“Fair enough. But just know… I’ve never wanted something more than I want this to work.”

He leans in and kisses you slow, with more promise than heat.

You don’t know what the next five days will bring. But for once, maybe, you're both ready to find out.

Day One

He doesn't leave your dorm all day.

You share the kind of lazy morning you'd only seen in romantic comedies— bare legs tangled under your comforter, his chin on your thigh while you scroll through your emails and he scrolls job offers. He doesn't try to initiate anything— not sex, not games. Just presence. His hand finds your knee occasionally. His foot nudges yours under the blanket like it missed contact.

When he leaves in the evening, he kisses your forehead and says,

“I’ll text when I’m home.”

And he does. A voice note, actually. His voice low and husky.

“I really meant what I said. Sleep well, baby.”

You replay it three times before going to bed.

Day Two

He brings you lunch on campus. Not to flex. Not to show off. Oh but it does make some girls mad mad...

He doesn’t even stay long— just drops it off between your classes and kisses your cheek in front of your friends like it’s normal. Like he isn’t Harry Styles, the ex-frat golden boy with bite marks from dozens of women and a fuck-you ego. He hands you a cold brew with your name spelled right and an apple he already washed and cut up.

Your friends go quiet when he walks away. Then one says, “You might actually be his kryptonite.”

You don't respond. But you smile the whole walk to class.

Day Three

You don’t see him.

He’s slammed with final interviews and paperwork for one of the psychology practices that wants to snap him up. But he texts you mid-day.

“I miss you. That’s all.”

You sit in bed later that night and look at the dress you bought just in case you go to the graduation dinner. It’s black. Classy. Soft neckline. Makes your collarbone pop. You try it on alone. Just for a second. You don’t take a photo. You want him to see it in person.

But you’re not ready to say yes. Not yet.

Day Four

He waits for you outside your class.

Leaning against a railing. Hoodie on. Hood pulled low. Sunglasses on. You still know it’s him the moment you step out.

“Hi,” he says. Voice soft. Almost shy.

“Hey,” you smile, adjusting your bag.

“Can I walk you home?”

You nod.

The walk back to your dorm is quiet. Not awkward. Just heavy with something unspoken. Every brush of your arm, every glance, it’s all so tender. So opposite of what you used to be.

He walks you all the way up to your floor.

“Can I come in?” He asks, when you reach your door.

“Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself.”

He smirks. “I’m really bad at promises.”

Still, he comes in.

He doesn’t touch you. He just lies beside you while you study, then reads the book he’s been trying to finish for a week. You fall asleep first, on your side, your fingers curled near his wrist.

You don’t know this, but he watches you for ten minutes before turning the light off.

Day Five

It’s the day before graduation.

You haven’t said anything about the dinner. You’re avoiding it on purpose. You meet Liv for coffee and try not to sound too much like a girl who’s being pursued again by her college-famous ex-situationship.

“You trust him?” She asks.

You think about it.

Then you say, “I think… I’m learning to.”

She nods. “Then go.”

Evening — 6PM

You're standing in front of the mirror.

Dress on. Hair curled just enough. A thin gold chain around your neck, one that catches the light when you tilt your head just right. You're nervous.

You haven’t told Harry yet.

Your phone buzzes.

Harry: “Leaving soon. Pick you up at 7?”

You stare at the screen. Your fingers type. Then delete. Then type again.

You send:

You: “Make it 6:45. I don’t want to be late.”

His reply comes instantly.

Harry: “You’re really coming?”

You: “Yeah. But you better make it worth it.”

Harry: “I will.”

Harry: “You look fucking beautiful, don’t you?”

You: “You’ll have to wait and see.”

He arrives at exactly 6:45.

You hear the knock and already know it’s him— no one else knocks like that. Confident. Patient. A little smug.

You open the door slowly.

And Harry’s jaw drops.

“Holy fuck.”

He says it before he even sees the full dress. Just your face. Your hair. Your eyes looking at him like you’re both terrified and brave.

Then he lowers his gaze and swallows hard.

“You wore that for dinner?”

“Why? Too much?”

“No,” he says. His voice goes low. “It’s perfect. It’s too perfect.”

He offers his arm.

“Come on, before I say fuck dinner and ruin your makeup.”

The restaurant is quiet. Expensive. Private.

Harry’s parents are already there when you walk in. You recognize them from photos— his mum’s a striking woman with kind eyes and a no-bullshit aura. His dad looks like someone who hasn’t said no to a single indulgence in twenty years, but his posture is grounded. Composed.

You almost chicken out. Like, what the fuck are you doing here?

But Harry rests his hand on the small of your back. Not too low. Not possessive. Just a quiet I got you.

“Mum, Dad,” he says, “this is [Y/N].” Quick and easy.

His mother smiles like she already knows. His father stands to shake your hand.

“Nice to finally meet the girl who made our son text like a lovesick idiot for about a year.”

Harry groans. You laugh.

“He texted?” You tease, glancing at him.

“Constantly,” his mum adds. “And when he wasn’t texting, he was avoiding the subject completely, which was even worse.”

You glance at Harry again, and his ears are pink.

“I was figuring it out,” he mutters.

“Still am,” he adds, but this time, it’s only to you.

Dinner flows surprisingly well.

You let yourself relax after the first drink. His dad asks about your major, your family, and your future. His mum shares old Harry stories— awkward ones, endearing ones, one about how he refused to let anyone cut his curls for the first twelve years of his life.

Harry listens, barely speaking unless it's to correct something mildly embarrassing or to refill your glass when you're not paying attention.

You’re not even halfway through dessert when his mum leans over and says softly,

“Thank you. For being the one who sees more in him than just charm.”

You blink. “I—sorry?”

“He’s been charming everyone his whole life,” she says, voice warm. “But he’s only himself when he talks about you. He could fake confidence, fake control, but never his feelings. He doesn't— or hopefully didn't know how to carry those.”

You nod. Breathe slow. Suddenly it all feels a bit too real.

Later, when you’re in the car…

He parks just outside your dorm and doesn’t kill the engine.

Neither of you says anything for a second.

Then, “I’ve never done that,” he says. “Not like that. Introduced someone I cared about.”

You glance at him. He looks... calm. Nervous. Hopeful.

“You were great,” you say.

“You were better,” he says with a grin. “They love you, you know.”

“That’s not hard,” you tease. “I’m very lovable.”

He nods. “You are.”

There’s a pause. Then, like a sudden gust, he adds:

“I want this to work.”

“So do I... I think,” you admit.

“Tomorrow I’ll walk the stage,” he says. “And after that, I want you next to me. Not just tonight. Not just for sex or nostalgia. Like... for real.”

You lean forward, brush your lips over his cheek. “Then let’s see tomorrow,” you whisper. “One more day.”

He smiles like he already knows the answer.

You sit with him in the car a while longer, wrapped in the hush of late night. He opens up, quietly, about the years before Northcrest. Before Liv. Before you. Before the titles and the parties and the endless expectations. Just memories— raw, unpolished, untouched by ego.

Eventually, you glance at the time, sigh softly, and lean in to press a lingering kiss to his lips. A quiet goodbye for tonight.

Then you slip out, heading back to your dorm to sleep— heart a little heavier, but full.

The sun is mercilessly bright.

It’s one of those golden mornings— everyone’s sweating through their linen shirts and silk dresses, but still smiling. The air smells like flowers and sunscreen and the weird cheap champagne everyone keeps sneak-sipping from flasks hidden under robes.

You’re seated beside Liv in the bleachers. She’s back just to support Harry and a few friends she made. No cap and gown this time, just a sundress and oversized sunglasses, sipping iced coffee and whispering snark under her breath like she never left.

“Can’t believe he actually made it,” she jokes. “Thought he’d fail just for the drama.”

You both laugh— but your eyes drift.

There, two sections over, seated with the graduate reps from all sister universities, you spot him.

Harry Styles.

In a navy gown that barely fits his broad shoulders. The robe does nothing to hide the confidence in his posture. He’s chewing gum. Rings still on. Curls tucked into his cap but a few rebelliously falling onto his forehead.

He looks calm. Unshaken. But you know better.

When his name is called and he walks across the stage, the crowd screams. Some girls even hold up signs. A few whistles echo from the back.

But he doesn’t look at them. He looks at you. Just a glance, brief and raw, like he’s holding his breath until you smile.

So you do. You smile like you mean it.

And he exhales, just barely, as he shakes the Dean’s hand.

Hours later— the campus courtyard is chaos.

Parents hugging. Friends crying. Professors smiling like proud parents.

Liv’s surrounded by her friends. You sneak away from the crowd for just a second— needing air, water, something. And as soon as you reach the fountain steps…

He’s there. Harry.

He’s holding two plastic cups of sparkling wine and a single daisy, ripped from the edge of the ceremony arch.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you smile, stepping closer.

He hands you the drink. Then the flower.

“It’s not much,” he says. “But I wanted to give you something before tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” you tease.

“You. Me. A bed. A locked door.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That your way of saying thanks?”

“It’s my way of asking if this is real now.”

You go quiet.

Then, slowly: “It can be. If you want it.”

He steps closer. One arm sneaks around your waist.

“I fucking want it,” he whispers. “No more phases. No more girls. No more pretending I’m not in this.”

You look at him.

You tease, smirking as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “A bed as in... my dorm? Or what now that you're kicked out from being frat president?”

He grins. That cocky, familiar grin.

“Let’s say goodbye to Liv and come with me to the car.”

You hug Liv, murmur something vague about grabbing late dinner. She hugs you tight and whispers, “Don’t let him talk you into anything unless he proves it.”

You follow Harry out to his car— his real car, not the beat-up one he used to borrow from a frat brother. This one's sleek. Grown-up. He opens the passenger door for you like he’s been practicing his soft-boy act.

The drive is quiet, but not awkward. A steady hum of late-night roads and unspoken things.

He pulls into the lot of what looks like an upscale apartment building— minimalist signage, warm lobby lighting, dark window tinting on every floor. It’s about twenty minutes from Northcrest, maybe thirty-ish from Pelican Hill.

“What is this place?” You ask as he parks.

He doesn’t answer. Just gets out, rounds the car, opens your door again.

You take the elevator all the way to the top floor.

When he presses his thumb against the scanner and the lock clicks open, you raise a brow.

“Fingerprint access?”

He nudges the door open, standing back so you can walk inside first.

And holy shit. Your jaw nearly hits the floor.

It’s huge. Modern. Tastefully decorated like someone actually lives here, not crashes in between football practice and frat parties. A clean, open kitchen. A sectional sofa you could sink into for hours. Art on the walls that clearly isn’t from a dorm poster sale.

Doesn't scream Harry.... at all.

Then you see the bed. It’s king-sized. Dark linens. A soft throw blanket draped over the edge. Mood lighting like it’s waiting for you.

“That bed,” Harry says, smirking as he steps behind you. His hands rest lightly on your hips.

You blink.

“Okay, seriously—how the hell did you afford this?”

He shrugs with a laugh. “Oh, I’m not rich yet. My parents own the building.”

You whip around to look at him. “Of course they do.”

“It’s part of the graduation deal,” he says, lifting a brow. “Good grades, master’s done, minimal arrests then I'll get a place of my own that’s not full of empty bottles and dudes named Chad.”

You glance around again. “And fingerprint access.”

“You’re welcome.”

You cross your arms. “What would you have done if I said no?”

He steps closer. His voice dips, eyes flicking down your body.

“Begged.”

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AYEEEEEE he GRADUATED! Let me know if y'all want to see how's their lives after or this is perfect because I think it's pretty self-explanatory

[radioactivatedspider]

You're Not Losing Me

Main Masterlist Mark Meachum Masterlist

My Wattpad📖

Radio's Café☆ - my official discord server!

Want to be added to my taglist? Just a few clicks away! -> Taglist Form 

Pairings; Mark Meachum x wife!reader

Genre; Angst, hurt/comfort, drama, emotional romance

Warnings; Illness (brain tumor), emotional neglect, marital conflict, swearing, crying, fear of infidelity, comfort

Summary: Mark’s distant behavior makes his wife suspect he’s cheating, but during a heated confrontation, he reveals he’s been hiding a brain tumor diagnosis. The truth breaks them both open—but leads to reconciliation, honesty, and a tender moment of comfort.

request: Hi your writing is so good bae! Could i do a mark meachum x wife reader

He’s been stressed about his cases and the tumor so he just pushes reader out of the way, barely talks with her, doesn’t touch her, comes home very late. She assumes he’s cheating on her, so one day she comes home from grocery shopping and hears mark on the phone saying a girls name (amber) and bust into the room to confront him and it turns into a whole argument and than after a while he apologizes and comforts her.

667 words

The house was too quiet. Again.

You set the grocery bags down on the counter, the soft crinkle of paper and plastic echoing across the kitchen like a slap to the face. Another evening without him.

Mark had been disappearing lately — emotionally, physically. He barely looked at you. Conversations were clipped. His hand no longer found your waist when he passed. Nights were cold. And you were tired of pretending it didn’t ache like hell.

But today was worse.

You caught a glimpse of him when you walked past the study. Door cracked just an inch. His voice low, steady.

“No, Amber, I just need the full report before tomorrow... Yeah. No, don’t tell anyone. Especially her.”

You froze.

Her.

Blood drained from your face. The groceries lay forgotten on the counter as you stormed down the hall, heart pounding.

“Who the hell is Amber?”

Mark whipped around, startled, holding the phone inches from his ear. “What—? I’ll call you back,” he muttered before hanging up.

Your eyes were glassy, wide. “You don’t touch me anymore. You don’t talk to me. You disappear for hours. And now I hear you talking to some woman behind closed doors—what the fuck am I supposed to think, Mark?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, jaw clenching. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh really?” Your voice cracked. “Then explain it to me. Because I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

He stood, tense, like a wire pulled tight. “Amber is part of my task force. She’s a junior agent. We’re working on a classified op—”

“That you couldn’t tell me about,” you snapped. “Because you don’t trust me anymore.”

“Because I’m trying to protect you!” he barked.

Silence. Your breathing turned shaky.

“I come home and you’re a ghost,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening in your world anymore. You’ve been gone, Mark. And you didn’t even notice I stopped waiting at the window for you.”

His expression shattered. “Fuck…”

He stepped toward you, then stopped himself like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

You looked down, voice trembling. “Are you cheating on me?”

“No.” His voice was sharp, immediate, final. “God, no. I would never.”

Tears hit your cheeks. “Then why does it feel like I already lost you?”

Mark’s hands came up, tentative, then wrapped around your face like you were glass. His thumbs brushed your cheeks. “Because I’m a goddamn coward.”

Your eyes searched his.

He closed his own. “I found out two months ago. There’s a tumor in my brain. It’s sitting near the frontal lobe, close to some major vessels. If they go in, there’s a risk — memory loss, speech impairment, seizures, paralysis, you name it. Or they leave it, and I’ve got a time limit. Best-case scenario, they cut it out clean. Worst case...I could die.”

You just stood there, frozen.

He kept going, guilt-ridden. “I’ve been taking missions, pushing through headaches, blackouts. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want to see it in your face. The fear. The pity. I thought if I could just finish this last assignment, if I could handle it on my own… I could stay your husband. Not your patient.”

You exhaled like the wind was knocked out of you.

“I wasn’t shutting you out because I stopped loving you,” he whispered. “I was trying to spare you.”

You stepped into him, fingers gripping his shirt. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

He held you tight, burying his face in your neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You nodded into his chest, sobbing quietly. “I thought I wasn’t enough anymore.”

Mark kissed the top of your head. “You’re the only thing that makes this shit worth it.”

A beat passed.

“...Also, Amber is twenty-three and engaged to a guy named Julio. You’d eat her alive in a fight.”

You let out a small, wet laugh and smacked his chest. “Asshole.”

“There she is,” he murmured, finally smiling against your skin.

@globetrotter28 @adrienneleclerc @multiversefanfics @smoothdogsgirl @deansbbyx @star-yawnznn

[andiberzatto]

You Can’t Put Your Arms Around a Memory (Frank Castle Fic)

Summary: Frank brings you along for his ritual he does on the anniversary of the massacre.

(Mentions of grief and loss, Frank being a grump, emotional connection and support. Frank being sweet in his own way.)

Frank has never been one for pleasantries or niceties. If he wants you there he says it, he will only say it once he won’t repeat himself. Asking you to come with him to the graveyard wasn’t something he took lightly.

He grieves privately and inwardly. but sometimes he would talk about Frank Jr or Lisa or even Maria with such reverence that even saying their names felt like barbwire around his throat.

“Put your shoes on and Get in the truck.” He says gruffly, he’s not looking at you. He’s already sliding on his boots and zipping up his hunter green jacket. Loading a blanket and a guitar case into the backseat. He walks back in and nods towards the door while looking in your general area.

opening up isn’t each for Frank. Sharing his life with someone new. Relearning personal quirks after knowing Maria’s flawlessly for years. It grates against his edges like sandpaper. but the more he tries, you bind together. it’s something Frank was unaware he could feel. He figured after Maria he was destined to never be happy ever again. He started to self prophesy himself, never making a move with Karen Page. Only hooking up with the cute Bartender at the Roadhouse. He made sure everything was arms length. No surprises. No guess work.

That is until you. God he’d be an idiot not to fall in love with you. You don’t judge. You don’t think he’s crazy. You just accept him as he is, and keep your feelings about the morality of his Vigilante life to yourself. you didn’t like guns or blood or anything like that. But you loved him. And in turn Frank learned how to lean on you.

So there you were, in his truck. Silently driving at 11pm to a graveyard. Frank knows the way by heart. Knows the row of headstones he needs to pass. Notices if one of out of place or cracked from weather or kids being dumb and sitting on them or drunkenly hitting them.

That’s why he made sure Maria’s was big and granite and withstanding weather and stupid highschool kids looking to mischief.

A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth, the first you've seen since you arrived. He gives you a sideways glance as he sets the flowers down, fingers trailing reverently along the engraved names on the stone. a pause, and then he sets his jaw, taking a deep breath before sitting on the grass and opening the case to begin tuning his guitar.

He begins to play the same tune he taught Lisa, the same tune he played on base in those tents he doesn’t like to think about, in his room after he lost them.

His hands are sure and steady as he plays, an obvious comfort in the movements as the tune, now so familiar drifts in the summer air. He lets his eyes slip shut, shutting out the world around him to let the music flow, a soft exhale escaping him, almost a sigh.

she stands there feeling like an intruder on this moment. She doesn’t know Frank. Not really. Not the Frank that his family knew. Not the one deep inside. Just the angry and vengeful man. The soft Frank who slips through in gestures never words. this was a way beyond that version of Frank she knew. This was something deep and sorrowful. The depth of Francis David Castle, it died when he held his families lifeless bodies that night in Central Park. their guts and Brain matter spilt on the pavement by the carousel.

Frank's expression is open and unguarded as he plays, fingers moving over the strings with ease. He seems lost in the music, the familiar notes bringing back bittersweet memories that are both painful and comforting. It's like he's in his own world, where all that matters is the sound of his guitar and the weight of the past.

As he finishes playing, the silence that follows is thick and heavy. He takes a deep breath and sets the guitar to the side, running a hand over his face.

she’s stood there frozen with tears. She’s not sure why she’s crying but she is.

Frank's gaze flickered over to you, and the sight of your tears catches him off guard. His own eyes are a bit misty, the emotions of the moment clearly stirring things up inside of him.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice gruff but surprisingly gentle. "It's okay."

she sniffles, “it’s not.”

Frank's expression is soft as he looks at you, his usual hardness somewhat softened by the situation. He lets out a heavy sigh before patting the ground next to him.

"Come here," he says quietly.

she sits by him her cheek on his shoulder, “I feel like an outsider to all of this.. but..”

Frank's arm comes up automatically to drape around your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer against his side. He's silent for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"You're not," he finally mutters. "You're here. That counts for more than you know."

“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose everything including your sense of self…”

The corner of his mouth quirks faintly in a half-smile, a bitter edge to it. "You don't have to pretend," he murmurs. "You don't have to understand it on a personal level to get it."

He pauses, his gaze drifting back towards the graves they're sitting by. "Losing everything... it's like a part of you dies too."

“Thank you for letting me come here with you.. for showing me this..”

Frank's arm tightens slightly around your shoulders, a silent gesture of reassurance.

"I.. wanted you to be here," he says quietly, his voice gravelly. He's not used to being vulnerable, to letting anyone in on this part of his life. But here he is, sitting beside you, his guard lowered for the first time in a long time.

“Why?” she says softly, “you told me you do this every year by yourself.. why bring me this time?”

Frank's silent for a moment, as if wrestling with himself. He glances at you, his gaze flickering over your face, as if searching for something.

"I don't know," he admits eventually. "I just.. felt like I wanted to share it with you."

He looks away, a muscle in his jaw clenching as he struggles with the words. "Maybe I just didn't want to be alone this year."

“Thank you for trusting me.”

A slight scoff, almost self-deprecating, escapes him at your words. Trusting you... it's not something that comes easily to him.

"Don't thank me for that," he mutters gruffly, his hold on you still steady and reassuring. He sighs, his voice lowering even further. "I don't trust easily. You know that."

“That’s why I’m thanking you.”

Frank grunts, a reluctant agreement in the sound. He's not comfortable with this vulnerability, with the emotions he's letting show. But he doesn't pull away or try to hide it, not from you.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, his arm still around you, his gaze fixed firmly on the gravestones in front of him. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

“It is a big deal.”

Frank lets out another sigh, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctance. He knows you're right, even if he won't admit it.

"Fine," he mutters, the word almost dragged out of him. "It is a big deal. I don't let people in, not like this. You know that."

He turns his head slightly towards you, his gaze meeting yours directly. "You make me soft, you know that?"

“Soft isn’t weak.”

A flicker of a smile tugs at the corners of Frank's mouth at your words. Despite himself, he laughs softly, the sound gruff and a bit rusty, as if it's been a while since he last allowed himself to laugh.

"I know," he grunts. "But I've always seen it as a weakness." He lifts his hand, the one not around your shoulders, and pokes you gently on the forehead. "You've made me question a lot of things lately."

“Like?”

Frank's gaze softens, his gaze dropping to your face as he considers your question.

"Lots of things," he says gruffly, his voice slightly quieter now. "Like- whether or not I'm doomed to be alone. If I'm capable of having something... normal."

He lets out a huff of air, part sigh, part sardonic laugh. "You're definitely messing with my head, sweetheart."

He turns slightly, shifting his body so he's facing you more directly. His arm stays around your shoulders, still holding you snugly against him.

"You've had me questioning everything I thought I knew about myself," he continues, his gaze roaming your features with an intensity that surprises even him. "I can't seem to stop thinking about you, no matter how damn hard I try."

she kisses his shoulder gently, “how long do you sit with them?” she says them instead of graves because it feels more respectful like they’re still people.

Frank shivers slightly at the touch of your lips on his shoulder, a subtle reaction that he can't quite hide. It's a rare moment of vulnerability for him, and he's still not entirely comfortable with the unfamiliar emotions churning inside him.

He takes a moment to gather himself before answering your question, his gaze returning to the graves in front of him.

"I usually stay until the sun starts to set," he says quietly. "Sometimes longer, if- if I can't bring myself to leave just yet."

“well I won’t leave until you say you’re ready to.”

Frank lets out a short huff, both amused and touched by your words. He knows you mean it, and it strikes him how much he appreciates that.

"You're stubborn, you know that?" he grumbles, but there's no real heat in his words. He gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze, his arm around you tightening slightly.

"But I guess I can't really stop you from staying anyway, can I?"

“Unless you’d rather sit alone for this part? I can wait in my car..”

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, instinctually, almost involuntarily. The thought of you leaving, of going back to his solitude, is unexpectedly unbearable.

He sighs, his fingers tightening on your shoulder. "Don't go." He's asking this time, not commanding.

so there they sit, together on the grass infront of Maria’s headstone. Just existing with his past for a couple hours in silence. his past and his future sat across from eachother.

[valentine-cafe]

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 :  lemon meringue cheesecake !! . . . demon grim reaper ⊹ gn reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡​​​​​​​𝑢​​​​​​​𝑟​​​​​​​𝑖𝑛​​​​​​​𝑔﹕verse 209 ꮽ  zhào haitao

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a stoic & cold grim reaper mercenary, possessed by a vengeful demon  

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... you haven't at all been your usual self lately, life dimmed of its beautiful light and your soul on thin ice. haitao is more than concerned with whats going on and decides to express his worry and love to you when he sees you need it the most ⊹ cw ٬٬ hurt comfort . struggling with lonliness . self-isolation . 𖹭 requested by our lovely nana!

Haitao has never been good at initiating intimately affectionate or completely normal physically affectionate touch. Due to his own past and previous struggles. But there is one thing he has always appreciated, even if he isn't verbal about it. And it is your touch. Your willingness to come talk, to him or to the people around.

Your gentle touches, your aggressively affectionate touches, the quiet touches, much like your gentle words, your aggressively affectionate words, and the serene talks you bring to the conversation when he doesn't know what to say.

To watch you retreat in such a way, he finds unfair. He's flawed. So are you. It's a common thing for humans to be. However, the display of dislike and distaste surrounding you for being solely you, is disrespectful, even to him. He knows you listen. Hell you listen more than anyone, when you're told to stop or you've been given boundaries.

He's seen you be as respectful as you possibly can be. So why do people not return that same kindness and respect back to you?

Even Luu'leriel, a spectre of the abhorrent realm. Full of wastelands and evil in whichever direction you turn to. Can't fully comprehend why people would dislike you?

For the first time in a while. After arriving home from a hard day of studying, you plop down onto the couch. And huddle up. No tv turned on, no nothing. Just silence, as Haitao cooks the prep meals for the week. Looking behind his back by the help of Luu'leriel.

"Go sit with them a bit." He whispers, and the spectre does not have to be asked twice. Crawling out of Haitao's back like a large, smoky cloud. And all the way over to you. Long arms extended to gently take hold of you and cradle you close.

"It's fine, Luu." You murmur.

"I'm not a lie detector like other of my kin. But I cant tell when you lie."

You close your eyes and slump into the shaded body. Arms wrapped around Luu'leriel's waist, as you bury your face into his stomach.

There's a small dip in the couch, right next to where your foot. You look up, but feel a hand stop you half-way. Colder than the demon's. Haitao's weight dips down on the other side of the couch. His arms wrapped around your waist from the back. While he's pressing small kisses to the back of your neck.

"Take it easy for a while. I promise better times are on the way, darling. And you're loved."

. . .

"So much more than I think you realize."

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki . 

[bizarrelovetriangel]

restless nights.

you get into an argument and they become restless without you by their side.

angst with comfort. apologies for any ooc moments and stubborn mc/reader.

sylus

"I'm not taking you with me."

His words left no room for anymore rebuttals. No matter how persistent you got and what reasoning you gave, Sylus continues to reject your request to join him for the upcoming Onychinus mission.

He's never had a problem with you tagging along before, so why now? You've learned from Luke and Kieran that Sylus will be dealing with one of the most dangerous men they'd ever met, so you wanted to support him. When you brought the topic up to him, all he said was that the setting will be too much for you.

You reassured him that you can handle anything, being a hunter who's familiar with the messiest, most vile types of environment, but regardless of your reasonings, he fully intends to go to this mission alone.

"Okay."

The moment he watched you calmly closed the door on your way out of the room, Sylus knew he fucked up.

You avoided him all afternoon, and it didn't take long for loneliness to strike him hard.

He hated the silence.

Knowing you're under the same roof and yet you're deliberately ignoring him... he'd much rather have you screaming at him.

Sylus remained at his working station to continue modifying a weapon that he'd recently purchased; however, his distracted state prevented him from making progress.

The face you made before walking away from him keeps haunting him.

The disappointment in your eyes made his chest unbearably tight.

He tried to push the uncomfortable feeling away, telling himself that his response to you is for the best, but it didn't work at all.

It was difficult to concentrate on anything else.

He wondered what you were up to.

What if you decide to leave because you can't stand to be near him?

Just imagining you rush out of the house while angry caused Sylus' hands to become unsteady and accidentally crossed some wires that weren't supposed to touch.

And so, the weapon sparked and caught on fire.

"...great."

He decided to move on to boxing, hoping to release some anger — not at you, but for his enemies that he'll be seeing for the upcoming mission. If they weren't so... filthy and gruesome, he wouldn't have to worry about keeping you away from them.

After two minutes of hitting the punching bag, Sylus' eyes started to repeatedly glance towards the entrance of the gym, checking to see if a certain someone would walk in for their weekly boxing lessons.

Your boxing gloves are in the usual place, untouched. He recalled the day when you two bought it while shopping: you were so excited about using it, you woke him up early just so you could start boxing while wearing them.

But now, you won't even step in the gym because he made you upset.

Suddenly, Sylus was no longer in the mood to box.

You didn't join him for dinner.

He wasn't surprised, though he felt another pang at his chest when he sat down on the empty dinning table.

He learned from Luke and Kieran that you had already eaten a little earlier while ranting to Mephisto, who was your only companion for supper.

The crow gave him a questioning look as he flew by and parched on the empty chair next to him, where you usually sit.

"I know. I'm working on it."

Sylus went to his bedroom, hoping that you don't run away and that you hear him out.

But when he opened the door, a cold breeze hit him along with a lonely feeling. The room is empty, and you're nowhere to be found.

He knew you're still somewhere in the house; otherwise, Mephisto would've told him already that you'd left. You staying means he's not totally screwed — not yet, at least.

The only other place he thought to check is the room where you used to sleep in, before your relationship became official.

And sure enough, after calming down his nervous, hitched breath, Sylus knocked on the door.

No response, but the room is unlocked.

He dared to take a peak inside and immediately softened at the sight of you sleeping on the bed. His feet acted before his mind and walked up towards your side.

He sat down on the mattress and his eyes slowly traced the ravishing features of your face that he missed, despite the argument being only just several hours ago.

He yearned to touch you, just for a second, to feel your warmth and softness. His right hand carefully reached towards your face, knuckles aiming to brush against your cheek.

But then, you opened your eyes.

Sylus froze for a moment, waiting for you to tell him to leave and stay away from him, but instead, you just blinked at him with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"What are you doing?"

"...caught me redhanded." he chuckles. "I was looking at you. Because you wouldn't let me do it while you were awake. Sorry to disturb your peaceful sleep."

You watched his hand that was about to touch your face slowly retract, and you wanted to grab it and embrace it.

"...who said I was sleeping peacefully?"

Sylus looks at you with confusion.

"It's hard for me to sleep whenever we have arguments." you murmured, sitting up slowly so you can look at him properly. "I wanted to see you, but..."

You were sulking all afternoon.

You grew tired of arguing with him and thought you'd eventually find the right words to tell him later on, once you've calmed down.

"Me too." Sylus slowly reached for your hand, almost afraid that you'd pull away, though he relaxed once you intertwined your fingers with his. "Let me tell you why I'm against you accompanying me for this mission."

He told you about the shady people he'll be visiting. They are nasty criminals who have done unforgivable things to people, and everything about them is just disgusting — physically and figuratively.

As much as he wanted your company and assistance, Sylus doesn't want them setting their filthy eyes on you. He doesn't want them to know about your existence at all.

Mostly, he doesn't want to waste your time and energy on people like them. He knows you're strong enough to be by his side and help him take them down, just as you have done a few times before, but he'd much rather keep you away from their dirty hands.

"I understand now." You tightened your grip on his hand. "And still.... I want to go with you."

Though his brows furrowed as a silent reply, he stayed quiet and allowed you to fully let out everything you want to say.

"I appreciate your concern for me, truly. But ever since the twins told me about them, that they're dangerous and full of dirty tricks, I can't help but worry.

You're strong and you definitely don't need me, but still... I asked to go with you because I want to support you, just like how you sometimes help me out with my missions."

Sylus was met with the familiar look of persistence and determination in your eyes and realized he was never going to win this argument.

You've always been stubborn.

But that's just one of the reasons why he's so infauted with you.

You win.

"I should have known better than to try to leave you out of something like this." he sighs in defeat, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

You grinned at his tone. "It'll be fine. And fun — maybe. If not, then I'll suffer with you."

He clicked his tongue and poked your forehead. "Fine. But before we go, you have to prove to me that you're capable of fighting them."

"Hmm? Prove to you, how?"

"You'll have to join me in the boxing ring tomorrow, kitten."

You gasped and your eyes lit up. "My gloves! I've abandoned them! Let's go boxing right now!"

"...weren't you just about to sleep?"

"No way! I wanna hit something now! Come on!"

Sylus allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and brought back to the gym, where the boxing ring awaits.

Unlike earlier, the gym appears to be warmer and much more lively.

At last, Sylus can breathe easily.

zayne

Getting scolded by your lover was not how you were expecting your trip to the hospital to go.

He never raised his voice, but the coldness in his tone was what struck you in the chest.

He reprimanded you for being too reckless and careless at work, stating that you need to pay more attention to your surroundings and not throw yourself in danger at any chance you get.

Maybe you caught him in a bad mood, or maybe he was fed up with all the times that he has to see you with injuries. Either way, you didn't feel like being around him for a while.

Later that night, you fell asleep earlier than usual and missed a call from Zayne. You knew you probably should've called him back once you woke up in the morning, but the memory of him scolding you like a child made you throw your phone aside and momentarily avoid him.

Zayne is wide awake and his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

For once, he doesn't have work to keep him up late at night. Instead, you're the reason why he's unable to sleep.

You haven't been returning his texts and calls.

He knew you're upset because of what he did at the hospital. He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You were already hurt. The last thing you needed was for him to give you a lecture over something you don't have much control over.

Zayne wanted to apologize to you.

He considered going to your apartment so he can properly give his sincere apology, but with the way you've been deflecting his attempts to communicate, he figured you wanted some space from him.

It's understandable that you'd feel that way, but still, Zayne can't ignore the aching in his chest. The other side of the bed feels colder than usual, and the silence of his house was uncomfortable.

You should've been next to him, resting your head on his chest while showing him funny memes and videos of cats after playing silly games on your phone, then you'd randomly come across an interesting article that would be your discussion until the two of you fall asleep.

This time, all he can do is keep checking his phone, just in case you decide to text or call him, and he'd answer in a heartbeat.

He wanted to hear your voice just so knows that everything is going to be okay, and that he doesn't need to worry about the possibility of losing you. Unfortunately, he wasn't granted that wish.

He eventually fell asleep with his phone on hand resting on the empty side of the bed.

Zayne was right.

You really are careless.

Showing up at the hospital twice in a week, just two days after your previous visit, is embarrassing at this point. You admit that your mind wasn't as awake and alert as it should've been, and so you've landed yourself another injury while fighting a Wanderer.

You did your best to hide from Zayne.

In fact, you tried going to a different hospital but Tara dropped you off here and fled instantly, so you have no choice but to go in with your slightly injured shoulder.

It just so happens that Doctor Greyson was the one that treated you, as he was the only one currently available.

You thought you'd be able to leave without seeing Zayne at all, but Greyson was unaware of your current situation so he informed him that he just finished fixing you up and you should be free to leave now.

Zayne just finished a long surgery, but once Greyson passed such valuable information to him, he rushed to your assigned room.

He caught you just as you were about to step out.

"Ah!" You put a hand over your racing heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." Zayne paused for a moment. "May I ask you to join me in my office?"

Your stomach shifted anxiously. "Sure..." The walk to the location was filled with nothing but awkward silence, which hurt to think about because it's Zayne.

That's the man whom you love more than anything else.

The last thing you want with him is an uncomfortable silence.

At the very least, you were able to gather your courage to own up to your mistakes.

Once he closed the door...

"I'm sorry!"

Zayne was caught off-guard.

"What?"

"You're right. I've been careless lately." Your shoulders sagged as you accepted defeat. "Like my injury today could've been avoided if only I was a little more cautious. I really do need to work on it better. I'm sorry for ignoring your texts and calls. I know you're just looking out for me."

Zayne let out a breath of relief.

He failed to stop himself from pulling you into his arms, so tight that you let out a gasp, though you didn't complain so he didn't release you just yet.

He desperately needed to hold you.

He was afraid that you might not want to see him anymore because of the way he had spoken to you, but it seems he'd gotten a chance to correct himself.

"I'm sorry for talking to you so coldy." He backed away just a small distance so he could look you in the eyes, though his hands remained locked on your elbows. "There are much better ways to express my concerns for you. I won't make the same mistake again. But also..."

He took your left hand and kissed the back of it. "Please don't ever try to hide your injuries from me whenever you do get hurt."

"Ah...." you wondered how he found out you were trying to hide from him today. "Sorry. I won't."

Zayne smiled and kissed your forehead.

"I'll accept your apology, on one condition...."

"What?"

"You have to spend the night and the whole weekend with me now. To make up for the times when you weren't by my side."

caleb

"I did it to protect you."

"And now, the fleet has all the access to the information that I was supposed to get. But yes. I was so fortunate that The Colonel came to my rescue. Thanks."

Caleb sighs as you shut the door and locked yourself in your own room of his house in Safehaven.

It's true that he interfered with your mission and you failed to do what you were sent for, but the man you were interrogating was equipped with a weapon that could've left you permamently injured.

What was he supposed to do?

He wasn't going to just watch and wait for you to get hurt.

The man just happened to be a common enemy of the fleet and the hunters association, and it seems that you've crossed paths for a race on whoever could capture him first.

While you technically reached him first, Caleb was the one that took him away and had him in captive with the fleet.

He figured he could just find that man and get the information you need, though it seems your mission was time sensitive and you were supposed to report to the association by tonight.

While he feels bad about you failing to accomplish your mission, he doesn't regret barging in to stop the enemy from hurting you.

His priority has always been you and it will always be you.

Everything that he's ever done is to protect you, even if you're against it. That's why this isn't the first time you've fought.

Ever since you were younger, you'd sometimes get mad at him for doing something that was intended to keep you out of harm's way.

It's nothing new.

Still, no matter how many times it happens, Caleb will always hate the feeling of you being upset with him.

He especially cannot stand it when you pretend he doesn't exist. He'd rather you hit him as hard as you can than act as if you don't see him. Otherwise, what other purpose does he have, if not to provide for you and be by your side?

Caleb made dinner for two, but he's the only one in the dinning room, sitting across an empty chair. It's dead silent aside from the noise of the flying vehicles roaming around outside his house.

He already put food in your plate and filled you a glass of juice, just in case you give in to his attempt to lure you out with the delicious smell of tonight's meal.

Caleb took his time eating. He had sent you texts, with lots of stickers, telling you that dinner is ready and that you can come out of your room now, though not a single message had gotten a reply.

His eyes would constantly dart to your closed door, hoping that it would open and you'd stubbornly come out with a pout on your face, just like what you always do ever since you were little.

He wasn't so lucky tonight.

But that doesn't mean he'll let you starve. You can be mad at him, but at the very least, be angry with a full stomach.

Caleb picked up your plate and drink and set it down on the floor right outside your room.

"Pip-squeak." He knocked a couple of times. "It's fine if you don't want to see me. You don't have to forgive me, but please eat something before you sleep. I'll leave the food outside the door."

He paused for a moment, as an apology almost slipped out of his tongue, though he wants to do it properly when you're face-to-face, so he will wait for a better time.

"Goodnight."

Afterwards, Caleb took a long bath before going to bed. You two had plans to watch movies tonight after your mission, but that was definitely not going to happen now. He had no idea things would end like how it did, and now he's staring at a wall feeling empty.

Around midnight, you quietly stepped out of your room. You brought the dirty, empty dishes back in the kitchen so you can wash them and return them in the storage.

Five steps in the dark kitchen and you almost drop the fragile items on your hands.

There's something lurking in the shadows.

"Ah!"

Your right hand swung up to hit the figure that started to walk towards you, ready to hit them with the plate.

The object was caught easily and snatched right out off your fingers. The light switch clicked and soon your eyes had been greeted by bright white light.

And you learned that the figure that had been bathing in darkness is none other than Caleb, who looked just as freaked out as you.

"Why are you still awake?!" you screeched, putting a hand over your pounding heart. "Why are you out here just standing in the dark like some demon?!"

"I wasn't standing in darkness. I was sitting." he huffs, putting the plate on the counter table. "And I should be asking you the same thing, Pip-squeak. Why are you awake?!"

His eyes suddenly widened and his shoulders stiffened.

"You're...not gonna leave, are you?"

He looked like a sad, kicked puppy that made you feel like a super villain.

"No, I'm not leaving." you replied softly, taking a step closer to him after setting down the empty glass of juice on the counter table. "I was just going to wash these... dinner was delicious.... by the way..."

Caleb let out a sigh of relief before a smile came to his face. "I'm glad you liked it. If you still have room in your stomach, wanna go for dessert? I still have some of the ice cream that you bought last time."

Your eyes lit up at the mention of the sweet dessert. "Yes!"

As the two of you enjoyed the ice cream, Caleb took the opportunity to talk about what happened.

"I'll admit that I don't regret interferring with your work to save you from getting hurt." he started slowly, watching you just in case your mood flips again. "But I am sorry for getting you in trouble."

You shook your head. "I'm over it now, but... you have to remember that I'm also capable of dealing with dangerous guys. I may get hurt, but it's part of my job. You don't have to jump out and save me every time, even though I appreciate it and you, every time."

Caleb sighs, recalling you repeating similar words to him before.

He really does jump out of nowhere to save you a lot — in fact, anytime he can, he does it.

"You're right. I know you've gotten strong, Pip-squeak." he grinned, patting your head. "I'll be sure to remember it. But also, you have to remember... worrying about you is part of my job. That'll never change, even if you become the greatest superhero of the deepspace."

"Heh."

You can't help but laugh because it's true.

That is just how Caleb is.

And it's one of the things that you love about him, despite all the times he pissed you off by being over protective.

"If I become the greatest superhero of Deepspace, will you bring me more ice cream?"

Caleb laughs at your empty bowl. "All you have to do is ask and I shall obey, Pip-squeak."

Once drowsiness finally hit you, you returned to bed and this time, Caleb made sure to cling to you the entire time.

rafayel

You'd been extremely busy for almost two weeks because of a big, intricate mission. It left you very little time to rest, and absolutely no time to go out with your lover.

But once you finally got some freedom, the first thing you did was give him a call, asking him out for lunch.

"It's okay, Miss Bodyguard. You don't have to see me if you don't want to. I know you've been really busy to make any time for me."

Maybe he was just joking or being dramatic as usual, but something about his tone rubbed you the wrong way.

"Okay then. Bye."

The moment the call ended, Rafayel wanted to throw his phone at the wall.

Why did he say that?

He'll admit that he has been sulking, disappointed that he hasn't seen you for days; however, he knows it's not your fault. You're just doing your job, after all.

His mood hasn't been the best lately, and he ended up saying the wrong thing to you. Now, he scared you away from him even more.

He wanted to see you and apologize, but you sounded quite mad and he's certain you don't want to see him at the moment, so it's probably best to leave you alone for now.

Thomas entered the studio and almost tripped over a paintbrush on the floor. The place is even messier than before.

He found Rafayel lying on the couch, wide wake and staring at the ceiling.

"Your studio's getting way too messy. Maybe you should clean up a little."

"It's fine. No one's going to come over anyways."

Thomas was quick to notice his dispirited tone. Rafayel already seemed lonely last week, but this time his mood seems worse.

Another proof of that is the lack of progress on the paintings.

"You haven't started anything new yet?"

"I haven't had any inspiration."

The one hint that Thomas got about what was bringing Rafayel down is the yellow bird plushie right next to him, who he may or may not have been talking to.

"So, it's your Miss Hunter, isn't it?"

It's happened a couple of times before. You two have gotten into arguments before and it usually ends in the same way, with Rafayel sulking like this. This time, it might've lasted longer than usual.

"I don't know what happened, but I suggest seeing her and talking it out."

"I know that. But if she doesn't want to see me.... what if she starts screaming and hitting me when I'm there?"

Or worse, you tell him you hate him.

His stomach tightened with discomfort just by thinking about it.

Thomas chuckles lightly. "So what? You can take it, can't you? Then again, she is a hunter.... and she could kill you...."

Rafayel frowned and froze for a moment.

Then, he suddenly rolls over and drops to the floor before jumping to his feet. "Thomas, you're a genius!" he exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. "I don't care if she stabs me with her sword! I'd survive. but... if I go on another day withour seeing her, I might actually die for real..."

"Hh — sure, I guess..."

"I'm gonna go see her now!"

Thomas watched as he started to scramble and sprint out of the room. "Wait, you should clean up first before — "

"Ow! Who put this paint brush here?!"

You opened the door and Rafayel immediately shields his face with his hands, as if to protect himself from you.

"....I don't know what's going on but I'm a little offended."

You wanted to laugh but you reminded yourself that you're still mad at him.

Or at least, you were.

The moment Rafayel showed up at your doorstep, all you want to do is hug him.

"If you're gonna stab me, do it quickly but at least wait until I say sorry first so it doesn't sound like I'm using my last, dying breath to make it up to you. I mean, I would do that too if I must, but I'd prefer if I don't sound pathetic and gross."

"...what?"

Rafayel pulled himself together and held both of your hands.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I promise I didn't mean it at all. I just missed you a lot and... I.... I might've been...a little grumpy because of it... but I still shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm really sorry."

You softened and held his hands tighter. "I'm sorry too, for snapping so fast and running away. I also wasn't in the best mood."

Rafayel didn't waste another second before pulling you into his arms.

"Let's not do that again. It's stupid and silly and boring."

"Agreed."

He buried his face against your neck and held you tighter for a little longer while your fingers brush his hair from the back.

Rafayel took a moment to feel your warmth.

You're here, right in front of him, after days that felt like months.

Letting you go will be extremely difficult.

"Miss Bodyguard...."

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna come to my house? Reddie misses you...

"Just Reddie?"

"...well, I missed you way more, but you can spare him five minutes of attention. But that's it. The rest of your time is mine."

xavier

For your latest mission, Jenna paired you up with a new hunter that just joined your team. She said she wanted him to learn from you, so he became your temporary partner.

Xavier wasn't quite happy with the captain's decision.

Jenna never said he couldn't join you, right? The new guy can keep following you, but that doesn't mean he has to be alone with you.

Fast forward to the end of the mission, Xavier had been so focused on making sure the new guy keeps a fair distance from you, and the newbie almost got hurt.

You took responsibility and jumped in at the very last moment to save him, leaving you with a minor scratch on your left arm. Nonetheless, the mission was a success.

You confronted Xavier afterwards. You didn't care at all about the scratch, but you were more concerned with him letting his jealousy get in the way of the mission.

Captain Jenna scolded him about not following orders. Although she never specified that he couldn't join you, he still messed with the plan that the team discussed early on. Luckily, he's not deeply in trouble: he'd only been warned not to do it again.

You mostly repeated what Jenna said, but you also told Xavier that he shouldn't have gone out of his way to physically keep your temporary partner away from you, and that you wished he trusted you a little more, especially in a professional environment.

Xavier was unable to come up with a response and like always, whenever he's jealous, dark clouds appeared all around him as he sulks.

You didn't feel like cradling him at the moment, mostly because you felt tired from the mission, and you needed to cool your ahead after all that happened.

You went straight to your apartment after work. Soon after taking a shower, you landed on your bed and welcomed a nap.

Xavier anxiously paces back and forth in his apartment.

He knows you're sleeping because of the fitness watch app that you both use. He decided that he'll wait until you wake up before apologizing, so at the mean time, he's practicing in his head what he'll be saying to you.

You two rarely have arguments because he'd learned to be more straightforward with his thoughts and feelings, but when jealousy comes into play, he still struggles to contain himself. He's working on it, but he's having quite a slow progress.

He'll admit that he might have gone a little overboard today, and he hated that his actions led to you getting hurt, even if it's just a scratch. If only he hadn't gotten in the way.

"...I'm going now."

Unable to wait any longer, Xavier teleports out of his apartment and appears on your balcony — it's become a habit of his.

He found you sleeping on the couch of your living room.

Xavier walked up to you quietly and covered your body with the throw bunched up by your feet. He knelt down on the carpeted floor and admired your features.

He knew he shouldn't get jealous so easily, but how could he not?

He's so deeply in love with you, he can't help but act irrationally sometimes.

But even more, he despises whenever you're upset with him and because of him, so he knows he can't keep behaving drastically all the time whenever another person who shows an ounce of admiration for you comes around.

"You smell like burnt cookies."

Xavier snapped out of his thoughts only to realize that you had woken up.

He took a whiff of his white hoodie and confirmed your observation. "I tried to make you some cookies to make up for earlier but I got distracted and forgot about them...."

And by distracted, he means pacing back and forth across the kitchen while writing his apology speech in his head.

"Pfftt.."

Xavier scratched the back of his head while you laughed loudly. His eyes lit up at the sight of your joy on your face.

"I'm sorry about your cookies." he sighs. "And I'm sorry for acting the way I did earlier. I promise I'll... try not to get jealous..."

You laughed again, this time softer as you leaned forward to brush his hair with your fingers. "The truth is, I don't mind that you get jealous sometimes. Even I get jealous too."

"Really?"

"Really."

He never notices you secretly being bitter whenever someone is clearly attracted to him, though you never act out on your jealousy because he always reassures you that he only has eyes for you.

"It's normal to get jealous." you told him. "But next time.... just make sure not to step out of line and get yourself or anyone innocent in trouble."

Xavier nodded and kissed the palm of your hand that had been combing his hair. "I promise I'll be more responsible from now on."

You smiled and pecked his nose.

"The smell of cookies really got me. Wanna try again? I'll help you this time."

"I'd like that. But first...." he rested his face onto your lap. "Can we just stay like this for a little while? I think I need to recharge."

Your hand returns to combing his soft hair. "Of course."

[cathnospam]

Bakugo, but his sex drive sky rocketed when you both got together and he doesn’t realize it.

“Here. Drink.”

“Mm.” Was all you were able to mumble out from your face being smooshed into the pillow.

Your body was already growing in soreness and your little blonde firecracker could tell, he rolls his eyes playfully at your starfish figure, littered in pre developed hickies and your decorative blanket covering only what’s between your legs

He takes a sip of the cold water bottle he took from your mini fridge to sit beside you back on the bed, “Y’ still with us or what. I wasn’t even that rough this time.”

“I know, but you have to count this morning too when you had me damn near do the splits on the wall.”

“You said you wanted to try that move next time I ate your pussy?!”

“Yeah well.” You groan rolling over, his hand touches your side while guiding you to sit up and take his water bottle, “Didn’t realize I’d be in that position for 4 minutes.”

“Yeah…you usually cum within like 2 and a half when I eat—“

You cover his dirty mouth and sip the drink, it felt like your body was already getting cooled down from the inside you gulped it for a few more seconds, “Shut up.”

It was a comfortable silence, you threw your head back on the headboard to focus your thoughts again. You knew Bakugo had stamina like a mad man but the way how he’s able to get so viscously pussy drunk and the moment he cums he’s able to just get up and walk around like it’s nobody’s business concerns you.

He just had you face down a few minutes ago, crying out and hollering his name and now he’s just staring at you with a soft look of love

….and possibly lust because his eyes wandered back down to your breast and back to your neck. You couldn’t see him do it, but you definitely could feel it.

He leans in to suckle your throat, peppering quiet kisses to pull you closer. You eventually felt his warm hand slide between the wet mess between your thighs, gliding against your clit to make you shriek and clench your legs as a reflex.

“Hey!” You giggle at his ministrations, but firmly grasp his hand, “Again?”

“Only if you want to. Figured you wasn’t sleep right after so….”

It was really a surprise to you Bakugo was more than willing to have sex back to back and so much with you once you both started doing it, it’s almost all you two do when you have free time together if you aren’t training or studying. You’re not complaining at all, but it definitely was something you giggle thinking about.

“What?”

Your thoughts resurfaced and he quirked his eyebrow up in confusion almost breaking into a laugh without you, but still curious, “What? Spit it out.”

“I don’t know…I just never pegged you for a guy that liked to have sex this much.”

Almost immediately his cheeks burned a tinge of red, eyes widening he sit back and crosses his arms in a pout, slightly embarrassed at the realization, “Just because I never fucked anybody, but you doesn’t mean I’m a fucking prude or something.”

“Of course you’re not. I just…assumed after we had sex the first time you’d only wanna do it like…once every two weeks or something.”

The look on his face was pure confusion and offense.

“Every t—- so you think I’m a fucking prude???!!”

“I don’t!”

“You do, —-TWICE EVERY MONTH ARE YOU INSANE?!”

His tone was annoyed and offended you couldn’t help but to laugh even more, but he seriously was confused as to why’d you think that. I mean have you seen yourself ? He can’t get enough??!!

“Well excuse me for wanting you. God forbid a man loves his girl.”

Hearing his voice gravel and wear down you stop your laughter to look at him, he tries looking the opposite way, but you knew from how he side eye’d you he was just being dramatic.

Using the bit of strength you had left you climb on top of him. For a moment you admire his scars and flushed body, the way his chest practically turns into a deep cleavage when he crosses his arms, his sharp jawline, the veins.

Hell, you was happy as fuck he loved to fuck you. Look at him.

“That’s not what I meant. Growing up you always were so focused on being a hero, that seeing you doing anything but is….fun to see. And im happy I’m the one to bring that fun side out of you.”

Still looking away you cup his chubby cheeks, thumb rubbing against them and you kiss his forehead, he looks up at you, “If you think I’m only with you for the sex you’re wrong, dumbass.”

“I know. Sex is just a plus. You remind me that everyday we are together.

Though he was still a little pissy about your twice a month comment he pulled you closer, chest to chest, “yeah? I feel the same way, and the whole reason why I started having consistent sex with you is to catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“Yeah….we dated for 2 years and never done it…gatta make up for it.”

“Baby we been having sex for 3 weeks straight, 5 days a week.”

“So.”

“We started having sex almost 4 months ago.”

“SO?! Jeez if you don’t like fucking then tell me.”

“Oh no…pfft I love when we do this. You make pretty faces when I ride you.”

“Fuck you!”

“Nah…but can I fuck you?”

You didn’t let him respond back, you just kissed him again, before adjusting your body to grind against his already growing erection again.

“Damn nympho.” Bakugo wanted to retort again, but it was broken up into a strained groan when you started stroking his dick.

“Takes one to know one.”

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: asking for a massage from the king of curses is a brave thing to dare and do. but maybe he'll make an exception for you, his pregnant lover.

tags. true form!sukuna x pregnant!female reader. fluff. you can be his concubine or wife or whatever. foot massage. reader gets called 'woman, brat'. not proofread (it sucks).

you’re currently lounged back on the plush futon you share with the one and only ryomen sukuna. the big man - as per usual - takes up almost all of the space which leaves you no choice but to snuggle up against him. not that you’re complaining about that. he’s like your personal teddy bear. calling him that to his face might have some unfortunate consequences though.

sukuna sits beside you, his muscular frame relaxed yet somehow still radiating a menacing aura. the bedroom is filled with a comfortable and intimate silence—a stark contrast to the icy tension that once dominated your early days together.

the pink-haired man glances down at you, his red eyes narrowing as he takes in your pouty and uncomfortable expression. you’re absentmindedly rubbing your rounded belly which reminds him of the life he’s planted in your womb. his son and future heir. a flicker of pride shines in his eyes at the thought.

“‘kuna,” your voice cuts through the silence while you squirm into a more comfortable position. you’re already in your last trimester and your body is aching all over. especially when you have to walk on your now swollen feet. you’ve tried every remedy there is on earth and yet the discomfort doesn’t fully disappear.

you pout and tilt your head to look at sukuna, “my feet are killing me.”

you leave it at that, but there’s a pleading look in your eyes as you gaze up at the king of curses. it’s an indirect request—a request to relieve that ache in your feet in the form of a massage. maybe he can do your back too while he’s at it.

sukuna rolls his eyes at that pouty expression of yours. he knows what you’re implying, though it seems like he couldn’t care any less. “so?” he replies curtly, the single word dripping with disinterest.

you let out a scoff in return and sulk even more at his cold dismissal. the seconds tick by and it leaves you wondering if sukuna doesn’t even feel the slightest urge to help you out. you’ve always known that he’s a heartless man, literally, but it’s during moments like these that you yearn for just a crumb of empathy.

and so the silence stretches between you two, thick and heavy.

just as you’re about to turn on your side and deal with the discomfort on your own, sukuna’s large hand reaches out and grabs your ankle. his fingers wrap around the flesh before yanking your foot towards him with surprising force.

sukuna grumbles something incomprehensible under his breath before impatiently flicking your sensitive skin. “what are you waiting for, woman?” his voice is deep and low, almost a growl. he roughly places one of your feet in his lap, “hurry up and place the other one here too.”

despite his harsh words and rough manhandling, there’s a hint of something softer in his voice, a subtle undercurrent of concern that he will never admit out loud.

you’re stunned for a good couple seconds. your eyes are wide as you look up at your partner but it doesn’t take long for you to comply.

better grab your chance before he changes his mind and actually leaves you to your own devices.

you obediently place your other foot in his lap and relax back against the soft pillows. sukuna glances down at them, his brows furrowing slightly as he tries to figure out how to proceed. he’s never given massages to anyone, only ever received them. this is a privilege for you, but also a new experience for him.

his calloused hands look almsot comically out of place against your delicate, swollen feet. he starts to knead the arch of your right foot, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. he’s a bit rough with it—his touch firm and somewhat clumsy.

you’re reminded of the fact that his hands are only made for battle and destruction when he increases the pressure without any regard for your comfort.

“…you're quite heavy handed,” you mumble and follow it up with a groan. you don’t want to interrupt your peaceful moment, but your leg twitches and you squirm, a clear sign that sukuna is a bit too rough with your achy limbs.

the king of curses uses one of his four hands to firmly yet gently smack the sole of your foot. you should be grateful that he’s even willing to try to do this, he thinks.

“shut up, brat,” sukuna grumbles, but his actions speak louder than his words. his calloused fingers gentle their ministrations on your skin slightly, now a perfect balance of pressure and tenderness.

the silence falls upon the room once more, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath the futon and the faint sound of sukuna’s hands working over your feet. he uses too much pressure at times, his grip bordering on painful, before easing up and stroking your skin almost gently.

“mmh, that’s perfect,” you moan and close your eyes in contentment. sukuna’s large, strong hands knead and squeeze the soft flesh of your soles, much like one would knead dough. it’s rough but not too much like it was earlier.

you smile to yourself as you compliment his skills, “you’re getting really good at this, ryo.”

the pink-haired man spares you a quick glance. he lets out a condescending scoff at the way you seem to melt at his touch.

“mhhm,” sukuna lets out a short and indifferent hum. he lets a short silence fall before a wicked smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “. . .have to make sure the meat is nice and tender after all,” he adds and licks his lips as a carnal hunger flashes through his crimson eyes.

the mouth on his stomach suddenly opens up, the big and heavy tongue darting out to lick a disgusting stripe up your foot. the king of curses even lets it nibble on your skin, emphasising the so-called threat of readying you for his consumption.

“ew!” you squeal and kick your legs, shivering at the icky sensation. the switch in his mood caught you off guard, “quit it!”

that stomach tongue of his still creeps you out at times. even more so when you realise he can actually just use it to gobble you up.

sukuna’s eyes flash with amusement at your reaction, but he settles down and simply clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. “tsk, fine,” he grumbles. “now stop movin’ or these will actually serve as my dinner,” he yanks at your feet and holds them down firmly so he can continue the massage.

you do as told almost instantly and stop squirming. you watch as the mouth on sukuna’s abs closes and forms a thin line once more—the immediate threat gone. you breathe out in relief and regain your composure.

and yet you can’t help but provoke him again just two seconds later.

you grin and stick your tongue out at your partner once you thought of a smart retort. “surely you wouldn’t actually do such a thing to the mother of your child,” you taunt and pat your swollen tummy.

sukuna raises an eyebrow at your comment. pulling out that card with a morally ambiguous man like him sure is an interesting choice. “oh yeah? try me,” he says in a scarily serious voice that has you rethinking your daring words.

you quickly shake your head when you see the mouth on his abs open up again, that damned tongue peeking out slowly and teasingly.

oh, that man sure knows how to deal with you.

“uhmmm, yeah, no thanks.”

“that’s what i thought.”

[rafesangelita]

♡ ࣪when a movie night with your best friend ends with you and rafe naked underneath your blankets..

warnings: bsf!rafe, fluff, cuddling, sexual tension, reader is a little bold in this one, heavy petting, tit play, dirty talk, degradation, oral (m. & f. receiving), face sitting, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, biting, finger sucking, size kink, unprotected sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms

a/n: movie night dates are my fav <3

wc: 2.3k

“they have the whole twilight series on here..” rafe looked away from your tv, and at your bare legs as you stepped out of your bathroom, a pair of sleep shorts and one of his t-shirts adorning your body. “oooh, put it on!” you joined rafe under the covers, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. anyone from the outside would’ve looked at you and rafe and thought you two were a little too close to be best friends, and while they might be right, you and rafe loved being close like this.

“i’m surprised you’re wearing a sweatshirt,” you tugged at the soft material, “i like it.” rafe looked down at you, the corner of his lips quirking. “yeah?” he pulled you closer, his large palm splaying across your lower back. you hummed breathing in his cologne. he was so warm and just so big, you couldn’t help but snuggle into him more. the movie started playing, the soundtrack playing softly in the background as you two fell into a comfortable silence.

“these are the movies you watch strictly for the vibes, because the acting is terrible.” you gasped at rafe’s words, unintentionally moving against his front side. he cursed under his breath, backing away slightly so you couldn’t feel his hardening cock through his sweatpants. “it’s not that bad.” you giggled, backing up on him which only made rafe shut his eyes. he was trying his hardest to keep his cool right now, but with the way your shorts rode up past the curves of your ass, it was nearly impossible.

rafe was growing fidgety, his movements not going unnoticed by you. “are you okay?” you turned around, his cheeks flushed pink as a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. “yeah— yes, i’m just uhm.. i’m burning up in this sweatshirt.” you took your bottom lip between your teeth, your fingers dancing along the hem of his shirt. “so take it off.” rafe swallowed thickly, feeling your nails graze just above his v-line. “what?” he laughed nervously, waiting for you to say you were kidding. “..take it off.” you repeated, watching the way rafe’s chest rose up and down with every breath.

even though you two constantly teetered the edge of what friends did and didn’t do, rafe always made sure to never cross the line.. unless you wanted to, of course. “a-are you sure?” rafe was already going through a mental battle, his jaw ticking when you took it upon yourself to pull his sweatshirt over his head. tonguing his cheek, you and rafe shared a glance before you averted your attention back to the tv. “can you hold me?” rafe knew he couldn’t say no to you, nor did he want to.

letting you rest your head on his bicep, he pulled you against his chest, his hand slipping under your, his, t-shirt. it was hard to focus with his hand on your tummy, his hard-on nestled between your cheeks while his breath fanned the back of your neck. you only lasted ten minutes like this, your hips moving on their own accord as rafe trailed his hand further up your torso. he froze when he felt the swells of your breasts against his thumb, a curse leaving his lips as he whispered in your ear.

“you’re fuckin’ killing me right now.” he groaned, taking one of your tits in his hand. you arched into him, reaching behind you to palm him through his pants. resting his head in the curve of your neck, rafe licked a stripe up against your skin, his tongue running over the sensitive spot of your flesh. you moaned, the sound making his cock stir. you’ve wanted rafe like this for so long, you couldn’t believe he was finally touching you the way you’ve wanted for so long.

craning your neck so you could see his face, you continued stroking him through his pants, his lips finding yours before he slipped his freehand under the waistband of your shorts. “no panties either? fuck, you were just begging for this cock weren’t you?” you whimpered a ‘mhmmm’, before you felt his middle and ring fingers dip between your folds. “what the fuck? you’re soaked..” he grazed your clit, your body jolting in pure unadulterated pleasure.

“when did that happen, huh? was it when you took my shirt off?” rafe slid his fingers down to your entrance, gathering the pool of wetness there before gliding his digits back up to your sensitive bundle of nerves, “or was it when you got under the covers and put your ass where i needed you most?” he whispered the last part, admiring the way your eyebrows knitted together in desperation, your lips glossy with his spit.

“please, i need you so bad, ray!” you cried, refraining from whining when he took his hand out of your shorts. bringing his digits up to your lips, you welcomed them in your mouth where rafe watched you suck your sweetness off of them. “you’re such a fuckin’ whore, i didn’t even need to ask you to do that.” he watched with a dark gaze, your tongue swirling around his fingers and sucking them as if it was something else. “you look so pretty when you’re cock hungry..” rafe teased, pulling away from you to take his sweats off.

you got on your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed where rafe stood fully naked. he was so hard, your mouth practically watered when he pulled you closer to him by your chin. “can i please taste you?” you gazed up at him with those watery eyes as he threaded his fingers through your hair. “oh, how sweet of you for asking,” he tugged at the hair on your scalp, his cock just centimeters away from your face, “do whatever you want with it, ‘pretty. it’s yours.”

you gave him that smile that made him fall in love with you all those months ago before licking a stripe up from the underside of his length, lapping up the pre cum that managed to dribble down his cock. rafe was mesmerized as he watched you, your pretty eyes never leaving his as you managed to wrap your lips around his sensitive tip. he was so big compared to you, he worried about how you’d be able to take it all. slowly, you kept lowering yourself until he bottomed out in your throat, the man above you in complete awe.

rafe was turned on beyond belief, the urge to just wrap his fists in your hair and fuck your face until you’re choking on it made him feral. you stilled, swallowing around him until he had to pull you off. “are you fucking with me right now? you want me to cum inside your mouth that bad?” he squeezed your cheeks together, landing a harsh smack to your ass. you yelped, nodding frantically as he pulled his t-shirt off of your body. with your tits now on full display, rafe balled your hair up and lowered you down onto his cock again.

you doubled over, your back arching as he thrusted into your mouth at an unforgiving speed. the sounds coming from between your lips were nothing short of obscene, heavy tears now rolling down your cheeks. rafe couldn’t formulate a single thought, his brain empty as he reveled in the feeling of your throat taking his cock. he fantasized about this for so many nights, wanting nothing more than to have you at his mercy and letting him take you however he wanted. fuck, he just knew you’d let him too. his pretty little best friend finally taking his cock, he could just cum at the thought.

as if rafe was brought back to earth from floating on cloud nine, he groaned when the band in his stomach snapped, his high washing over him in waves of pure ecstasy. his cum shot down your throat, the thick white ropes painting your tongue as his thrusts grew sloppy, his hold on your hair loosening as he let out a string of curses. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..” rafe lost himself like never before, a hiss leaving his lips as you kept bobbing your head, desperate to take each drop.

“y/n—” he shuddered, pushing you away before you could keep going. overstimulated and out of breath, rafe pulled you up to look at your face. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t think i was going to finish that fast..” he was slightly embarrassed, but even more confused as you shook your head. “it’s okay!” you pecked his lips, batting your eyelashes at him as if he didn’t just cum in your mouth without permission. “where is it?” he cupped your cheeks, your mouth clean of any cum.

“what?” you whispered, equally as confused until rafe’s eyes widened in realization. “did you fuckin’ swallow it?” his thumbs hooked between your lips, opening your mouth to check for himself. he couldn’t put into words how bad he wanted you right now, the simple fact that you took what he gave you so eagerly made him tackle you back down on your sheets, his lips melting against yours in an instant. you welcomed him between your thighs, moaning in his mouth as he took your shorts off.

“sit on my face.” he rolled over, pulling you on top of him. you didn’t have any time to process what was happening before he pulled your thighs down on either sides of his head. rafe wasted no time, his tongue flicking between your folds. you gasped, scrambling to grip his arms as he dragged your hips across his mouth. “you taste amazing, holy fuck.” he circled your clit, sucking the sensitive bud before digging his fingers into your skin.

you cried out, eyes fluttering shut as you clenched around nothing. “f-feels so good, rafe!” the man beneath you moaned, his chest filling with pride as you writhed on top of him. despite his mouth working wonders on your soaked cunt, you felt so empty, wanting nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch of his cock. “need you inside, ray,” you looked down at him, “please fuck me.” grunting at your words, rafe gave you a nod.

standing up on shaky legs, rafe sat up against your headboard before pulling you back down on his lap. “wait— i don’t have any condoms.” rafe was panting, his lips glistening with your slick. “so?” you kissed him, grinding helplessly on his cock. “you’re okay with that? if i don’t use one?” you hummed, trailing kissing across his toned chest. “fuck— okay, baby.” rafe wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you up as you reached down and lined him up with entrance. making sure you were looking at his face, rafe lowered you slowly, both of you moaning as you sunk down on his length.

you felt so warm and tight wrapped around him like this, both of you shuddering once he filled you to the hilt. “you okay?” his voice was gentle as he spoke to you, his fingers stroking your chin as you nodded. “yes, i just feel so full.” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “listen to me,” rafe started, “you’re not just my best friend after this. me and you? we’re together, alright?” you blinked, a smile gracing your features as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “really?” you felt giddy, your small laugh being cut short when he moved his hips.

“yes, really..” he trailed off, “i need you to know that i love and respect you, because the way i’m gonna fuck you right now? you just might forget.” you were about to question what he meant when he bear hugged you and started thrusting into you from below, your lips parting as a shriek ripped itself from your throat. “oh, fuck!” you rarely cursed, the word throwing rafe for a loop before he smirked to himself. “you cussing now, angel? is the dick that good?” you buried your face in his chest, unintentionally biting down on the flesh as his thighs smacked the bottoms of your ass.

rafe’s force was brutal, his tip kissing your cervix with every movement of his hips. “yes! yes, it’s so good!” you cried, holding onto him for dear life. “i’ve thought about doing this for so long,” he groaned, “just’ wanted you to be mine already.” rafe looked up at you as if you weren’t real, like you’d disappear into thin air if he didn’t hold you tight. he continued like this, leaving open mouth kisses between your neck and shoulder, your head knocking against the headboard.

“shit— sorry.” he laid you down, pinning your knees to your chest before slamming back into you again. nothing could top this, you were sure of it. with rafe pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, and his fingers now rubbing your clit, it wasn’t long before you were sobbing out, both you and rafe kissing each other as your orgasm hit you, quite literally stealing your breath away. rafe came twice, unaware that he could even do that within a fifteen minute time span.

your stomach caved in as you attempted to breathe, your heart beating in your ears as your back arched off of your sheets. “..rafe,” your voice just barely above a whisper before you gasped, the man on top of you cradling your head as he watched you come undone beneath him. you were crying, moaning hysterically as your high came over you, rendering you speechless while rafe marveled at the sight. “too much?” you nodded, rafe pulling out before shushing you with a peck to your lips.

you were still going through the aftershocks of your orgasm when he pulled the blanket over you two, both of you flushed against each other as he eased you down from your high. as if the moment couldn’t get any better with you shyly smiling at each other, the song ‘roslyn’ started playing from the movie, both of you stroking the other’s skin. “are we really together now, or were you just thinking with your other head?” rafe laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “no i meant it.” he traced the curve of your lips, admiring you until you fell asleep.

[inkskinned]

you want them to text back but that's anxious attachment isn't it. it's just that you can feel on the wind when you're not wanted anymore. when they've fallen out of love in any small part of their marrow. you have a hawk's eye for disharmony. you can tell when she has begun packing her things.

don't be annoying. you want to write: i have never experienced unconditional love as an explanation but isn't that pathetic. in adulthood all love is conditional and it should be. you've been to too much therapy. touch grass. how sappy can you be.

but they don't reach for your hand while they're driving. they forget to ask you how you're doing. the call times no longer read 12:34:19. they're 30 minutes and perfunctory before she says baby please, i'm tired. i need to go to sleep. where in her life do you fit. why is it that you never fit into anyone's life very long. oblong creature with so many needs, spilling up and out and over everything. it's a fucking shame the first time she said she loved you it was for your independence. and now look at you.

hollow pit in your stomach, body shaking. fuck, not again. you're not going to ruin another relationship like this, codependent and toxic, spiraling. and in the other half of your brain: if that's your wife, wouldn't she want to hear it? wouldn't it be fine? wouldn't she just comfort you and you can both move on and nobody dies?

but you're crowding her! read another instagram Positive Vibes Only type of post that talks about calming your heart and your brain and your body. try to sit in silence. the thing is that you do have a life outside of her, remember? go back to it.

great news, your parents fucked you up and now you have no idea how to deal with love. you just keep wanting to be chosen. to be real to someone, all the way through. real and kept. held closely. seen as precious to somebody. why even is that? didn't you always swear that people can and should complete themselves? why are you so constantly driven to beg for love, doglike and barking?

it's just the tiny things. it's just that you have to weigh every silence and sentence like bricks on an exposed belly. you have no idea how to shut it off. every alarm bell in your body saying: this isn't safe. start scrambling. she's already going.

[viktateapot]

SLEEP

DAMIAN WAYNE X READER

Summary: You're staying up late doing homework in your bed when the window opens. Damian walks in, or technically Robin, because he's wearing his costume.

He snorts but doesn't say anything and plops down on your bed. He watches you silently, when you're about to speak, he raises his hand.

"Shh," Damian soothes. He takes off his mask and rubs his eyes. The two of you continue to sit in silence. This isn't the first time he's come to your room just to sit after patrolling, and then moved on to the Wayne Mansion.

He sits in silence, staring out the window. The night is quiet, almost peaceful. It's a stark contrast to the chaos he usually finds himself in. He slightly unzips his suit, revealing his neck and part of his collarbone. He leans back on your bed, getting comfortable.

"How was your patrol in Gotham today, my dear?"

"Mmm, it was long," he murmurs in a slightly strained voice. He tilts his head to the side, stretching his neck. "Too many idiots trying to prove something." He pauses, shrugging his shoulders. "And too many smart people trying to avoid me."

He notices your lack of reaction and looks at you. "What? No witty remarks or concern for your well-being?" He teases lightly, and the corners of his mouth lift in a slight smirk. He reaches out and pokes you in the side. "It hurts."

You shift the laptop on your lap to one knee and gently pat the other. "Lie down."

Without hesitation, he changes his position and lies back, resting his head on your knee. He closes his eyes, feeling the gentle touch of your hand as you stroke his chest. This simple gesture has a calming effect, and he finds himself relaxing more than he has all night. "Thank you," he whispers.

"Go to sleep, now... I need to get back to work."

Damien doesn't argue, instead allowing his exhaustion to finally take over. As he falls asleep, he rests his head on your lap, and his breathing evens out. His hand rests lightly on your knee, and his fingers twitch occasionally as he dreams.

As you continue your homework, Damian remains still and peaceful. After a while, he shifts slightly, his hand moving from your knee to rest gently on your thigh. His grip is light, almost subconscious. He lets out a soft sigh, clearly deep in sleep.

He shifts again, this time moving closer to your warmth. Even in sleep, he seeks comfort and closeness. One of his arms wraps loosely around your waist as he adjusts his position. His face turns slightly towards you, his dark hair falling across your forehead.

"What, my golden one?" you asked, gently brushing his hair back from his face.

"Mmm..." He makes a soft, sleepy noise, nuzzling instinctively into your [shirt], his lips on your [skin] tightening slightly, but he remains mostly asleep. His long lashes flutter against his cheeks, hiding his expressive eyes. "Don't... go..."

"You're not leaving, I working. Sleep, come on."

He nods slightly, his body relaxing further. His arm around your waist pulls you closer if possible, pressing his face against your stomach. He lets out a contented sigh, finally fully asleep. The room is filled with the quiet sound of his breathing and the occasional rustling of papers as you continue your work.

After some time, you notice that Damian has moved again during his sleep. He's now curled up more tightly against your side, his head resting on your lap again. His arm is draped over your stomach, holding you like a life raft in the middle of the night.

"You cuddle up to me after a tough mission in Gotham, and then in the morning you act like nothing happened, Dami..."

Damian doesn't respond, his sleep too deep to register your words. His face is buried in your lap, his arms wrapped around your waist. Even in sleep, he looks vulnerable and exhausted. It's a rare moment of softness from the typically stoic and cold Batman's son.

Hours later, as dawn begins to break, Damian stirs awake. For a moment, he simply lays there, his face still buried in your lap, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Then, without a word, he suddenly sits up, breaking the physical contact between you two.

"Damian, my golden one. Come back..."

He ignores your gentle call, standing up abruptly and running a hand through his disheveled hair. His expression is instantly guarded, the vulnerable sleepy Damian from earlier replaced with the cold, distant one you're used to dealing with. "What time is it?" he asks sharply.

"Five o'clock in the morning... God, Dami, you've only been asleep for three hours. Lie back down, you're fine, I'm still taking care of you!"

Damian glances at the clock, his jaw clenching visibly. He turns away from you, grabbing his discarded shirt and pulling it on roughly. "You're fine," he snaps irritably. "Don't bother babying me anymore."

You frowned and grabbed his hand, pulling him back into bed. "Sleep, you damn Wayne heir!"

Damian's eyes widen briefly in surprise as you pull him back into bed, his hand captured in yours. For a moment, he resists, his body tense. But then he abruptly collapses back down onto the mattress, allowing you to tug him once more into your arms once more.

"If you don't get at least three or four hours of sleep, you're going to call you Wade for the rest of your life."

Damian's face buries back into your shoulder at the threat, his arms wrapping around you hesitantly. He lets out a huff, his voice muffled against your skin. "You wouldn't dare," he grumbles, but there's a hint of amusement in his tone.

"No, you dare, Wayne!"

He chuckles softly, his body relaxing against you. The sound is rare and genuine, a side of Damian you rarely get to see. He settles back into your arms, his breathing evening out once more as he drifts back to sleep. This time, he holds onto you like you're his lifeline.

[dmitriene]

meeting simon riley during an programme where military men like him try to find someone outside their little, injured world, a chance to get a closer look at the civilian life, make a friends you can spend your leaves with, a quick fun, or, perhaps, a love of your life, all that is so distant for him.

he's a stubborn man, it's shown in the way he clenches his jaw under the thick balaclava, furrows his eyebrows so much that the skin at his nose creases, almost spits at his captain to fuck off when he offered him to try and give this whole thing a chance, but he can't deny the proposition born out of genuine concern.

that's how you get to know each other, a soldier from the special forces that has nothing to lose, and a bird sweeter than the sugar he puts in his tea each morning, your innocent, concerned questions about his condition and how hard it might be serving in the army make him write you letter after a letter like some lovesick boy, sitting behind his desk at the late night.

you get closer, word by word, letter by letter, until you don't meet, spontaneously, simon gets another few days off, and before that, in his last message to you, he suggests that you meet at a nice café that is on his way so that the two of you would be comfortable, because he is polite enough, or instead withdrawn, to not invite you to his house.

he leaves an indelible impression, at first a little fear because of his beefy body structure and the strange, spooky balaclava he wears, and then more pleasant, gentle, funny, simon is courteous and neat, as if even despite all his reverse perception of the world around, he is still aware of your fragility, afraid to push you away, but not when you giggle gently at almost every word he says.

your first kiss was as spontaneous as your first meeting, it was just the atmosphere around the two of you, echoed in the ears of each of you, even as his rough, heavy fingers spanned and squeezed the curve of your waist under the dim light of the bar, even in spite of the breathy sighs that fall from your kiss swollen lips in response to his every touch, tug, and stroke.

simon listened to your moans that night, not to his own head, nor suffocating silence, his ears were soaking solely in the keens you hiccuped under his ear, your warm face buried in the sweating crook of his neck, gasping at the feel of his cock slipping in and out of your pulsing hole, each messy plap and squelch lewd, buzzing in your head alongside his heavy, rasped grunts.

the thick ridge of his crown battering against your spongy spot, grinding in where you're most sensitive, making you cry for him, dig your curling toes in the low of his rippling back, muscles rolling just as his hips, shallow, following in with a hiss as simon's chest heaved, legs cramping weakly, so close to pump you full while you part your legs wider for him.

you meet simon under the wedding arch, walking with the hem of a beautiful, elegant dress flowing after you just like a veil, gleaming and shimmering with delicate sparkles under the setting sun, holding onto the bouquet of neat flowers.

clenching at them in nervousness, anticipation that simmers responsive in the tawny, brown pools of simon's eyes, an open box with rings in his hand.

main masterlist. quidelines.