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animasola86 · 3 months ago

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LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH3

After Mommy has disciplined you with the cane, you feel the need to properly apologize to her, which was Daddy's idea, who promises you a reward if you do so.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Pet names. Dom/sub undertones. Domestic discipline/caning. Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Cuntwarming? Vaginal fingering. Squirting. Subspace. Aftercare. Unprotected piv sex. Creampie. Cockwarming. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 8.1k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: This chapter is a direct continuation of Chapter 1 and a summary of the dynamic you can expect from the rest of the story: a love triangle with F/F and F/M and F/F/M intimacies. I will note what you can expect in each chapter (indicated by the color of the header image and by the different colors in the warning tags), but just remember that our Reader is bisexual/bi-curious, so we'll have a multitude of different sex scenes here. ⚠️Also warning: it starts a little rough, sorry. Speaking of: before you hate on Mommy in this chapter, remember: 1) this is an established (fictional!) BDSM relationship with implied established boundaries and rules, 2) she is a Domme, 3) she is human and can have bad days too, 4) this is fiction, 5) please keep reading, it'll all get resolved! This is a HURT and comfort story after all!

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

Several months later

You startle awake to loud voices. It takes you a long moment to realize where you are. In your bed, on your stomach. Mommy's voice in your ear, muffled, and suddenly you remember why your butt hurts so bad.

It's hazy, there were a lot of tears and pleading words, apologies and desperate cries, and it all started with a baking tray and flying cookies, the smell of burnt dough in the air, heat all around you, a stumble, a crash, herbs and soil raining to the ground.

It wouldn't even have been that bad if Mommy hadn't come into the kitchen at the exact moment you had lost your balance and dropped everything, your surprise for Daddy ruined as well as her precious herb garden. You knew Mommy cooked sometimes, but why she'd been so upset upon seeing the broken pot and plant, you had no idea.

But she was furious, screaming at you as you shrunk away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you cried, trying to clean up your mess, but all you did was make it worse. You even burned yourself on the hot sheet, destroyed the rest of the plant by stepping on it, and it was Mommy's flat hand on your cheek that brought you out of the headless panic and into a deep-rooted shock.

“Take a breath,” she ordered, staring at you. “And another. Okay? Good, then clean this up. Now.”

And you did, with shaking hands, but you somehow managed to scoop up burnt cookies, dirt and plant remnants, threw it all into the trash, then wiped the floor and washed the baking sheet. And Mommy watched, with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes darker, her face a stoic angry mask. As soon as you were done, you looked at her, and couldn't help but shed a new batch of tears, and some more, until you were back into your hysterics, sobbing and apologizing.

“Go to your room,” she told you. “Wait for me.”

Through the tears, you nodded and shuffled away, barely making it up the stairs. You felt horrible, and her cold demeanor wasn't helping, it only made it worse. You knew that look of disappointment all too well, had seen it on your own mother many times. You were a failure, you knew it, you'd forgotten it for a while, distracted by Mommy and Daddy's care, but you remembered now.

You were a failure.

And you sat in your room and waited, crying soundlessly, your lips tingling, feeling numb and way too much all at the same time. She came to you ten minutes later, in her hand a thin wooden stick. You blinked, your breath hitching. You knew what it was, had seen it on her wall, had seen videos of it being used on others. And it scared you. A lot. She'd disciplined you before, but only with her hand, not with that thing.

“Mommy?” you whimpered, staring at her.

She only shook her head and pointed to the floor. “Take off your pants and underwear and kneel on the floor, head down, ass in the air. Come on, don't make me wait.” Her voice was harsh, and all you could do was follow her words.

But as you knelt there, waiting for your punishment, the panic came back full force. You were shaking so badly you could barely stay in your position. More of your own pathetic pleading and crying and whining noises filled your ears, your heart beating out of your chest, your throat tight, lungs burning. Mommy ignored you.

When the first blow hit your rear, you screamed and jolted away. “Stay where you are!” she said sternly. “And count with me, come on! One.”

“One...” you croaked out. The cane cut through the air again and met your soft flesh. “Two,” she said, and you repeated it barely able to speak. “You deserve this, don't you? It's for your own good. You need this. Embrace the pain, think about what happened,” she explained between hits, three, four, five, you were shuddering on the floor, sobbing helplessly into your folded arms as the pain crashed through you, every impact making you flinch badly.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. She eased her blows a little as she talked between them, her voice strangely calm despite the relentless flick of her wrist. “You ruined something that was very dear to Mommy. I know it was an accident, but you were clumsy and careless. You could have hurt yourself as well. We can't have that.”

Ten, eleven, twelve. The thirteenth blow was particularly hard again, seemingly cutting into your skin, making you jerk forward with a pained yelp. “And you fell into old habits. We did not spend all that time trying to make you better if it only takes one stupid mistake to bring you back to square one.”

Fourteen, fifteen. You were a gasping mess on the floor, knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your weight on them. Sixteen, seventeen. Your whole body was aflame, your mind spinning, words repeating, every new hit adding to the already existing pain, and it wouldn't stop. You tried your best to breathe through it, like Mommy had taught you, but the thin wooden stick hurt more than you could have imagined. Your lungs ached with every sharp inhale. Eighteen, nineteen.

For the last one, she suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you to your feet before she pressed you face-first into the wall, holding you by your nape. “Think about what you did and what you can do better. If you can't breathe through your attacks, I will use pain as a distraction again. Maybe it'll help you more than whatever Daddy does to you...” She paused, then said: “Twenty.”

The hit came with a sudden whoosh, and you screamed, jolting forward against the wall, legs shaking, your skin burning, tight and bruised and hurting. “Tw-twenty...” you croaked out, holding your breath, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down your face.

As her words echoed in your head, you had to give it to her: you were indeed distracted. The stinging pain spreading just beneath the inflamed skin of your buttocks was thrumming through you in an unrelenting fashion, scorching pulses that burned through any other concerns or thoughts or doubts, emptying your mind. You couldn't even pick up on the slight poke at Daddy's seemingly useless methods of helping you through your anxiety attacks. Nothing mattered: just the cleansing sharpness of Mommy's cane.

“Good. You took it like a big girl,” she said behind you, her hand easing down your back, hovering above your warm skin. “Better than I expected. Doesn't look too bad either. Now take a cold shower, it'll feel better.”

With that she exited your room, leaving you trembling. At least you'd stopped sobbing now. For a long moment, all you could do was lean against the wall, trying to calm your erratic heart. Your throat was dry, cold sweat made you shiver. Your focus was still on the burning welts on your skin, horribly pulsing streaks all across your butt cheeks. You remember them vividly as you'd eventually inspected them in the mirror.

The cold shower was another torture, but afterwards you did indeed feel better, clean, cleared of your doubts, knowing that Mommy was right. You needed and deserved every single hit for making such a mess, for breaking down about it. As cruel and cold as she had been, you saw reason in her actions. She had to know what she was doing, of course she did, she was your Mommy, she only wanted the best for you.

In her own way...

Looking back though, you have to agree with Daddy. It has been too much. 'That sounds a bit excessive for a simple act of clumsiness,' he'd said. It has been, but of course you hadn't told him everything. Not as detailed as you'd liked. The anxiety attack, the uncontrollable sobbing, the hysterics. The inevitable tumble into the dark abyss, unable to come back out on your own. Mommy's cleansing slap and those cane hits... they had helped, brought you back, but...

But it still has been too much. And it has been different too. Usually when she disciplines you (she always tries to avoid saying punishment because you're not being punished for being anxious but disciplined for falling back into old patterns and allowing the anxiety to control you again), when she uses pain as a distraction, she cuddles you after, tells you what a good girl you've been, makes sure you're okay, but that time... she has just left. Something has definitely fueled Mommy's anger.

Shifting under the covers, trying not to put pressure on your butt (though whatever Daddy has put on your skin did help a little), you listen a bit closer to the voices from across the hall (you shouldn't, but it's hard to ignore them too). They're loud, as is usually the case when Mommy fights with Daddy. She is the fiery one, while he is the calmer counterpart, though he can be angry too, and loud. This morning, they are both equally agitated.

“She was being hysterical!” Mommy screeches.

“And you think twenty fucking cane hits will help with that? That's not how we should deal with her anxiety!” Daddy says, more or less calmly, but you can hear the emotion in his voice through the walls.

“She was calmer after...”

“Of course she was! Because she was in pain!” He is getting louder.

And she is getting quieter, which only means she's getting more emotional. “She can handle it...”

“You overdid it. It was too much. Don't let your frustrations out on her...”

“I did not let my – Ugh! I can't do this right now...”

There's a pause, then a door opens and shuts with a bang. It opens again. Now the voices are directly in the hallway in front of your door. Daddy's voice is quieter.

“What's the real matter here, babe?”

“Nothing...” Mommy sounds defeated.

“You don't just snap like that. Tell me.”

“I just had a bad day, it happens...” You hear footsteps pacing the wooden floorboards.

“Not like that. What happened?”

“Nothing, it's fine. I'll apologize to her, okay?”

“Good. But I'm not done with you...” His tone changes, even quieter, softer, a little challenge behind the words. A smirk.

Mommy gives a soft laugh, a bit flat but there's the same smirk in her voice. “Later, papito...”

When one pair of footsteps leaves along the hallway, your door is being opened quietly. You press into the covers, pretending to sleep. Your mattress dips, a hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Rise and shine, pumpkin,” Daddy whispers, leaning over you to brush his lips against your temple, the only part of you peeking out from under the blanket.

You turn slightly, blinking your eyes open, giving him a tired smile. “Morning, Daddy,” you mumble. He smiles back and gives you another peck, slowly working his way down your face until he meets your lips. He's braced over you, hovering inches away, and you sigh softly into his kiss.

After he comforted you last night (by letting you come on his thigh), he'd washed you and himself with a warm wet cloth, then tucked you into bed and left, promising to talk to Mommy. He didn't seem to have gotten behind her unusual burst of anger, but you trusted him to dig deeper. All in good time.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, carefully rolling onto his side, cradling you in his arms.

“Better,” you whisper. Your butt still hurts, is tense and tight and throbbing, but it'll be okay. You're sure.

“Wanna make breakfast with me? I'll supervise, you work?” he mutters, nuzzling your neck. You nod with a soft giggle. “I think Mommy would like a nice smoothie. Should be easy enough, right?”

He helps you out of bed, picks a soft yellow sundress for you to wear (decides on a white lace thong that sits comfortably between your bruised ass cheeks), then brushes your hair and puts it into a long braid that falls down your back. He tells you to brush your teeth, and you do, and when you're done, he takes your hand and leads you down to the kitchen.

There he raids the fridge for fresh fruit and vegetables and gives them to you to chop up before he helps you pour it all into the blender with some oat milk. It's fun to do this with Daddy, standing next to him as he lets you hit the button, as you watch how everything turns into a rather unappealing green slush. After filling the thick drink into a tall glass, he puts a metal straw into it and holds it, then nods for you to follow him back up the stairs to Mommy's room.

Your heart beats faster when you approach the door. He stops and hands you the drink. “You can do this, pumpkin,” he tells you and leans down to kiss your cheek. “It'll be fine. Anyone can have a bad day, so we shouldn't hold a grudge, right?” You nod, looking up at him with a timid smile.

Then he raises his hand and knocks on the door. You flinch at the noise, inhaling sharply. “Come in,” you hear Mommy's voice through the wood.

Daddy gives you a gentle nudge, whispering “See you later, kiddo.”, and then you open the door and slip into her room. She's sitting at the large vanity, watching the door through the mirror, a brush in her hand, her long black hair cascading down her back.

“Good morning, Mommy,” you whisper a little intimidated. “I... I brought you breakfast...”

She turns around on her chair, watching you, before she gives you a soft smile. “Oh honey, that's so sweet of you, come here,” she says and holds out her hand.

You walk towards her, placing your hand onto her palm. She pulls you against her, taking the smoothie from your other hand and putting it down on the vanity. “Listen, sweetheart, Mommy is –”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” you say at the same time, biting your lip. She smiles at you, her eyes crinkling softly.

“I know you are, baby girl,” she says. “But I am too. I shouldn't have disciplined you like that, it was too much. Mommy just had a bad day. I'm sorry for taking it out on you,” she adds quietly, wrapping her arms around you as she buries her face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

You hug her back, still a little stiff, perched between her legs. “I didn't mean to disappoint you,” you murmur into her.

She shushes you. “It's alright. Water under the bridge, okay?”

A hum escapes you, and for a moment you just stand there, holding her as she holds you, her warmth seeping into your stiff limbs. Eventually you take a deep breath, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils, before you tilt your head a bit to look at her.

“Mommy, I... I want to make you feel good, uh, better,” you say in a breathy whisper. “If you have time for it...”

She chuckles softly. “I always have time for you, sweet girl. Might be best to take the day off anyway.” She pauses, then sighs. “Well, I can stay home, but I have to work through my emails. But that shouldn't be an obstacle, right, kitten?” she whispers, then slowly leans you back fully and smirks at you.

You feel your cheeks burning up, already sensing a little throb in your core at the prospect of making her feel good. Her hands grab your waist and push you away gently, allowing her to stand up. You realize she's wearing a black silk robe (and only that), open in the front, giving you a good glance at her perfect breasts and her smooth mound. You force yourself to look up into her face.

“Come with me to my office,” she tells you and grabs your hand, taking the smoothie with the other, and then guides you into the adjacent room.

You've been here a few times before, usually perched under her desk, so the rest of the interior doesn't really matter to you. It's a bright room though, large windows, floor to ceiling, letting in the already warm rays of the morning sun. There are bookshelves lining one wall, and a wild array of other stuff in front of another. You always wondered what it is that Mommy does, aside from being a successful business woman and establishment owner.

She definitely has a lot of hobbies. There are mannequins, a sewing machine, an easel and a bunch of canvases stacked behind it. A low table with painting supplies. A camera in another high shelf next to large books probably filled with photographs. And then there's the corner you don't like to look at often, where the cane hangs from a hook, next to a flogger, a whip, a paddle and other tools like gags and harnesses and belts. Sleek black leather accentuated with wooden elements.

Mommy sure is a woman of many talents. But none of that matters to you now as she motions you to crawl under her desk, a large space made of a long wooden tabletop sitting on two drawer shelves, it's open enough to allow whoever enters the room to have a good view beneath. It's where you spent your time before, whenever she works from home and asks you to keep her company.

It's been a strange request at first, but seeing her relax due to your presence and ministrations is always something you're looking forward to. As you crawl under the table top, she puts the smoothie down next to her laptop and sits down in her chair. Despite her chaotic corner of numerous activities, her desk is surprisingly bare. No clutter, just a lamp, some pencils and a notepad, her laptop and phone on it.

You settle right in front of her, and she doesn't waste a second before she spreads her legs, her robe falling open even more as she gently guides you between them. Her warmth and scent radiates off her when you get closer to her center. She shifts on her chair, getting comfortable but allowing you to reach her just fine. Her hand remains on your head as she tilts it so you can rest your cheek on her thigh.

Looking up at her, you see her smiling, her eyes warm and already darker than usual. “You really wanna make me feel good, baby?” she whispers, watching you closely. You nod eagerly as you shift on your knees, the heels of your sock-clad feet poking into your rear. The pain and tightness of the welts is still there, but you can ignore them for now as you focus on the woman in front of you.

She leans back, opening her legs further, her hands resting casually on the armrests of her leather chair. Her eyes stay on you as you approach her core, your hands reaching up to caress her inner thighs. You hold her gaze, your face already flushed from what lies ahead. Swallowing the excess saliva gathering on your tongue (your oral fixation flaring up), you lean in and up and press your lips to her flat stomach, slowly working your way lower.

She's calm, watching you closely, and eventually you break eye contact and close your eyes, focusing on kissing along her pelvis and down her smooth mound, going by feel and warmth alone. Your hands move around her waist as you settle between her legs, holding onto her as you bury your face in her sex. There's a slight shiver when your tongue teases along her slit, your lips brushing against hers, so soft and warm.

You pepper her labia with kisses, tilting your head slightly before you ease your tongue between them, dipping into her slick. Breathing into her, her scent filling your nostrils, you feel more little twitches, her thighs pressing slightly against your sides. You retrieve your arms and rub your palms against them, noticing the hint of goosebumps on her skin as you continue licking up and around her lower lips.

When you press your tongue against her hooded clit, she gives a soft little moan, enough encouragement to keep going, to dig deeper, to kiss and lick and nibble on her soft flesh until you feel her clit throbbing against your lips. You keep your focus on the sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking your tongue against it, closing your mouth around it, sucking it hard, and she grows more vocal, her hips jerking against your face.

She taught you early on how to properly satisfy a woman, not always on herself, teaching you about your own body as well. As awkward and embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, you are grateful to know what you know now, and you find pride in being able to get her off this easily. It only takes a few concentrated licks and nibbles, a bit of teeth grazing and a pointed tongue prod, and she is shaking in her seat, thrashing her head back as she claws at the armrests, loud moans echoing through the room.

Her first orgasm comes in waves, twitches of her thighs, her cunt pulsing against your chin as you keep sucking on her clit. You look up then, watching her come undone in front of you, under your ministrations. It sends deep shudders down your own body, settling low in your stomach, a throb to your own clit as you stimulate Mommy's.

You keep going, because she'd usually tell you when to stop, and it takes more than one orgasm for her to be fully satisfied. With your hands rubbing over her trembling legs, your mouth suctioned to her throbbing clit, you watch her, waiting for any indication, any hint of what she wants now. She's breathing harder when she meets your gaze, red spots on her cheeks, her bare chest rising and falling faster.

One of her hands moves down to your head, caressing your hair, playing with the braid. She doesn't say anything, just gives the tiniest of nudges, and you follow the hint and move from her clit down to her slit. She's a lot wetter now, and you lap up every drop you come across, savoring the sweet taste as you move your tongue between her labia, teasing at her entrance, the little flutter to her cunt not going by unnoticed.

You take long strokes from her hole to her sensitive bud, filling your mouth with her taste and essence, feeling her clit thrum and her cunt clench. Tilting your head down, closing your eyes, you press firmer against her, her labia enveloping your cheeks as you push the tip of your tongue against her entrance. She mewls softly, the hand in your hair tightening, as you start pushing your tongue in and out in quick succession, moving the muscle up and down, creating obscene squelching and slurping sounds that ring loudly in your ears, a motion she's taught you, shown you, done to you so many times.

You feel the drop of your own arousal in your underwear, your body tensing as you focus on the reactions of hers. With your tongue buried in her pulsing pussy, you use your nose to push against her clit in a steady rhythm, your whole face warm and wet by now as she clenches around you. Your hands curl around her legs, trying to hold them open, but she's twitching so hard you feel the tremors against the sides of your head as she tries to close her thighs around it.

It doesn't matter, you're in too deep, literally, only focused on her pleasure, her pleasure giving you pleasure, she could smother you right that instant and you wouldn't mind. Your head is blissfully empty, all you feel and taste and see and hear is her. She's getting louder, shifting on her chair, grinding her pelvis against your face as she fucks herself on your tongue, harder, faster, a desperate little dance you volunteered for.

And when she comes, she throws herself back into the chair, gasping breathlessly, her whole body spasming against you, thighs tight against your ears, taking another sense from you as you almost drown in her juices. Her cunt clenches hard around your working muscle, and you slowly pull your tongue out when she relaxes, lapping up what she gave you. You savor the little twitches, the uncontrollable jerks of her hips, the deep exhales from above you.

As you're still licking at her slit, she moves her hands to brush stray hairs out of her damp forehead. You look up at her, lips closed around her clit, when she smiles at you. “Well done, sweet girl, thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and raspy, the low cadence sending shivers down your spine. “That's enough for now.”

You lean back almost reluctantly, licking your wet lips, blinking your clumped eyelashes apart. You feel her hand wiping at your face, her thumb pressing into your mouth. You give it a tentative suck, your eyes on her. She looks calm again, relaxed, serene.

“Mommy's gotta work now,” she tells you, pushing her thumb harder onto your tongue. “Do you wanna stay with me while I do?”

You don't even hesitate when you nod, your hands finding her wrist as you suck on her thumb, the motion pulling you deeper into the safe space you enjoy so much.

“Do you want a toy to play with?” she asks, your mind momentarily wandering to the lowest drawer of her desk, filled with vibrators and dildos and smaller items to entertain you (and her). It's a tempting thought, but you shake your head, hollowing your cheeks as you give her digit another deep suckle.

She chuckles softly. “But I do need my hand, sweet pea,” she says with a raised eyebrow and a wink.

You blink at her, your mind too empty to comprehend her words. She caresses your face, then slowly withdraws her thumb. You're at least alert enough to lick up the excess drool dripping from your now unoccupied lips. Swallowing hard, you look at her, but she already knows the empty gaze you shoot her and guides your head back between her legs.

“Keep me warm and wet, hmm, baby girl? Can you do that?” she says softly, and you nod, already pressing your lips against her throbbing clit. “But don't make me come. I gotta concentrate.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you mumble against her, leaning your cheek against her thigh as you inhale deeply, taking in her scent. She closes her legs a little around you, caging you in, holding you tightly, and you melt into her, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good girl,” she says, patting your head before she shifts on her chair one last time. Her praise almost drowns out the quiet noises of her fingers flying over the keyboard as she starts working.

You relax into her, sitting on your knees, the hurt on your butt forgotten, the drying wetness on your face ignored, the tingle between your own legs unimportant. Occasionally you give her labia a few kisses or a gentle suck, licking up along her seam, but as your mind grows silent, you slip more and more into what Mommy and Daddy call subspace, a state of mind where there are no worries, where you're not anxious, where nothing matters but the warmth of the person next to you.

It's a peaceful place where you lose all sense of time. Snuggling into Mommy's cunt or suckling on Daddy's cock, no matter where or how or when, it's your personal reward for making them feel good, for allowing yourself to let go, an escape you wished you'd known about sooner. But now you do, and it's enough. A beautiful, blissful void, and you're floating, weightless, soft breaths and a steady heartbeat, sunken into yourself.

How you come out of it is usually a blur. A gentle caress to your cheek, a little nudge, some sort of physical touch that grounds you back to the place you've initially drifted off in. A deep exhale against warm skin, your cheek pressed between wet flesh, your own thumb wet and numb between your tight lips. Your eyelids flutter when you feel another caress, nimble fingers digging into your hair, soft presses to your scalp, a soothing little hum you slowly recognize as Mommy's voice.

“Wake up, mi amor,” she whispers from above you, her accent an extra vibration through your skull.

You inhale deeply, smacking your lips, or trying to, slowly lowering your hand as you blink your eyes open. Mommy's cunt is right there, soft and sleek, and it's an instinct to raise your hand again and caress her puffy labia.

“No need, sweet cheeks,” she tells you, but you keep pushing your fingers up and down her mound, head resting against her thigh, watching the lazy movements of your digits.

Mommy sighs loudly, but doesn't do anything to stop you after all. So you continue, dip your fingertips into her slick, teasing at her clit, as she relaxes into her chair, her hand stroking the side of your head. You rub and caress, prod and poke, eventually pushing a finger into her entrance, feeling the tight clench of her walls. Her soft mewls sound in your ears, when a sudden knock disrupts the peace, making you blink and realize you're knuckles-deep in Mommy's cunt.

Mommy just issues a noise akin to a sigh or groan, and the door to her office opens. You remain focused on her, plunging your digit in and out, curling it slightly, rubbing the pad of your finger along her squishy flesh until you feel her twitching against you.

“Is she still at it?” Daddy's voice sounds from somewhere behind you.

“She just came back,” Mommy whispers, her voice just a deep breath. “You know how she gets after, the insatiable little thing...”

You don't really register what they're saying, doesn't matter, all you see and feel and smell is Mommy. You add another finger and continue your motions, pushing in slightly faster, slightly deeper, pressing harder against her sensitive spots. She shifts in her seat, her hips bucking against your hand, her breaths more labored.

Footsteps round the desk, and as you blink against your haze, you notice Daddy's head next to Mommy's. He winks at you before he presses his lips to her cheek. She turns her head and uses her free hand to grab his nape, keeping him bent over to capture his mouth for a deeper kiss. “So you like me again, hm?” Daddy hums against her, and instead of answering him, she just kisses him harder.

You watch them as you finger Mommy, her wetness rivaling your own as they continue to make out. You squirm on your knees, chewing on your swollen lip, your fingers moving in and out of Mommy's clenching hole, and fueled by their soft groans and moans, you dive in again and close your lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves in front of you.

Mommy gasps, jerking against your face, and you keep watching her from under your lashes. Daddy holds her face while propped onto one arm, resting on the table above you. The way their lips and tongues meet is a sensual dance you enjoy watching more and more (which wasn't always the case). Now it only arouses you more, seeing them so intimate.

With your mouth tight around Mommy's clit and your fingers deep in her spasming cunt, you shift on your knees until you can press the heel of your foot against your own throbbing core, the sudden sensation making you moan softly. You keep a steady rhythm, dipping your fingers in and out, sucking on her clit, rubbing yourself against your foot, feeling how your arousal drenches the fabric of your panties, creating a delicious friction that makes your empty head spin.

You come at the same time as Mommy, though while your orgasm rolls through you like a gentle wave, hers is a ravaging waterfall, cascading down with power, and as you keep pumping your fingers into her, her cunt convulses, spraying you with jerky jets of her essence as she moans loudly above you, barely contained by Daddy's mouth, and even though you were quite irritated the first time she's squirted right into your face, you barely flinch now, lowering your mouth to lick up everything you can catch.

She shudders on the chair, slowly relaxing, and it's Daddy who appears next to you as he pulls you away from her quivering core. Her chair rolls away, and he kneels beside you, wiping a cloth over your drenched face.

“Well done, pumpkin,” he says softly, smiling at you. You blink your eyes into focus, your lips trembling without Mommy's warmth against them. “I think Mommy feels a lot better now, don't you, babe?”

A soft groan sounds from behind him in response. “Oh yeah...” she sighs.

“You earned yourself a reward, baby girl,” Daddy whispers, as he helps you crawl out from under the desk.

When you stand, he has to hold you, because your legs feel numb and tingling, fallen asleep from sitting on them for so long. The aftershocks of your own orgasm definitely add to the little unsteadiness as well. His hands cup your warm face as he looks down at you. You still feel like floating, head too empty to fully focus on him or the change of position.

A slurping sound echoes in your ears, and when you look past him, you see Mommy closing her lips around the straw in her smoothie. She winks at you when you meet her hooded gaze. Slowly you come back to yourself, a soothing warmth flooding your limbs and core. Daddy pulls you to the side, and you notice him sitting down on the edge of the wide desk, his hands on your waist as he nudges you between his legs.

“You with me, pumpkin?” he says softly, tilting his head.

You look up at him, your hands resting on his strong thighs. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, giving him a timid smile.

“My good girl.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, before you tilt your chin up a bit more to meet his lips. As he moves his tongue against yours, slowly, sensually, you feel a presence behind you. Mommy's hands rub up and down your back, smoothing out your dress, before they disappear under the hem, and you gasp against Daddy's mouth when you feel her fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties.

She pulls them down slowly, crouching behind you, and you lift your feet automatically to step out of them. “Hmm, you enjoyed yourself already, didn't you, sweet girl?” she muses, leaning against you after she's straightened up again, her firm breasts pressing against your back.

Without breaking your kiss with Daddy, you move your eyes to see her dangling your drenched underwear on her finger. Heat crashes into your cheeks, slowly seeping down your body, and the arousal that's been draining into the bit of fabric of your thong, now drips out of you unrestrained. A garbled mewl escapes you as you rub your thighs together and squirm on the spot.

“Oh don't worry, darling, Daddy's gonna take care of the little itch, hmm, won't you, papito?”

Her voice is silky smooth in your ear, letting your eyelids flutter as your tongue wrestles softly with Daddy's. He watches you out of hooded eyes, his grip on you firm and strong, unrelenting. With Mommy still pressed against your back, sandwiched between them as you are, you feel her hands rubbing down your arms before she guides your hands between Daddy's legs, right to the not-so-subtle bulge in his pants.

He finally breaks the kiss, moves his lips along your cheek to your ear, his beard scratching along your soft skin, causing you to take a shuddering breath as you fill your lungs with air again. “Are you ready for me, pumpkin?” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips warm and wet, his breath even warmer. You shiver, and before you can answer, Mommy's hand slips around your front and down between your tight thighs, dipping right into your slick.

“Oh she's ready alright...”

“I've been asking her,” he says sternly, still nuzzling your neck, but clearly addressing Mommy, who sighs loudly and pulls her hand back.

You turn your head to look at him, biting your swollen lip, before you nod.

“Say it,” he whispers, meeting your eyes.

“I'm ready for you, Daddy,” you reply quietly. He raises an eyebrow.

You blush deeply, knowing what he wants to hear. Swallowing hard, you look down to where your hand is resting on his groin. “I'm... ready for your...” Another deep inhale, that flicker of shame rolling through your mind before you push it away again. “Your cock,” you whisper.

You look up at him, but he still watches you with a certain expectation, his eyes dark, his jaw set.

“I'm ready for your cock, Daddy,” you say again, still quiet, but it's finally enough for him. A smile breaks on his handsome face, and he leans in to kiss your cheek.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “Do you think I'm ready for you too?”

You give his bulge a little squeeze, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric. “Yes, I think so,” you whisper.

“Let's find out, hm?”

He gives you a wink, and you start unbuckling his belt, then fumble with the button and zipper of his pants. Mommy is there, leaning in from behind you, helping with the task. Daddy stands for a moment and lets his two women pull his pants and underwear down his long legs before he sits down on the edge of the desk again. Mommy leaves you as she gathers his clothes on the back of her chair.

You look up at his face instead of at his angrily bobbing cock, mesmerized by the hunger in his eyes. His hands tighten around your waist, and in the next moment he lifts you effortlessly, and you end up straddling his lap, knees on either side of his hips, legs spread (almost) impossibly wide over his thighs, your crotch pressed tightly against his. Your hands find his shoulders as you adjust on his lap.

“Dress off?” you hear Mommy's voice from behind you.

“Hmm, what do you think, baby girl? Do you want Daddy to see how you bounce on his cock? How your little cunt swallows every inch of him?”

You inhale sharply, deep shivers crashing through you as he talks like this. “Yes,” you breathe out, and as soon as you do, Mommy's hands are there to pull the sundress over your head. Without it, you are left completely naked because he's (deliberately) forgotten to put a bra on you this morning. A tingle goes through you.

You shift on his lap, fingers curling around his broad shoulders again. He watches you, his hands rubbing along your sides before he puts them large and warm and heavy on your waist, his long fingers almost teasing your spine while his thumbs rub over your fluttering stomach. Behind you, another set of hands eases along your thighs back to your rear, and when Mommy touches the welts on your ass cheeks, you feel her lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, mi amor,” she coos. “I thought it wouldn't look so bad. Does it still hurt?”

You meet Daddy's gaze before you turn your head and try to look at her out of the corner of your eye. “It's okay, Mommy, it's already feeling better.”

“My brave little girl,” she whispers, planting more kisses along your back while her hands fully cup your ass now, the pressure sending jolts of pain through you but you force them down, try to ignore them as you bite your lip and take a shuddering breath.

“Look at me, pumpkin,” Daddy orders, and you do, stiffening on his lap. “This is for you,” he starts, his hands holding onto your waist as Mommy lifts your hips until you hover just above Daddy's cock. “You take what you need from me, okay? You decide the pace. Me and Mommy will do anything to take care of you.”

You smile softly at him, bracing on your knees, your thighs trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shoulders. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for being such a good little girl for us,” he replies, tilting his head as you squirm slightly on top of him, the tip of his cock brushing between your labia as you do so.

Before you can fully focus on indulging him (or letting him indulge you?), a last speck of doubt crashes into your mind. You blink at him, lips trembling, opening your mouth to protest, knowing you haven't been a good girl at all yesterday and have the marks to prove it, but he shakes his head, his dark eyes so intense any words dissipate right off your tongue. You close your mouth and swallow, nodding slightly.

And then you concentrate on him, looking down as one of your hands moves to close around his shaft as you guide him towards your entrance. It's taken you many months to get accustomed to his length and girth, a lot of training, a lot of tears, but by now you know that your body can handle him. Inhaling deeply, relaxing while also bracing yourself, you shift your hips (with Mommy's assistance) and lower yourself slowly, his tip pressing in, and with a sharp gasp you feel him slipping deeper.

They both guide you as you take it slow, steady up and down movements to ease him into you, small rolls of your hips, Mommy holding you from behind, Daddy's hands tight around your waist. He watches you, you can feel it as you focus on where his cock vanishes inside you. The strain and pressure is still a bit painful, especially since you let gravity do most of the work, but once he's settled deep in your core, filling you out completely, his tip pushing right against your cervix, you exhale a shaky breath and look up, seeing him smiling at you.

Mommy wraps her arms around your stomach, her warm cheek between your shoulder blades, allowing Daddy to cup your face and pull you closer. “Look at you,” he coos softly, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “How wonderful you fit around Daddy's cock. You were made for this, pumpkin. Made for me. My perfect little girl.”

You close your eyes, breathing against the tightness building low in your belly, your hands moving back up to his shoulders before you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of it. You focus on the way he smells, how his large hands cradle your head against him, how Mommy clings to you, their warmth all-consuming. And the way his cock sits inside you, warm and hard and pulsing, how another kind of heat throbs through your straining ass cheeks.

And you realize it is all meant to be. You are meant to have relapses, you are meant to be anxious sometimes, you are meant to disappoint them, it's only human to do so. What matters in the end is that they still love you, still care about you, still treat you like their little girl. They'll continue to discipline you, push you further and further out of your comfort zone, and it will only make you stronger.

As you start moving on top of Daddy, leaning back, facing him, using his shoulders as leverage to bounce slowly up and down, you can't believe how lucky you are to have found these people (or for them to have found you). All they ever did was take care of you, in a way nobody has ever cared for you before.

Warmth spreads inside you with every slam against his hips, your walls pulsing around him, your breaths hitching, your heart beating faster. Mommy guides you, Daddy holds you, their soft words of praise and encouragement like lullabies in your ears, your own mewls and moans leaving your trembling lips in rapid little puffs of air.

Your thighs are shivering under the strain, but it's easier with Mommy's hands under your rear, pushing you up gently, while Daddy moves you down again, every bounce going deep, filling and all-consuming, and soon you find yourself floating, the friction, the steady pain/pleasure mixture, the warmth and strength of their grips, it all adds to the flickering lights, and when they suddenly all explode into a million smaller lights, you throw your head back, letting out a drawn-out moan, a deep shiver, stiffening for a second before your body starts shaking badly as your orgasm crashes through you.

You slump against Daddy's chest, arms around his neck, your hips jerking against him, and now it's up to him to keep going. His arms are tight around your back as he shifts on the edge of the desk, Mommy's hands move around your front, rubbing down your fluttering belly before you feel her fingertips drawing tight circles around your clit. You come again, with another croaked moan, spasming against Daddy as he starts thrusting up in a steady rhythm that accelerates quickly.

Sandwiched as you are, you can only take it, and you do, it's what you do after all, you are theirs to play with, and it gives you strength and pride, a safety you need to keep your mind empty and your thoughts clear of doubts. Whimpering softly as Daddy hammers his cock into your convulsing cunt while Mommy practically bullies your clit, you slip from pleasure into bliss and back, always floating, wave after wave of soothing sensations rolling through your trembling body.

Low grunts fill your ears, Daddy's deep voice vibrating through you as he suddenly stills, holding you tighter, throbbing deep inside you before he empties his balls into your quivering depths. You gasp into his neck, feeling every twitch of his cock, knowing he's painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum. You relax into him as he relaxes beneath you, his warm breaths playing with stray strands of your hair.

You rub his back as Mommy rubs yours. For a long moment you just sit on his cock until it stops throbbing and softens slightly, the only sounds your rapid pulse in your ears and your combined breaths, before it's Mommy, who brings you back to reality. “Thanks for the show, you two,” she says as she walks around you. “I think I need a cold shower now.” You feel her hand rubbing along your ass cheek before she gives it a soft slap.

You jerk against Daddy, who groans, unfolding his arms from around you to lean them onto the table beside him. He inhales deeply, and slowly you lean back too, looking at him, knowing you probably look as disheveled as you feel. He smirks at you, moving one hand to brush a few hairs out of your sweat-slick forehead.

It hasn't always been this easy to let go and look the part and not be ashamed about it, but you learned to ignore it and enjoy the moment instead, the aftermath, the soft caresses and soothing words and gentle smiles enough to distract you. You lean in and press a kiss to his bearded cheek, savoring the scratch against your lips and the little hum he issues at the touch. He cups your face, thumb under your chin, and guides your head to meet his mouth for a proper kiss.

“Are you okay, pumpkin?” he whispers against your lips, his hooded eyes boring into yours.

You nod, leaning into him, shifting on his lap. “Yes, Daddy, never better,” you breathe, moving in again, and he lets you, a smirk playing around his lips.

You haven't always been as confident with him (or Mommy) as you are now. It's been a long, winding road, over potholes and embarrassment, around bends and back in a loop towards old patterns, up steep hills and down rough slopes, through shame and discipline, hurt and comfort. A journey that started in darkness, before these two people showed you just how bright life could be.

Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3 🔷️ Chapter 4

End notes: For now, this marks the end of the present-timeline, which was just a peek at what's possible within the confines of this story. Starting with the next chapter, we will continue the backstory arc, and Reader's journey into the world of BDSM and specifically Dd/Md/lg dynamics.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After you agreed to be their little girl, you're starting your first day in your new life. Surprises await!

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

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heartbreakfeelsogood · 24 days ago

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coffee run | buddie | ~1k | for @bark-barkley ♡

It starts with an Instagram post.

Buck’s a sap, okay? His explore page is constantly filled with ‘send this to your best friend’ posts, and you know what? Nine out of ten times he does send them to his best friend, even if said best friend doesn’t see his dms for about a week. Point being: it’s not surprising to see a post stating, “morning, because if it was a good morning, my best friend would be in the same city as me and we'd be getting coffee together.” Beneath the text is a sketch of two people holding iced coffees. Buck does not pout as he reposts it to his story; that’s just his face.

What is surprising is when Eddie likes Buck’s story upload within minutes, because Eddie barely uses Instagram. He goes on once, maybe twice a week when he’s bored. Eddie just moved to Texas, though, and is quite literally in the process of unpacking, so how could he be bored? Yet here he is in Buck’s notifications. Not only that, but he reposts it to his story, too.

The pout that was definitely not on Buck’s face turns into a small smile as he sees that. Buck knows what it feels like to be left and ignored, but this is the first and only time Buck is experiencing someone leaving and openly missing him. Buck misses Eddie like a lung, but that feels okay, because Eddie misses Buck, too. It’s a lot for Buck to wrap his head around.

Buck closes Instagram and opens his recent call log. Underneath the names of Maddie and a guy from C shift who was asking for coverage is Eddie. Buck presses call.

“You bringing me a coffee?” Eddie greets.

Buck huffs out a laugh and responds, “Might be cold by the time I get there.”

Eddie laughs a little louder than necessary, but Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t like that. He loves how easily he can make Eddie laugh. Even when everything feels bad, Buck can say something that makes Eddie laugh, and when Eddie laughs it makes Buck feel like everything will be alright.

“I could use a coffee right now, man. I’m losing stamina. That’s why I’m on my phone instead of unpacking,” Eddie pauses, and Buck hears a box move. “Living room: throw blankets,” he reads off.

Maybe it’s because Buck’s a well-established sap; maybe it’s because Buck would do anything to hang out with Eddie right now, even if it’s eight-hundred miles apart over the phone; maybe it’s because Buck really wants an iced cookie dough latte with oat milk and mocha sauce; maybe it’s all of the above that makes Buck say, “Let’s go get coffee together.”

Eddie laughs, and Buck can practically hear his eye roll when he quips, “Yeah, sure, I’m on my way now.”

“No, I’m serious. Well— I don’t mean it like that. I— I mean you should go get a coffee, you deserve a break, and I’ll go get one too. We could stay on the phone.”

Now that Buck’s said it he’s worried he sounds juvenile. He imagines this is what kids Christopher’s age do with their online friends. (Christopher has rules, and he’s come to Eddie or Buck any time something weird happens, so they trust that he’s safe.) All the fear melts off of him when Eddie responds though.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice sounds soft, “we could do that.”

They both drive about twenty minutes to get to their respective coffee shops. Mindless chatter fills their cars through the speakers as they make their way. Eddie tells Buck about a chess tournament Christopher is going to be playing in, which gets Buck going about some videos he watched to better understand chess. He tells Eddie about the history, the different strategies, and various records set by players. Eddie listens intently, always happy to learn about both what Buck is learning about and his son’s interests.

They’re still on the phone as they make their way into the cafes, when they’re standing in line, and when they each approach the counter. Buck’s line is shorter, so he orders first. He steps to the side to wait for his latte and checks in with Eddie.

“You about to order?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m next. Hey—“ Eddie pauses. For a quick second, Buck wonders if he got called up. “This might seem stupid, but this place has similar flavors to the one we go to back h— in LA. And I really want that iced latte you get me. If I make this call a FaceTime, will you order it for me?”

Something flips inside Buck’s stomach. His lips part pointing upwards and he has to stop himself from tearing up over the fact Eddie wants him to order him a coffee from eight-hundred miles away. Good tears, to be clear; emotional, but filled with love.

“Yeah, of course, Eddie.”

Their timing is perfect, because not even thirty seconds after the FaceTime connects Eddie is being called up to the counter. Buck is turned towards the barista, who looks rather confused by the whole interaction, so Buck makes a joke about how he got Eddie hooked on a very specific latte and orders a cinnamon latte with soy milk and a quad shot.

They both sit in the back corners of their respected cafes with their phones propped up on napkin holders, FaceTime still connected. Eddie takes a sip of his latte and hums.

“Thank you for ordering this for me. Think it’s exactly what I needed.”

Buck’s smile as he responds is all teeth. “Any time. I’m glad to be of service.”

Eddie laughs at the way Buck salutes as he says that. He leans his head on his hand as he looks back at Buck fondly through his screen.

“God, I love y— Hanging out with you.”

If Buck notices his fumble, he doesn’t say anything except: “Yeah. You too.”

#buddie fanfiction #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #my writing

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cece693 · 6 months ago

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Clean and Tidy (Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader)

Since it's October, I want to provide at least a fic for some of my like (not love) slashers. First in line is Brahams from the movie The Boy (2016.) Beware it's short and not my best work.

Summary: The Heelshire's never posted that nanny ad. After all, you were perfect for the job. Not only were you Brahms's nanny, but you were also the caretaker of the house when the Heelshire's were away.

tags: neat/clean freak reader, Malcolm gets killed, never liked him tbh, Brahms is a kitten with claws

The house stood still and silent, a heavy darkness pressing against the tall windows. Outside, the mist clung to the forest like a second skin, thick and immovable, drowning the world in a damp chill. The Heelshires were away again, leaving me to keep the sprawling estate in order. It was a duty I took seriously—order and cleanliness were my sanctuary against the madness that sometimes threatened to swallow this house whole.

And, of course, there was Brahms.

"Come on, Brahms," I said, crouching to examine the muddy footprints he'd left in the kitchen. "You know the rules. No mud in the house."

There was a rustle, a shift in the shadows, and he emerged from behind the pantry door. His face, obscured by his mask, tilted downward like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "I’m sorry," he said, voice muffled and low. "It was raining."

"Well, it’s still no excuse. Upstairs, now," I ordered, pointing toward the staircase. "Shower, and I’ll clean this up."

He hesitated only momentarily before nodding and slipping away. I watched him go, a mixture of fondness and exasperation warming my chest. He could be dangerous, I knew that. But with me, Brahms was different. Gentle. Almost eager to please.

Everything had been routine, until that night.

Malcolm had come by with the groceries. He was the delivery boy from town, bright-eyed and persistent, always lingering longer than necessary. I’d noticed the way his gaze lingered on me, the way his smiles grew bolder over time, but I’d never encouraged him. Yet, that night, as I was wiping down the kitchen counters, he cornered me, his hand slipping over mine.

"You know," he said, voice low, "you don’t have to stay cooped up here all the time. I could take you out—just the two of us. No one would have to know."

I pulled my hand away, disgust churning in my stomach. "I’m fine where I am, Malcolm. You should go." He didn’t listen. He moved closer, his hand reaching for my waist. I froze, my mind whirling, caught between indignation and the sudden sense of danger that flared hot in my chest. Then I heard it—a soft rustling, a creak from behind the pantry.

"Malcolm, I’m serious." I warned, my voice sharp. "Leave."

But before he could say another word, Brahms was there, stepping out from the darkness. He moved with a speed and ferocity I had never seen before, slamming Malcolm against the wall. There was a flash of panic in Malcolm’s eyes, a gasp—cut off too soon. It was over in seconds. Brahms was breathing hard, his body trembling, and Malcolm lay crumpled on the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing. Blood stained Brahms' crisp white shirt, bright and stark against the fabric. I should have felt something—fear, horror, anything—but all I felt was a strange calm.

"Brahms." I whispered. He turned to me, the mask hiding his face but not the hunch in his posture. He was waiting for a reprimand, for anger, for anything that would push him back into the shadows. Instead, I stepped forward, my eyes narrowing as I took in the crimson staining his shirt. "Look at you," I said, my voice almost a sigh, "you've ruined your shirt. How many times have I told you to be careful?"

His head tilted, confusion and a flicker of relief warring in his eyes. "I’m sorry." he whispered. I didn’t answer. I turned away, stepping around the body without a second glance, moving to the kitchen sink to wet a rag. Behind me, Brahms watched, still as a statue, his gaze never leaving me as I crossed the floor to him. I began wiping the blood from his hands, my touch brisk and efficient.

"I'll have to dispose of that shirt and the body, which is on the verge of staining the carpet—"

"I’ll clean it." Brahms offered quickly, his voice hoarse. He was eager to please again, desperate for approval.

"Good." I met his eyes, my expression stern but gentle. "But next time, Brahms, be more careful. Bloodstains are a nightmare to get out."

He nodded, something like a smile hidden beneath the mask. There was a glimmer of gratitude, of understanding that I wouldn’t send him away, that I wouldn’t abandon him like the rest. I didn’t say another word as I watched him slip off to dispose of the evidence, like a cat slinking off with its prize. The house was mine to care for, and that meant caring for Brahms—the strange, broken boy who, for reasons I couldn’t quite name, trusted me to stay.

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bernardsbendystraws · 1 month ago

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You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15 P16

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: mentions and talk of family death

A/N: This is a bit shorter than the past couple chapters, but I hope you still like it!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P12: Bittersweet

“You did all of this… for me?”

The question floats off my lips as my eyes dart around the room. It’s the same fluttery feeling I got in my chest when Matt showed me his handmade gift for Mia—expect this feels more intense.

“I… yeah.” Chris voices, his hand dropping mine as he moves over towards the bed. He shuffles the different items around, pushing them to make an open space and patting the bed.

My brows wrinkle together, warmth crawling up my cheeks as I take everything in. He did this for me. A box of legos, cookies, and chocolate—all my favorite things. How did he even know?

Wait.

How did he even know?

“This is sweet, but how much have you been snooping?” I question, sitting down as he lets out an awkward laugh. My hands run over the blanket, it feels softer than usual, almost as if it’s been freshly washed.

“No, no. I wasn’t snooping. Well, not more than I already have. I asked Matt, ‘cause you know… he kinda owed me.” he laughs.

My toes curl as my stomach flutters.

He asked Matt about me. He wanted to do something sweet.

Even if it was out of spite, it still made me feel so warm.

___

It should be awkward. There should be some sort of lingering tension, but there isn’t.

Things have been flowing effortlessly. Even when we fall into a pause of silence, it’s not uncomfortable, it’s peaceful.

We work together putting the legos in place. Slowly, each piece makes the object appear similar to the cherry blossom tree displayed on the front of the box. The direction pamphlet sits on the bed in front of us, our knees touching as we hunch over and build the small object.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Chris asks.

The questions have been mumbled every couple of minutes. I don’t mind though. Even when some of them seemed stupid, like when he asked me what my favorite size of pizza is.

Apparently his favorite is mini pizzas. There’s always a stash in the freezer and the last time Matt took one, Chris refused to do anything with him for a week—even if it was taking out the garbage and meant Matt would be helping him. Chris only caved once Matt bought him more mini pizzas.

Stupid questions, but they were fun.

“Hmmm…” I start to think. What is my favorite animal? I can’t remember the last time someone even bothered to ask. I can’t even remember the last time I tried to think of answering these types of questions for myself. “I think dogs? I mean, I love dogs since you can actually have them as pets, you know?” I say.

Chris nods, humming in acknowledgement. “Not a bad answer, you’re the same as Matt.” he points out. I smile at the mention of Matt. It’s heartwarming how much Chris brings him up, how much he truly knows about his brother.

“What about you? Do you have a favorite?” I interrogate, my fingers snapping another piece in place.

“I like deer,” he answers.

My face twists at his response. Deer? I don’t know what I expected, but definitely not deer. They seemed too gentle, too feminine. Most guys my age wouldn’t say deer unless it was followed by an explanation of how they loved hunting.

And Chris definitely didn’t hunt.

“Really?” I ask, wincing as my voice comes out higher pitch than intended.

Chris laughs at my shocked expression, nodding as he goes into more detail. “Really. I just like ‘em. My dad showed me this video of a baby deer once—the thing looked like it was on crack from how it was bouncing around. Him and all my family agreed that it was me in another universe.”

My teeth clench into my lip. The thought of Chris bouncing around with excitement is hard to picture, but I guess not impossible. Maybe that’s how he used to be, before he lost his mom and his other brother. I know I used to be different—I hated that fact.

“My dad used to compare me to this one dog in the neighborhood—this scruffy little rat-dog.” I huff, my lips curling from the memory. I miss him. “He said it was because of my hair since it was… I don’t even know. I’d play hard and get it all sorts of fucked up.”

The thought of my dad makes something inside me sink with a heavy weight. Everytime I try to recall his face, I can only picture how he looked in the one picture framed on top of my dresser. It’s like his memory is fading, his face blurring as I try to recall certain moments.

“Do you…” Chris hesitates, his fingers fiddling with a lego piece. “Do you still miss him?” he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard him speak before.

Nodding, I let out a strangled hum of affirmation. “Yeah—I, yeah. It’s weird. I know it’s been years since I lost him, but it’s so… I don’t know. Every memory I’ve had with him—it’s all I’ll ever have. I think that’s what hurts the most.” I say, tugging my lip in between my teeth as I feel my body slug with disappointment.

A sudden warmth callusing over my knee makes my head turn. I look over to see Chris, his eyes gleaming onto me as he spares a sympathetic smile.

His fingers slowly buffer over the fabric of my clothes, his touch getting lighter as he lets out a deep sigh. “I get that. I’m trying to come to terms with it. Honestly, it still doesn’t seem real.” he guffs.

His eyes drift to my lap. I watch as his cheeks hollow, his tongue prodding from the inside of his mouth as his presence gets lost in thought.

“Tell me about them.” I remark.

Shaking his head, Chris opens his mouth to respond, closing it before any words can escape. I reach my hand out, balancing it over his as the weight rests on my knee. My eyes blink into his intently. “It’s one of my biggest regrets. I wish I never let any of those memories die. You don’t have to tell me, but—”

“Well,” Chris starts, biting his lip as his brows furrow. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, keeping my gaze focused on him. He seems to fight the urge to say anything, but a deep sigh as he looks towards the ceiling makes my spine straighten as I give him my attention fully.

“I… I don’t know where to even start.” he mentions, his lip quivering before he pulls it between his teeth.

My skin pulses as I lean further towards him. I collapse my head onto his shoulder, peeling my gaze away from him in hopes of helping his anxiety ease. “There’s no pressure.” I mutter.

The slight shift of his hand on my knee leaves me bathing in anticipation. He turns his hand over, interlocking our fingers, sighing as the words begin to spill out of his mouth.

“I mean, my mom is–was everything to me. I’d hug her in the morning, hug her at night—even though most kids our age don’t do that shit, I—I don’t know. When I love people, I want them to know.” he explains.

God. He’s so sweet—a word I thought contradicted his personality at first, but now I know the truth. And the truth is he’s perfect. He’s just hurt—just a little lost, confused even.

He reminds me of myself. Both in good and bad ways. He seems to close people off, quick to pull away before he has the chance to lose someone again.

There’s a certain bitterness from his attitude that resonates with me.

“That’s really beautiful.” I say, softly rolling my lips together as I watch his nose twitch, his eyes drifting to my lap. “I… I used to be the same way too. I’d always run to my dad the second he got home from work, giving him the biggest hug I could and begging him to never let go.”

Chris lets his eyes float back up to me. His face falls, his eyes glazing over as he blinks quickly. I feel myself sink into reality, the sudden urge to cry climbing over me and pulling my body to slump with defeat. “I don’t remember the last time I hugged him, but I—I really wish I did.” I mumble, my voice wombling as I swallow thickly.

“Hey,” he husks, looking into my eyes with a comforting expression etched on his face. “You don’t have to remember the last time. Just tell me about all the times you do remember. I… I wanna listen. I don’t think I’m ready to talk anymore, but I’m ready—I wanna listen.” he whispers.

My heart twists in my chest from his words—words I’ve wanted to hear since I lost my dad in the first place, words that should’ve been said by my mom or my brother, but nobody ever wanted to hear it. I couldn’t understand why, all I could understand was that it hurt—and it still hurts.

But his soft eyes make it hurt a little less. The grip he has on my hand clutches just a little bit tighter, the comforting reassurance making the words stumble out of my mouth effortlessly.

“Well,” I trail, voyaging off into details of him, letting myself dig deeper into my memories.

Half the words that spill from my lips seem new—moments I didn’t even know I remembered until they burst through my lips from a sudden flash of a memory.

Each story trails to another, each moment making my heart feel a little more full.

His eyes darting into mine don’t make me anxious, they make me feel heard—understood.

My lips fall together as I breathe through my nose. The rambling of my words seems to make my ears burn, my cheeks warming up as I stare at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry.” I mumble, biting on the tip of my tongue lightly.

Chris shakes his head swiftly, clutching my hand a little more as his eyes glaze over me with a gentle glow. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, scooting closer as he wraps both his hands around mine and tugging it towards his chest.

“Tell me more.”

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

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oh, you didn't know?

“I was told there’d be cookies.” Dustin interrupted, flashing Steve another smug grin that made the teen want to shove him into a snowbank. “Yeah, for her.” Steve pointed at you. “Not for you.”

Summary: steve is pathetically in love with you and for some reason the universe hates him and continues to pray on his downfall. typical.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 1.6k

Before you swing in: happy valentines day my loves <333 youre all my valentines, i didnt make the rules. anyways, pls enjoy this cute cheesy fic. dont ask how i thought of this: i simply do not know. however, its pathetic!loverboy!steve and i think we ALL deserve that today smh.

Steve has never had the best timing.

When he first manned up to ask you out, it had coincidentally been the same day your childhood dog died.

There he had been, flowers in hand and a proud smile on his face when he knocked on your front door, completely taken aback when you answered with tears streaming down your face.

Immediately, Steve’s smile had dropped and he quickly pulled you close to inspect for any injuries or pain. “Y/N? What happened, is everything okay?”

“My dog died.” You wailed, even more tears spilling over.

“Oh my god–”

“He… He didn’t suffer. He was old and–” You had sniffed, looking so small and frail in your heartbreak, before spotting the flowers in Steve’s hand. You gasped. “H–How did you know?”

Steve had been confused for a moment, but when he followed your gaze to the flowers that were originally meant to be “please be my girlfriend” flowers, his heart dropped.

Well fuck.

“Yes…” He cleared his throat. “I, uh. Had a hunch?”

You threw your arms around Steve, the flowers then crushed between you two, but he hadn't paid any attention to them as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. After a few seconds, you placed your lips by his ear and whispered, “You’re the sweetest.”

The sincerity in your voice had made Steve want to vomit.

He hadn’t had a hunch that your childhood dog would die that day, but what else was he supposed to say? Hey, sorry your dog died, do you want to kiss now? Absolutely not.

Steve is many things, and oftentimes he is an idiot, but he isn’t that much of an idiot.

So, instead of asking you to be his girlfriend, Steve had instead spent the next three hours at your house as he consoled you and watched your favorite movie to cheer you up. While it hadn’t been his ideal outcome, Steve had still been happy to simply spend time with you. Besides, you had needed him at that moment, so of course Steve was right there by your side.

Life moved on, a few weeks passed, and eventually Steve decided to try again.

You had no more animals to possibly lose, Christmas was approaching, and Steve was determined that this time he’d be able to ask you out.

After buying you some chocolate and planning a fort building night on Christmas Eve, Steve had been sure that the night would go perfectly. There was a beautiful rose pendant bracelet sitting atop of his dresser in his room, wrapped and ready for you to open.

Steve’s plan was foolproof.

Build a fort, watch a cheesy Christmas movie, bake some cookies and drink hot chocolate, and then boom: Steve would ask you to be his girlfriend.

However, Steve really should’ve known better.

His parents had left that day and he had spent the entire time cleaning the house and preparing all the snacks before your arrival. At six on the dot, his doorbell rang and Steve eagerly ran over to answer the door.

There, standing on his front doorstep, had been you with a smug looking Dustin Henderson.

“What’s the kid doing here?” Steve had asked, all his hope now coming crashing down upon him.

You winced. “I know we made plans, I’m so sorry, but his mom asked me to babysit him and she offered me the rest of the money I need for your Christmas gift and–”

“I was told there’d be cookies.” Dustin interrupted, flashing Steve another smug grin that made the teen want to shove him into a snowbank.

“Yeah, for her.” Steve pointed at you. “Not for you.”

“Stevie, I promise I’ll make it up to you later.” You groaned at him, and Steve knew you hated disappointing him. “Can we please just come inside? It’s cold and I was really excited for the fort.”

There are many times when Steve wonders just how he manages to get himself into obscure situations. That night, when he had Dustin Henderson wedged between you and him underneath a super romantic and cute fort that he had spent hours building, had been one of those times where Steve questioned his entire life.

At that point, Steve was starting to wonder if he’d ever manage to ask you out in the first place.

A few more weeks passed after that and you were still his best friend and nothing had changed between you two, but now Steve found himself constantly biting his tongue around you. He was so fucking in love with you, he had been for years, but after two failed attempts of confessing his feelings: it was becoming impossible to hold them in.

Then, late January, your birthday came along.

This time, Steve was sure that he had it all figured out.

You had wanted to grab some dinner at the local diner you loved, and Steve thought that a small, toned down proposal to date would be perfect. He’d give you your birthday gift (a matching set of earrings for the rose bracelet you now wore every day), he’d order you the strawberry shortcake you adored, and when you weren’t looking, Steve would ask the waitress to write “happy birthday, my love” on the cake.

Steve was a goddamn romantic genius, honestly.

Except that isn’t what happened.

What actually ended up happening was the waitress somehow hearing “my love” as “Milo” and Steve had wanted to bash his fucking skull in.

“Who’s ‘Milo’?” You had asked once the cake came out, confusion evident on your face.

Steve, now used to nothing ever working out in his favor, had simply sighed and said, “Who knows, man. Just eat your cake.”

You had giggled, and the sound was enough to cheer Steve up a bit. Sure, it was looking more and more like the world didn’t want you with him, but at least he got to hear your laugh and admire the way your eyes shined whenever you looked at him.

Now, a few weeks later, it’s Valentine’s Day and Steve is terrified that he will somehow set your house on fire with his horrible luck.

He has spent the last two months trying to ask you out. Now, on the day of love itself, Steve is almost too terrified to even approach you. At the rate he’s going, if he tries to ask you out again, he’ll end up telling you he hates you or something.

He’s miserable.

Which is how he finds himself once again outside your door, except there’s no flowers in his hands, and he knocks.

You guys haven’t made any plans tonight, but it’s Valentine’s Day and Steve is so in love with you that it hurts.

The second his knuckles leave the door, you swing the door wide open and jump into his arms. “Stevie!”

Surprised by such an affectionate reaction, Steve almost falls into the bushes in front of your house. “Woah, hey!”

He steadies the two of you and you simply squeeze him tighter and giggle. You’re in an exceptionally good mood, almost too good of a mood, and Steve’s hands are sweating. He hadn’t exactly come here with a game plan in mind.

“Happy to see me, I take it?” He mumbles into your ear.

“Duh,” you press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day, why wouldn’t I be excited to see my boyfriend?”

This time, Steve actually does fall into the bush behind him.

“Oh my god,” you run over and quickly try to help the boy up, but Steve is staring up at the night sky, overcome with pure shock and fear. “Stevie? Steve!”

Steve lays there, motionless as you continue to tug at his jacket. “How long have I been your boyfriend, Y/N?”

At his question, you stop tugging and look at him, confused. “I don’t know, honestly. How long has it been since the fourth of July?”

“The fourth?” Steve sputters. “Y/N, it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m just now finding out you’re my girlfriend?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?”

“No!” Steve finally scrambles out of the bushes and grabs your face with his hands. He feels insane, his hands are shaking a bit as he holds onto you. “When did this happen?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “On the fourth. We saw the fireworks, cuddled on the picnic blanket you stole from your mom, you grabbed my hand, and then told me you never wanted this to end. I just… I assumed you meant our relationship?”

Steve blinks. “You… You are the love of my life, Y/N L/N.”

“Well, I’d hope so–” Suddenly Steve’s lips are against yours and he’s kissing you with everything he has within him. All those months of pining after you, all the times he’s failed in asking you to be his, and this entire time you had somehow been his all along.

God, he is so stupidly in love with you.

He nips at your bottom lip and you make a sound that’s so soft and sweet in the back of your throat that has Steve’s head spinning. He nips again, revels in the breathy sigh you release against his lips, and Steve’s hand tugs harshly against your waist.

The kiss is perfect and everything he’s ever dreamed of.

Then, a thought occurs to Steve.

“Wait a minute,” he breaks the kiss and your love drunk expression almost makes him groan. He tells himself to focus, even though it’s incredibly difficult to do so. “If we’ve been supposedly dating since July, didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t kissed you yet?”

“Oh, I just thought you were shy.” You shrug, as if it’s no big deal. Then, with a teasing smile, you add, “And I guess I love you too.”

Steve decides, then and there, that you will be the death of him.

And he couldn’t be any happier as he pulls you in again for another bruising kiss.

Afterall, Steve has about seven months to make up for lost time.

⌑ writing masterlist

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x fem #stranger things #m's writing #fluff #valentines day #enjoyyyyyy <3 #mans just wants a gf #bless him

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cookieclover · 2 months ago

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I thought I'd finally do a proper introduction/masterpost for my blog!

______________________________________________________________

Hi! You can call me Cookie, I’m a self-taught artist from Poland, obsessed with transformers for QUITE some time now ^^ Currently working part time as a teacher, trying to make art my full time job.

Right now my biggest project is the comic series called "Mute B-127 AU" - a story I created based on the Transformers One movie, where B-127 annoys Sentinel a little too much during his capture.

Series ongoing, updates every 10 days (or so)

Chapter 1 - What if?

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

Chapter 2 - The Aftermath

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

(next update around 18/04/25, 6PM CET)

______________________________________________________________

If you like my work, you can SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI! (I have a shop with some transformers merch - stickers, button pins and prints! Shipping worldwide for 5 Euro!)

Rules and FAQ of my blog:

I always read and appreciate the asks, but I may not always reply!

Feel free to DM me, I’m always happy to make friends! :>

Please don’t repost my art on other platforms!

COMMISSIONS OPEN

Small tags guide under the cut:

For art:

#mute B-127 AU - everything about the comic series, including asks, wips and fanarts

#claykittyformers - tiny cube catformers figures I make out of clay

#cc.art - my art (and #cc.(name of the oc) - art of that specific character)

For organising:

#cc.ask - answering from inbox

#cc.notart - for all the not-art posts

#cookieclovershop - some information, updates and sales in my Ko-fi shop

#reblog - the name speaks for itself

#mytreasures - all the gifts and fanarts made for me <3

Please note, some posts may not be properly tagged yet. I'll try to fix that soon ^^

#cc.noart #cookieclovershop #mute B-127 AU

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luvst4rc0r3 · 3 months ago

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“Mistletoe Mishchief”

Jinx x F!Reader

WC:1473

NOTE: GUYS I WANT IT TO BE CHRISTMAS AGAIN😭😭

The apartment was a disaster zone of glitter, tinsel, and tangled lights. Jinx had gotten a little too enthusiastic about the decorating process—like she did with everything else in life—and now, half the decorations were strung haphazardly around the room.

“Jinx,” you called out, holding up a strand of lights that looked like it had been through a war. “How did you manage to break this and tangle it at the same time?”

“I told you,” Jinx replied from across the room, balancing precariously on a chair while attempting to tape a paper snowflake to the ceiling. “The decorations were trying to kill me! You should be thanking me for saving your life.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Sure, babe. You’re my hero. Now get down before you fall and break something—preferably not yourself.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out at you but hopped down anyway, her combat boots hitting the floor with a thud. “Where’s Isha? She’s supposed to be helping us!”

As if on cue, your six-year-old child came skittering into the living room, holding a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. Her wavy blue hair was a wild mess, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

She tugs on your shirt, waving the mistletoe like it was a trophy. “Look what I found!” She signs.

“Oh no,” Jinx said, her eyes narrowing. “She’s got ideas.”

You laughed, kneeling down to Isha’s level. “What are you up to, kiddo?”

Isha grinned, her gap in the front teeth making her look even more mischievous. “I’m gonna put this up and make you guys kiss!”

Jinx cackled, clapping her hands together. “I love this plan. Ten outta ten, kid. Go for it!”

“Wait—what?” you said, but it was too late.

Isha scrambled onto the couch, mistletoe clutched in one hand, and climbed onto the armrest like it was her personal jungle gym. Holding the mistletoe high above her head and squinting to make sure it was positioned just right.

“Careful!” you called out, hovering nervously nearby in case she lost her balance.

“I’m always careful!” she stops to sign back, which was the biggest lie you’d heard all day.

Jinx snorted. “She gets that from me.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Finally satisfied with her positioning, Isha beamed down at the two of you.

“Christmas rules, huh?” Jinx said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Who made those up?”

Isha points to a Santa nutcracker you guys both bought a couple months ago.

Jinx looked at you, her grin so wide it was practically splitting her face in two. “Well, we can’t argue with Santa.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but the warmth in Jinx’s eyes made it impossible not to smile. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to disappoint the kid.”

“Pfft. Sure, sure,” Jinx teased, stepping closer. “Definitely not because you wanna kiss me or anything.”

Before you could retort, she grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer than you expected. Jinx was all chaos and sharp edges most of the time, but moments like this reminded you of the tenderness she tried so hard to hide.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink, and her usual cocky grin had softened into something almost shy.

“Merry Christmas, toots,” she murmured

“Merry Christmas, my love,” you replied, feeling your own face heat up.

Above you, Isha let out a loud eugh! before collapsing into giggles and signing, “You guys are so gross!”

Jinx laughed, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Oh, we’re gross? You’re the one who made us do it!”

Isha stuck her tongue out, then leapt off the couch signing, “I’m getting cookies!” bolted toward the kitchen.

“Don’t eat all of them!” you called after her.

Jinx wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both watched your daughter disappear into the kitchen. “She’s a menace,” she said fondly.

“Wonder where she gets that from,” you teased, leaning into her.

Jinx grinned, unrepentant. “What can I say? She’s got good role models.”

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of laughter, cookies, and Jinx attempting to turn the leftover tinsel into a scarf for Isha. The tree looked a little lopsided, and there was glitter everywhere, but as you sat together on the couch, Isha curled up between you with her head on Jinx’s lap, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect Christmas.

I miss Christmas😭

I want food

#arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #x reader #x y/n #x you #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx lol #jinx x y/n #jinx and isha #jinx x reader #isha arcane #arcane #isha is alive

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01zfan · 8 months ago

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contact

ex!shotaro x ex!reader | 11k words

i unfortunately went crazy with the backstory on this but i love economics major shotaro so i had to write about him. also the ex that comes to help you without hesitation is SOOOO him. this was fun to write i hope you guys have fun reading heh. how this ended up being 11k words is beyond me.

contains: college setting, mommy issues mentioned in passing, a funeral (purely just for the setting), reader is tipsy (they talk about it), unprotected sex (shotaro pulls out)

contact: part 1 | part 2

Anyone who passed by the library could feel the collective anguish of the students trapped inside. By no means were they preparing last minute for their assignments and tests that were coming up, in fact they were ahead of their peers. The students that were smart and disciplined enough to spend their Saturday nights locked away in study rooms still suffered the same, they just did it before everyone else.

That’s what Shotaro was doing currently with his study group. They were currently seven deep, occupying the biggest table the main room of the library had to offer. Even if no food or drink was allowed in the study space, this late into the night there was an unspoken rule that you could have a snack and an energy drink on the condition you cleaned up after yourself. Shotaro’s group took full advantage of this rule—plastic wrappers from the vending machine snacks were spread across the table. Crumbs from chips and cookies were on top of keyboards and condensation from iced coffees and chilled energy drinks made the pages of their notebooks wet. Despite the mess all of them were locked into their screens or their journals, going over assignments and final projects like their lives depended on it.

“Hyung, whats the four types of labor in economics?” Anton, the only non-declared economics major in the group looked across the table to Eunseok.

Despite being a labor economics major Eunseok still sarcastically looked up to the sky like he didn’t know the answer. Shotaro took a break from typing his economic theory paper to lightly push into Eunseok’s side. He had the habit of picking on Anton, but that seemed to come with the territory of being the youngest. Anton always took it in stride, purposefully grumbling out loud to illicit a reaction from his hyungs. When Eunseok was done teasing Anton he went back to his notebook, writing something from a lecture he was watching on his laptop.

“There’s skilled, unskilled, semi-skilled, and—” Eunseok looked expectantly to Anton.

Anton’s question broke the stretching silence of the group. Hearing two humans interact with eachother in God knows how long caught everyones attention. Sohee lifted his headphones from his ear waiting for the answer. Everyone waited for anton to answer with bated breath, like it was a game of jeopardy.

What is traditional labor? Anton asks with a smile that tells everyone he already knows he’s wrong.

There’s a collective groan at the table. Eunseok puts his head in his hands at the wrong answer and Sungchan just laughed in his face. The late night was making everything a little more funny, and Anton’s terrible attempt at knowing about economics made the serious atmosphere of the study group crumble.

“You are shit at economics.” Wonbin delivered his insult with sincerity, complete with a slow shake of his head.

“What the hell is traditional labor anyways?” Sungchan asked, looking around the table for an answer.

Anton even laughed about his terrible attempt to know about labor economics. He smiled to himself and shook his head before letting it hang.

Shotaro felt for the youngest, he really did. He was still a freshman with so much time to decide on his focus in economics—or to switch his major all together. Shotaro almost reminded Eunseok how bad he was at economics before someone’s phone started vibrating against the table.

Aftershocks of Anton’s wrong answer fizzled as they tried to figure out who was the culprit. People who were sitting at other tables had already lifted their heads from their assignments due to Sungchan’s loud laugh, but they were laser focused on the table that was defying the strict no sound policy.

Shotaro reactivated the sleeping screen on his laptop to get back to work. He was in the middle of rereading the details of an incentive program for a fake company to evaluate the opportunity cost. The contacts he wore felt uncomfortable on his eyes as he focused back. Shotaro leaned back in his uncomfortable creaking chair and let his friends scramble to find the buzzing phone, but when he readjusted his headphones back on his ears he heard the automated voice of his phone saying an unknown number was calling him. Shotaro quickly grabbed his phone that was beside his notebook to decline the call.

For a moment he thought that he forgot to activate the study mode option on his phone. But he remembered his impenetrable do not disturb was null and void if someone cared to call him more than once. Just as Shotaro saw the notification for a separate missed call and a voicemail his phone started ringing again.

Receiving a call this late into the night was odd. Receiving it from a phone number he didn’t recognize was even more odd. Shotaro examined the area code, wracking his mind for another number in his contact list that started with the same digits. He noticed that there wasn’t a spam likely hanging near the number either.

When everyone realized who the culprit was, they started looking one by one. Sungchan looked first, peering from the side of his laptop to stare at Shotaro staring at his phone. Wonbin who sat next to Sungchan was second, and then Eunseok who sat on the other side of Shotaro looked next. Within seconds everyone at the table was looking at Shotaro’s phone. The only thing that pulled Shotaro away from his still vibrating phone was Wonbin calling out to him.

“Hyung, are you gonna answer it?” Wonbin asked.

“Who is it?” Sohee asked.

Everyone shifted in their seats at Sohee’s straightforward question. The thing everyone in the nosy friend group wanted to ask but were too scared to. Sohee couldn’t be bothered, moreso annoyed with the fact that the phone was still vibrating.

“It’s a number I don’t have saved.” Shotaro said as the screen on his laptop timed out again.

Shotaro heard his friends at the table shift in their seats. He could feel all of them trying to inconspicuously exchange looks, trying to remain neutral. Anton went back to looking at his assignment after making a face that was entirely too obvious.

After Shotaro’s phone was finally done ringing and he looked at his friends he noticed all of their sullen faces. He ran his fingers over the trackpad and focused on the potential return of giving hypothetical loyal customers a discount on goods.

“It’s not her you guys.” Shotaro assured. I have her number memorized, and that’s not it.

Instantly Shotaro felt the rest of his friends avert eye contact to focus back on their assignments. Silence fell over all of them, one that was so awkward Shotaro had to clear his throat.

Shotaro couldn’t really blame his friends walking on eggshells. The relationship lasted a majority of college, starting from freshmen orientation and ending exactly twenty-two days ago; ironically around the same time this study group was created. Shotaro and you were likened to the parents as the friend group, and his friends were definitely handling it like a divorce.

Shotaro appreciated the concern, but at the same time he didn’t understand why they were so squeamish and almost scared to bring it up. Yes Shotaro announced the breakup suddenly, just by saying casually yeah we broke up when they asked where you were. Yes Shotaro locked into his academics a little too hard, and yes he has been picking up extra shifts at his job. But that was in no way related to his recent breakup. You two ended things amicably. You even met in a neutral setting with your friends needlessly close by while you gave eachother your belongings back.

Shotaro still thought about the stone table in the park in front of one another when you slid a cardboard box of his belongings over to his side.

“Let me know if I missed anything, but I think I got it all.” You said quietly.

After nodding, Shotaro did the same. Your box had more things in it, he remembers looking at the ring you gifted him still on his index finger as he pushed his cardboard box across the top of the table to you.

“Thanks. I think I got everything too.” He said.

You two texted eachother that gifts were okay to keep, but Shotaro noticed your eyes settled on the ring a little too long. His eyes went to your necklace that no longer had the gold S charm attached to it. He knew better than to expect you to wear something that essentially told everyone you were his, but he wondered if you still had the tiny dolls he gifted you dangling from your backpack or if that would also be in the box of things that were technically his but basically yours. The hoodie that smelled like you now was neatly folded on top and covered everything else. Like the worst mystery box of all time, Shotaro would eventually have to go home and find out what was his now. But he swallowed that forming stone in his throat that had been there for the past week and smiled to you.

“I’ll still be here. If you ever need me.” He said.

The two of you were sitting at that table while life went on in the park for what felt like centuries. You were handling the situations like adults—so overwhelmingly respectful and understanding that your friends thought you two were freaks—so why did it hurt so bad? Why were you both gripping your belongings like you didn’t want to take them back?

“If you need anything, call me.” He said.

He let his promise linger in the air as you smiled and nodded. You looked up to Shotaro one last time before walking off to your friend that was sitting at the park bench. He still felt your hand that clasped over his for a split second as he watched you and your friend leave together. After you were out of his line of sight Shotaro felt Sungchan finally approach him. His friends hand that clasped over his shoulder reminded him that the world was in fact still spinning, and he still had a class to attend.

The work from that class was what he should’ve been focused on now. The awkward silence of the study group finally shifted back to what it was before as everyone locked back into their work. Shotaro was the only one who wasn’t focused—his chin wasn’t in his hands from thinking about the graphs in front of him but from wondering who that was calling him. His mind racked through the list of people he had recently given his phone number to. That group project in Statistics was through email, and he never gave that girl at the bar his number. His eyes cut to his phone beside his laptop, face down again as he thought about the voicemail notification.

He felt an itching in the back of his mind, the urge to rub at his eyes only made him feel more restless. He heard the sound of the clocks ticking further into the night. Before he knew it, Shotaro was pushing his chair out from the table and grabbing his phone. He grabbed the attention of other people in the library and his study group again as he pushed his chair back into the table.

“Gonna go get more snacks.” Shotaro preemptively spoke seeing the looks of confusion and Sohee’s lips part. “Text me if you guys want anything.” He whispered.

Shotaro walked away from the table, and when his back was facing his friends he took his phone out. He cleared past his lockscreen, settling onto his call log. He switched to the ten second voicemail when he was past the quiet zone of the library, and when he was in a space alone he pressed play and brought his phone to his ear.

For a split second, Shotaro thought it would just be white noise on the other end of the line. Another spam bot that surpassed the spam likely warning and was talking to the void of his mailbox waiting for a human reply.

But then he heard a shaky inhale of breath and his eyes widened.

“Taro?”

You were the one trapped in his voicemail box. Shotaro almost said your name back in the same confused tone before his mind registered it was a recording, but as soon as you were there, you were gone. As if you had realized it was a voicemail, you ended the call only to hopelessly call again. Shotaro held his phone to his ear still in shock before hearing the sounds around you abruptly cut off. He pulled his phone from his face and went back to the call logs, not hesitating to press on the unsaved number.

Shotaro walked around in the empty space in front of the large wooden double doors leading to the library as the line rang. He couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to the worst. As the line continued to ring he replayed the hopelessness in your voice as you called out his name and what he thought was a sniffle beforehand. His stomach was in knots as he closed his eyes, trying to will you to answer the phone.

“Taro?”

Shotaro froze in place. His fingers went to the volume button on the side of his phone. They pressed up, up, up while he stood there in shock.

“Taro? Are you there?”

The bibimbap from the dining hall churned in his stomach as your weak voice filtered through the phone. You were so loud but so quiet at the same time. The background noise of the call almost overtook your voice. He heard what he assumed to be yelling until the receiver of the phone focused back on you.

“I’m sorry to call but I’m at a wake and I drank too much,” You paused and Shotaro could hear you sniffle again. He perked up from his hunched position, eyes getting even wider. “and now I can’t stop crying and I’m so embarrassed and I just want to go home but my phone died and I—.”

“Where are you?” Shotaro asked quickly.

For a moment, the sound of yelling and music on the other end of the line made him think you were at a party. But you sighed deep into the receiver, ending the white noise with a tiny embarrassed laugh.

“I’m at my Mom’s?” You said it with lift at the end, like you couldn’t believe you were in this situation either.

Just like that, everything clicked. Shotaro suddenly understood the gist of your situation, just like he did with any situation involving your Mother. His hand reached for the keys in his pocket, trying hard to remember the exact address of your Mom’s house. If he looked back to your texts he should’ve deleted a long time ago he was sure he might be able to find it. He knew you were twenty minutes by train and speedwalking, but ironically thirty minutes by car with the traffic if he was lucky. Shotaro already started thinking about his route to get to you as he peaked inside of the library through the small windows.

“Is this her phone?” Shotaro asked, still looking through the window.

Shotaro looked at his stuff sitting at the table while his friends worked on whatever they were doing. He could leave without going back inside, he had his phone, wallet, and keys already on his person.

“No. It’s my cousin’s.” Shotaro imagined you adjusting your body to bring the phone closer to your face. “I just took it and walked outside.” You said.

“Just stay there, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes, okay?” Shotaro said.

He put his hand on the large wooden door of the library to go back inside, already coming up with an excuse as to why he has to leave early.

Shotaro goes to the table and begins packing his things as calmly and quickly as possible.

Sungchan notices what he’s doing first, taking his headphones off and leaning towards Shotaro.

“You’re leaving?” He asks.

“One of the people i tutor needs help with an assignment.” Shotaro says.

Shotaro spoke in a normal volume, but put things in his bag at a normal pace to seem as casual as possible. Despite his calm demeanor the image of you crying riddled his thoughts. The more he thinks about you, the more rushed he becomes. He starts putting his things inside his bag haphazardly, not caring about his normal order of operations. He still tries hard to seem even keeled to his friends, waiting patiently for one of them to ask the question.

“This late?” Anton asks the question first, eyebrows raised as he checks the time on his phone.

The rest of the table follows Anton’s lead, checking the times on their devices before looking to Shotaro. With all the eyes on him he tries his best to remain neutral, shrugging his shoulders as he puts on his backpack.

“Last minute assignment.” Shotaro adjusts the straps of his backpack and checks his phone again to seem nonchalant. “If you guys are still here I’ll come by.” He says quickly.

If the members of the study group were skeptical, they do not show it. They only nod their heads, Anton and Sohee even talk about heading home soon. Shotaro is quick to bid his friends a farewell, pushing past the large wooden doors of the library to head straight towards the train station.

When Shotaro stood from his seat on the train and waited in front of the doors he checked his messages again. His i’m losing reception, just stay there was still left unread. When the doors finally opened he pushed past them before people could flood into the train car. Shotaro nearly ran out of the station, feet clearing two steps at a time as he made his way back to the street. When Shotaro finally exited the station he searched the walking directions on his phone.

When Shotaro made it to the street he had to reorient his phone a million times, and for the first time in forever he uncharacteristically lost his patience seeing the compass on the navigation app twist and turn. Eventually he was forced to look up to the street signs, pausing for a moment as the flow of car traffic continued around him. When Shotaro remembered walking this path with you he started heading in the general direction, hoping that his phone would eventually catch up.

Each time the traffic lights and cars would stop him from crossing the road, he would go back to his messages. You still hadn’t responded, his delivered message sitting at the bottom of your conversation made him more anxious than it should have. When he was finally able to walk he nearly ran down the path his phone told him to take.

Finally Shotaro turned down a residential street to the road your Mother lived on. The quiet residential area was so different from the busy streets he wanted to illegally cross minutes ago. Now he was looking down the lined rows of cars on the side of the street, looking for anything that was familiar. He sent you another message, one telling you he was close and would be there soon. He looked to the houses, trying to find the number you had sent him before.

He finally recognized your Mother’s car first, all the times she let only Shotaro drive it when you two would go on dates. He only had to keep walking a few steps before he was in front of the house, directly in front of the walkway that would lead him to the door. Shotaro looked for a moment at the house that had all its lights on and music bleeding out of the doors and spilling onto the streets. He swore he could hear your Mother laughing inside and other people having a good time. Shotaro wondered where in that big house were you locked away crying.

He put his heel on the curb, getting ready to call you and tell you he was coming.

“Taro?” A voice sniffled behind him.

Instantly Shotaro turned around. His phone that illuminated his face was forgotten when he saw you sitting on the curb opposite of him. Your body was tucked neatly between the gap of two parallel parked cars. You were almost underneath the streetlamp, but in the dark of night and in his haste Shotaro would’ve never seen you if you didn’t say something.

His feet moved first to close the distance, almost like he was floating towards you. The heel of his dress show scraped the paved road and he was sure he got dust and dirt stuck to his pants as he crouched down to you. Your wide eyes followed him, head tilted upwards as he came in front of you before coming down.

Shotaro was eye level with you in an instant, filled with worry as you looked down at the ground. He didn’t hesitate to situate himself in front of you and put a hand on your shoulder, even when you froze and parted your lips.

“What happened?” He asked.

Your gaze was immediately fixed downwards, fresh tears leaving tiny drops on the pavement. You shook your head trying to remember how you got here.

“I was fine in the beginning.” You started.

Shotaro came even closer when you your cries racked through your body. He pulled you in by your shoulder, then wrapped his other hand around your body when you grabbed his arm. He had you in an embrace, it was shaky as you two leaned side to side but he still held on tight. He almost lost his balance from leaning forward and your clammy hands grasping at whatever you could to soothe yourself. Your sobs echoed in the space between your bodies, your forehead pressed into Shotaro’s collarbone as your tears continued to fall. He didn’t speak as he let you cry, but his hand ran up and down your back let you know it was okay. At one point you sat up from the curb to burrow further into Shotaro’s chest, and your hand held his shoulder like it was your anchor.

He didn’t know how long you two were there for in embrace underneath the streetlamp before you pulled away. Your eyelashes were clumped together as you sat back down on the curb, your body still shaky and hot to the touch. Even when the flush in your face decreased and your cries turned into sniffles Shotaro did not pull his hand away from your shoulders. He only squeezed them gently, silently letting you know you didn’t have to be embarrassed to look at him.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Shotaro asked.

He knew the answer, but still nodded sympathetically when you instantly shook your head. His eyes went to the phone that belonged to your cousin still sat beside you. Shotaro watched your eyes flick from your tear stains on the ground to the phone.

“I have to give my cousin her phone back.” You said, voice still weak.

Shotaro watched you stand up on your shaky heels and wipe the tears away from your eyes. He could see how daunting the prospect of going inside was, the worrying written all over your face. He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing the phone gently out of your hands before smiling up at you. You held onto the device, letting it tug slightly between the two of you.

“I got it, don’t worry.” He said.

You hesitated for a moment before letting the phone go. Shotaro crossed the street in a hurry before heading up to the porch of the house. Shotaro felt sympathy for you as he approached the house, the sound of festivities even made him feel nervous. The sound of laughter boomed and music was even more prominent now, it sounded as though someone was right on the other side of the door. Shotaro looked back to you quickly, seeing your defeated stance next to the curb as he put the phone down. He pulled the sticky notes from his backpack and wrote on it quickly, placing it on the rocking chair next to the door.

You didn’t bother asking what the note said when Shotaro came back to you. You assumed it was along the lines of how you weren’t feeling well and he was going to take you home as you got into the backseat of the cab Shotaro called. He helped you into the car after opening the door for you but made sure to keep his distance once you both got inside. He made a point to sit on the side opposite of you but still held your bag, the black strap clutched in his hand as his backpack sat in his lap.

You watched the lights of your Mom’s house disappear when the driver turned down the road. In the dead silence of the car the situation you were in started sinking in and that rock formed in your throat again at the sight of your ex-boyfriend. You tried picking at the end of your black dress to distract your mind, you tried counting the dancing lights down the road as the car headed back towards campus. Nothing could take your mind off Shotaro right beside you and his hand that tapped on his mid-thigh. You wanted to reach across and hold him, you wanted him to scoot across the chasm between your bodies and let you lean your head on his shoulder. You kept your thoughts to yourself, trying hard to focus on anything else besides the fact that Shotaro was your knight in shining armor. He still had his backpack on, so clearly coming from that study group that seemed to be taking up all his time these days. You wish you had something to distract yourself that same way he did instead of ignoring your emotions until they boiled over at funerals.

When the cab drove off and you were left in front of Shotaro’s apartment you couldn’t define the feeling in your chest. The feeling pulled you towards Shotaro’s apartment, you imagined his hand on the small of your back guiding you up the stairs. The feeling made you push open his front door and walk into the space like you owned it, the feeling brought you to his room as you dug through his drawers looking for clothes you could wear. Shotaro didn’t object, in fact you could’ve sworn you saw a smile as he watched you take off your heels and make a beeline for his bedroom.

Shotaro set his bag down first in his kitchen before following the path you made to his bedroom. He was shocked that when he opened the door he saw your bare back as you shimmied out the your dress. He let out a gasp the same time he turned around, your bag still clutched in his hand.

He stared straight ahead, not daring to turn around even when he heard the sound of you losing your balance and giggling when you regained it. Even if he had seen it all the idea of watching you get undressed didn’t feel right. He knew he lost the privilege of seeing you like that a long time ago, so now he was forced to stare straight ahead at the wall where a picture of you two used to hang. When he heard you stumble again his eyes traveled to the cardboard box in the corner of his room. He kept his space tidy except for that corner, where dark energy hung over like a storm cloud. On days where Shotaro was especially busy that was his designated spot to put dirty clothes and other things he didn’t want to deal with. He was grateful he had the right mind to clean yesterday, but it left a full view of his things that he still believed were yours on full display. He hoped that you wouldn’t notice the cardboard box, he could already hear your sound of surprise if you discovered it. Shotaro would not be able to come up with an excuse as to why he never unpacked the box; he could lie to his friends but he absolutely couldn’t lie to you.

Shotaro heard your occasional grunts when your dress wouldn’t cooperate and your sudden rushed movements when you’d lose your balance. He distracted some more by looking down to our bag in his hand. He saw your legs in his peripheral, but his gaze was caught on the S charm that still hung off of your purse. He had the bag in his hands for God knows how long, but never noticed the swinging silver charm that he bought you all that time ago. It still caught the light the same way as it dangled in his hand.

“Does your family know we broke up?” Shotaro asked, still looking down at the charm.

“You were the only part they liked about me.” Shotaro heard the sound of his bed creak behind him. “So no.” You huffed.

Shotaro still didn’t turn around as he shook his head. He could admit that he hit it off with parents well. He had a killer smile and a personality they could trust, and it didn’t hurt that he was a STEM major at the top of his class. Your parents were doting on him while they looked to you with a scowl on their face. Why haven’t you shown Shotaro where the bathroom is? Why haven’t you served him a plate yet? Why aren’t you saying anything? The night progressed to the point that had to tell your Mother and Father in his soft meet-the-parents voice that he was able to get his own food and didn’t need to be served by you.

From that point and on, Shotaro became a pawn in the constant bickering between you and your Mother. He never knew which side to choose, always going the route of the meditator, but he could only talk himself out of so many tense situations. Eventually he would make a temporary enemy out of you and by the end of the night when you two would head home he would be punished with the silent treatment as you tried to gather yourself.

So maybe it was the truth that your Mom came between the two of you, and maybe being in that house without Shotaro made you realize you couldn’t handle it on your own. Maybe the realization that you couldn’t do anything or hide behind your boyfriends smile made you drink, and the drinks made you so vulnerable that you stole your cousins’ phone and stumbled outside to sit on the curb to call your him.

But what did he know? You were the psychology major not him. He only knew that you moved the S charm that used to hang on your necklace to your bag and your parents still believed you two were together. Shotaro also knew that if he had known you were going back to that house alone he would’ve gladly been your fake boyfriend for the night without a second thought—which could mean nothing.

“I’m done changing.” You said quietly behind him.

Shotaro turned around and was forced to face the sight of you head on. You swam in his t-shirt, the end of it making it down to your mid-thigh. He’s had this exact same view before, of you sitting down looking up at him at this time of night. He didn’t even reach out a hand to assuringly tap your shoulder or pat your head. He only walked past you to his dresser, ignoring the way you followed him as he grabbed his clothes off the top.

“I’m going to change.” Shotaro pointed to the door like you had forgotten.

Before he could circle around his bed to go to the bathroom he heard the bedsprings creak quickly.

“Wait.”

Shotaro turned to you quickly, trying to be hospitable and oblivious to your hand and how it reached out to him. You looked like a memory, his black sheets made it seem like you were stranded in the middle of the ocean. You still had your hand reaching towards him like he was your life life. You crawled to the edge of the bed closest to him and Shotaro stayed planted, trying not to look at the way his shirt fit on you. He watched you reach behind to his contacts case before holding it out towards him.

“You forgot to take out your contacts.” You stuttered.

Shotaro did have the terrible habit of leaving his contact in at night. In fact, it was so terrible caused you to develop the habit of reminding him to take them out. You usually had a smile when you reminded him, you took your job very seriously. But there was no smile on your face as Shotaro’s feet moved him closer to the bed and closer to you, You almost seemed worried as you looked up to him. You silently put out your hands to hold his change of clothes as he took the contacts out. As soon as he reached for his glasses you were already handing them to him, moving quickly but so hesitant at the same time.

He remembers you would always cringe and look away at the sight of Shotaro messing with his eyes, but you stayed alert and focused on him. You didn’t look away even he pinched his fingers together and started touching the surface of his eye. Shotaro watched you come closer until your feet went over the edge of the bed.

“You must be tired.” He said.

Shotaro put his contacts in the solution that you held out politely. He wanted to reach out and hold you like he did outside your Mother’s house. He found it was hard to touch your ex if they weren’t in visible emotional distress, but it tugged at him all the same. He settled for putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle shake, trying to seem as friendly as possible despite the air becoming volatile.

“It’s not even late.” You respond.

Shotaro only laughs when he hears the bite in your voice. Your phone that finally turned back on says it’s barely past 8PM. He can hear the notifications start to come in, missed calls from your Mother and a text message that says how nice it was to see Shotaro, even if it was through the ring camera on the front door.

“You’re usually nicer when you’re drunk.” Shotaro jokes.

Shotaro takes the solution from your hands and puts it on his bedside table. He starts massaging your shoulder and instantly the crease in your forehead softens. You’re still alert, eyes focused on him and his hands that start slowly working down your arm. He feels the muscles in your arm loosen each time his fingers dig a little deeper. Already you seem more relaxed, there’s a different tension that fills the air.

“I’m not drunk.” You deadpan, but your voice gets softer when you can see Shotaro’s hand on your bicep. “And my friends say I actually get pretty mean when I’m drunk.”

Shotaro is completely silent when he curls his hand around your wrist briefly before moving to your hand.

“I don’t think so. Your eyes become really wide like you’re trying to see everything.” Shotaro takes extra time massaging the back of your hand with his thumb so he can feel your soft palm against the rest of his fingers. “You end every sentence with please and apologize for everything.” He smiles wistfully to himself as he moves his hand to the first knuckle of your index finger. He watches the tip of your finger twitch as a reflex.

“You compliment everything that comes into your line of sight too.” Shotaro is pulled away from your hand when you laugh lightly with him. he looks to you in an instant, and ironically you’re the one that starts looking at your own hand. “You’re always nice, but something about alcohol in your system makes you incredibly—”

“Vulnerable?”

You turn your head and look up at him. Something pulls Shotaro towards you, not just your hand that pinches the fabric of his basketball shorts.

“I was going to say sweet.” Shotaro laughs and brings his hand back to your shoulder. He watches you lean your head to the side until your cheeks rest on top of his knuckles. Shotaro lifts his fingers and rubs his fingers against your cheeks lightly. “Are you feeling vulnerable? Is that why you called me?” He asks.

Shotaro knows you’re lying when you shake your head. He sees that you’re already pretending the first part of the night never happened, that you just found yourself in his bed with his clothes hanging off your body.

“I called you because you know me best.” Shotaro watches you pause to swallow thickly. “And you’re the only person I wanted to call.” You say while scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

You had the phone numbers of your friends etched into your mind from years of contact. You could’ve called any of them, but you had Shotaro on the other end of the line in seconds. When he didn’t pick up the first time you had the chance to ring one of your friends instead. But for some reason you rang him again. And again. You would’ve spent the whole night calling him, until the sun came up and your cousin’s phone died. You knew he would come. Even if you broke his heart and he broke yours. You knew Shotaro would drop everything to come to your aid because that’s just who he was.

“Shotaro.” You whispered, so pitifully.

Shotaro realizes a moment too late that he’s gotten himself into a situation he won’t be able to get out of. He avoids your eye contact suddenly, instead focusing on your thin gold necklace that disappears underneath the collar of his shirt. His efforts were thwarted when he felt your hand clasp around his forearm. Everything in him that screamed not to look at you turned to a whisper when he caught your eye.

He hesitated for a moment, and when he didn’t move away in time you traveled your hand down his arm until you reached his palm. Everything else in the world fell out as Shotaro caressed your cheek and your hand moved to clasp over his.

“Please.” You continued. “You’re the only one I wanted to call.”

He watched your hand cover the ring you gifted him as your grip tightened around his fingers.

Even if you didn’t explicitly say what you were asking for, Shotaro already knew. He unfortunately had your habits engraved so deeply into his mind he believed he’d never forget. Your defense mechanism of sarcasm that bordered bullying melted down and left you looking for closeness in any form possible. The proximity after a prolonged period of no contact made Shotaro believe you were looking to find that tenderness you so intensely craved from him. That’s why he knew that even if you stopped staring at him you were far from done. He patiently waited for your next attack while he continued to hold your cheek.

“I told you I’d always be here for you.” He said.

Shotaro watched you close your eyes, the view from above let him see your eyelashes fan your cheek. When you opened your eyes again they were blown wide, pleading for something more.

“Can you touch me?” You asked.

Shotaro already expected another one of your subtle hints. He nodded and started caressing your cheek again to emphasize what he was doing for you.

“I am.” He answered.

Shotaro could tell you were getting frustrated. He waited for your next hint as you continued staring at him. His other hand went to the perplexed crease in your eyebrow. The crease only deepens when you close your eyes and let out a deep breath.

“Can we have sex?” You ask.

He stops completely at your question. He could count on one hand the amount of times he heard you ask for sex explicitly. Usually you told him through pulling at his shirt or pinching his skin. Hearing sex fall from your lips, albeit hesitantly, was so was foreign to him. Usually you opted for a shy it in place of the word but most of the time you never said it at all. It took a full three seconds for Shotaro to recover before shaking his head.

“You’re drunk.” He said.

“I’m not drunk,” When you pulled your hand away in defiance Shotaro didn’t react. He only pointed towards your other arm. You had it propped up on the edge of his bed while your massaged arm moved to do the same. You dug your hand deeper into the edge of the mattress, but a second later it was lifted and floating towards Shotaro’s hands. “I sobered up during the walk and the cab ride.” You reasoned.

Shotaro was speechless again. He wondered how long you had your rebuttals lined up, ready to defend yourself at any moment. But he remained steadfast remembering the state he found you in, avoiding the streetlight and slinking into the darkness like a nocturnal animal while you closed in on yourself like a collapsing star. He swore he could still see the remnants of tear stains smeared across your eye bags and the tip of your nose was still irritated by sniffling and rubbing. Shotaro found the strength to deny you again, shaking his head with a small smile to offset the look of disappointment that settled across your face.

“Having sex with me will not make you feel better.” Shotaro said gently.

Shotaro felt your hand stiffen in his hold. He could tell you felt the frustration, he tried to distract the both of you by driving his fingers deeper into your palm. When you normally would’ve winced you only stayed still, your eyes fixed on his hand holding yours.

You admittedly felt frustration from not getting what you wanted. Having Shotaro deny you anything—much less sex—felt so alien it nearly placed you out of your body. Having him tend to you in every way he did as a boyfriend over the course of the evening left you searching for the last thing. You wanted him to take care of you in that final way, you needed him to. There seemed to be no better way to cope with the overwhelming wrong in your life than to have morally ambiguous sex with the ex you couldn’t get rid of.

“Being with you has always made me feel better.” You say.

You don’t try to sound teasing. You have lost entirely too much of your mystery tonight to be anything but upfront. You let the desperation come from you in waves and you don’t try to hide how pitiful you feel.

Your lack of shame and overwhelming vulnerability is rewarded when Shotaro looks from your hand to your face. You pray he can see the desire you don’t try to hide and the way you look up at him so pitifully. Shotaro’s hand cradles your face and you can tell he’s looking at you a little closer now. With your free hand you clutch at the bottom of his shirt. It’s soft in between your fingers. You wrinkle the fabric even more when Shotaro holds eye contact with you.

“You were stumbling out of your clothes.” Shotaro said matter-of-factly.

“You know i’m clumsy.” You responded quickly.

Before Shotaro could say anything else your hand clasped over the wrist that cradled your cheek. Shotaro let your hand guide his lower and lower down your body. You let his fingers graze the exposed skin of your neck before pushing it further down to your chest. Shotaro didn’t dare move his hands, he only watched you with a titled head and even expression as you arched your back into his outstretched palm.

“I’ll do all the work.” You emphasized your point by clasping your hand over Shotaro’s, molding his hand against your chest. He felt your hardened nipple press against his palm as you leaned even further forward. “You can stop at anytime. Just need a little.” You said.

Shotaro exercised his strength by pulling away from your chest. He stayed in the same spot by his bed, looking down at your defeated expression. He tried to think about how long it’s been since you had alcohol in your system, how you didn’t have that far off look in your eye like you usually did when you drank.

He almost found the strength to turn you down again. But you looked up to him with your big blown out eyes and pouty lips. He crumbled when he felt you pull at the belt loop of his jeans weakly.

“Tell me what this is before we go any further.” Shotaro said sternly.

Your hands stopped pulling at his belt loops and you nodded quickly. You sat up with perfect posture on the bed to show Shotaro you really were in the right state of mind to be doing this.

“I always feel better when I’m with you.” You started hesitantly backing towards the center of Shotaro’s bed as you kept your eyes on him. “Just take care of me a little bit. That’s all I need.”

You leave Shotaro’s hold to settle in the center of his bed. You wait there for him, playing with the bottom of his shirt to occupy yourself. You keep your eyes on him—because shame is completely foreign to you now—as he stands next to the bed. He continues to stand there unmoving and you let out a tiny breath, something between sinking disappointment and stubborn hope.

You can’t stop your smile and your eyes from widening when Shotaro puts his knee on the bed. You stay on your spot of the mattress as Shotaro slowly brings his other knee to rest on the edge. You already feel excitement bubbling across your body when you move your body towards his. You rake your eyes down his body, settling on his waist.

Before you can make another move Shotaro’s hands go to your shoulders, keeping you in place. You move to sit on your knees and look up at him. From down here you can’t help but bat your eyelashes.

“I won’t hesitate to stop.” Shotaro says sternly.

Your lie of doing all the work becomes null and void in an instant. The commanding look in Shotaro’s voice takes away all your authority, the even tone in his voice makes it impossible for you to speak. All you can do is nod and swallow thickly, putting everything in his hands. So you sit on the bed completely still. You’re all eyes and parted lips as you watch Shotaro lower himself until he is eye level with you. You keep your eyes on his face, the only movement is when he rubs your shoulders down to your hands before placing them on his lap.

Shotaro holds his thigh for a second, thinking about what to do next. He smiles at your frazzled expression, like you’re surprised he actually agreed to this. Shotaro thought that he already made it abundantly clear he could never turn you down, to not give you what you want. It was impossible to say no when you looked at him like that.

Shotaro’s fingers wrapped around the ring you gifted him. He sees your eyes dart down to his hands before your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You shift on your legs and part your lips again, already prepared for what Shotaro is going to do next.

When he gets the ring off he brings it to your lips. He watches the metal cause a dimple on your lip as he presses the ring lightly against it. He sees you almost go crosseyed to look at the ring before your shaking pupils focus back on him. Shotaro smiles, finding it hard to be pulled from the sight.

“Hold this for me?” He asks.

You nod, and without hesitation you part your lips even further.

Shotaro gently pushes the ring inside of your mouth, grazing the bottom of your teeth before placing it on your tongue. As Shotaro pulls his fingers from your mouth you greedily close your lips around them. You suck his fingers back into your mouth, the metallic taste of the ring mingling with the taste of him. Shotaro’s hand grazes up your arm and you paw at his forearm, looking for something to hold. You are too focused on the satisfied look in his eyes to actually pay attention at what you’re reaching for, if you’re reaching for anything at all.

When Shotaro is satisfied he presses on the flat part of your tongue. His fingers leave your mouth and a string of spit follows it. You follow closely behind, you lean your body forward in an effort to close the gap.

“It’s okay if you spit it out.” With your tongue you move the ring from your cheek to the center of your mouth. When you nod Shotaro looks behind you on the mattress briefly before moving his other hand to your other shoulder. “Lay down for me.” Shotaro says gently.

You are taken back to the time you almost choked on the ring briefly as Shotaro guides your body backwards. Your body barely makes a sound as it hits the mattress. Shotaro continues to look down at you, his wet fingers caress your cheek and stroke your chin. His fingers go down lower and lower, non-assuming and gentle as his eyes follow the invisible trail. You squirm underneath his touch, and you squirm even more when you realize how intensely he’s staring at your body.

“How do you want it?” Shotaro sounds far away as his fingers continue down your body. You shiver, trying to find the words before he finds them for you. “Or do you want me to decide?” He asks.

“You decide.” You say meekly.

Shotaro starts by lifting your bent leg and putting it in the bend of his arm. You have been in this position with him before. You ignore the habit in your muscles to watch Shotaro build the tension. He guides your calf to rest on his shoulder, then does the same with the other leg as he comes closer to your body. Shotaro bends between your legs and kisses the spot right below your knee as his hand reaches for the bottom of his shirt.

“I’ll take care of you.” Shotaro murmurs.

You already arch your back off the mattress without him doing anything. He can see you’re driven by his words, the need to be taken care of satisfies you to no end. He has half a mind to just repeat the acts of service he did for you when he was your boyfriend. Shotaro was positive you’d be a shaking mess by the end of his long list with a few praises thrown in. But Shotaro finds himself getting excited at the ability to have you in the palm of his hand again. He plans to take his time when he finally sees your bare stomach and the trim of your panties for the first time in God knows how long.

“I know you’ll take care of me.” You lament.

The name you reserved for him in bed was so close to falling from your lips. Shotaro even watched you form the word and the affliction in your tongue to ennunciate the word. He knows its for the better that you cut yourself off, he doesn’t know who he would become if he heard you call him by that name.

He distracts himself from the replays of you crying out the nickname by pushing his hand past the elastic of your underwear. Shotaro’s other hand moves to fondle your chest, alternating between groping and hard palming as a complete contrast from the gentle way he touches your clit.

You already were wet for him, your hole clenched around nothing as Shotaro circled your bundle of nerves. You twitched and let our labored groans, continue to scratch your nails over the fabric of his pants. You don’t know how much longer you can silently give him the hints that you need more. The feeling of his hands groping you and being so close to your slit does anything but satiate you. You’re somehow more wound up than before, you think you might tear through the fabric of Shotaro’s clothes if he keeps you waiting.

“Just one finger.” You say.

Shotaro looks to you and stills the hand in your pants. His eyebrows raise at your order you phrased as a suggestion. When you lift your hips Shotaro slowly starts rubbing your clit again, but even slower than before. His hand that palms your chest grips your supple skin harshly.

He continues this motion, gripping your chest but touching your clit so lightly you might break. His fingers get lower and lower. Shotaro’s smirk is almost evil as he watches you become more and more pent up.

“What about two?” He suggests calmly.

You nod vigorously, your hands dragging on the surface of the bed to try and find stability.

Shotaro harshly flicks your nipple as he finally slides two fingers in. Your walls welcome him quickly, and Shotaro can feel slick gush past his fingers as he pushes them back in slowly. He reluctantly abandons feeling your body up all together to focus his energy on fingering you. He coos at each of your whines, his eyes alternate between your cunt and your face that’s contorted in pleasure.

“You still got my ring?” Shotaro asks.

“Mhm.” You hum.

He sees the sudden protrusion in your cheek and nods. Shotaro continues working his fingers, letting the lewd wet sounds fill his room. When you start lifting your hips Shotaro uses a hand to keep you pinned to his mattress. Your whines of defiance mingle with the whimpers, both sounds egg him on to move his fingers at a faster pace.

Shotaro came impossibly closer to you while he continued driving his fingers into your cunt. His head still hovered above your knees between your legs, placing kisses to either side he deemed fit. You alternated between pushing your hips down and not moving at all, your depleting energy and tunnel vision of an orgasm distracting you. When you let out a particularly weak sound that was close to a sob you felt his attention go to you.

You knew by the way Shotaro’s fingers faltered that he saw your bleary eyes. You wondered if he could see your eyelashes that were clumped together or the fresh tear tracks that were coming down the sides of your face.

“I’m crying because it feels good.” You said, eyes still closed.

Shotaro could tell you were trying to focus, to keep it together. Shotaro saw your shaky exhale rattle your chest and the pout you were fighting back. He saw your hips twitch and he felt your walls contract around his three fingers. When he took them out of you your eyes instantly opened, wide and so sad he felt his heart break. Shotaro knew better, and he knew you knew it too. His hands left your body completely for what felt like an eternity. The ambiguity was almost as cloudy as the lust filled haze that was taking over his mind. Just when a side was about to win Shotaro felt your shaky hands grip his shoulders. He felt you guide his hands to your lower stomach before your other hand pressed his palm flat against your skin. You kept burning eye contact with him as you pressed his hands deeper into you, until your body instinctually writhed against him.

“Feels good?” Shotaro huffed.

He watched your eyebrows furrow as you nodded pitifully. Your hands left his and went back to pinching and pulling at the fabric of his pants.

As Shotaro watched firsthand that he was still person you needed, pride swell in his chest. Your hips came closer and closer to his, even through the discomfort of the stretch from your calves that were resting on his shoulders. Your body language made Shotaro reminisce on all the times he exercised his control; he remembers denying you that euphoria you were hurtling towards moments ago, he remembers only tapping your chin once before you opened your mouth obediently. Shotaro knows that’s what you wanted from him tonight, to worry about nothing else besides taking it. But he was selfishly chasing after something of his own tonight, he needed to touch every piece of you like it was his first and last time.

He continued to indulge himself in you. Each time your calves slipped from his shoulders he took a break from touching your chest to push them back in place. He pressed into your lower stomach as if the tension was materializing into something tangible and teased your nipples until they were pebbles against his hand. He was in such a frenzy fueled by you; your hips, your legs, your chest, your sounds that were becoming louder and louder and your hands that were becoming greedier.

“Shotaro.”

Your meek voice pulled his gaze away from his hands fondling your waist and chest. Shotaro registered your shaking voice and your entire body that was shaking like a leaf. You spoke clearly, determination in your eyes underneath the tears threatening to spill.

“Please fuck me.” You begged.

Shotaro watched you pathetically reach at the button on his pants. He looked at your hand grasping at nothing, the thing you wanted just out of your reach. He reveled in watching you struggle for a moment, a smile blossoming across his face the same time you let out a frustrated whine.

“Shotaro, please.” You repeated.

Finally he pulled away from your legs, sitting back on his ass as he unbuttoned his pants. Shotaro watched you rid yourself of your clothes. You quickly pushed your panties down your legs before kicking them off your ankles, and you propped yourself on your elbows to take off your shirt. He threw his pants off in the same general direction as you threw your clothes, then took his shirt off as he slotted himself between your legs again. His hands went to your ankles, guiding your legs back to their original place on his shoulders. Shotaro stayed focused on your face as he got closer and closer to you, seeing you let out a pensive breath as your legs stretched further.

“You still got it?” Shotaro teased.

Shotaro felt your feet settle in the crook of his neck and watched your hands hold the back of your calves to hold them in place. You nodded quickly, preening your hips to feel Shotaro’s dick press against your ass.

“I’m still flexible.” You answered.

Shotaro stretched you further by reaching down closer to you. He didn’t stop until you drew in a breath and winced. From here he could watch himself in the pitch black reflection of your eyes as he fisted the sheets on either side of you. He started slowly grinding his dick against your heat, satisfied with the slick sounds and the way you wiggled your hips against his. He was teasing himself but to you it felt like torture, having him so close but so far away.

“Please put it in.” You whined.

You watched Shotaro catch his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded obediently. He looks down between your two bodies, drawing his hips back until his tip prodded your entrance. When he could feel you and you drew in a breath in anticipation he looked back at you. You held eye contact through the haze, you surprisingly held eye contact as Shotaro slowly slid inside of you. The position and the feeling of Shotaro pushed the air out of your lungs. You let out a gasp when his hips kissed yours, a gasp that turned into a heavy moan when he repeated the motion.

He was reeling off the shock on your face, and he felt his entire body tighten when he pushed back into you. Your back arched off the bed and Shotaro moved his hands closer to your body, effectively caging you in. Your head turned at the same time, your closed eyes pointed towards the wall.

“Does this?” Shotaro’s skin slapped against yours and turned your face to look him in the eyes. He got closer to your body, deepening the stretch in your legs. “Does this feel good?” He asked.

You nodded weakly, you lifted your hips in tandem with Shotaro’s quickening thrusts. The angle made him hit that spot deep inside of you, the one that made you moan louder than before and had his vision spotting. You felt so familiar and warm inside, Shotaro felt like he was losing himself again. But despite the euphoria Shotaro held on tight for you, remembering the promise he made to you in the park when you gave him back your things.

“I’m taking care of you?” Shotaro asked.

“You’re taking care of me.” You answered

Your words were cut short when Shotaro gave you a particularly hard thrust. He slid in and out of you with ease, but each time you could feel your walls clamp around his dick in an effort to keep him inside of you. Your walls began spasming without your control. The feeling built up over your body again, you were teetering towards the edge once again.

“I’m close.” You warned as you brought your feet deeper into the crook of Shotaro’s neck.

Shotaro nodded down at you, a groan leaving his lips in place of words as he continued fucking you. You alternated between the damp ends of his hair and the focused look on his face. You could tell he was close like you were, arguably even more close to the edge than you were. But you could feel the devotion he had to taking care of you first. Watching Shotaro shamelessly put your needs before yours had you arching your back off the bed. Everything melted away in that moment, and feeling him move his hand from beside you to touch your face affectionately made tears dot your waterline again.

“I got you.” Shotaro spoke over your moans, gentle and soft despite the violent waves ripping through your body. “Go ahead.” He said.

You couldn’t speak during the fact. Even your moans ceased, the stretch and the intense feeling of Shotaro snug in your walls took away your ability to even form a coherent thought. He reduced you down to your teeth digging into your lip and the death grip you had on your legs. You dug your own fingers into your flesh, the pain only made your orgasm more intense. The more your body seized the more intense everything became. A string of words fell from your lips that only Shotaro seemed to understand; he nodded and cooed at you while his hand starting touching you all over again.

Before you knew it, your body relaxed. Your feet were limp and your legs felt loose, your entire body felt loose as Shotaro’s hips began to falter. You weakly let your hands run down his arms, saying more incoherent babbles as his own eyes started screwing shut. You pulled the ring from your cheek. The wet metal was pressed between your palm and Shotaro's arm.

“Got you.” You said, barely coming back to Earth.

Shotaro waited until he only felt the pulses from aftershock to pull out. His last bit of self control dissipated after seeing your hands paw at your chest. He was fixated on the way your skin peaked between your fingers when he leaned forward to consolidate his release on a small portion of your lower stomach. The sensation of finishing on you felt barbaric, but Shotaro knew he had to atleast attempt to be responsible. Your legs slid from his shoulder as he wrapped his hands around his dick and began pumping quickly. He treated himself harsher than he treated you. This was simply a means to an end, a way to show you that taking care of you was the only fulfillment Shotaro needed.

“Can I?” Shotaro asked quickly, looking to your flushed face as he continued pumping his dick.

At some point you slid the ring onto your finger, the metal band loose around your joint as you held your chest tighter.

Despite being rough with himself, he still felt the relief all the same. Even if it was Shotaro pumping his dick it felt like it was you who was pulling him thin before letting him go completely. Shotaro groaned and dug his fist into the mattress beside your body as he watched you twitch from the sudden warmth on your stomach. He continued going, Shotaro wasn’t sure if he imagined your sounds egging him on, or if it was wishful thinking. He still continued to empty onto your lower stomach while he felt the coil snap in his stomach.

When he regained his senses he lifted his head to look at your stomach. He grimaced at the mess he made on you—a small mess but a mess nonetheless—and wasted no time getting up from the bed. He ignored the look of accomplishment and pure content that rested in your smile when he came back with a wet towel. He had to bite his lip when he got on the bed again to wipe you down. He was slow with the warm towel, taking a quick peak to your face to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

If the towel was scorching hot Shotaro wouldn’t have known. You only watched with a smile on your face and something more complicated in your eyes as you watched him take care of you.

#seriez: contact #01zfan: shotaro #shotaro smut #riize smut

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pinkiemachine · 11 months ago

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I’ve only done some light reading on Selina, but even so, details on her past seem few and far between. Maybe there’s a reason, maybe I just haven’t looked hard enough, whatever. Someone can enlighten me in the comments. What I do know, however, is that she’s eluded to have experienced some form of abuse as a child. Now, this research came on the heels of brushing up on the rest of Batman’s rogues’ gallery and I gotta say, abuse as a backstory comes up a lot. And I’m just sitting here, like, “There are so many unique people in this world with unique traumas and hurts that this feels almost cookie cutter.” Am I wrong? I just wanna be more specific and explore problems more intimately. So… Selina Kyle. What to write for her backstory? I thought a lot about who she is as a character present day—her playful aloofness, her decision to become a cat burglar, breaking rules as if they don’t exist, always on the run, never settling down with anyone long term, stealing nice things for herself—it led me to this backstory: When Selina was a child, she was horribly neglected. Her father was almost never around and her mother was depressed, anxious, under the influence of alcohol quite often, and wished she never had a daughter. Selina found that it was always easier to live as though she were invisible. If she never got caught making a mess or being noisy or causing problems, her mother would never get mad at her, or even a acknowledge her, and neither would her father if he ever showed his face. She never received birthday gifts—or if she did, they were pitiful—and all of her attempts of reaching out via gifts to her mother and father were rejected. She was never loved and grew to believe that the only way she would ever feel cared for is if she just took care of herself and only herself. She was good at being invisible, and so she became good at stealing. She treated herself to nice things whenever she felt like it, and she rarely ever got caught. She never made close friends. She never really fell in love. She built up walls so high that no one could ever break them down… until she met Bruce. Suddenly, here was a guy who could consistently catch her red-handed. Who told her she needed to stop robbing people. Who believed she could be better. Who saw her. And even though she kept double-crossing him, escaping his grasp, and escaping justice, she found that it was a little bit harder to return to crime every time. She had always found him attractive… but the longer they chased each other around Gotham, and the longer he showed that he wasn’t going to ignore her or give up on her, the more that attraction turned into a deep feeling that Selina had never felt before. True love. She was scared of it. She didn’t know what to do with it. It was completely the opposite of everything she had ever known, and she secretly didn’t think she deserved it. After all, she was a criminal. She was a “bad guy.” Someone who stole from others for pleasure and profit. And yet Bruce believed she was a good person deep down. He believed she had the capacity for change. And in time, he would find himself falling in love with her too. By the end of their story, naturally, those walls had come crumbling down and they had each learned how to love again, something they both thought would never happen to them. 💜

#fan art #art #dc #dc comics #batman #Bruce wayne #Selina Kyle #Catwoman #batxcat

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sweetheartsofpanem · 10 days ago

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Without Needing to Say It - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

sorry it took me so long to post another part y’all😔

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 4.17k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Peeta found the game in one of the old supply boxes they never got around to unpacking after the war. It smells faintly of dust and singed cardboard, has no rulebook, and instructions written in handwriting none of you recognize.

Naturally, it’s everyone’s favorite.

Katniss is already suspicious of it.

Peeta is treating it like a sacred relic.

You are half-asleep against Haymitch’s shoulder.

“Remind me,” he says dryly, drawing a crooked card from the center pile, “what’s the point of this game again?”

“To sow chaos,” Peeta answers, already mid-grin. “And allegedly build ‘emotional resilience.’”

Katniss makes a noise like she’s been personally offended by the concept. “It gave me a card that said I had to compliment the person I trust least.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you chose Peeta?”

“I trust him too much,” she mutters, eyes narrowing. “It felt like a trap.”

Peeta pouts. “I did nothing!”

You blink at them. “Okay, but where are the rules?”

Haymitch shrugs. “Guess we’re making ‘em up.”

You’re tucked close into his side on Katniss and Peeta’s couch, legs curled under you, one of his arms stretched lazily behind you. Every now and then, his thumb brushes against your shoulder absentmindedly, like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

You don’t call attention to it.

You just lean into him a little more.

And Peeta—because he’s Peeta—glances up from his absurdly idiotic bickering with Katniss and catches the way Haymitch looks at you.

Then he smiles to himself and says nothing.

Not yet.

Katniss draws a card, reads it, and immediately tosses it onto the table like it offended her personally.

“What?” Peeta leans over, trying to peek. “What does it say?”

Katniss scowls. “Says I have to sit with the person I’m emotionally closest to.”

You and Haymitch say “Peeta” at the same time.

“I want a different card,” she mutters.

“You don’t get a different card,” Peeta says, delighted. “The board demands emotional growth.”

Haymitch snorts. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you murmur, nudging him with your elbow.

His fingers twitch where they rest against your shoulder. “You’re the one who insisted we come over.”

“And you came willingly.”

He hums. “For the cookies.”

Peeta beams. “Finally, someone appreciates my contributions.”

“You’re a menace,” Katniss mutters, begrudgingly sliding out of her seat and flopping into the cushion next to him.

“An emotionally available menace,” he corrects.

You roll your eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Peeta grins at you. “Relax, Pinecone.”

Haymitch pauses mid-sip of his drink. “Pinecone?”

You freeze.

Peeta’s smile widens.

“No,” you say, already bracing yourself. “Peeta—”

“Wait,” Haymitch says, turning to you. “That’s new. Why’s he calling you Pinecone?”

“I—” You stammer. “It’s nothing. Inside joke. Not important. Totally irrelevant to everything.”

Peeta is glowing.

Katniss glances between you and Peeta like she’s trying to calculate how fast this is about to go downhill.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Honey.”

You scowl. “Do not call me honey while interrogating me about my secret shame.”

That’s when Peeta—traitor, snitch, former friend—claps his hands together and says, “She had a crisis. A whole dramatic spiral. Came over and said, and I quote, ‘I’ll fake my own death. I’ll move into the woods. Change my name to Pinecone.’”

Haymitch turns to you slowly.

You are beet red.

“I was overwhelmed,” you hiss.

“Overwhelmed by what?” he asks, eyes narrowing with far too much amusement.

You want the couch to eat you. “Feelings.”

Peeta is cackling.

Katniss is smirking.

Haymitch looks delighted. “You were going to run into the woods because you have feelings for me?”

“I—maybe. Shut up.”

“I kind of like it,” he says, biting back a grin. “Pinecone’s got a nice ring to it.”

“You’re never allowed to use that name.”

He leans closer, voice low. “You sure about that, Pinecone?”

You groan into your hands while Peeta looks like he might explode from joy.

Katniss takes a slow sip of tea. “This is the best game night we’ve ever had.”

“Okay, okay,” Peeta says, trying to recover from laughing. “It’s my turn.”

“You should be disqualified for emotional treason,” you mutter, still red.

Katniss snatches it from his hand and reads it aloud, “Name three things you’d bring into the woods if you had to survive alone for a week.”

She grins. “Oh, this one’s perfect.”

Peeta groans. “Oh no.”

You cross your arms. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

Peeta sighs, counting off on his fingers. “Fine. A knife, a firestarter, and Haymitch.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow, mildly amused. “What the hell would I be good for?”

“Morale,” Peeta says solemnly. “And sarcasm. Also, probably immune to bear attacks through sheer force of bitterness.”

Katniss snorts.

You nod, pretending to be thoughtful. “Solid choice. He’d glare at the wildlife until they felt too emotionally vulnerable to attack.”

“Damn right,” Haymitch mutters, leaning back smugly.

“My turn,” you say, drawing a card—and immediately blanch. “No.”

Katniss perks up. “What’s it say?”

“Nothing. It’s—no. I’m redrawing.”

“You absolutely are not,” Peeta says, lunging forward to snatch the card out of your hand. He reads it aloud with glee. “Do an impression of someone at the table.”

You groan. “Unfair.”

Haymitch grins. “You gonna do me, honey?”

Peeta chokes on his tea.

You cover your face again. “Why do I even speak.”

Katniss, calm as ever, says, “You walked into that one.”

Haymitch leans in, far too amused. “I’d like to see your impression. Go on. Give it a shot.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fine.”

You sit up straighter, put on your best scowl, and in your most gravelly voice, say, “Life’s a joke, kid, and I’m the punchline.”

Peeta nearly falls out of his chair.

Haymitch tries not to smile. He fails. “That’s not what I sound like.”

“It’s exactly what you sound like,” Katniss says flatly.

Haymitch shakes his head, still grinning. “Bunch of traitors.”

“You love us,” Peeta says, leaning back dramatically. “Admit it.”

Haymitch makes a vague hand gesture. “You’re tolerable.”

You glance up at him through your lashes. “Even me?”

He glances down at you—arm still draped behind you, fingers grazing your shoulder—and says, a little softer this time, “Especially you.”

That shuts you up.

It shuts everyone up.

Until Peeta—unbearable, shameless, Peeta—lets out a dreamy sigh. “And the award for Most Emotionally Charged Board Game Moment goes to…”

Katniss tosses a pillow at his face.

Peeta recovers from getting pelted in the face but only after pretending like he was just severely wounded during war. “Okay. Since we’re already off the rails—bonus round. Everyone goes around and says who they’d want with them in a zombie apocalypse.”

You blink. “Is that a real part of the game?”

“No,” Katniss says.

“Yes,” Peeta says at the same time.

Haymitch mutters, “I want the zombies.”

“Rude,” you say, nudging his leg with your foot. “You’d want me on your team, right?”

He gives you a slow once-over. “Can you outrun a zombie?”

You gasp. “Wow.”

“Answer the question, Pinecone.”

Peeta chokes on his own breath and has to curl over like he’s in physical pain from joy.

You glare at Haymitch. “Yes, I can outrun a zombie. Especially if they’re slow.”

Katniss hums. “Too bad. Our zombies would be runners.”

“Great,” you mutter. “Guess I’m doomed.”

Haymitch leans back and says, entirely too smug, “I’d still pick you.”

You freeze.

Peeta says, “Ugh,” like it physically wounded him.

Katniss narrows her eyes. “Wait, so you’d let the rest of us die?”

Haymitch shrugs. “I figure she’d be the only one who didn’t make fun of me if I screamed.”

“Oh, I’d mock you,” you say quickly.

“Relentlessly,” Peeta adds.

“But I’d do it while helping you fight off a horde,” you say, with mock sincerity.

Katniss reaches for the snack bowl. “You two are exhausting.”

“You’re just jealous,” Peeta says. “They’ve got coordinated apocalypse plans. What do we have?”

“A shared trauma bond and good aim,” Katniss says, deadpan.

Peeta grins. “We’re gonna be fine.”

You toss a handful of popcorn at them.

Haymitch sighs, mutters something about the sanctity of game night, and promptly eats a piece off his own shirt where it landed.

You stare at him. “Did you just—?”

“Waste not, want not.”

“You are feral.”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

Peeta points at you. “She absolutely did not.”

Katniss leans over and steals the card deck. “Alright. A few more rounds, then we stop before someone proposes.”

Everyone goes quiet.

Peeta looks at you.

You look at Haymitch.

Haymitch calmly takes a sip of his drink.

“…Right,” Katniss says, eyes narrowing. “Not touching that.”

Peeta leans forward, still grinning way too hard. “Okay, speed round. No hesitations. You get one question and everyone has to answer.”

“Is that even legal?” you ask.

“Illegal in five districts and a monastery,” Haymitch mutters.

Peeta ignores both of you. “First question—what’s your biggest irrational fear?”

“Bees,” Katniss answers without hesitation.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“They don’t have a moral code.”

“That’s not even—”

“They’re chaos incarnate.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “I’m terrified of silence being used as a strategic weapon.”

Peeta points. “That sounds targeted.”

You consider your answer. “…Accidentally sending someone the wrong letter and ruining their life.”

Everyone stares at you.

“That’s not irrational,” Peeta says. “That’s just deeply specific.”

You shrug. “I think about it a lot.”

Peeta grabs the next card. “What’s your go-to comfort meal?”

“Stew,” Katniss says.

“Cinnamon bread,” Peeta says with zero hesitation.

You smile softly. “Pasta with butter and garlic. The cheap kind. From childhood.”

Haymitch is quiet a second too long.

“…Cold toast with honey.”

You glance at him. “Why cold?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “That’s how it was when my ma made it. Used to think it was the worst thing. Then it was gone, and—” He stops. Shrugs again. “Guess it stuck.”

Your chest tugs, soft and aching.

Katniss doesn’t say anything.

Peeta looks like he wants to.

You reach up and brush your fingers against Haymitch’s arm where it rests along the back of the couch. Just once. A soft, barely-there touch.

He doesn’t look at you.

But after a second, his hand shifts slightly—fingertips grazing the top of your shoulder—and stays there.

The next few rounds pass in a blur of laughter and insults, Katniss bluffing like her life depends on it, Peeta stealing snacks from everyone’s bowl, you and Haymitch sniping at each other like a married couple.

Eventually, the cards dwindle.

The laughter softens.

The night sinks deeper.

Peeta glances at the clock and groans. “How is it already this late?”

Katniss is sprawled on the floor with a throw pillow under her head, perfectly content and not moving.

You stretch your legs out with a quiet hum. “Okay. I guess we should probably head out before one of us falls asleep right here.”

You slip your shoes on by the door, still warm from the laughter that lingers in the corners of the room. Haymitch reaches for your coat without a word, holding it out for you with a quiet sort of ease that makes your chest ache a little.

“Thanks,” you murmur as you slide your arms through the sleeves.

Peeta offers a lazy wave from the armchair. “Try not to fall in love on the walk home.”

You flip him off without turning around.

You hear Katniss snort behind you.

Haymitch just shakes his head and opens the door.

The air outside is cool, the kind that hints at autumn even though summer hasn’t quite loosened its grip. You step into it together, the door clicking softly behind you.

The walk is short but neither of you rush it.

Your hands brush once.

Then again.

And then he reaches over and threads his fingers through yours like it’s nothing.

No words. No pressure.

Just the familiar shape of him beside you. The stars overhead. The quiet rhythm of footsteps across soft grass and stone.

By the time you reach the porch, you almost forget where the walk ended and the comfort began.

He opens the door. Waits for you to step inside.

And when you do, you feel it settle again—that quiet, steady warmth you’ve come to crave more than anything.

Home.

Your cardigan’s draped over the back of his chair.

You haven’t moved in. Not technically. You still have your house. You still sleep there sometimes, especially if Katniss or Peeta stays over after dinner and Haymitch’s house is too quiet.

But most nights, you’re here.

You fall asleep tucked beneath his arm, forehead resting somewhere between his jaw and his shoulder. And when the dreams come—because they always do—you don’t let each other go.

When your past haunts you, he holds you without asking questions, rubbing slow circles into your back until your breathing evens out.

When his own past claws its way into his dreams, you wake to the sound of his breath catching in his throat and shift closer, hand at his chest, whispering soft reassurances into the dark until his grip on you loosens and his body remembers it’s safe.

You still haven’t said I love you.

But it’s in the way he pulls you back in even when he’s shaking. It’s in the way you don’t hesitate to climb into his lap and hold his face in your hands until he comes back to you.

It’s in the quiet. In the way you both stay.

In the way neither of you run anymore.

You toe off your shoes just inside the door, breathing in the familiar scent of his house—faint woodsmoke, something herbal, and whatever soap he uses that somehow always smells like comfort.

Haymitch hangs your coat on the hook next to his, then moves into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. He doesn’t ask if you want one—just brings two and sets one in your hand without comment.

You smile against the rim as you sip. “Thanks.”

He grunts, already halfway across the room flicking off lights as he goes. You follow behind, finishing your water, trailing him like you always do when it’s late and your body’s starting to forget how to hold tension.

When he reaches the stairs, he glances back once, waiting for you to catch up. You do without a word, bumping your shoulder against his just enough to make his lips twitch.

The bedroom is dim when you step inside, lit only by the low lamp near the bed. The sheets are still rumpled from earlier, and your heart does something dumb and fluttery at the sight of it—like the room knows you belong here now.

Haymitch disappears into the bathroom for a moment. You change into one of the soft shirts he keeps in your drawer—gray and worn thin with age, stretched a little from too many washings. You sit on the edge of the bed, curling your legs beneath you, and wait.

When he comes back, he’s shirtless again, and your brain short circuits for a second in the dim light.

You try not to stare.

You fail.

He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

You lie down before you have to answer for whatever expression just flashed across your face.

He slides into bed beside you a second later, warm and familiar, the quiet creak of the mattress almost a comfort in itself.

You shift onto your side.

And without a word, he slides an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not even fully deliberate.

It’s just what you do now—fit together in the dark like something tried and trusted.

Your hand finds his on instinct. Fingers curling. Holding.

Neither of you says anything for a while.

And maybe you don’t need to.

Because in this house, in this bed, in this moment—you are home.

You stay like that for a long moment, his chest pressed warm against your back, your fingers laced together.

You feel his breath against the nape of your neck. Slow. Steady. Present.

Eventually, you whisper into the quiet, “You ever think we’d end up like this?”

He lets out a small breath that might be a laugh.

“Not exactly like this,” he murmurs. “Didn’t think anyone’d put up with me long enough.”

You hum. “Good thing I’m unusually patient.”

“Mm. Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You smile into the pillow. “Shut up.”

But his arm squeezes you just slightly. Like he heard what you really meant. Like he feels it too.

You shift, just enough to roll onto your back. He lets you move, doesn’t pull away, just adjusts to stay close. You turn your head toward him, and he’s already looking at you.

There’s nothing teasing in his face now. Just warmth. And something that looks dangerously close to awe.

You reach up, brushing your fingers against the soft edge of his hair. He leans into it without hesitation.

“I like you like this,” you whisper. “Quiet. Not pretending.”

His eyes search yours. “I like you like this too.”

You smile. “A mess?”

“Real,” he says simply. “Still showing up anyway.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He stills.

Then turns his head slightly—just enough.

Your lips meet again, slower this time. A little deeper. A little more certain.

It’s not rushed. It’s not hungry. It’s something quieter.

Like a promise.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone as he kisses you again. And again.

And again.

Each one softer than the last.

When you finally pull back, you’re close enough to feel his breath against your skin. His eyes are half-lidded, softer than you’ve ever seen them.

You whisper, “I’m really glad I didn’t change my name to Pinecone.”

That earns a real laugh—low and quiet and rough around the edges.

“You still could,” he says. “I’d find you.”

You grin. “Would you follow me into the woods?”

“Every damn day if I had to.”

And somehow, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to you.

You shift again, tucking yourself against his chest, one arm across his middle, your face pressed against the curve of his shoulder.

His arm settles around you like it belongs there.

You feel his lips brush the top of your head.

And everything—everything—is quiet.

You don’t fall asleep.

Not yet.

You’re too warm. Too full. Too aware of the way his fingers are tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes along your back—barely there, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

You shift slightly, just enough to look up at him again. “You’re not tired?”

He shakes his head a little. “Too much noise in my brain.”

You nod. “Same.”

He studies you for a second, then says softly, “You wanna talk about anything?”

You shrug against him. “Not really. Just like hearing your voice.”

That gets a huff of a laugh out of him. “You’re a menace.”

You grin. “You love it.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his hand stills for a second on your back, then resumes, slower now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think I do.”

You look up again, but he’s staring at the ceiling like he didn’t just say that.

And your chest aches.

Not in a painful way.

In the way that says I could live in this.

You shift again, propping yourself up on one elbow beside him. His arm drops to rest around your waist like he can’t quite stop touching you even when you move.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He glances at you, and there’s something in his expression—tired, open, maybe a little overwhelmed—that makes your heart stutter.

You brush a knuckle gently along his jaw. “You’re allowed to say it, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“That this is good,” you say. “That it’s okay to be happy.”

He exhales slowly. “It scares the hell out of me.”

“I know,” you say softly. “Me too.”

His eyes flick to yours.

“You’ve been through more than anyone should’ve had to,” you continue. “And maybe it still hurts. Maybe it always will. But you’re here. You’re still here. And that matters.”

For a second, you think maybe you’ve said too much.

But then he nods. Almost imperceptibly. “It does.”

You lie back down again, curling against his side, your head resting on his chest. You listen to the slow rhythm of his heart, one of your hands rubbing the scar on his collarbone.

“I like being here,” you whisper. “With you.”

He tilts his head just enough to brush his lips against your hair. “Good.”

You shift closer. “Maybe tomorrow we can sleep in. Make a lazy breakfast. Do nothing.”

He hums. “Sounds dangerous.”

You smile. “That’s a yes, then?”

“Might even let you make pancakes again.”

You feign shock. “You’d trust me with the stove again?”

He smirks. “Only if you promise not to burn down my house.”

“No promises.”

Another laugh, low and warm.

You breathe in deep, letting the moment settle, letting it stretch long and soft between you.

“You know,” you murmur, “for someone who once told me he wasn’t someone to count on… you’ve been showing up a hell of a lot.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, so softly you almost miss it, “I didn’t think I had it in me.”

You tilt your face up toward his. “You always did. You just didn’t know where to put it.”

He meets your gaze, something raw in his expression, and doesn’t look away.

You reach up and trace your thumb lightly over his cheek. “You can put it here.”

He closes his eyes like the weight of that almost knocks the breath out of him.

But when he opens them again, he nods.

He kisses your forehead, slow and steady, like he’s planting something there.

Something that might grow.

You don’t say anything else after that.

You just stay close, wrapped in each other, the night stretching quiet and soft around you.

You can feel the way his breathing shifts every time you do, like he’s quietly adjusting to your rhythm, or maybe like he’s trying not to get used to it.

You lift your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him again. “Still not tired?”

He shrugs a little beneath you. “Not in a hurry to waste this.”

You smile, soft and lopsided. “This?”

He glances down at you, and for once, he doesn’t look away. “You. Here. Me not screwing it up.”

Your chest aches in that familiar, quiet way it always does when he says something like that.

So you kiss him.

Just a light press of your lips to his—soft, certain. A reassurance.

His hand finds your waist, warm and steady. He kisses you again, a little longer this time, a little more sure.

Then a third—gentler. Slower. Like he’s learning your shape by feel.

You pull back just far enough to murmur, “You’re not screwing it up.”

His thumb brushes your hip. “Give it time.”

You roll your eyes, then kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re allowed to believe you’re good at this, you know.”

He snorts softly. “That’s a big ask.”

“Start small,” you whisper. “Like… maybe letting yourself be kissed.”

He hums, low in his throat. “Think I can manage that.”

So you do it again.

Another kiss, longer this time. You tilt your head and shift closer.

His other hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, and for a few breaths, it’s just that—your mouths pressed together, slow and unhurried, like time doesn’t matter as long as this keeps happening.

When you finally part, you don’t move far. You stay close, noses almost touching, your eyes barely open.

His voice is low. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

You smile. “I’m trying to keep you alive, actually.”

He huffs a breath, and it brushes your cheek. “Funny way of doing it.”

You press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Still here, aren’t you?”

And his expression shifts—just slightly—but it’s enough to make your breath catch. Because for all the teasing, for all the sarcasm, there’s something devastatingly sincere in the way he looks at you right now.

Like he’s realizing something he doesn’t know how to say.

You don’t push it.

You just rest your forehead against his again, your fingers tucked against the side of his chest, your lips still tingling from every kiss.

Neither of you speaks.

But it’s all there anyway.

And when you kiss him one more time—just because you can—he lets out the quietest sigh, like maybe he’s finally letting himself believe he deserves this.

You stay like that.

For a long, long time.

Until your body finally relaxes into sleep.

Safe.

Held.

Loved.

Even if neither of you has said it yet.

Next Part

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