#forever forever ever and ever and ever and ever. hand him over to me. hand him over. in my hands.n give.

[brittle-doughie]

Tale of the Forced Hand: Reunion

[Virtue of Compassion AU]

I know, I see the comments of you guys wanting a continuation, so I’m testing the waters to see if I’m still cooking with this.

———————————————————————

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Aww, it’s been so long since we last met. What’s a little chat between old pals?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was he one of the Beast Cookies from Elder Faerie’s story? Shadow Milk Cookie…..he was Shadow Milk Cookie.

You couldn’t explain it, but the name sounded..familiar to you, as if you knew it before the name came out of Elder Faerie’s mouth.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “I just had to pop out of that tree for a teensie little moment when I felt something outside of that tree. Something I haven’t felt for a long, long, long, LOOONG time.”

Elder Faerie lets that statement linger in his head as he looked over the group, worried that his assumptions were not as implausible as he thought.

Elder Faerie Cookie: “No one brought you forth, Shadow Milk Cookie. I will devote the rest of my life to casting you back to your prison!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Aww, why so cranky! Could it be that you’re…afraid? Afraid for a special little Cookie in particular? Did you believe I would just forget!”

His smile immediately falls into a cold stare.

“Did you seriously believe that I would ever forget them?”

Without warning, blue strings coil around your limbs and lift you up in the air and right over to Shadow Milk Cookie.

You struggle against your binds, yelling for him to let you go as Shadow Milk’s silly demeanor returns.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Sorry, no can do! You gave me quite the scare all those years ago, but it looks like compassion never really dies, amirite?”

He brings you to him as he hugs you tight, nuzzling his face against yours.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh, my sweetest, dearest Cookie. How I missed you so, so, SO much! We all have! The others would KILL to see you again right now!”

Strawberry Cookie: “Did he just say compassion?”

Wizard Cookie: “He’s just tricking you! There’s no way he can prove that it’s true!”

Elder Faerie Cookie: “Shadow Milk Cookie is a Cookie of Deceit. Nothing he says rings an air of truth.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “Let Y/N Cookie go! They are not the Cookie you think they were before!”

White Lily Cookie: “Yes, we must help them!”

“I…would never lie when it came to them. For eons, I replay that day over and over again in my head. I thought it was all my fault, I thought that I had lost them forever….”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “So imagine the upmost JOY that I felt when I felt their presence near the tree! I simply couldn’t let my most cherished audience member wait, so I made my move! Now that they’re back, my fellow Beast Cookies can awaken too!

Shadow Milk Cookie: “What do you say, sweetie? Shall we show them what we can really do with you back?”

There’s no way! You didn’t remember having any life before this! This had to be another one of his tricks! What did he really want from you? Why was he acting this way towards you, a complete stranger?!

And just how worse were his friends going to be?

———————————————————————

[dior-luxury]

A Love Worth Fighting For

Background Information: You have been the boys' crush ever since middle school. So, when they suddenly hear about you being in a relationship, they feel an urgent need to win you back and save you from your toxic boyfriend.

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . deuce . jack . epel . sebek

- [𝐩:𝐬] jealousy . some talk of physical fighting

Note: This piece has no joke, been sitting in my drafts since 2022 😭. So I thought I would re-vamp it, so it can see the light of day

Ace Trappola

Ace had always been a tease, a troublemaker, the kind of guy who’d steal the last piece of your lunch just to get a reaction out of you. But underneath the jokes and smug grins, there was something real—something unspoken between you two.

Which was why when you introduced your new boyfriend, Ace felt his stomach drop like a rock sinking into an abyss.

This guy? Some pompous, possessive jerk who acted like he owned you? Ace saw it immediately—the way he stood too close, the way his arm never left your waist like a leash, the way his eyes flashed with irritation every time you so much as laughed with another guy. It made Ace’s blood boil.

At first, he tried to play it cool. “Oh, so this is the lucky dude, huh?” he said, smirking, but his voice lacked its usual playfulness. “You sure you’re not just keeping him around ‘cause you lost a bet?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing him off, but Ace knew. He saw the hesitation in your smile.

And then the incidents started piling up.

He caught your boyfriend tightening his grip on your wrist when you tried to pull away. Ace had been ready to deck him right then and there if you hadn’t given him a pleading look. Then there was the time he overheard your boyfriend snapping at you for talking to him—Ace, of all people, who had been your friend since forever.

That was when the urgency hit him like a train. He had to get you out.

The next time he found you alone, he cornered you, grabbing your hand with more gentleness than he knew he was capable of. “Oi,” he murmured, his voice unusually serious. “Tell me the truth. You happy with that guy?”

You hesitated. It was all the answer he needed.

His grip tightened. “I swear, if he’s messing with you—hurting you—I don’t care what it takes, I’ll get you out. Even if I have to be the bad guy in your eyes.”

His heart pounded. He was ready to throw away everything—his pride, his dignity—just to make sure you never had to look that hesitant ever again.

Because Ace Trappola didn’t just lose. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose you.

Deuce Spade

Deuce had always been the kind of guy who charged in headfirst, fists clenched, heart blazing with conviction. But when he saw you with him, for the first time, he froze.

He wanted to be happy for you. He really did. But something in his gut twisted when he saw the way your boyfriend spoke to you, belittled you in front of others, grabbed your arm a little too hard.

Deuce wasn’t the sharpest when it came to emotions, but he knew what this was. It was wrong.

He tried to brush it off at first, thinking maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was just jealous. He had always cared about you—more than he ever admitted out loud. But then he saw the way you flinched at your boyfriend’s harsh words. The way you forced a smile when you said everything was fine.

And Deuce saw red.

The next time he found you alone, his hands clenched at his sides. “Listen,” he said, voice trembling with restrained anger, “I don’t know what’s going on, but… you don’t have to stay with him. You know that, right?”

You looked away, swallowing hard. “Deuce, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is!” His voice came out louder than he meant, but he couldn’t help it. He had been a delinquent once, but he swore to turn over a new leaf—to be someone worthy of standing by your side. And yet, here he was, watching you suffer because he hadn’t stepped up sooner.

He took a deep breath, then softer, more desperate: “I promised myself I’d protect you. Even if you think I’m being stupid, even if you hate me for interfering, I—” His throat tightened. “I can’t just watch this happen.”

He met your gaze, willing you to understand. “If you ever need a way out, I’ll be there. Just say the word, and I’ll take you away from him. I don’t care what it takes.”

Because he wasn’t going to let you disappear into someone else’s shadow. Not when he had finally realized—too late—how much he wanted to be the one standing by your side.

Jack Howl

Jack had always respected your choices. He wasn’t one to interfere in your life, and he certainly wasn’t the type to get jealous.

But something about your new boyfriend didn’t sit right with him.

He didn’t like how the guy talked over you. He didn’t like how he always pulled you away from your friends. And he especially didn’t like the way your scent was constantly laced with stress and fear whenever he was around.

Jack tried to ignore it at first, but when he saw your boyfriend grab you roughly by the arm in the hall one day, a low growl rumbled in his chest before he even realized it.

Before he knew it, he had yanked the guy off you, slamming him against the wall with a snarl.

"You don’t touch her like that." Jack’s voice was cold, deadly serious.

Your boyfriend scoffed, rubbing his shoulder. "The hell’s your problem, mutt?"

Jack didn’t care what he called him. His only concern was you.

He turned to you, his ears twitching as he noted the slight tremble in your stance. His golden eyes softened. "Come on. You’re leaving. With me."

You hesitated, your eyes darting between the two of them. "Jack, I…"

"Don’t." His tail flicked sharply. "Don’t defend him. Don’t make excuses for him." His voice lowered, almost pleading. "I know you. And I know this isn’t what you want."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Jack took that as confirmation.

Without another glance at your boyfriend, Jack stepped beside you, lowering his head. "Let’s go."

You wavered for only a moment before finally nodding. And that was all Jack needed.

As you walked away with him, Jack made a silent promise to himself.

He should’ve told you how he felt sooner. But it wasn’t too late.

Not yet.

He wouldn’t let you go again. Not now, not ever.

Epel Felmier

Epel never really thought about romance much. He figured if he ever got a girlfriend, it’d be simple—he’d just find someone who liked him for who he was, not some delicate image others forced on him. But you… you were different. You saw him for him, not as some pretty boy, not as someone who needed fixing. You laughed at his stubbornness but never made fun of him for it. You supported him.

And somehow, without him realizing it, you had become important to him.

That’s why it felt like a slap to the face when he found out you were dating someone else.

His first reaction? "Tch. Whatever." He played it cool, pretending it didn’t bother him, even laughing it off when his dormmates teased him about it. "She can date whoever she wants, ain't my business."

But then… he started noticing things.

The way you pulled away from your friends more. The way you barely smiled anymore. The way you flinched at sudden noises.

And the final straw? When he caught a glimpse of your boyfriend grabbing your arm too tightly near the Hall of Mirrors, his voice low and filled with venom as he said something Epel couldn’t hear. But he did see the way your expression went blank, like you were forcing yourself to stay still.

Something in him snapped.

The next time he saw you alone, he stormed up to you, grabbing your hand without thinking. "We need to talk."

"Epel, I—"

"Don’t even try lyin’ to me. I know somethin’ ain't right." His voice was sharp, but there was an undeniable softness underneath. "That guy—he ain’t treatin’ you right, is he?"

You hesitated.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Epel let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer, his grip tightening slightly. "Listen. I ain’t some prince, and I ain’t got fancy words, but I know one thing—I’d never let you look as miserable as he does."

He exhaled, lowering his voice. "You deserve better. And… I want to be that for you."

His ears burned red, but he didn’t let go of your hand. "So, what do ya say? Wanna ditch that loser and come with me instead?"

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek prided himself on discipline. He was not one to let trivial things distract him, especially emotions. But you? You were one of the rare exceptions.

He respected you. Looked up to you, even. You had earned his admiration, something few humans ever did.

That’s why, when he found out you were in a relationship, it was… frustrating. He couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much, but he convinced himself it was fine. If this was your choice, then he would respect it.

But then… he started seeing him.

Your boyfriend.

Sebek didn’t like him from the start. There was something about him that rubbed him the wrong way—the way he carried himself, the way he talked down to you as if he owned you.

At first, Sebek told himself it wasn’t his business. He had no right to interfere in your personal affairs.

Then, he saw your boyfriend yelling at you one day, gripping your wrist too tightly. And that was it.

He marched over without hesitation, standing tall, his voice booming. "UNHAND HER AT ONCE, YOU INSOLENT WORM!"

The force of his voice startled your boyfriend enough that he let go of your wrist, stumbling back. Sebek placed himself in front of you like a shield, green eyes burning with fury.

"You—who do you think you are—"

"WHO DO I THINK I AM?" Sebek scoffed, stepping forward, towering over the man. "I AM SEBEK ZIGVOLT, LOYAL SERVANT OF MALLEUS DRACONIA, AND I WILL NOT STAND IDLY BY WHILE A COWARD LAYS HIS HANDS ON SOMEONE AS PRECIOUS AS HER!"

Your boyfriend paled. Sebek took another step, his voice low and dangerous. "You are not worthy of even speaking her name, let alone holding any claim over her."

Your boyfriend stuttered, clearly realizing he had no chance of winning this. With one final glare, Sebek turned his back to him, grabbing your hand.

"Come. You are leaving with me."

"Sebek, I—"

He turned to you, his voice softening ever so slightly. "You do not need to endure this any longer. I swore to protect you, and I will keep that promise—whether you ask for it or not."

His grip on your hand tightened just a little. "And if you allow it… I would like to stand by your side, not just as your protector… but as the one who cherishes you as you deserve."

His face was red, his jaw tight, but he didn’t waver. He wouldn’t let you go back to that man.

Not when he was right here, willing to give you the world.

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Forever Your Big Brother

Requested: yes

Prompt: Y/n Verstappen is feeling a little left out now that both her older siblings will now have kids and she lashes out a bit

Warnings: arguing

The Verstappen family was gathered in Max’s luxurious Monaco apartment, the view of the sparkling Mediterranean sea gleaming through the expansive windows. Max, his girlfriend Kelly, his younger sister Y/n, and their father Jos were all seated together, enjoying the rare moment of family togetherness. "Alright." Max began, clearing his throat and holding Kelly’s hand tightly. "We have something to tell you all." Y/n perked up, intrigued by her brother's unusual seriousness.

Kelly smiled warmly, her hand resting on her stomach. "We’re having a baby." Jos grinned broadly. "That’s amazing news! Congratulations!" Victoria, who had joined the gathering with her own children in tow, clapped her hands and leaned forward. "Another Verstappen baby on the way! That’s wonderful!"

The room filled with congratulations and cheers, everyone seemed thrilled. Everyone except Y/n, who sat stiffly on the sofa, her smile forced and her hands gripping her knees. "Y/n, you okay?" Max asked, his sharp gaze catching her hesitance. She stood abruptly. "I... I need some air." Without another word, she walked out onto the balcony, leaving a stunned silence behind.

Later that evening, as Kelly rested on the couch, Max paced the living room, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t understand. Why is she acting like this? I thought she’d be happy for us." Kelly, calm as ever, sipped her tea and watched him with an arched brow. "She already apologized to me." Max froze mid-step. "What? When?"

"This afternoon, when you were on the phone with the team. She said she was sorry for how she reacted." Max frowned. "Then why did she act like that in the first place?" Kelly shrugged. "Maybe you should ask her instead of rambling to me."

The next day, Max found Y/n in her small Monaco apartment, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book. She looked up when he knocked on the doorframe. "Hey." He said softly, stepping inside. "Hi." She shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. Max sat down beside her, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Kelly said you apologized to her." Y/n nodded. "Yeah, I did. I was out of line yesterday."

"Then tell me what’s going on?" Max urged. "Why weren’t you happy about the baby?" Y/n sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "It’s not that I’m not happy for you, Max. I am. It’s just-" She trailed off, biting her lip. "I'm scared." She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Victoria has her kids, and now you’re having a baby. It feels like everyone’s moving on with their lives, and I’m getting left behind. You and I used to be so close, Max, but now… I’m scared you won’t have time for me anymore."

Max’s heart softened as he listened. He reached out, pulling her into a tight hug. "Y/n, that’s ridiculous. You’re my little sister, and nothing is going to change that. I’ll always have time for you, no matter what."

"But you’ll be busy with the baby." She murmured against his chest. "Sure, I’ll be busy, but that doesn’t mean I’ll forget about you." Max reassured her. "You’re important to me, Y/n. Always." She sniffled, smiling faintly. "Thanks, Max."

"Anytime." He ruffled her hair affectionately.

Later in the year

The Verstappen family gathered once more, this time for Christmas in Monaco. The apartment was filled with laughter, the scent of baked goods, and the joyful chaos of children running around. Y/n sat on the floor, playing with her nephew and niece, her face glowing with happiness. Max watched from the couch, a smirk tugging at his lips. He walked over and plopped down beside her.

"You know-" He teased. "You spend so much time with the kids these days, I’m starting to think you don’t have time for me anymore." Y/n looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Oh, come on, Max. You’re just jealous they like me more than you." Max laughed, shaking his head. "Never. But seriously, I’m glad you’re here. It wouldn’t be Christmas without you."

Y/n smiled, her heart full. "Thanks, Max. And for the record, you’ll always be my big brother—no matter how many kids you have." Max wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "And you’ll always be my little sister. No one’s ever taking your place."

[solxamber]

valentines event lesgo

Lilia, Romantic, Love wins all by IU

"Go to the end with me, my lover" || Lilia Vanrouge

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Love wins all by IU

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 470

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Bittersweet, Acceptance

Lilia Vanrouge has lived through wars, through centuries of grief, through the endless march of time that strips away all that is dear. He has stood on battlefields littered with the bodies of friends, watched the sun rise over lands that no longer exist, and heard the echoes of names that history has long since forgotten. He has always known that nothing lasts forever.

And yet, as he looks at you now, sitting beside him beneath the vast night sky, he feels an ache that no battle wound has ever left him with.

Because you will leave him too, one day.

Not by choice, not by abandonment, not by cruelty—but by time itself.

You are warm, so painfully warm, your laughter filling the night air, your hands tracing idle patterns into the sleeve of his coat. You speak of dreams, of tomorrows, of foolish, beautiful things—things he has long since learned not to believe in. And yet, when you speak, he wants to believe.

"Lilia," you murmur, tilting your head to look at him. Your voice is soft, hesitant, as if you already know the answer to the question you’re about to ask. "If I asked you to stay, would you?"

He should say no.

He has seen what happens when love turns to dust in his hands. He has lived through centuries of loss, through moments that seemed eternal only to be stolen away in the blink of an eye. He knows the pain of watching someone fade, of being left behind, of standing alone in a world that moves forward without them.

And yet—

He cannot lie to you.

"For as long as I can," he says, voice quieter than the rustling of the leaves. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a vow, like something sacred.

You smile at him—soft, knowing, like you understand all the things he cannot bring himself to say. You do not promise forever, do not ask him to break the rules of fate, do not beg him to change what cannot be changed. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, allowing himself this one moment of peace.

For as long as this lasts, he will love you.

And when the time comes—when the world pulls you from his grasp, when you slip away like so many before you—he will not fight it.

Because love is not a battlefield. Love is not something he must fight and claw and rage against the heavens for. Love is the quiet acceptance of what is, the willingness to cherish what little time he is given.

So he will love you while you are here.

And when you are gone, he will carry the memory of you through every century that follows.

Because love wins all.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[grim-reapers-wife]

(Bakugou x gender neutral reader)

Inspired by this quote:

Summary: You and Bakugou have been together since both of you can remember. It all started the day he asked demanded that y'all use the buddy system when y'all were six.

_____________________________________

🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

Your POV.

"Suki, what did you get in your lunch?" I peak over his shoulder at the lunch table, trying to see in his Almight lunchbox.

"My dad made spicy curry." He said chewing his food. "S'really good." He looks over at mine and swallows his food. "Got anything you wanna trade?"

I smile and nod, grabbing my brown paper sack. "Yeah! I got an apple I'll spit with you, a green one!"

You and Katsuki were inseparable. Field trips, parks, play dates. You name it, you and Katsuki were together.

"Is Katsuki going on the trip?" Your mother asked while fixing your uniform for school. "Mhm! Me and him both wanna see a velociraptor fossil, it's our favorite!"

She smiled and listened all about the big field trip today. "Alright sweetie, have a good day." I wave to her while walking into the school house.

I take my seat next to Katsuki. "Hey Suki." I started calling him Suki as a shorter version of his name one day and it just stuck.

"Hey loser. You excited for the trip? It's gonna be amazing!" He smiles a big toothy grin. "Yeah! I'm super excited. We're gonna see so many fossils!"

The teacher stands up and gets the attention of the class. “Alright everybody. I know we’re all very excited for our class trip to the fossil exhibit but we need to go over the rules.”

She quickly writes something on the board. “Number one. We’ll be touring a public space, so let’s remember to use our inside voices.”

She writes something else on the board. “Number two. We won’t want to touch anything unless given specific instructions to do so. We don’t want to damage anything.

She writes the last thing in the board. “And number three. Pick a partner to use the buddy system with, if one of you is lost or hurt you have a buddy to get help. Go ahead and line up in two's with your partner.”

Katsuki grabs my cubby little hand in his and walks with me to the front of the class. “Hold my hand loser. We’re using the buddy system for the rest of our lives. You’re gonna be my partner forever.”

I don’t say anything, I just smile and hold his hand. We’ll be best friends forever.

20 Years later.

“You are the most amazing person in my life and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” I finish up my vows.

He wipes the tears from my face and starts his vows.

"Baby, you have been in my life for two decades. I know we're young but you've always been there. I don't remember a time without you. You corrected me when I was a bully, pushed me to be my best in UA, let me confide in you when I was struggling. You've been a constant in my life since forever, and I'll never live long enough to love you properly. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done and that you do, I'll never love another how I love you. The day I knew I wanted you to be mine was when I was six and I chose to have you as my buddy for a field trip. Ever since then you've been the love of my life. Hold my fucking hand loser. We're using the buddy system for the rest of our lives."

He wipes his tears and smiles at me, squeezing my hand. I barely hear the officiant when I'm wrapped in the smell of Katsuki. He wraps his arms around me and dips me back, kissing me hard.

We pull away and I hear our friends and family cheering. I look at him and kiss him again by surprise.

It takes him a second but he kisses me again furiously. I pull away laughing and crying. We walk back down the aisle half way before he picks me up into his arms carrying me the rest of the way.

____________________________________________

🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡

Note: If you made it this far I hope you liked it! If not lmk what i can do better. Kind feedback is always appreciated! 🙂‍↕️ If you wanna see more Katsuki my requests are open just send something in! No matter how simple the request.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 29

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension, mentions of anxiety

I hesitate for a moment, my fingers gripping the edge of my drink cup. There’s still a part of me that wonders if this is the right decision, but deep down, I know I don’t want to be anywhere else.

“Yeah” I finally say, nodding. “Let’s go.”

As Matt starts driving, I pull out my phone and text Nick, letting him know I’m coming over. My stomach twists slightly as I wait for his response. A few seconds later, my screen lights up with a reply:

Nick: Oh, yay! Can’t wait to see you. Don’t worry, Matt’s not home, so no awkward run ins.

I nearly snort. If only he knew. I glance up at Matt, who’s gripping the wheel with one hand, the other resting casually on my thigh. He has no idea what I just texted, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Matt notices my expression. “What?” he asks, side eyeing me.

I shake my head, slipping my phone into my lap. “Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push it, turning his attention back to the road. The drive feels lighter now, less tense than before. 

We pull up to the house and park in the garage. Matt steps out first, and I follow close behind, my heart beating a little faster than I’d like to admit. The sound of our footsteps echoes as we make our way up the stairs, and before we even reach the top, I hear Nick’s voice calling out.

“Y/n! Finally, you’re here!” His voice is full of excitement, like he’s been waiting for this moment.

I hesitate at the last step, letting Matt round the corner first.

“Oh..I thought you were Y/n..” Nick says, his voice shifting in confusion. “She’s coming over so if you could stay in your room or something that would be great.”

I can sense Matt's confusion so I step into view and Nick’s eyes widen, flickering between the two of us. His mouth parts slightly, and then realization dawns on his face. His lips slowly curl into a smirk.

“You two motherfuckers came together?” he asks, but there’s no suspicion, just something like relief.

Matt just shrugs, and I nod. “Yeah, we uh.. talked.”

Nick stares at us for a second longer before breaking into a wide grin. “Oh, thank God.” he says, shaking his head. “I was starting to think you two were gonna keep being miserable forever.”

A small laugh escapes me, and Matt chuckles under his breath.

Nick steps forward, clapping a hand on Matt’s shoulder before turning to me. “I don’t know what was said, and I won’t ask. But whatever it was, I’m just glad you guys worked it out.”

I smile, happiness bursting in my chest.

Matt gestures toward the kitchen. We sit round the table as I eat my Raising Cane’s, almost catching up like nothing ever happened. It feels nice, being back in the house, feeling at ease, no awkward tension hanging over us. Nick cracks jokes here and there, and Matt chimes in effortlessly, like old times.

And finally things feel.. Normal.

The new normal.

Just as I finish my food, footsteps start to hit off the stairs, followed by Chris’s voice calling out a suggestion, something about tour, I assume.

“Yo, what if we switch the-”

He rounds the corner mid sentence and freezes. His eyes land on me and Matt, sitting side by side, and I watch as his expression shifts from shock to something softer - relief.

Chris doesn’t say anything right away. He just takes it all in, like he’s making sure he’s not imagining it.

Then, without hesitation, he steps forward, wrapping an arm around both Matt and I, pulling us into a hug.

“Man..” he exhales, his voice laced with emotion. “You have no idea how happy I am to see this.”

I let out a small laugh, feeling warmth spread through my chest.

Matt claps Chris on the back. “Yeah, well.. took us long enough, huh?”

Chris pulls away slightly to look at us, shaking his head with a smirk. “Damn right it did.”

Nick, still sitting at the table, grins. “Okay, now that the family reunion’s over, can we get back to what really matters?”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Which is?”

I glance at Chris, remembering that he was mid sentence when he walked in. “Wait - weren’t you about to say something about tour?”

Chris leans back against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh yeah. I was actually about to mention something about one of the venues, we’re finalizing the lineup, making sure everything’s locked in.”

I nod, taking in his words. “Damn, that makes it feel even more real. This tour is gonna come in so fast.”

Nick, who’s been quietly sitting, suddenly perks up and turns to me. “Wait.. do you wanna come?”

I freeze mid motion, my head snapping toward him. “What?”

Matt chuckles, nudging me playfully. “Yeah, Nick’s got a point. You should come on tour with us.”

Chris shrugs, a smirk creeping onto his face. “I mean, you’re already part of the crew. Might as well make it official.”

I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “You guys are insane. Just like that, you’re inviting me on tour?”

Nick grins. “Why not? You’ve been around forever, and let’s be real, we need someone to keep us in check.”

Matt leans in. “And I wouldn’t mind having you around.. at all.” His voice dips slightly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We just made up, and I don’t want to go back to missing you.”

I sit back, processing. Going on tour? Being around them, experiencing everything firsthand? It sounds.. incredible. But also crazy.

I glance around the room, seeing all three of them looking at me expectantly. A slow smile creeps onto my lips.

“Wellllll..” I drag out, making them all lean in slightly. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to consider it.”

Nick throws his hands up. “That’s basically a yes!”

Chris grins. “Welcome to the tour, Y/n.”

The thought of being on tour with them fills me with excitement, being at every show, traveling on the tour bus, watching them in action from backstage. It’s a world I’ve only glimpsed from the outside, but now I’d be a part of it. And maybe, it’s exactly what Matt and I need, to rebuild, to reconnect, to find our way back to each other.

So of course I agree.

Chris and Nick exchange a look before Nick claps his hands together. “Alright, we gotta figure out wardrobe options before we have a full on crisis.”

Chris groans. “It’s not that deep, bro.”

“It is that deep” Nick argues, already dragging Chris toward his room. “We’re not stepping on stage looking like clowns.”

I laugh as they disappear down the hall, leaving Matt and me alone. The room falls into a comfortable silence as he turns to me, his eyes soft with something unreadable.

“I’m really happy you’re coming” he says, voice quieter now. “That I get to experience this with you.”

I nod, meeting his gaze. “Me too.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, and then, after a pause, he tilts his head slightly. “You wanna stay tonight?”

I smirk, deciding to mess with him just a little. “Depends.. do I still have bedsheets on my duvet, or did you take them all off?”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head. “I meant my room.”

That catches me off guard for a second, but I quickly recover, my lips curving into a slow smile. “Oh.”

His gaze flickers between my eyes and my lips, and for a moment, we just stand there, the air between us charged with something unspoken.

I bite my lip, then nod. “Yeah.. I’ll stay.”

Matt’s smile widens, and without another word, he takes my hand, leading me toward his room.

Two weeks have passed, and it's the first day of tour. ‘The Surprise Party’ tour. This tour includes meet and greets, Q&A's, surprises, and in crowd confessions. We got to San Antonio last night and had an early day doing rehearsal in the Tobin Centre.

Although I’m not working the tour, I’m purely here to support,I still find myself overseeing merch on the sly, just to make sure everything runs smoothly.

We stand in the dressing room, I turn to Matt, watching as he adjusts his ear piece. "Are you nervous?" I ask.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Kinda."

I raise an eyebrow. "You’ll be fine, nothing you haven’t done before.."

He lets out a short laugh. "It’s the first show. Gotta set the tone for the whole tour, you know?" His eyes flicker to mine.

I nod in understanding. "You’ll be fine" I reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. "Once you’re out there, it’ll be like second nature."

Matt glances down at where my fingers rest before offering a small smile. "Yeah.. I think having you here helps."

Before I can respond, the door swings open, and Chris and Nick walk in, already buzzing with energy.

Nick walks in first, in a sharp and crisp suit, a stark contrast to Chris, who strolls in casually wearing a beanie, his usual laid back vibe. There's a moment of amusement as Chris adjusts his beanie before heading to the stage. "We’re getting called for the stage" he says, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

I follow them to the wings of the stage, positioning myself just out of view from the audience. My heart races a little with excitement, seeing the chaos and energy backstage. The lights dim, signaling the start of the show.

I take a deep breath, watching as the crowd roars with excitement.  Then, Chris does something unexpected. Mid walk out, he pulls off his beanie, revealing his hair fully bleach blonde. The audience erupts, the first surprise of the tour. The room is buzzing with whispers and cheers, and I can’t help but smile at how easily he captivates the crowd.

As the crowd’s energy continues to pulse, they transition smoothly into the next segment - a Q&A. The spotlight shifts to Nick, who’s standing with the microphone in hand. He begins, "Alright, I can tell we've got some burning questions from the fans tonight!"

The fans are eager, asking the questions they all want to know. There are some funny ones, some deep ones, but mostly lighthearted questions about life on tour and the boy's dynamics. I stand at the edge of the wings, watching intently, feeling the energy of the crowd, the excitement in the air.

As the Q&A wraps up, Nick grins mischievously, clearly excited about his own surprise. He leans into the microphone with a smirk, addressing the crowd. "Alright, alright, now it's my turn to blow your minds a little." The crowd’s energy shifts, intrigued and waiting for whatever he's about to reveal.

Nick steps back from the mic, his eyes scanning the crowd as if savoring the moment. Then, with a dramatic pause, he pulls off his jacket, revealing a brand new tattoo across his arm. The fans let out an audible gasp, their eyes widening as they take in the intricate design. It’s a bold piece, a combination of symbols and words that hold personal significance to him, and it’s clear from the way he reacts that this has been something he’s wanted to share for a while.

The crowd erupts into applause and cheers, their excitement evident. Nick laughs, taking a step back, letting the fans take it all in. He flexes his arm a little, showing it off to the audience. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice carrying over the mic. "Yeah, I know, it’s a big one."

The fans are loving it, shouting their approval. Nick’s always been one to embrace surprises, and tonight, he’s truly living up to his reputation.

As the applause continues to roll, I catch Matt’s eye across the stage. He’s grinning too, proud of his brothers and their ability to keep the audience on their toes. There’s a buzz in the air now, a sense of excitement that’s only building as the show goes on.

The mood in the room shifts again, the energy buzzing with anticipation as the crowd confessions segment begins. The stage lights dim slightly, the focus shifting to the large screen behind the boys. The camera crew starts scanning the crowd, and people excitedly wave at the cameras, some nervous, some eager. The buzz of chatter fades into a quiet excitement as the first confession is revealed.

Chris’ voice calls out through the speakers, "Alright, it's time for crowd confessions!"

The screen lights up, showing the first confession. It’s a simple text, but it makes the crowd erupt in laughter: "I once kissed my best friend, and we’ve never spoken about it again. Seat A23 – Amanda."

The camera cuts to the audience, and sure enough, Amanda's face appears on the big screen. She’s holding her hands over her face, clearly embarrassed but also laughing at the situation. The crowd cheers, and she waves at the camera, relieved the pressure of her secret is out in the open. The band's laughter rings through the speakers, with Chris joking, “Well, Amanda, I hope your best friend is sitting next to you right now!”

Another confession pops up, this one more heartfelt: "I’ve been struggling with anxiety for a long time, but I’m working on getting better every day. Seat D12 – Tyler."

The camera zooms in on Tyler, who looks a little emotional but also proud of the bravery it took to share this. 

 I glance at Matt, knowing that this is a topic that hits home for him, His expression softens as he lifts his mic, his voice calm but sincere.

“Tyler, first off, I just want to say I respect the fuck out of you for sharing that. Anxiety is no joke, and it can feel like it’s got a hold on you sometimes, but the fact that you're working on it every day? That’s strength, man. That’s something to be proud of.”

The crowd hums with agreement, a few cheers breaking out. Matt glances toward the general area of seat D12, as if he’s speaking directly to the fan.

“I know it’s easy to feel like you’re alone in it, but I promise you, you’re not. Even in a room full of people, I’ve felt that way before. But what’s helped me is remembering that the bad moments don’t last forever. Even when it feels like they will, they don’t.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair before continuing.

“You don’t have to have everything figured out today, or tomorrow, or even next week. Just take it one step at a time, one day at a time. And don’t be afraid to lean on the people around you. You got a whole damn room full of people who have your back.”

The crowd erupts into cheers, and I glance at Matt, my heart swelling a little at how effortlessly he turns a moment like this into something meaningful. He grins, looking back at the screen.

“Stay strong, Tyler. And if you ever need a reminder that you’re killing it, you know where to find us.”

The audience claps, and the moment lingers in the air, a small but powerful connection between Matt and the fan.

As the cheers for Tyler die down, Matt looks up, shaking his head with a small smile. "Man, I love doing these. Y’all are way too real for us sometimes."

Nick chuckles, leaning into his mic. "Yeah, we go from laughing at some crazy confessions to getting hit with some deep, real life shit. It’s wild."

Chris flips to the next submission on the screen, grinning. "Alright, let’s see what we got next."

I shift my weight, watching as the next confession pops up. My eyes casually scan over the words - until they register. My stomach drops.

"I still have feelings for Matt, and I’d like to see where it could go. Seat C14 – Christina."

There’s no fucking way.

My heart starts pounding in my chest as the camera pans across the crowd, searching for the seat number. I stand frozen in place, gripping the stage curtain as the realisation sinks in. 

And then, there she is.

Her face appears on the big screen, looking smug, sitting pretty. The crowd reacts instantly - gasps, cheers, a few murmurs of recognition from fans who clearly know the history. My stomach twists.

There’s no fucking way this is happening.

a/n : i said SURPRISE MOTHER FUCKER (we have one more part left im gonna cryyyyyyy)

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[zaynessbeloved]

It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 8k

⟢ a/n: Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, emotional angst, pining, past abandonment/separation, oral sex, praise kink/soft dom energy, mutual consent/ongoing verbal checks, unprotected sex (condom mentioned, reader is on birth control), loss of virginity/first time sex, emotional vulnerability/confession of love

Chapter 3

The knock at the door is firm, deliberate. Almost impatient.

I hesitate. It’s late. Too late for someone to be knocking like that unless it’s an emergency. My stomach twists as I cross the room, gripping the doorknob before I finally pull it open. And there he is. Zayne.

Standing in my doorway like a ghost from the past, like something I tried to forget but never truly could. The dim glow of the porch light catches on his sharp features, the familiar storm in his eyes—gray, unreadable, but undeniably intense. He’s changed. Taller. Broader. But still him.

I blink, barely processing it before the words spill out. “How do you even know where I live?”

He exhales through his nose, the corner of his lip twitching up like he expected the question. “Your housewarming party.”

Oh. Right. His parents were there. Of course, they knew. Before I can say anything else, he holds something up. A small bouquet of flowers—the jasmines. The ones I left behind at the restaurant. 

“You forgot these,” he says simply.

I stare at him, incredulous. “You came all this way for that?”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even shift under my gaze, but there’s something tight in his expression. Something restrained.

“Okay… thanks.” I take the flowers and step back, gripping the door. “Bye, Zayne.” 

I go to shut it, but he stops me. His foot wedges between the door and the frame, halting it before it can close him out completely. “…Please.” That one word—low, raw, defeated—makes my breath catch. “I just want to talk.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and release the door, turning on my heel as I walk back into my apartment, tossing the flowers onto the counter without a second thought. 

“Haven’t we done enough of that, Zayne?” I bite out, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be, but I don’t care. The words keep pouring, five years’ worth of pent-up emotions boiling over. “Or do you wanna catch up on the five years you weren’t here?”

I don’t wait for his response. I keep walking, shaking my head, my chest tight with every step I take away from him. But before I can put even a foot of distance between us, his hand wraps around my wrist. Firm. Unyielding. Then— he yanks me back.  My breath stutters, my body colliding against his before I can even react. And then his lips are on mine. It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s fire—all-consuming, searing, desperate.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me deeper, like he’s trying to make up for every second, every year, every moment we lost. Like he’s been starving for this. For me. His other hand presses against my lower back, holding me in place, not letting me slip away. And I don’t fight it. I don’t want to. Because I feel it too.

The years of distance, the tension that’s always been there, unspoken but never gone. The way he kissed me then versus the way he’s kissing me now—like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers again. I fist my hands in his shirt, gripping onto him as my knees nearly give out from the sheer force of it all. It’s overwhelming. It’s everything.

When we finally break apart, both of us gasping, his forehead falls against mine. His eyes stay closed, his chest heaving, breaths shallow. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. Neither of us do. Because we both know. Whatever this is… whatever we just crossed into… There’s no going back. 

Your forehead stays pressed against his, the space between you nonexistent. Both of you are panting, breathless, caught in the silence stretching between you. Neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

Because there’s a war happening inside both of you. Zayne’s grip on your waist doesn’t loosen, his fingers still curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, you’ll disappear. But you don’t pull away either. You kissed him back.

That realization sends a fresh wave of heat through you, your heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat. But another realization crashes over you like a tidal wave, sudden and unrelenting. Because now—now—it all makes sense. Not only had Caleb basically confessed to you in his own way, saying he wanted to be there for you in more than just a friends or family way… but now Zayne kissed you. And you let him. You wanted him to.

And suddenly, it hits you with terrifying clarity—it was always him. It was always Zayne you caught yourself looking at differently, the one who made something unfamiliar stir in your chest before you even had the words to define it. It was always him that ignited something different in you, ever since that day when you were just eight years old and saw him sitting alone under that tree, reading. It was always him.

Your lips part slightly, but you don’t know what to say. Do you even need to say anything? And Zayne… he notices. He notices that you aren’t running, aren’t rejecting him, and aren't pushing him away. He notices the way your fingers are still clutching onto him, gripping his shirt like an anchor, like you’re just as lost as he is.

And for the first time in five years, he finds just enough courage to break the silence. His voice is low, breathless, almost hesitant. “…Can this count as your first real kiss?” The words sink in, unraveling something deep inside you. Before you can even process them, he adds, quieter, rougher— “Not the one Caleb gave you that night?”

Your breath catches. His hands tighten against you, as if he’s bracing for impact, as if he already regrets asking but can’t stop himself. And then, just barely above a whisper—  “Or did that someone important already take that spot in the five years I’ve been gone?” 

His voice is strained. There’s something fragile about it, something raw. He’s giving you an out. A chance to tell him that he’s too late. That you’ve already given your heart to someone else. Your forehead stays pressed against his, both of you breathless, your hearts racing in sync. The silence stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken, with years of longing that neither of you dared to name—until now.

But the way he’s looking at you—like this moment is everything—makes you realize… There’s no one else. There was never anyone else. Not really. Because deep down, “it was always you.”

Zayne freezes. His breath hitches, his fingers twitching slightly where they still rest against your waist. It’s as if he wasn’t meant to hear those words at this moment. As if they escaped before you even had the chance to think them through. But you don’t back down. Not after tonight. Not after this. Not after the 13 years of knowing him, of loving him without even realizing it until now. Because this—this feeling in your chest, this heat rushing through your veins, this unshakable truth—isn’t something you can ignore anymore.

“Are you sure of what you’re saying?” His voice is quiet, careful. It’s almost like he’s scared to confirm if he heard you correctly, like he’s offering you an out, one last chance to take it back.

But then—he sees it.The look in your eyes. There is no mistaking it. Not anymore. His grip on you tightens, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he takes a slow, shaky breath. His hazel eyes search yours, desperate, vulnerable, like he’s standing at the edge of something he’s feared for so long.

“Because if you are, I need you to know this.” He exhales sharply, voice trembling with the weight of the words he’s about to say. “I have loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you.” 

Your breath stutters, but he doesn’t stop. “I haven’t felt like I could breathe for the past five years. Five years of pure torture of not seeing your face, not hearing your laugh.” His voice cracks, but he pushes through. “There has never been another one for me. And there never will be.”

A pause—just long enough for you to see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his expression. Then, finally— “I—” He stumbles over the word, like it’s been lodged in his throat for years, fighting to get out. His hands shake slightly against you, but his eyes never leave yours. “I love you.”

And there it is. A confession that has been years in the making, the one truth that has lived between you both for so long but was never spoken aloud. Zayne’s words hang in the air between you, heavy, irreversible.

I love you.

Your chest tightens. Not because of the weight of his confession—but because suddenly, you see it. You see everything. All the years, all the moments, all the ways Zayne had been holding back—the way he let Caleb take the spot, how he always seemed to step aside without a fight. Because in his mind… Caleb was the right one for you. 

Zayne saw it. The way Caleb always looked at you. The way his fingers always brushed against yours a second longer than necessary. The way he protected you before you even realized you needed protecting. Even when you were kids, when none of you truly understood, Zayne saw it.

And so, he did what he always did—what he was used to doing. He stepped back. Because before he came into the picture, before you captivated his 11-year-old self with your little smile and big, curious eyes, it was always you and Caleb.

Caleb was there first. Caleb was your first friend. Caleb was your first everything. And Zayne… he was the outsider.  No matter how much he wanted you—no matter how much you became the only person who had ever made his world feel warm—he had convinced himself, even back then, that when the time came… You would pick Caleb over him. You always would.

And looking at him now, truly looking at him, you realize—he never once thought he stood a chance. His whole life, Zayne believed he was the one meant to lose. But the thing is…He was wrong. Because while Caleb was always there, while Caleb made you feel safe and loved in ways you thought were irreplaceable, there was something else.

There was always something else when it came to Zayne. Something different. Something more. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the realization hitting you like a lightning strike, like something that had been waiting to break free. And suddenly, you need him to know.

You step closer, your hands reaching up to frame his face, your fingertips grazing along his jaw, and his breath stutters. His wide hazel eyes, always so unreadable, crack open, vulnerable, as if he’s terrified you’re about to prove his worst fear right. As if he’s waiting for you to break him.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, feeling the years of emotions pressing against your ribcage, threatening to spill over. Then— “I was never going to pick Caleb.” Zayne stiffens. His lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but no words come out. His grip on you tightens just the slightest bit, like he doesn’t believe what he just heard.

“You were never second, Zayne,” you whisper, your voice trembling, but not with doubt—with certainty. “It was always you.” His breath leaves him in a quiet, broken sound—one he doesn’t even try to hide. And just like that, everything between you shatters. The space, the silence, the years of believing this moment would never come— Because now he knows.

Now, there’s no room left for doubt. And in the next breath, his lips crash onto yours again, his hands burying into your hair, his body pressing against yours as if he’s making up for all the time he lost. Because for the first time in his life… Zayne isn’t stepping back. He’s finally stepping forward. 

The tension crackles between you like a live wire, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything you’ve yet to acknowledge. Zayne’s eyes, dark and stormy, bore into yours, a silent question lingering between you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he takes a deliberate step forward, guiding you backward. Your breath hitches when the small of your back meets the kitchen counter, the cool marble pressing against you even as heat surges through your veins.

For a moment, he hesitates. His hands flex at his sides, as if battling an internal war, before a silent decision flickers across his face. Then, with careful precision, he grabs your waist and lifts you onto the counter, your breath catching as your legs instinctively part to accommodate him.

And then—he’s there, between your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, thumbs stroking over your skin in a way that sends shivers rippling through you. You exhale shakily, fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair as his lips find yours once more. This kiss is different—deeper, more desperate. A collision of longing and uncertainty, of years of friendship melting into something raw and unknown.

His hands tighten around your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer—so close that there’s barely any space left between you. His breath hitches against your lips, and you feel it, the slight falter in his movements, the unspoken inexperience that mirrors your own.

Zayne has always been composed, unreadable, but now? Now, you can feel the subtle tremor in his touch, the way he lingers just a second too long, as if gauging your reaction. He isn’t as practiced as you might have thought. Neither of you are.

And maybe that’s what makes this all the more intoxicating. The realization that you are both treading into uncharted territory, discovering, exploring—together.

Your hands drift to his shoulders, nails lightly digging in as the heat between you grows unbearable. His lips ghost along your jaw, down the column of your throat, and you tilt your head back, giving him silent permission. There is nothing else in this moment—no past, no future. Just him. Just this. 

The touch of his slender, cold fingers on your bare thighs sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach. His hands, steady but hesitant, press against your skin, anchoring you in place as the space between you vanishes entirely.

The soft, heated press of his mouth against your throat has your breath catching, your pulse hammering so wildly you wonder if he can feel it beneath his lips. And then—his lips part slightly, the damp heat of his mouth pressing against your skin as he sucks lightly, not enough to mark, but enough to send a shiver rolling through you. Zayne exhales against your neck, a low, shaky breath that betrays just how lost in this moment he is too.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and rough, the words vibrating against your throat. The sound of his voice like this—so close, so raw—makes something inside you unravel. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it all. He notices. Of course he does.

His hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles into your skin. But he doesn’t move them higher—not yet. Maybe he’s waiting. Maybe he’s testing his own restraint. Maybe, like you, he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and desire, balancing on the edge of something neither of you fully understand yet.

His lips continue their descent, each kiss burning hotter than the last, and your head spins—whether from the intensity of it all or the sheer realization that this is Zayne, your Zayne, pressing you into the counter like you’re the only thing that matters. And right now, in this moment, it feels like you are.

Your fingers tighten around him, your grip desperate as his kisses strip away every last ounce of hesitation you once had. There’s no room for uncertainty anymore, no space for second thoughts—just heat, just need.

Your body shifts instinctively, tilting forward as your lips find his again. You don’t even realize what you’re doing until you hear it—his breath hitching, his hands faltering for just a fraction of a second. And then, you do what he did to you.

Your lips trail downward, pressing slow, searing kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat. You don’t stop—not when you feel the way his body stiffens beneath your touch, not when you hear the breathless groan that slips past his lips, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

The reaction only fuels the fire burning inside you. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and that’s when you feel it. All of it. The proof that he wants this just as badly as you do— if not more.  A rush of heat floods through you at the realization, at the knowledge that Zayne, who has always been so unreadable, so careful, is completely undone because of you.

Before you can think—before you can even process—a small, breathless moan slips from your lips, muffled against the skin of his neck. Zayne stills. His hands flex against your thighs, gripping tighter, his breath coming in short, shallow pants as if he’s barely holding himself together. You don’t even have time to feel embarrassed before his voice, rough and low, cuts through the thick air between you. 

“Where’s your room?” Your breath stutters. Your thoughts are a tangled, hazy mess, but somehow, the answer falls from your lips.

“Down the hall,” you murmur, barely recognizing your own voice. “To the right.”

And that’s all he needs. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carries you through the dimly lit hallway. The heat between you doesn’t waver, doesn’t lessen—if anything, it only intensifies.

By the time he pushes your bedroom door open and steps inside, the air is thick, charged with years of pent-up energy, tension that neither of you ever allowed yourselves to acknowledge until now. 

The second the door clicks shut, it’s chaos. Lips crash together, hands tangle in hair, bodies press together with a desperation that borders on something dangerous. This isn’t just lust—this is anger, this is frustration, this is thirteen fucking years of waiting, of suppressing, of denying. Zayne isn’t careful anymore. You aren’t hesitant anymore. 

Your hands claw at his shirt, fingers desperate as you yank at the fabric, trying to get it off but failing in your impatience. He groans against your lips, his own hands just as frantic, pushing at the straps of your dress, his fingers gripping the soft material like he’s barely holding himself together. Your lips break apart only for a second, both of you panting, chests rising and falling erratically.

Then—his voice, low and strained, slips between the space between you. “Are you sure?”

You don’t even hesitate. You nod, heart hammering, body burning. But that’s not enough for him. He needs more. His hands still, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales a shaky breath. “Do you want to stop?”

Your answer comes before you can even think. “Fuck no. Do you?” The curse falls so naturally from your lips that you barely register it—until he chuckles, a breathless, almost wrecked sound, his lips brushing against yours as he grins.

“You’ve been cursing a lot today,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something almost teasing. You open your mouth, ready to snap back, but then— He cuts you off. “No, I don’t,” he breathes. 

And then he pushes you onto the bed. The breath rushes out of your lungs as your back hits the mattress, and before you can fully process it, he’s climbing over you, his body pressing down against yours, caging you in beneath him. His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s hungrier. Needier. The kind of kiss that drowns you, consumes you.

And then—his leg shifts. He presses his knee between your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight through you. A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, your back arching slightly at the sensation. Zayne stills. And then—he smirks. It’s dark. Breathless. Almost dangerous.

“Again,” he murmurs against your lips. Your breath catches, heat spreading through you like wildfire. And as his lips trail back down your throat, his hands gripping your waist, you know— You want him even closer. You want all of him. You don’t want this to stop. So you move.

Your back arches again, pressing into him, your hips rolling ever so slightly against his thigh, seeking more—more friction, more contact, more him. Zayne inhales sharply against your neck, his fingers digging into your waist, as if the realization of what you’re doing just hit him all at once. But he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t dare stop you.

Your dress has ridden up now, bunched around your hips, leaving you bare against him. The friction—the press of your panties against the rough fabric of his pants—is intoxicating, a rush of heat that leaves you breathless.  Your body moves on instinct, slow and deliberate, as you chase the sensation, each drag of fabric sending shivers racing up your spine. 

And Zayne—God, Zayne—he’s barely holding on. His breathing is uneven, his hands twitching at your waist as if he’s torn between gripping you tighter or letting you keep moving on your own. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his lips parting against your skin as a quiet, almost strangled groan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked.  

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. The feeling is too much, yet not enough, and with every slow, aching grind of your hips, you swear you can feel him tensing on top of you, his control unraveling thread by thread. 

And then—his lips find your ear, his voice strained, heavy with something dark and dangerous. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Oh, but you do. And you roll your hips again, a little harder this time. The room is hot, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathless gasps and the desperate, hungry way your hips move against his thigh. The years of tension, of waiting, of denying, all spill over into this moment—messy, unrestrained, needy.

Zayne's hands roam over you, gripping, touching, feeling every part of you he can get his hands on. And then, with one sharp tug, he pulls your dress over your head, tossing it somewhere neither of you care about right now. His breath stalls. For the first time since this started, he pauses.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, his throat bobbing as he exhales deeply, dragging a hand through his already messy hair, his dark eyes raking over you in a way that makes your skin burn under his gaze. His hands return, slow this time, as he drags them along the curves of your body—fingertips featherlight, reverent, like he’s memorizing you, like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a…” He swallows hard, his voice dropping to something low and rough. “A long, long time.” 

The way he looks at you, like you’re something divine, something unbelievable, sends heat flooding through you, makes your head spin with the weight of this—of him. But you don’t let him linger in awe for too long. With a smirk tugging at your lips, you grab the loose tie hanging around his neck, twisting it around your fingers before tugging him down toward you.

“Well?” you breathe, your voice teasing, taunting. “Go on, Doctor. You wouldn’t want to keep me waiting any longer, would you?” 

A sharp inhale. His entire body tenses, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. Then— His lips crash onto yours. It’s hungry, desperate, possessive—as if those words alone shattered whatever restraint he had left. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hips, tracing the delicate lines of your lingerie like he’s barely holding himself together. 

Your own hands find the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling as you push it off his shoulders, eager to finally see him. And when the fabric slides away, revealing bare skin, toned muscle, the faint scars and sharp lines of a body that has grown and changed over the years— You stare. Your fingers trail over his skin, taking him in, admiring just how insanely hot he became.

Zayne watches you, his lips curling into something smug, his voice laced with amusement as he breathes against your lips— “Like what you see?” 

Your lips curl into a smirk as your hands slowly trace the defined lines of his chest, your touch deliberate, teasing, enough to make his breath hitch.

“Oh, I definitely do,” you murmur, your voice laced with smug satisfaction as your fingers dance lower, skimming just above his waistband. “You got way hotter over the years, Zayne. Who knew you had this under all those damn coats?” 

His entire body tenses above you. For a fraction of a second, you see it—the flicker of genuine flustered surprise flash across his face. His lips part slightly, his pupils blown wide, and he looks like he might short-circuit from your words alone.

But it’s gone in an instant. His lips crash against yours again, swallowing the smugness right out of you as he presses fully into you this time. And oh, fuck—he’s grinding against you now, his hips rolling into yours with a slow, unrelenting pressure that makes your head spin. The friction, the warmth, the hardness of him against you—it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, making your body react on instinct alone. 

Your nails sink into the skin of his back, dragging down the ridges of muscle, and the sound he lets out—deep, low, almost purring—sends a fresh wave of arousal straight through you. It’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard.

Your hands drift lower, fingertips tracing down his toned back, until you reach the waistband of his pants. Your patience is long gone, your body aching with the need for more, and you don’t even hesitate as you tug at the fabric, your voice breathless, demanding— “Off.”  

Zayne chuckles into the kiss, his lips curling against yours as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with amusement, desire, hunger.

“Yes, madam,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice only making you want to wipe that smugness off his face.

His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with ease. But as he pulls it free from the loops, the leather snaps against your thigh, the light sting making you gasp—a sharp, needy little whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it. 

Zayne freezes. Then—he groans, low and wrecked, his fingers clenching around the belt as his jaw tics. “…Shit.”

You barely have time to process that reaction before he’s on you again, his lips devouring yours like he’s losing his mind over you. Zayne exhales sharply through his nose, his control slipping with every second. But the moment that little whimper escapes your lips, his restraint shatters entirely.

He feels it—all of it. The way your body reacts to him, the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way that tiny, innocent sound just made him ache with how badly he needs you. A strained groan rumbles in his chest as he shoves his pants down, not bothering to be careful, underwear and all. And that’s when you see it.  Holy fucking shit. 

Your brain stalls. Your jaw goes slack. Your mouth literally waters. Because of course—of course Zayne would be that big, because the universe is cruel and has been hiding this absolute weapon of a man under layers of clothes and an unreadable, quiet demeanor. 

You don’t even hesitate. Your hands fly up, grabbing his face, and you yank him back down into a desperate, almost feral kiss. He groans against your lips, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm, but he doesn’t dare complain.

His hands start roaming again, sliding down your sides, over the delicate lace of your lingerie, tracing the curve of your waist as he drinks in every reaction you give him. And then, one hand moves beneath you, fingers skillfully finding the clasp of your bra.

With a single flick, he undoes it. Your breath catches—because what the fuck. For the briefest moment, a twinge of jealousy creeps into your chest, an irrational, burning thought that maybe, maybe he’s done this before, that maybe you’re not the first person he’s—

But then, like he can read your mind, Zayne pulls back just slightly, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours as he deadpans—  “I’m a surgeon. I have to be good with my hands.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. And then— A breathless, almost giddy laugh escapes you, because fuck, that was smooth. But whatever comeback you had dies on your lips the moment he kisses you again—this time with pure, ravenous intent, his hands sliding up your bare skin like he’s starving for you.

A sharp breath escapes your lips, your body burning under his touch, your skin hypersensitive to the contrast between the cool air and the heat radiating from his palms.

Zayne is everywhere—his hands kneading your breasts, fingers teasing your hardened nipples with slow, calculated movements, his breath warm as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, your stomach. Your head tilts back, a needy sound slipping from your lips as your hips lift on instinct, begging for some kind of friction, some kind of relief.

Zayne stills. You feel him exhale against your stomach, feel the way his hands pause just for a fraction of a second before he presses a lingering kiss to your skin.  

“Impatient,” he murmurs against you, amusement lacing his voice, but there’s no mistaking the rough, wrecked edge to it—the proof that he’s barely holding himself together either.

Then, his hands move again, sliding down your body, fingertips tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs, caressing, teasing, before finally stopping just below your knee. And then—he grips your leg, lifting it, spreading you open for him with ease. You swear you stop breathing.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight before him, a quiet groan rumbling in his throat like he loves seeing you like this. And then, ever so slowly, his lips trail even lower—hot, wet kisses branding every inch of you, driving you absolutely insane as he takes his time exploring you. 

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. One moment, his fingers are teasing along the edge of your underwear, and the next—he yanks them down, the fabric sliding down your legs with a swift, desperate movement. His breath catches the second he sees you, his pupils blowing impossibly wide, his expression shifting into something starved, something dangerous. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice barely more than a growl, his fingers gripping your thighs like he’s trying to ground himself. “Look at you…”  

Before you can even form a response, he dives in. The first stroke of his tongue has your back arching, a strangled, broken moan ripping from your throat as pleasure crashes through you. He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it—he’s ravenous, desperate, like he needs this just as much as he needs air. And fuck, he’s good. 

He moves like a man possessed, tongue flicking and curling in ways that make your vision blur, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants you. His name tumbles from your lips in breathless, high-pitched moans, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling, needing.

Zayne groans against you at the rough tug, the vibration of it sending another wave of pleasure through your body. His grip tightens, his tongue working you over with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of pure bliss, but then— Your dazed, pleasure-filled gaze drifts downward, and— Your breath catches. 

Zayne isn’t just enjoying this. He’s fucking losing himself in it. Because he’s touching himself. One hand gripping his own cock, slowly stroking himself to the sound of your moans, to the taste of you on his tongue. Something inside you snaps. A sharp, needy whimper spills from your lips, your hips rolling against his mouth as desperation floods through you.

“Z-Zayne—” you gasp, breathless, frantic, your nails digging into his scalp as you tug him up, your body demanding more. “I need you—now.”

He groans, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips shining, his jaw slack, his expression wrecked with desire. The next thing you know, his mouth crashes against yours, hot and messy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he growls— “Fuck, I want you.”

Zayne is gone, lost in the heat of you, in the way you’re begging for him, in the way your body trembles under his touch.But even now— even now— he won’t let himself lose control completely. Because this is you. And the last thing he ever wants is to hurt you.

So instead of giving in immediately, he slows himself down— just enough. His lips trail along your jaw, down your throat, his free hand gripping your thigh as the other moves between your legs. His fingers trace over your clit, teasing, stroking, coaxing you with slow, deliberate movements. And then, finally, one finger pushes in—just enough to make you gasp, your body tightening at the new sensation.

“Relax, you can take it.” he murmurs against your skin, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his voice dark, rough, wrecked. 

His fingers work you open with skill and patience, scissoring inside you, stretching you, preparing you for what’s to come. And by the time he adds a second, your body is on fire, pleasure pulsing through you in waves, your breath coming in sharp, needy gasps. It’s not enough. It’s not fucking enough. 

You grab at him, tugging him closer, legs wrapping around his waist as you whimper against his lips— “Zayne, please.”

His entire body shudders. He almost gives in right then and there, almost loses himself completely— but then— He pauses. His tip brushes against your entrance, teasing you, making you whimper as you try to pull him in, but instead of pushing forward, he stills—his breath coming in hard and fast.

“Oh, fuck—” his voice is strained, suddenly sharp with realization. “I—I don’t have a condom.”

For a split second, the haze clears, and you both just stare at each other, panting, wrecked, the weight of that hitting him all at once.

But then, without missing a beat, you grip his jaw, pulling him back down to you, and whisper— “Zayne, I’m on the pill.”

His pupils blow wide. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he just heard a damn choir of angels. His fingers flex against your thigh, his throat bobbing as his jaw clenches. And then— He kisses you, deep, desperate, grateful, as he finally pushes in. Slow, careful, letting you feel all of him, inch by inch, his forehead pressing against yours as he groans—

“Fucking hell—” And nothing—nothing—has ever felt like this. 

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as he pushes in, the stretch overwhelming, a delicious pressure that has your eyes rolling back, your mouth parting in a silent moan. He’s big—you knew that the second you laid eyes on him—but feeling him is something else entirely.

Your walls flutter around him as your body struggles to accommodate him, adjusting inch by inch, every nerve igniting in fiery pleasure. Your breath comes in short, desperate pants, your nails digging into his shoulders as you take a moment to breathe.

Zayne is wrecked. His forehead is pressed against yours, his arms trembling as he holds himself up, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. His fingers twitch against your hips like he’s barely hanging on, like he’s using every ounce of restraint in his body not to move—because fuck, he wants to. Badly. His first time, this sensation—nothing, nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

A sharp, guttural groan rumbles in his chest, his body tensing as he struggles to keep himself from completely losing it before he even starts.

“Holy—fuck,” he rasps, his voice raw, broken, his lips hovering over yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re—shit—I almost—” 

You don’t let him finish. Because despite the stretch, despite the initial pressure—you need him. Your hands slide up his back, fingers tangling into his hair, your lips brushing against his as you murmur, breathless, aching— “Move, Zayne.” 

His breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs tight. And then—he does. Slow at first, a careful roll of his hips as he pulls back slightly before pushing in again, groaning at the way you clamp down around him like you never want him to leave.

He’s shaking, his self-control hanging by a thread— but the second he hears you moan, the second he feels your hips pushing up to meet his, silently begging for more— Something inside him snaps. 

The moment you start urging him on—your sweet, breathless moans filling the air, your fingers tugging at his hair, your nails clawing at his back—Zayne loses it. His slow, careful thrusts become faster, deeper, the hesitancy melting away as instinct takes over.

Neither of you know exactly what you’re doing—how could you?—but it doesn’t matter. Your bodies find the rhythm naturally, moving together, chasing the pleasure neither of you have ever experienced before. It’s raw. It’s desperate. It’s everything.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, needing him to give you more. The sound of your moans, the way your body arches into his with every thrust—it’s driving him to the edge, making it so fucking hard to hold on. 

"Fuck," he groans, voice wrecked, his forehead pressing against yours as he tries—tries—to keep his composure, but you’re making it impossible. Then—he shifts.

The angle changes, his hips rolling just right—And suddenly, a blinding, white-hot pleasure erupts inside you. Your body seizes, your breath stutters, and a sharp cry rips from your throat as pure bliss crashes over you before you can even process what’s happening.

Zayne’s movements stutter, his grip tightening on you as he feels you clench around him, your release pulling him in, sending him spiraling.

“Holy shit, darling—” His voice is strained, broken, like he can barely handle it, barely process what just happened—but fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever felt in his life.

His thrusts become erratic, desperate, chasing his own release, because after feeling that, after watching you fall apart beneath him, he can’t last much longer.

Your mind is blank. No thoughts, no words—just pure, unfiltered pleasure crashing through your body, wave after wave of it rendering you completely, utterly speechless. You’re shaking, still pulsing around him, overstimulated but needing more, needing him.

And Zayne—fuck, Zayne—he’s losing it. You can feel it.

The way his thrusts turn desperate, shallow, his movements growing more erratic, his breath ragged and shaky as he chases something unfamiliar. His grip on your body tightens, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as broken groans spill from his lips, his muscles flexing under your fingertips as he fights to hold on.

But he can’t. He’s slipping.

So you urge him on—your voice soft, breathy, whispering sweet, filthy words into his ear, telling him how good he feels, how amazing this is, how much you need him to let go. 

Zayne shudders. A strangled moan rips from his throat, his hips snapping forward with a newfound intensity as his control starts to unravel completely.

Then, he falters. For the first time since this started, he hesitates, his breath stalling, his voice wrecked and strained as he pants—

“Where—” He groans, his body trembling with restraint. “Where should I—fuck—where do you want me?”

The question alone sends a rush of heat through you, your body igniting at the thought of it. Your lips part, your breath catches— And you blush.

Your heart pounds, but you don’t say a word. Instead—your legs tighten around his waist, locking him in place, a silent answer. 

Zayne stiffens. His whole body shakes, his arms nearly buckling as the realization hits him.

“Oh, fuck—” 

And then—he snaps. 

A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he slams into you one last time, his body jerking as he finally lets go, spilling deep inside you as his head falls against your shoulder, his entire body shuddering from the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you move, both panting, both completely wrecked—bodies tangled, hearts pounding, skin slick with sweat.

And then, finally—Zayne lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, his expression still dazed, his breath still uneven.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

And honestly? You couldn’t have said it better yourself.

The air is thick with the remnants of pleasure, bodies still tangled together, breaths slowly evening out. Neither of you move, still lost in the aftershocks of what just happened, of what this means.

And then— The smiles start. Small at first, lingering at the corners of your lips, then growing, impossible to hold back any longer.

Zayne lets out a quiet chuckle, his forehead pressing against yours as he shakes his head slightly, his fingers brushing lazy, absentminded circles into your hip. You can feel it—everything settling over you both, the weight of years of unspoken words, misunderstandings, and wanting to finally make sense. 

Thirteen years of friendship. Five years of pushing and pulling and misunderstandings. And now, finally, you’re here—where you always should have been. Your heart swells, warmth spreading through you, and it’s only then that you realize— You never answered him. His confession. The words he’s been waiting to hear for so long.

Your fingers trace up his back, your touch soft, reverent, as your lips part—

And then, the words slip out, as easy and natural as breathing.

“I love you too, Zayne.” 

His entire body freezes. For a split second, he stops breathing. His muscles tense against you, his arms tightening just slightly, as if he’s making sure he really heard you.

Then— A shaky exhale.

His lips part, but no words come out—not at first. Instead, his hands slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, as he lets out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

“You—” His voice is raw, like he can’t believe this is real. “You mean that?”  

You smile—wide, full, true—as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him flush against you, still feeling him inside you, still keeping him there, exactly where he belongs. 

His breath stutters at the closeness, at the way you hold onto him so tightly, as if he’s something precious. 

“I mean it,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly, your nose brushing against his. “I love you, Zayne.” 

And this—this is what destroys him.

His hands tremble as they cup your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it makes your head spin all over again. Because finally, finally, he has you.

And this time, he’s never letting you go.

The warmth lingers between you, bodies still tangled, hearts still hammering in sync as you both try to catch your breath. The reality of what just happened is sinking in, but neither of you move just yet. 

Zayne shifts first, just slightly, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss against your forehead before he finally, reluctantly, pulls away. The loss of him inside you makes you whimper softly, but then—his hands are on you again, gentle this time, soothing. 

His gaze softens as he brushes the damp hair from your face, taking you in like he still can’t believe this is real. Then, with a sigh, he pushes himself up, stretching slightly before muttering, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

You hum in response, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, he’s back, a warm, damp cloth in hand as he kneels beside you, carefully parting your legs. 

His touch is so gentle now—so different from just moments ago, yet equally intimate. He moves slowly, cleaning you up with deliberate care, his fingers brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you all over again. 

When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, then leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your inner thigh before pulling you into his arms and shifting under the covers.

The sheets are soft, cool against your heated skin, and the second you’re enveloped in them—in him—a warmth spreads through you that has nothing to do with lust.

Zayne exhales deeply as he pulls you close, tucking you against his chest, his arms strong and secure around you.

For a while, neither of you speak. 

You just exist like this—tangled together, skin on skin, completely bare in every possible way.

Eventually, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, and a lazy smile tugs at your lips.

“You know,” you murmur, running your fingers lightly along his collarbone, “we could’ve had our first kiss a long time ago.” 

Zayne huffs out a quiet laugh, shifting so that his chin rests atop your head. “Oh? And whose fault is that?”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin before grinning. “Yours.” 

He snorts. “Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” you insist, poking his side. “Remember that day in the treehouse? When I asked you if you ever kissed anyone?”

His chest vibrates with laughter. “You asked me that. And I clearly remember you looking disappointed when I said no.”

“I was not disappointed.”

“You literally sighed like I just failed an exam.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. But then—his voice softens, turning almost nostalgic.

“…You never said why you asked.”  

You pause for a moment, tracing absentminded patterns against his skin, before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess I was just… wondering if you ever thought about it.”

His grip on you tightens, just slightly. “Did you?”

You hesitate—then nod. “Yeah.”

Zayne is quiet for a moment, then—

“What about that night?” His voice drops slightly, something unreadable in it. “When all three of us kissed?”

Your lips twitch at the memory. “You mean the most awkward kiss in existence?”

He groans. “God, don’t remind me.” 

You laugh, remembering how the three of you had sat there, overthinking the entire thing before ultimately deciding, screw it—you’d all kiss each other just so none of you would go to college without having kissed someone.

It was stupid, really. A quick peck, nothing more.

And yet—

“I was happy when you agreed,” you admit softly.

Zayne tilts his head slightly, gazing down at you, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You nod, voice quieter now. “It wasn’t much, but… I guess a part of me just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you. Even if it wasn’t real at the time.”

His breath stirs your hair, his grip on you tightening slightly, before he murmurs—

“It was real for me.” 

Your heart skips a beat.

You glance up at him, lips parting slightly, but before you can say anything, he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

“I think I’ve always wanted to kiss you,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “I just… never let myself think about it too much.” 

A warmth spreads through your chest, your throat tightening slightly at his words.

So you don’t respond with more words. Instead, you shift up, pressing a soft, sweet kiss against his lips. No urgency. No heat. Just you and him.

And this time, finally, you both know exactly what it means. 

⟢ a/n: here is chapter 3! hehe I was so excited writing this and had so much fun, I really hope I kept to their in-game personalities as much as possible. hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

taglist: @vyntheria@ixloom819@syluslittlecrows

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

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[edensrose]

·˚꒰ 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒖𝒉 ? ꒱ ₊˚ˑ

ᡴꪫ ﹙𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚! 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙪 𝙭 𝙚𝙭 𝙜𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.﹚─── ⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ he thought you'd love him forever. even in death. so why are you with satoru now? yk , his best friend? how could you. ( ˖ ࣪❀˳ ) : morbid possessiveness + yandere suguru, fucking creepy, violence → reader .

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 )﹕this has been on my mind for sooo long I'm sorry not sorry with how fucking creepy I made sugu boo

"Do you really have to go?"

"Sorry pooks. Promise I'll be back tomorrow."

". . . Actually. Stay outside."

His annoying laughter fills your burning ears. Cold lips catch your cheek in a heavy smooch while strong arms snatch your waist and yank you closer. Satoru hoists your body so ready to turn from him and drags you into his endless embrace.

"Aww come on, sweetheart. Weren't you just crying over me?" All you can do is roll your eyes as he buries his face into your shoulder. Hunched over you from behind with large palms encased on your waist.

You almost forgot the wane of your heart. Off he'll go to another mission. Leaving you lonely. But as always, he tries to make you smile. He knew you well enough to sense the dread in your voice. And if not? Then the plea in your eyes absolutely broke his heart.

"I was not crying."

"Yeah you werreee, oh, my poor baby."

He pinches on your cheek. Grins into your shoulder as you cast him a glare. "Whatever will they do without their big, strong boyfriend to keep them warm!?"

"Satoru."

You spin in his arms. Your palms find his face and he relents immediately. Like a puppy melting into a warm comforter. White lashes hang low and he stares at you through soft, cerulean hues.

What more can he do but turn his head and lay a kiss on your palm? Lower his voice to a tender croon. "I know. I know." His hands cup your face in turn. His thumb strokes assurances over your cheekbone. "But I'll be fine. Back before you know it too."

His kiss to your forehead does little to comfort you this time. Why? You're not too sure. Usually his gentle hold quells your clenched heart immediately. Eases any storm running rampant in your mind. Alas. This time, all you are able is to hug him for longer. Mumble a goodbye into his lips as he ventures out your apartment's door.

Anxiety, right? You know her well. She hasn't quite left since you saw his dead eyes.

Not what you should be thinking about right now. Alone at home. In the middle of the night.

The house is always so silent without Satoru. It reminds you of the period where loneliness is all you knew. Before he came back into your life. Before you both found comfort in one another to deal with your shared loss.

Of course you felt guilty. It ate at your soul and clawed at your heart. The hollow feeling only eased whenever your boyfriend lingered. Perhaps that's why you were extra clingy tonight.

With a sigh, you opt for dinner. The stove ignites. Herbs and spices flood your senses. Noise and warmth buzzes away your crawling skin. Food always served as the second best distraction whenever that white-haired cat wasn't around to cling to you.

A broth brews atop the stove while you finely chop an arrangement of vegetables. Miso ramen felt right tonight. Surely the warmth of a hearty soup coupled with chewy noodles would comfort you through this dreary shadow.

You can't help but wonder; why tonight of all days? You'd been doing so well lately. Ever since you picked up journaling, as recommended by Shoko, it's been a bit easier to deal with these thoughts. It's been years since that fateful day. Why can't you just get over it?

Maybe you're being too hard on yourself. How could you ever get over him? Suguru was the star and moon in your hands, and now, not even a shimmer is left in your palms. Long since has the bitterness of his defection and atrocities tainted your heart. The wound of his loss is still fresh, regardless of whether or not you admit it.

And now you're kicking around with his best friend? No wonder you feel as if he's haunting you. Who wouldn't? You swore to marry him, and now here you are. In another man's oversized shirt. Cooking with ingredients he got from the store for you. Anxious because he left you for the night. Knock -

What was that?

Your gaze shoots to the corner instinctively. The window stands in your vision. A tree branch the culprit. You exhale and place a hand on the counter, shut your eyes and groan at yourself.

There you go again.

Another sigh. You narrow your gaze onto the half-sliced carrots. As if it's their fault you cannot control your own mind. Was it so hard to simply switch off? The man's dead for crying out loud! Long since has the string between souls been severed.

So why do you feel a tug to your inner-being? Why - cree!

What's that?

You spin to the side. Eyes blown. Knife tight. The cupboard — it hangs half-open.

You suck a breath. Click your tongue. You'd told Satoru to take care of that. . . still, it's the last thing on your running mind. What's going on with you tonight? Just relax. Aren't you a sorcerer? Yet here you are, scared of a few sounds because you're alone at night.

You opt for the constant chop of carrots to fill your ears. Intentionally, you knock on the cutting board harder. Anything to distract yourself, even if it is with sound. Your mind buzzes into a new frequency. Emptying its endless guilty rampage as you hone all your senses into the mission at hand. Dinner.

Carrots, mushrooms, bok choy, all fall victim to your blade's intensity. A satisfying constant to keep your mind on loop. Away from the lapping anxiety so eager to swallow you whole.

Truth be told, your hearing should have numbed by now. To the rhythmic tones of chops and slices. But numbness stands fruitless to a call of the soul. It shakes your body back to consciousness. For the string that had been severed four years ago abruptly re-tethered. Strung from your innermost self. Strained. Strung.

Bleeding.

Behind you?

Pale hands. On the counter. Either side of you. Chills against your spine. Ice to your back. Everything stiffens. The clock's hands freeze. A presence? Satoru? No -

"So jumpy," a deep voice drawls to your ear. "Why's that? Missing someone?"

A curse.

His voice.

Muscles tense. Breath hitched. Colours bleed into each other — sounds become but a whisper. Nothingness. The knife in your hand lays idle and your wide eyes focus on the other two. On the right that slowly slips over yours. A cold thumb to your wrist. Soothing, like he always would.

"I hear your name is sweetheart now. My, what a shame. Here I thought you preferred darling."

You snap around. Blade equipped. Ready for whatever anomaly you are to face. The nerve of a curse to take on his voice. Like some sick, cruel j —

The knife clambers. All the strength fades from your body the second your eyes meet violet. Pale skin. Charming smile. No curse could ever replicate that. No vengeful being could come close to him.

Seeing things. You're seeing things. Hearing things. Then why does your heart wail? Why does your soul run red? "S . . ." His hand cups your face. Thumb to your cheekbone.

"Go on, darling. Say it for me."

There's no denying it.

Suguru Geto stands before you.

Memories flash. Tears well faster than your pummelling heart. You nearly throw yourself back into the counter. Its edge traps you. Much like his towered body. He leans in. Cursed energy makes you nauseous. This is no sorcerer. This isn't your Suguru.

But that's his smile. The amused lift of his brow as he cages you. The man leans further and cocks his head to the side. "Now what's all this? What an act. You were fine just a moment ago."

Rage. Hot, blistering. Fire floods those beautiful violets. His gorgeous face morphs. Eyes snap open. Whites bulging. Pearly like the fanged grin that splits his mouth. He shoves forward. Laughs.

"You were fine with him. You were perfectly -" he rasps. Ragged. Inhumane. "Perfectly. Fucking. Fine with Satoru."

This isn't your Suguru

"N-No - no -" you rasp. Shove your hands forwards. He shoves them down. You cry out. Squirm back and spill tears at the tears to your wrists. Claws?

"You're dead! You're dead! Suguru - you're not - you're dead!"

As if your words were incantations. As if they could bury whatever this was back in the grave.

Thump!

Your back hits the counter. Air - you can't - can't breathe —

Two hands clamp your throat. His weight's on you. Stare wide. Wild. Claws dig in. Maw hung in a horrific grin. His breath ragged. Your body cramps beneath his weight. You try to scream. Another hand slams to your mouth.

Eyes screaming malice. Hate. Deep and dark. Like your blood trickling. Your soul burning. His voice bleeds out. Pitched. Shaky. Unhinged.

"Then if I'm dead. Don't scream."

. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕◞ ₊˚﹕@a-contemplation-upon-flowers

[alwayssassydreamer]

When You're Gone

A/N: thank you Ann(on) for the idea with that song, (god it's been so long since I listened to that song.) request: "shanksxgnreader, sfw and maybe the song when I'm gone by Avril Lavigne" hope you like it

We were made for each other, out here forever I know we were, yeah, yeah And all I ever wanted was for you to know Everything I do, I give my heart and soul I can hardly breathe, I need to feel you here with me, yeah

Summary: you are in a relationship with Shanks but being apart is always hard (sorry that summary sucks)

Warnings: sfw, no warnings really,

Characters: Shanks x GnReader

The sea was never silent. The waves roared, the wind whispered, and yet, without him, it all felt deafeningly empty.

You stood at the docks, gripping the wooden railing so tightly your knuckles turned white. The salty breeze tangled in your hair, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was the aching absence in your chest, the weight of loneliness pressing down on you.

Shanks was gone. Again.

It wasn’t a surprise. You had always known what loving him meant, he was a pirate, a man of freedom, the kind of person who came and went like the tides. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

At first, you had told yourself it wouldn’t be so bad. You were strong, independent, used to being on your own. Shanks had never belonged to anyone but the sea, and you had never been the type to wait around for a man.

But damn it, you missed him.

You missed the way he’d tease you with that lazy smirk, the way his voice softened when it was just the two of you. You missed the warmth of his presence, how effortlessly he made you feel like you belonged at his side, even when the rest of the world made you doubt.

When you’re gone, the pieces of my heart are missing you…

At night, it was the worst.

The empty space in your bed felt hollow, cold. You had gotten used to waking up to his arm slung lazily over your waist, to his slow, steady breathing beside you. Some nights, when sleep refused to come, you’d roll over and press your face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of him that still lingered there. But it was fading, just like the warmth he had left behind, the memories flooded in, and you were left with nothing but the echo of his voice and the emptiness beside you.

You had spent years convincing yourself you were fine on your own, that you didn’t need anyone. But now… now you caught yourself scanning the faces in the port regularly, hoping for a flash of red hair, a familiar silhouette in the distance. Every time, disappointment followed.

You had tried to keep yourself busy, burying yourself in your work, training until your muscles ached, anything to keep your mind from replaying his laughter, his teasing remarks, the way his arm felt around your waist when he pulled you close.

You hated it. Hated that he had managed to carve his way into your heart so deeply that even others could see the hollow space he had left behind. You sighed, closing your eyes against the sting of unshed tears.

When you’re gone, the face I came to know is missing too…

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

The last time he left, he had kissed you like he meant to stay. He had cupped your cheek in his hand, eyes holding something unspoken, something too big to fit into words. He had kissed you slow, deep, as if trying to make the moment last.

"I’ll see you soon," he had promised, his forehead resting against yours.

But "soon" was a vague concept when it came to Shanks.

You sighed, raking a hand through your hair. It was foolish to let yourself drown in thoughts of him. You had things to do, responsibilities to uphold. You had survived worse things than this, so why did his absence feel like a wound that refused to close?

You turned away from the railing, ready to retreat to your small home you for another sleepless night.

A gust of wind swept past, carrying the scent of the sea and something else, something familiar. Your eyes snapped open, your pulse quickening as you turned, half-daring to hope.

And there he was.

Standing at the end of the dock, grinning like he had never been gone at all. His red hair was tousled by the wind, his coat slightly worn from travel. His eyes locked onto yours, unreadable for a moment before softening into something warm, something that made your chest tighten.

"Miss me?" Shanks drawled, stepping forward, voice laced with amusement.

You exhaled sharply, taking a step forward before stopping yourself. The months apart, the loneliness, the unanswered questions all of it crashed into you at once.

He must have seen it in your expression because his smirk faded. "I know," he murmured, stepping closer. "I took too long. But i told you that I'll be back."

The anger, the sadness, the loneliness they all melted away in that instant. You crossed the distance in a few quick strides, punching him lightly in the chest, torn between anger and relief. "You bastard," you muttered, voice shaking. "You—"

But before you could finish, he closed the distance, pulling you into his arms.

Shanks chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against yours as he pulled you even closer. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "You know," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with that irresistible charm, "I sailed halfway across the world just to see that glare of yours. Missed it almost as much as I missed your smile."

You huffed, trying to hide the way your heart raced. "Idiot."

He just grinned wider, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Maybe. But I'm your idiot. And if I have to fight the sea itself to keep coming back to you, I will because there’s no place I’d rather be than right here, holding you."

His lips found yours, in a tender loving kiss and you realized that loving him was worth every second of the pain of missing him.

Shanks pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your cheek. His voice softened, and a rare, serious glint appeared in his eyes.

"You know," he whispered, his thumb gently stroking your skin, "I never realized how much I needed you until I was too far away to turn back. When you're gone... everything just feels wrong."

He looked into your eyes, his smile softer now, his usual playful demeanor giving way to something raw and real. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"I kept thinking about you. About us. And it hit me, I don’t just want the sea, the adventure, or the freedom. I want you by my side."

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as he continued. "I realized that no matter where I go or what I do, it’s all pointless if you’re not with me. You’re part of me now. I never knew how much I needed you until I couldn’t reach out and pull you into my arm(s.)"

His voice wavered, and he looked almost unsure for once. "I know I’m a charming idiot most of the time, and I don’t deserve to ask anything of you... but being away made me realize that I’m better when I’m with you. Everything I do feels right when I know you’re part of it. I don’t want to be without you anymore. So do you want to join me and my crew?"

You couldn’t hold back anymore and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that spoke of all the longing, all the sleepless nights, and all the whispered promises to the wind. Shanks wrapped his arm around you, holding you like you were his anchor, the only thing keeping him grounded in this chaotic world.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and with your heart racing, he grinned, that familiar spark back in his eyes. "Is that a yes?" he teased.

You just rolled your eyes. "Sure, captain charming".

When you're gone... the words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it okay. I miss you.

[undercvrfan444]

The TV in your living room played on with the horror movie Satoru tricked you into watching. Somehow, your planned night of pampering and going to bed early was crashed rudely when the man barged through your front door.

You despised Satoru through and through. From your very first encounter with the silver haired man, he had rubbed you the wrong way. So when Suguru said he was coming by to keep an eye on you while he was away, you honestly felt like ripping your throat out.

“If we’re going to be in the same house together then we obviously need to spend some bonding time together, duh.” Is the excuse Satoru used when he showed up on your doorstep with drinks and snacks galore.

The longer your body pressed into the plush sofa cushions, sleep overtook you. It didn’t matter what you were necessarily tired from, just that the quiet hum of the movie lulled you deeper into a dreamy sleep. Every so often the man across from you would snicker under his breath before asking if you were awake, to which you’d reply with a grumbled “yes” or “leave me alone.”

Satoru obviously knew you were asleep. He could hear the quiet snores escaping through your lips while you clung onto the blanket you swore was for warding off the cold and definitely not being used as a shield against whatever popped up on screen. It was cute, how tough you claimed to be but couldn’t stand demonic movies. Satoru could vividly remember having a conversation with Suguru one day about all the morbid true crime documentaries you’d binge. Something never sat right with your older brother at how unfazed you were when hearing how some poor lady got hacked to death.

Getting up from his spot on the couch, Satoru couldn’t help stare at you for a minute. Any other time you’d leap up to rip his face off for looking so intently at you. That’s just how it was between you two, constant teasing and frustration. Of course he loved getting under your skin to watch you turn red and bite remarks back at him, but the other part of him wishes he would get to see the softer side of you more. Deep down Satoru knew he shouldn’t hold affection for you in the way he does. Stolen touches which leave his own fingertips tingling, secretive sniffs to catch a whiff of your perfume in passing, and his least favorite was how hard he’d get when seeing how you’ve filled out.

You were equal parts heaven and hell to Satoru.

He moves the blanket off of your sleeping body slowly before lifting you into his chest. One of his arms comes to bar underneath your thighs while the other rubs your back softly to keep you from waking. Selfishly Satoru could stay like this forever and never get sick of how your body feels wrapped around his. Your arms sleepily hug his neck to stay upright, despite the fact Satoru without a doubt had enough strength to keep you safe from falling.

The door to your room is pushed open quietly and cool air sends a chill down the silver haired man’s back. “Fuck.” He mumbles ever so softly under his breath, “Dunno how you stay warm.”

Easing you out of his arms, Satoru beds over your bed and pulls the duvet over your chest. For a second he lingers. Thinking. Before brushing a messy strand out of your face and pressing his lips to your forehead.

Your eyelashes barely flutter open before you’re calling out to him. “‘Toru?”

Feeling his heart leap from his chest, Satoru moves away and hums in response. Thankfully you aren’t able to see how flushed his face is from almost being caught due to the dark.

“‘m cold.” You whine tiredly and pull the covers closer to your face. One of your hands stick out and tugs on the hem of his sweater. “C’mere.”

Letting you guide him into bed with you, Satoru lays on his back with a quiet ‘oopmf’. Sleepy and out of it, you slide towards the seam of him chest and arm. The man wraps his arm around your waist and lifts a little to situate you ontop of him. The soft cotton feel of his top against your face coaxes you to sink deeper into the older man.

If Suguru could see his little sister now, Satoru knew he’d blow a gasket. The thin shirt you wore riding up to expose the valley like curve of your spine mixed with the sweet smell lingering on your skin sent blood rushing to Satoru’s cock involuntarily. The man had always thought you were beautiful, of course. But…the older you got, the more Satoru really noticed you. From the way your curves filled out and pushed through your clothes, to the (admittedly cute) way your face would flush a shade darker each time Satoru made a dirty joke around you. The same could be said for your own observations. But unlike Satoru, you’ve had a small crush on the man since you met him all those years ago. Only

Now he’s grown at least a foot taller, his muscles rival those of a professional athlete, the once boyish rounded features he had are now sharper; sturdier. And his voice. You’ve never enjoyed hearing your name from another person’s lips until you met Satoru and from then on every time he called out to you, tingles shot through your spine.

So truthfully, you were both guilty of being selfish when Suguru’s feelings were involved. His best friend who had wet dreams and the nastiest of thought about his little sister, who couldn’t say anything different of herself.

(uh so I kind of ran out of ideas for this)

[onlyangel4]

the hardest bump. cm punk.

cm punk x wife!reader.

platonic!bianca belair x reader

synopsis: it was supposed to be just another match. but when you don’t get up, punk’s entire world shatters. now, with you fighting for your health, he’s fighting with himself , having to decide between wanting to keep you safe forever, or letting you chase the only dream you’ve ever known.

wordcount: 4.5k

warnings: injury. hospitals. angst with a happy ending.

it started like any other match day. you were sitting on the edge of the bench in the locker room, lacing up your boots, when you felt eyes on you. looking up, you caught your husband leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, that smirk that you had learnt to love tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"you sure you want to dance with rhea tonight? she's a whole different beast," he teased playfully. you rolled your eyes, tossing a wrist tape at him hitting him in the chest as he walked over and crouched in front of you.

"relax, old man. it's not me you've got to worry about. i've got this"

punk chuckled under his breath, but there was still something in his eyes, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment. pre match bliss was probably his favourite part about getting to work with you every single week. no matter whether it was you or him that had a match that night it was tradition for you to spend the moments leading up to it engrossed in one another.

he gently took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist the little pre-match ritual you both started when you first got together when you were working with different companies and only got to spend a couple match days a year with one another. his lips lingered just a second longer than usual. "be safe out there, babe. i love you."

before you could respond, bianca burst into the room with her usual infectious energy, tossing you a protein bar. "eat that love, we got to keep that energy up" she said, grinning. punk gave her a nod of respect, but you could see the playful rivalry between them. now that you all worked together weekly you found your husband and best friend constantly competing for your attention but in the most playful, light-hearted of ways.

"if rhea gets too rough", punk joked, raising an eyebrow, "i'm storming the ring."

"it's rhea i have had a million matched with that girl, i'll be fine" you laughed, leaning in to kiss him. "i'll see you after."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

"does that man ever stop worrying about you", bianca questioned as she walked alongside you.

"you would have thought five years and a chapel later he would have calmed down on the whole protective thing but i don't think he ever will"

bianca laughed shaking her head, "you ready?", she asked just gently checking in.

"you are almost as bad as him", you laughed as your music began to play throughout the arena and you did your entrance, bianca flanked at your side. just like usual.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the match started just like you and rhea had painstakingly practiced it was crisp, intense, but completely under control. every strike, every grapple was hitting perfectly. the crowd was molten completely engrossed, feeding off the chemistry you both had. from ringside, you could hear bianca shouting her usual words of encouragement, a few curses breaking through but that was netflix's problem. not yours.

about halfway through, you both set up for the big spot, the match’s turning point, the show-stealer. a top-rope slam. one you'd rehearsed backstage until it was muscle memory. rhea was perfectly in position, trusting you like she always did. you took a steadying breath, climbing the ropes, adjusting your footing.

but then your boot caught. just a fraction of an inch off, but just enough to be catastrophic. it was enough to make you fall.

you didn't have time to correct it. the next second was both a blur and in slow motion. the slam went through, but the landing was wrong. horribly wrong. you slammed against the mat with a sickening snap, pain detonating through your neck and shoulder like you'd been struck by lightning. stealing the air right out of your lungs.

you tried to push through instinctively wrestlers always do. muscle memory kicked in as you tried to scramble to your feet to finish the match, but your body betrayed you. your arm wouldn't move. your legs felt like jelly and buckled under you. the ring lights above spun wildly as you struggled to blink back the stars in your vision.

you could hear bianca's voice instantly shift from hyped to horrified. "get up, y/n, come on, baby, get up", the words were a plea. she needed to know that you were okay.

the ref (jessica) looked down at you, and you must’ve looked worse than you realized because without hesitation, she threw the unmistakable "x" high into the air. this caused the entire arena to gasp. the energy completely shifted like someone had pulled the plug on the entire show.

rhea’s eyes went wide, immediately dropping character and sliding to her knees at your side. "shit y/n, hey, talk to me, you okay?, you're okay right. please talk to me." her voice cracked as she hovered protectively, trying to shield you from the cameras without making it obvious. and bianca scrambled into the ring. her eyes looked straight at michael cole, "roll a video or something, this is a bad one", she called out and michael got to work talking about anything but your injury getting the cameras to focus on him and pat. not your motionless body in the ring.

you could barely register anything. the only thing you could focus on was the sharp, gut wrenching panic settling into your chest, because somewhere beyond the ropes your husband was watching.

and you couldn't move.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

back in gorilla, punk’s heart didn’t just stop. it detonated.

he knew this was different the second it happened. the slip. the landing. the unnatural angle of your body as you slammed into the mat. every instinct inside him rebelled, screaming at him to do something, to stop the match, to rewind time.

his head was so fucked that he barely registered his own body moving. he ignored the producers shouting after him. other wrestlers in the company tried to grab his arm, get him to calm down before going out there but those efforts were futile. he was cm punk, if he wanted to do something he was going to do it. especially when it came to his wife. they looked him and it was like they were looking at someone else. his face contained sheer panic, he was wide eyed and wrecked so they stepped aside. they had never seen punk like this.

and once he was past the curtain, he sprinted.

his body launched down the ramp, faster than ever, feet pounding the steel, throat tight with fear. the crowd didn't matter. the cameras didn't matter. nothing mattered, he just needed to get to you.

"move!" he barked, shoving past a medic, hitting his knees hard beside you. his hand hovered for a split second before they found yours, trembling as his free hand brushed the sweaty hair from your face.

"baby, please, look at me," his voice cracked. the Punk that everyone in the company knew was gone. he was just a man desperately clinging to the love of his life willing for her to be okay. "stay with me, sweetheart, i'm right here, i've got you."

your vision was foggy, and your head was spinning, but even through the chaos you could hear it the fear radiating off everyone in the ring, by now hunter had made the decision to cut the recording and play a highlight reel of matches from the past but the in house crowd were still in the arena eyes glued to the scene that was unfolding in front of them. punk's thumb rubbed frantic, desperate circles against your palm like he could anchor you to the world with just that touch.

rhea stepped back, guilt flooding her face as she whispered broken apologies. bianca despite being stressed out of her mind had seen this and her arms wrapped around rhea hugging her. "she would never blame you rhea, it was not your fault", she spoke tears rolling down her cheeks.

punk’s voice dropped to a whisper, voice shaking so hard it barely sounded like him. "stay with me, please, don’t leave me i need you, please sweetheart. i need you." his forehead pressed against your hand, and you felt the wetness of his tears soaking your fingers. "don't leave me. not like this"

when the medics finally had to move you, punk refused to let go. they told him to give them space, but he physically could not move. he was glued to your side, walking with you as they wheeled you up the ramp.

"you're okay, you're going to be okay," he kept repeating, voice cracking more every time, as if saying it enough would make it true.

behind him, bianca didn’t even try to hide her sobs. she followed quietly, hand over her mouth, eyes never leaving you.

and punk?

he never stopped holding your hand. not once. not when he climbed into the ambulance, not when bianca hugged you goodbye, not when the ambulance crew asked a million questions about your health and definitely not when the fear that he might have just watched the love of his life break beyond repair clawed at him with every agonising second.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

once you got to the hospital you were taken back straight away and bianca and punk were ushered to a family and friends waiting room.

the fluorescent lights of the room felt colder than the steel chair punk was hunched over in, elbows on his knees, hands wringing together so tightly they were turning white. he hadn’t spoken much since they wheeled you through those doors. not to bianca, not to the medics, not even to the poor staff member who tried to gently suggest he change out of his gear. his mind was focused on thoughts of you. everything else was merely background noise

bianca sat a few seats away, tear tracks still drying on her cheeks, but refusing to leave. her eyes flicked anxiously between the clock and the double doors you’d disappeared behind.

when the doctor finally walked out, clipboard in hand, punk shot to his feet in an instant. "how is she? tell me she’s okay."

the doctor raised a steadying hand. "she’s stable. breathing on her own. she was conscious but she is back asleep because of the pain killers."

punk felt a weight off his chest as soon as those words left the doctor's mouth. you were okay, that was all he cared about. bianca visibly sagged in relief against the chair, murmuring a shaky, "thank god."

but the doctor’s face stayed serious. "she took a hard fall. there’s a cervical sprain, the muscles and ligaments in her neck were strained badly on impact and more concerning, there was immediate nerve trauma. likely a brachial plexus injury."

punk blinked, it all sounded like a different language. "brachial what?"

the doctor softened. "think of it as a stinger but severe. that’s why she couldn’t feel or move her arm properly. we ran imaging to rule out spinal cord damage." the pause nearly killed him. "thankfully, there’s no fracture. no permanent spinal injury."

punk dropped into the chair like gravity had doubled, head falling into his hands as the tension ripped from his body. his worst fear, paralysis, wasn’t real. she would heal.

but the doctor wasn’t done. "there is also a partial rotator cuff tear in her right shoulder from the angle of the landing. surgery might be necessary depending on how it responds to therapy."

punk’s throat worked, but no words came out.

"how long?" bianca whispered. "before she’s better?”

"it could be six months. maybe longer." the doctor looked between the two of them. "she might never get the function that she did have back. it all depends on how she responds to treatment", he spoke and bianca's face was etched with worry. she knew how much work mattered to you. how much it would kill you to be permanently benched.

"she’s stable, you can go see her, she is sleeping though."

before the sentence was even finished, punk was already moving.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

it had been about an hour of punk and bianca sitting in your hospital room waiting for you to wake up. the doctors had assured them that it was totally normal for you to be this tired after the trauma your body had sustained and the painkillers you had been pumped full of.

punk sat hunched over your hand, eyes red rimmed but refusing to cry fully, like letting go would make it worse. his thumb stroked mindless circles on your knuckles, replaying every second of the match in his head . the slip, the impact, your face twisted in pain.

bianca slipped into the room quietly, carrying coffee, knowing he wouldn't leave to get any himself. punk didn’t even look up.

"you’re scaring me, man," she whispered, stepping closer, placing one hand on his shoulder.

he sniffed and finally spoke. "i told her to be careful. i kissed her wrist and i told her to be safe. like that was enough." his voice cracked again, and this time, bianca’s tough exterior crumbled too.

she sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "we both know she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up like this. she trusts you more than anyone. she's going to need you to help her heal. not this version of you who’s tearing himself apart."

and then, as if on cue, you stirred. a weak groan slipped past your lips, eyes fluttering open.

"y/n?" Punk was on his feet instantly, gripping your hand like it was the only thing telling him this was real. "baby, hey. i’m right here. you're okay." his voice cracked like he didn't even believe it yet.

your eyes met his, and seeing the absolute devastation on his face, you whispered, barely audible, "babe i'm okay."

And that broke him. He choked on a sob, lowering his forehead to your hand, finally letting himself cry properly — ugly, desperate, relieved tears. Bianca wiped at her own eyes, trying to pull herself together, but even she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"i’m sorry," he kept repeating between broken breaths, like he could’ve changed anything.

you, despite the pain, weakly pulled at his hand until he finally crawled into the hospital bed next to you, careful not to hurt you further. he wrapped you in the gentlest hug, holding you like you’d slip away if he didn’t. and for the first time since the accident, you both allowed yourselves to just feel everything, pain, love, fear, relief it was all tangled into one devastatingly tender moment.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

when bianca left to go sort some things out punk was still a mess. he stood up and paced the room like he couldn’t physically sit still.

"you’re done." the words left his mouth sharp but shaky. his eyes didn’t meet yours at first. "wrestling. you’re done."

you blinked, unsure if you heard him right. "babe"

"i’m serious," he cut in, voice raw. "i don’t care what the doctors say. i don’t care what you say. you don’t get to." he stopped himself, pressing his fingers to his temple like he was trying to force the panic away. "i can't do this again. i can't watch you go out there and get hurt like that again."

the silence between you was suffocating. his breathing was uneven. he wasn't being possessive. he was just fucking terrified. his entire soul was sitting at the edge of a cliff.

"i know you love this," he whispered, finally meeting your eyes, "but you’re everything to me. the thought of you not coming back. i wouldn't survive"

his voice broke completely. he turned away, shoulders shaking.

"hey, hey," you said softly, motioning him back over. "come here."

punk hesitated, but you could see he needed it as much as you did. he slowly shuffled back to the bed, and you pulled him into your arms, weak but determined. he sank into you like he was falling apart, his head resting against your chest.

"i'm right here," you whispered. "i'm okay. you didn't lose me."

he clung to you for dear life, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "i can't lose you. you're my whole damn world, sweetheart."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

two weeks in the hospital had you losing your mind. thankfully you did not need surgery on your shoulder but the hospital wanted to keep you in so they could put you on a strict regime of physical therapy.

your days were all monotonous, punk would visit sometimes alone sometimes with bianca or your family. he would sit with you for a bit before going down to therapy with you. you appreciated his company but you were going mad. all you wanted was to climb out of your hospital bed and into the ring.

but you knew better than to bring the subject up with your husband, he made it very clear how he felt about everything and you did not have the energy to push. so you just talked to him about anything other than wrestling.

and eventually you got well enough to go home.

the drive home from the hospital was quiet , not in a heavy, uncomfortable way, but in the fragile quiet that comes after a storm. neither of you spoke much, but punk’s hand never once left yours on the centre console. his thumb kept tracing the same anxious little circles against your skin, like if he stopped you would disappear.

at every red light, he glanced over at you not to check your injuries, but to read your face, to make sure you were still there with him. you could tell he wasn’t convinced that everything was going to work out. not yet.

when you finally got home, your husband practically flew out of the car and circled around to your door before you could even reach for the handle. he didn’t ask he just scooped you into his arms with a tenderness that broke you a little.

you would’ve laughed, teased him about overreacting, told him you could walk, injury or not. but you saw his face.

there was no teasing him tonight.

his jaw was tight, eyes glassy and strained, every line of his face drawn tight with fear he hadn’t managed to shake yet. you could feel the stress of the last few weeks radiating off him.

he carried you through the door like you were made of glass, navigating straight to the couch where he eased you down with painstaking care. pillows were fluffed and adjusted. your favourite blanket was brought over without you asking. he even went as far as grabbing the specific water bottle he knew you preferred, twisting the cap off and setting it beside you along with your painkillers.

you watched him pace.

he was busying himself, grabbing things you didn’t need, moving pillows you wouldn’t use, all because it was easier than sitting still. easier than feeling.

his voice, when it finally came, was rough and distant. "you need anything else?" his arms crossed tightly, like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

your throat tightened. you reached for him, voice small but steady. "yeah", you whispered. "you."

the sound he made wasn’t quite a sob, but it was close. his whole body sagged, shoulders slumping as though you’d knocked the wind right out of him. in two steps, he was across the room, sinking onto the couch, pulling you gently against his chest. his arms wrapped around you like you might slip through his fingers otherwise.

"you have me", he murmured into your hair, voice breaking. "always. no matter what."

you melted against him, feeling the way his grip tightened just slightly, like he still needed to prove it to himself.

and for a long time, neither of you moved. you just stayed there, tangled up on the couch, while the storm finally started to pass.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

later that night, bianca stopped by with food, claiming it was to "check in" but really she was just as worried about punk as she was about you. you could tell by the way she side eyed him all night as he hovered around you like a shadow.

finally, when you drifted off on the couch, bianca yanked punk into the kitchen.

"you've got to stop looking like the world ended," she whispered, crossing her arms.

"the world almost ended, bianca," punk shot back, voice rough.

"but it didn’t," she pushed. "she’s here. she’s breathing. she's stronger than both of us combined and you know it."

punk leaned against the counter, rubbing at his eyes. "i don’t know how to do this," he admitted. "she’s my whole life. what if next time..."

bianca grabbed his hoodie, forcing him to face her. "then you’ll be there. like you always are. like you were that day. but you can’t put her in a bubble. you fell in love with a fighter. let her fight. just don’t make her do it without you."

that hit him like a punch straight to the ribs. bianca was right. he couldn't expect you to walk away from the sport that you loved. he could not give you that ultimatum.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

later that night, when the house was dark and quiet, punk had carried you up the stairs and gently placed you in bed. he stood at the side of the bed, still not ready to rest. his mind a whirlwind of emotion.

your voice sliced through the silence, "you think i didn’t hear you two?"

his heart sank. "i’m sorry"

"bon't be." you pulled his arm and he climbed into the bed next to you. "i get it. but you don’t get to make that choice for me."

punk swallowed hard, tears forming again. "i’m scared."

"so am i" you admitted. "but I want to fight. not just in the ring, but for us. for this. and i need you in my corner, not holding me back."

punk crumbled. his walls shattered like glass. he didn’t hide the tears this time. he slid down the bed until he was able to rest his head on your stomach, sobbing quietly.

"i love you so damn much," he choked out. "i’m so sorry, baby. i just, i need you."

you carded your fingers through his hair. "you have me. you’ve always had me. just don’t make me do this alone."

"as long as i'm alive you will never be alone."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the locker room was buzzing with the usual pre-show chaos, but for you, it all sounded like white noise. your gear was already on, fingers nervously tapping against your thigh as you sat on the bench, staring down at your boots. six months. half a year of doctors, rehab, setbacks, doubts, and nights where you almost believed you'd never be back here.

and now you were minutes away from your return match. you were ready. you had to be ready.

the door creaked open. punk slipped inside, quietly shutting it behind him. he was in his usual black hoodie, arms crossed, but you could tell from the softened lines on his face that he wasn’t here to give you last minute advice. he was here because he needed to be. he couldn't stay away.

"you okay, sweetheart?" he asked gently, voice quiet but steady.

you nodded, but he could see right through you. he crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of you, like he had that night, only now without the panic. this time, it was reverence. tenderness. he took your hands and kissed your knuckles, then pressed them against his heart.

"you don’t have to prove anything", he said firmly. "not to them, not to anyone. not even to me. you have already proved that you are a survivor"

your throat tightened. "i need to do this"

his eyes softened even more. "i know", he whispered. "and i’ll be right there. like always."

you leaned forward until your foreheads touched, his thumb brushed under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "i’m so damn proud of you", he said. "no matter what happens out there, you hear me? you’re already everything to me."

you squeezed his hand. "stay where i can see you?"

"always."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the crowd was electric the second your music hit. the roar was deafening, louder than anything you have ever heard in your many years performing in front of countless crowds. signs with your name waved from every corner. and standing right at the edge of the curtain in gorilla, you caught your husband watching you with glassy eyes and the softest, proudest smile you’d ever seen.

your opponent, bayley, met you in the ring with a wide smile and a genuine hug before the bell, mouthing a quiet welcome back. the match started smoothly. every bump, every movement, you felt the ring again like it was a part of you. sure, there was rust, but your body remembered.

and punk didn’t take his eyes off you for a second.

from behind the monitor in gorilla, arms crossed tight against his chest, he watched every step, every impact. his heart raced every time you grabbed your shoulder instinctively or landed hard, but he noticed the little things too. the fire in your eyes. the way you rallied after every setback. the spark that never left you, even after everything that you had been through.

when you locked in your finishing submission move and bayley tapped, the crowd erupted. You sat there in the centre of the ring, overwhelmed and shaking. and when you looked up the ramp, there he was.

punk had stepped just out onto the stage, not caring about breaking the fourth wall. his hands were clapping slowly but deliberately, eyes never leaving you. no bravado. no smirk. just absolute pride.

you felt yourself start to cry, but you smiled through it as he mouthed, you did it.

backstage, the second you stepped through gorilla, he was there in the crowd of people ready to congratulate you on your return. pulling you straight into his arms, practically lifting you off the ground. he kissed your temple over and over, holding you like you were the most precious thing on earth.

"i told you", he whispered against your hair. "you’re unstoppable."

and this time, you believed it.

[echolynn13]

SFTH Chaotic Highlights (OMG Is This A Joke)

Alright, I'm finally starting to make these for the longforms! These are gonna be quite a bit longer than the other two I've made, since these videos are (typically) longer and I have a lot of thoughts about them lol (edit while writing, less than halfway through the video - yeah, I have way more to say than I thought I would)

Before I even get into the video itself, I just love the bold move of having their first Youtube longform be one about nazis, let's people know the kind of humor they'll be getting from these guys lmao

Also shout out to the not insignificant number of people who fully didn't recognize AJ with hair

Luke's executive decision to grab a prop gun and just stand there like 🧍🏼

"If he was only a foot and a half taller, he would be a perfect nazi!" Still one of my favorite Luke short jokes, because if I was him I genuinely wouldn't know how to take that observation-

Not sure why Sam chose the puffy purple jacket for his villain character, but at least we get to call him Ze Blackberry now

I'd like to imagine as Sam was introducing himself, he looked over to Luke like 'oh shit right, he's still just fucking standing there, I should probably include him somehow' and to Sam that ofc meant flirting with him

Which btw is the strangest flirting attempt I've ever seen- "Beautiful little pocket-sized Aryan" and "Sexy little ferret" ?? Guys I've never flirted with anyone but I don't think he's doing it right

"Guten Abend" Luke/Hans isn't good at this flirting thing either, but at least they're both having fun

Two French brothers casually parachuting over Berlin during World War II, nothing weird about that

"Ja- yes- er, oui! I'm trilingual, I'm sorry" Idk if it's the language confusion or the fact he apologized to the nazi, but this was a great line

"The plan is working perfectly, we're making them uncomfortable. Keep it up!" Luke, who has done very little in that regard except respond to Sam: "Okay!!" *just keeps standing there*

"Hard day being a nazi?" Considering you're currently giving him a backrub and are probably about to fuck him, I'd say he's having a pretty good day

Before Luke's BAFTA winning portrayals of grief in The Evil Make-A-Wish Kid and The Grape Depression, we had AJ's sobbing in OMGITAJ

So glad this play was set mainly in France so AJ could show off his French knowledge in the best ways (skipping across the stage and singing)

Sam characteristically entering briefly as an unspecified beast that for simplicity I'm going to call a ram

Genuinely one of my favorite and most underappreciated moments in the video is Katherine assigning Luke's character a feminine name, which he clearly didn't expect, and he just takes a moment to reevaluate life, while staring at the comedically placed banana in his hand. 10/10 fantastic bit

"My husband has been captured" "You know this for sure?" "Well he didn't come home and he's a French spy so" Fair logic that was 100% correct

"I already have a husband" "Well Xavier will have to wait until he's officially dead then" rip Jean-Luc man, at least Sarah seems to genuinely love him and be loyal though, good for them

Tag yourself, I'm AJ fangirling heavy over Xavier as he walks onstage

"I could have mimed it but I did not" has and forever will live in my brain rent free, bro had no reason to do that but took the fucking opportunity

Also Sarah's friend (did she ever get a name?) is simping for Xavier more than Sarah herself, they could've just fucked instead

"I don't know the French word for mice" "C'est une souris, une souris, une souris" French lessons with AJ

I've already made a whole post about my love for pre-reveal Xavier, but jesus, can you blame me? This character is the actual reason I started being attracted to Tom in the first place, why is he so SMOOTH-

Also the fact Luke didn't even flinch when Tom tilted his chair back and just nonchalantly crossed his legs- This whole scene is perfect istg

"I'm just going to take a few pictures-" That's so real of you girl

"I am a man" Gonna start saying this in front of the mirror as affirmations in the morning, same tone and everything

Tom launching himself across the stage before he even has the chance to rebutton his shirt lol

"Look out! It's the nazi-looking guy!" Saying this about the actual nazi is so funny

Not me being genuinely kinda sad about François getting killed

Katherine getting into Sam's carriage with a pumpkin (For some reason??) and Sam pausing not once, but twice, and eventually deciding to proceed as normal and not question it

Jean-Luc: *crying because trauma* Katherine: "Aw.. If you're thirsty you could drink it!" Katherine might've earned her place as my favorite 5th SFTH member they've had

Big Hans showing up with an entirely different vibe from the last time we saw him- Maybe because he's not busy being gay with Ze Blackberry

But really, why is this nazi boy so excited about the french language while he's taking over their country

"Les coqs :D" Sir what is this energy you're putting out, it's confusing me

I like that instead of just saying something like "It's a French horse, why do I care if I kicked it" he's just like "German horses wouldn't give a shit, your horses are just weak"

"Very hairy chickens you have here" A joke they couldn't have made now-

I'd just like to point out that Big Hans didn't get shot from what I could tell, so he could technically still be alive. Idk what to do with that information, I just wanted it out there

Tom pulling his classic sexy-character move: Foot dramatically placed on chair

The cleaner just being like "what a fucking mess, god I hate my job" as if Xavier and Sarah aren't currently having a whole plot-altering revelation in the same room

Oh yeah, and this is also the moment I was very relieved Sarah was a better person than me (/hj) and didn't sleep with Xavier

Also, mostly unrelated, but Katherine's voice specifically as the cleaner reminds me of DHMIS every single time and idk why

"Are you quite finished??" "... Honestly, no"

"But who would do that? Who would do- It was me" He tried to be mysterious but Xavier really wanted credit for what he did

Sam the Ram returns! Very cool that their first video had classics of all kinds: Sam being a chaotic animal, AJ getting to be French, Tom being a sexy German, and Luke being an equally-attractive-but-not-quite-as-played-up woman

"I was tortured by two men gettig with each other next to me" "They're always doing that, the nazis" If SFTH can make nazis gay af, they truly can do anything

Why does Ram-Sam look so offended on behalf of the French after Luke's "It's in my nature" line lmaoo

"Where did you get my dildo!?" Amazing line from Luke, but really what was that thing??

And ofc Xavier dies as he lived.. Shirtless. Sexy evil bastard-

[kpopbestie96]

Prince and Princess of Versace 💖🔥

Summary: You are attending the Versace after party with your new boyfriend, hoping to not run into your ex but it's hard when you and him are labeled the Prince and Princess of Versace. See how it all turns out when you and your ex are in the same building. I really hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Hyunjin x you, Hyunjin x reader

Genre: Fanfiction

Warnings: couples fighting, cussing. When you see words italicized it means they're speaking in Korean.

"Ready?" You were looking out the window when you heard your boyfriend, feeling his strong hand place on yours to make you break out of your thoughts.

You were trying your best all day to stay strong, to build up the confidence for tonight. You tried all day to avoid your ex but it's hard not to hear cheers for the "Prince of Versace." But you were happy to never saw him at the fashion show.

"Yeah, I'm ready." You really didn't want to walk into the after party, you wanted to skip it but you had to attend since it's part of your contract.

You gave your boyfriend a small smile as the door opened and lights immediately went off, fans calling your name while screaming on the top of their lungs. "ITS THE PRINCESS OF VERSACE!!!"

You hated the nickname since you were given it when you were dating Hyunjin but you knew there was no way to ever get rid of it. You had it now, forever.

You smiled as normal as you could while waving to all of your fans who have been waiting there all day. You grabbed your boyfriend's hand and walked inside to the party while waving to everyone.

"That was a lot," Your boyfriend made a snarky comment, another one that has added up on your annoyance bar but you decided to brush it off for now. 'I have more important things to worry about,' you thought.

Your mind was already made up that you were gonna break up with him a few days after the event, you've reached your level with him.

"Y/n!!" You heard your best friend's voice, calling for you the second you walked in. Turning around, you see her running up in her Versace designer dress that was custom made for her. She threw herself on you, hugging you tightly since you've both been busy and haven't seen each other in person in a while.

"It's so good to see you!!" You heard her by your ear. "It's been far too long! Where's your manager at??" She wondered when pulling away.

"I know, I know!! And, she said she's too old for this stuff now and wanted to take in the city by herself tonight. But, Angie, I don't know if you remember my boyfriend, Sergio," you said turning to her, even though you know she's never met him but tried to be polite with it.

Angie has only seen him on your social media or because of the media since he's a professional footballer. But she could sense something was off with you and him, kind of wishing you and Hyunjin got back together. She actually wanted to make sure you were okay since he was here tonight.

"Oh, yes. We met vaguely at a party once, it's so nice to see you," she lied to be nice but hoping this was just a phase you were going through, not thinking he will last much longer.

He put up a charming smile as he shook her hand. "Very nice to see you. Baby doll, Angie, would you both like some champagne?"

"Yes, I'd love one," you smiled, turning towards him.

"Me too," Angie politely smiled, knowing it was going to be her only chance to talk to you alone.

"I'll be back," he kissed you on the lips before taking off.

"Sooo...thanks for lying." You and Angie laughed when he walked away.

"I see that you're doing okay, dating a footballer and putting out a new album...so amazing!"

"Oh, I'm glad you liked it! But what about you? You've been busy traveling the world, winning races! Kicking guys' ass!" You slightly nudged her on the arm, gushing over how well she's been racing in Formula One.

"Ahh, just a bunch of trophies," you both laughed as Angie was a bit nervous to bring up Hyunjin. "But of course I loved your album, especially one song in particular...one that's about...you know who. You doing okay?"

Your eyes lit up since you've been telling everyone that the song it isn't about your ex; although...you've been lying to everyone.

Fixing your posture, you relaxed your shoulders and tried your best to stay clam, having a poker face. "Yeah, I'm fine," 'but am I? I low key miss Hyunjin and I'm going to break up with my current boyfriend. Yeah, doing fine,' you sarcastically thought in your mind, wanting to say it but held your tongue.

"C'mon...its me..." she look fondly at you, softly gabbing your right hand with her, "how are you doing...Princess of Versace," she smirked, knowing what she is eluding to. She is one of your dearest friends, the very few people you can trust.

"If I have to hear that name, one more time today!" You jokingly laughed, hoping that brushed it away.

"And that tells me everything I need to know."

You couldn't help but chuckle, "That obvious?"

"A little but have you seen him today at all?"

"No, I took a picture with Donatella and I was a little shocked she didn't bring us together to all take one. I was waiting for it."

"Well she's here tonight and I think Hyunjin is already here."

"Great, just gotta keep ignoring him."

"And if you run into him?"

"Smile and wave."

"Do you still think about him?"

You stared at her with your mouth open when Sergio walked back with drinks for you and Angie, wrapping his arm around your waist as you all took a sip of the drink while you felt his hand grip your waist a bit tighter. You wondered why but let it go since you were with your friend.

But what you didn't know is when he was grabbing drinks, he saw your ex. He obviously knows who he is, one of the reasons he wasn't looking forward to coming to this event with you. But he had a secret motive, hoping you introduced him to Donatella, she would sign him on.

You three began talking, some other people you and Angie all began talking as Sergio's head was on a swivel, making sure Hyunjin didn't see you.

And Hyunjin was trying his best to make sure he didn't run into ybut hearing Princess of Versace throughout the day made his heart sink to his stomach, making it form a painful knot.

He grabbed a drink to help with the worry of bumping into you. He subconsciously scanned the area; thankfully not seeing you until he was about to look back at the person talking when a someone that was blocking you and Sergio moved away.

'No....' his jaw locked and his eye brows pinched together, standing taller while looking at you and your new boyfriend he's heard so much about. He still looks at your public account every so often. When you post your new boyfriend, he always tries to look away as if he doesn't see him.

You were laughing along with friends when you could feel eyes on you, like you were being watched. You moved your head to the left but didn't see anyone, going to drop it when in the corner of your right eye, you saw him.

The man you were desperately trying to avoid all night is eyeing you and your boyfriend, seeming pissed off. 'But why do I find him so hot though...no no no. Shake your mind out of it.' Your eyes locked with his for a brief second before turning away, Angie wondering what was going on until she followed your once gaze you had towards Hyunjin.

She turned back around and gave you a look, making you shrug your shoulders while Hyunjin's eyes relaxed, he's missed you so much. Everything he's tried so hard to suppress was coming up. He couldn't take his eyes off you; 'looking so beautiful, so radiant in that outfit,' he wanted to go over just to say hi.

Although it the back of his mind he wanted to rip the outfit off and be with you once again.

Hyunjin's manager/friend that he's known for so many years, saw him staring at you with your boyfriend, making his way quickly over to make sure Hyunjin was okay.

"Yeah...I'm fine..." He couldn't help but stare over, he tried focusing on the people talking in the group he was in but it was doing no good.

Sergio saw Hyunjin looking over, making him grab your waist a bit tighter, bringing you closer to him. "How much longer do we need to stay?" he whispered in your ear, eyeing Hyunjin whom he gave a nasty look towards.

'Fuck this guy,' Hyunjin thought.

"Why?" You asked annoyed, 'This is one of the reasons I'm going to break up with you,' you couldn't help but roll your eyes, slowly moving out of his grip, wondering why he's being so clingy.

"Just want alone time with you," he lied while kissing your cheek, pissing of Hyunjin even more. He turned away and began to fake laugh with the people he was with.

The whole night you and Hyunjin tried to act like you both weren't there, occasionally stealing looks with each other but eventually you and him both moved around so you couldn't see each other anymore.

"Hey, will you go with me to the restroom?" Angie whispered to you, wanting to talk to you since she's been watching you and Hyunjin the whole night.

"Yeah, let's go!" You turned to your boyfriend, explaining how you and Angie were going to go use the restroom really quick.

"Okay, I'll be here," you both shared a kiss before turning away with your friend, heading to the restroom where you both talked about Hyunjin when washing your hands, realizing how he still sits in your heart when you don't want him to.

"Do you think we should get back together?"

"I can't make that decision for you, no one can but you. You have to listen to what's in here," she said pointing to your heart. "I like Hyunjin with you, going to be honest, not getting great vibes from Sergio."

You're glad that she spoke up, telling you the truth, something you don't hear often. 'This is why I'm friends with her.'

"If Hyunjin wants to get back together, would you?"

"I....I don't know..."

"You don't know or you don't want to say it out loud?"

You nibbled on your bottom lip as you looked towards the ground before looking back up at her with an uneasy face. "The second one..." you said in a low tone but she was able to pick up on it.

"C'mon, let's get back to the party," you followed behind her, exiting through the door when you both noticed a huge crowd in front of you guys.

Angie grabbed your hand and began to lead you back, bumping into everyone, saying sorry as you go along. You were almost out of the crowd when you and someone bumped into each other, "sor-" was all you could say when you noticed who it was.

You let go of your friend's hand, who turned around to see you stand in front of Hyunjin, who was staring at you in complete shock. It's as if time stood still for both of you. All the music, the voices were completely gone as if you two were the only ones in the room.

He wanted to reach out and bring you into your arms but instead he could only say hello, words that were a bit shaky coming out.

"Hi," you nervously smiled, your body trembling, yelling at yourself to be cool, 'just say hi and be on my way.' "It's good to see you," you waved politely, pointing your left foot towards Angie, ready to take off when he gently grabbed your hand. He did it out of muscle memory, a whole shock entered your body from his touch.

You could feel your heart pounding inside your chest while your brain was telling you to run. "You look absolutely stunning tonight." He wanted to keep you there a little bit longer, he wasn't ready for you to leave.

Your cheeks heated up, trying to hide the huge smile that wanted to come out but kept it as normal as you could. But, he could see how the small comment made you flustered, something he always loved to do.

"Um...thanks, you look good too," you said in almost a whisper, plus it didn't help with how loud it was from people talking and the music.

"What??" He asked, bending his head down to hear you. You couldn't believe his new blonde hair, eyeing how short it is.

"You look good too, I like your new hair cut! Love how you incorporated Versace on it." You yelled by his ear, making him smile; not only from the compliment but from how close you were to him.

"Thank you, I wanted to do something different," he said before rubbing his hand on his very short hair, still bent down a little towards you, subconsciously moving closer.

His face was inches from yours, a short breath escaped your lips as you both held eye contact while your friend was keeping an eye on your boyfriend to make sure he doesn't see the interaction with your ex.

Your eyes accidently dropped to his lips that you wanted to smash yours against. 'Damn alcohol,' you cursed at the few drinks you had, playing with your mind. 'But his lips look so inviting', you couldn't help but look back at them, seeing how soft and plump they are.

'Nope, don't do it!!' "I should get going, it was really good to see you," you tried your best to break out of his spell.

'Just ask her to talk some more, tell her you miss her,' "I-" was all he got out because he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"My Prince and Princess!" Donatella called out in happiness, bringing both of you in for a hug. "I've been looking everywhere for the two of you! Come, let's take some photos together over in the VIP area."

Hyunjin and you both looked at each other with an unknowing look, him hoping you say yes so he can spend some time with you.

"Of course!" He said with a huge smile.

"Sure, let's go," you didn't want to say yes but knew Donatella's feelings would be hurt and she could terminate you contract for say no. Besides that, there was something deep down wanting to keep hanging out with Hyunjin some more.

"Fabulous!" She took your hand and his, taking you away before you could tell Angie. But she knew she had to cover for you when seeing you whisked away with Hyunjin.

She nervously walked back over to Sergio like a child who left in trouble, seeing him talking to a group of people who were asking him questions about his sport. She let out a big sigh before stepping in the circle of people who couldn't believe it was a Formula One driver entering the group. Sergio's eyes rolled when everyone began to pay attention to her.

He was listening to her talk but when he looked to his sides, looked towards Angie, realizing you were missing. 'Where the fuck is she?? Oh no...'

He was afraid his fear from tonight was coming true, he briskly made his way over towards Angie wanting to know where you went. He inserted himself between her and someone else, earning a nasty glare of the person he nudged out.

"Where's Y/n?" He quickly asked, his jaw locking in anger.

She didn't appreciate his tone and the fact he came rushing over to ask where you're at, 'she's a grown adult, she can do whatever the fuck she wants,' is what she wanted to say but decided to keep that a thought instead. "She's taking photos with Donatella."

"Donatella and who??" He knew he had to be with you and Donatella, he could feel it. But before Angie could explain, he looked right past her, seeing you, Hyunjin and Donatella through a window up above in the VIP section.

Angie's eyes quickly diverted to Sergio, "they're Donatella's favorites, ya know?" She immediately tried to defend the situation, trying to let him know it was all Donatella's idea. "They're the Prince and Princess of Versace," She tried to laugh it off but it came up sounding uneasy.

Sergio didn't like seeing you up there with him, afraid he would steal you back but he thought how it's good your with Donatella so he could finally be introduced to her.

"Where are you going?" He walked right past Angie, bumping into her to make his way towards where you were at.

"Fuck you!" She angrily stared at the back of his head while he marched his way upstairs, wondering how he was going to even get into the VIP section.

"I'm so glad to see you both here together again," Donatella smiled with delight, "us three must have lunch tomorrow!"

"Yeah, wonderful idea," Hyunjin said, loving the idea to see you again, especially where it's quiet.

Donatella turned towards you, seeing if you were up to it. 'Say no!' "Yeah, of course," 'what the fuck?!? that wasn't a no!' You yelled at yourself when smiling but quickly was thinking of a lie to get out of it.

"Perfect! I'll see you both tomorrow, I'll send everything to your managers tonight." She said goodbye, giving you both hugs before leaving you both in the VIP section.

"I guess we'll see each other again tomorrow," Hyunjin said a bit loud by your ear so you could hear him over the loud music. He felt giddy thinking of the idea.

"Yeah, I might have something else planned...." You cowardly looked away, trying to get out of the area before you keep falling for him again. "I have to go."

You were about to walk away when he yelled out, "Is it because of something planned or because of me?" He said it so loud people in the small area heard, including you. You froze in your spot before slowing turning back around.

"W-what?"

Hyunjin slowly walked up, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood tall in front of you, looking down. Everyone looked away and going back to their conversations or dancing to the music. "You don't want to go because of me."

"No," you waved your hands side to side in front of you, trying to make sure that wasn't the case, 'even though it's because of that.' "I'm just busy, I don't remember what I have scheduled tomorrow."

He could see you nibble on the inside of your right cheek, an indicator of you lying; something he's seen so many times before. "Why are you lying Y/n?"

You didn't understand why he was getting upset, making you angry. "Look Hyunjin, I don't want start anything, okay? I might not make it because of how busy I am."

"I want to see you again," he quickly through out, shocking himself.

You flinched your upper body a bit back, 'does he miss me too? No, fuck that! He broke up with me!' "Why? You ended this, you broke us up."

"I'm sorry! It was stupid of me! I should be the one mad at you for flaunting your new boyfriend in front of me!"

"I'm not flaunting anything!"

"Really? You could have shown up alone or with your manager like I did, instead you showed up with him because you knew I was going to be here!"

Your mouth dropped open, you didn't know what to say. You thought it was little hot to see Hyunjin so jealous but frustrated since he shouldn't be. "You wanted this, you wanted us not together anymore. What was I suppose to do??"

He froze this time, he remembers some of those words, they were from your new album, off one of the songs...'so that song was about me...she really did write it about me.' He knows how talented of a writer you are, so it didn't shock him too much.

His and your eyes were glued to each other, before you gave him a side eye, leaving him standing there because there was nothing left for you to say that wouldn't cause a huge scene. 'I don't need to cause any bad publicity, especially not here.'

When you walked out of the VIP area, you saw your boyfriend waiting there for you. "Hey, there you are." You tried to smile to the best of your ability but it was difficult to come off as genuine.

"You were taking pictures with your ex?" Sergio wasted no time in asking what he's been fuming over.

You rolled your eyes because you didn't want to deal with this, particularly after dealing with Hyunjin. "No, Donatella wanted a photo with the both of us. Do we really have a problem here?" You through back at him because your blood was already boiling, ready to break up with him right there.

He could sense the anger and hearing it in your tone, thinking back to what Angie said how you and your ex are Donatella's favorite, 'they're the Prince and Princess of Versace,' he thought back to Angie's words. But he really didn't want to miss out on his chance to sign with Versace so he decided to lower his tone and look past the photo problem.

"Okay, I believe you...but where's Donatella?"

"I don't know," you gave him a nasty look, 'why the fuck does he want to know, holy fuck does he think I'm still lying??' "She took off after taking photos."

Hyunjin swiftly made his way through the crowd, hoping he could reach you before you left but he saw you with you boyfriend. You gave him one quick look before grabbing your boyfriend's hand.

"Let's get going," you were exhausted from the long day and the last ten minutes drained you.

You made your way through the crowd, finding Angie to tell her you were leaving.

"Okay, bye it was so good seeing you!!" She said really loud when bringing you in for a hug. "Text me when you make it to the hotel," she whispered.

"I will," you softly said as you let go, sharing a caring look with her as she blew you kisses, waving goodbye.

You made your way outside, back to the flashing lights, where you and your boyfriend waved to all your fans.

The driver opened your door, getting in and resting your head against the headrest, wanting to forget about today. You closed your eyes, hearing doors closed and feeling the car taking off.

"You'll have to introduce me to Donatella next time."

Your hands, that were resting in your lap, clenched tightly together when he spoke. "Yeah...sure." You adjusted in your seat, knees pointing towards the door when you brought your phone out of your purse. You immediately went on to social media to see photos of you, looking at what your fan sites were saying; all gushing over you.

You were about to close out of Twitter, when you saw photos of you with Hyunjin and Donatella. You saw tweets saying:

"Are they back together??"

"OMG THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS ARE BACK TOGETHER!! I NEEDED THIS." 😭😭😭

"Told you her recent song off her album was about him!! She clearly still loves him."

"THEY ARE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER. LOOK HOW GOOD THEY BOTH LOOK!! 🥰🥰"

"This is a cute photo but people have to remember her and Sergio are dating. There were photos taken of them together all day."

"Love this but love her and Sergio together!"

You knew people would speculate you and Hyunjin but enjoyed the sane Tweets, pointing out you and Sergio were together all day. 'Thank you so much to the good fans,' you thought while Sergio saw you looking at the photos on your phone, hating that you were.

It was quiet on the way back to the hotel, no one said anything to each other until you and him walked into the hotel room. You were messaging your manager and Angie that you made it back.

You felt a sigh of relief when taking your heels off by the door, ready to take the dress, make up off so you could go take a hot shower. 'I'll text my manager and Angie for a few more minutes then I'll take my shower, take off my make up, and...'

"Do you still love him??" Your thoughts were broken up by your boyfriend's odd question.

"What??" You were taking off your earnings when he brought up this accusation.

"You still love him...I saw you looking at the photos on the car ride back."

'He's messing with me right now...right? That's the only explanation.' "Are you fucking kidding me??" You didn't hold back, you couldn't take it anymore. "I was looking at the photos of me and seeing what people are saying!"

"And what are they saying? Assuming you two are together again?"

"Who fucking cares if they are...the normal ones are saying how cute YOU and I look together! What is your problem, why are you so jealous over him??" You set your earrings down on the night stand, turning towards him.

"I'm not jealous of him! Why would I be jealous of some silly singer??"

That struck a nerve in you, your lips pressing tightly together before speaking, "You know I'm some silly singer, right??"

"You know what I mean," he tried to wave it off while you looked at him as if he had three heads before staring down at the bed. 'I don't belong with this man...I have to end this, I can't wait much longer.'

"I can't do this anymore..." your eyes were staring at the blanket, coming to the realization.

"What?" He was unbuttoning his dress shirt, stopping from your words.

"You can have the room," you slowly moved your eyes up towards him who looked angry but also seemed like he was ready to cry. "I'll stay somewhere, we're done."

"What??" 'Is that the only thing he can fucking say??'

"You heard me! We're done! When we get back home I'll give you your stuff back." You grabbed your earrings and quickly gathered your stuff, running around the room with him yelling at you.

"You can't fucking break up with me! Who do you think you are??"

You ignored him while you gathered everything as quickly as you could, to get out before it got ugly. But you felt as if it was already there with the way he was yelling at you.

"Where are you going?? Staying with Hyunjin?!" You didn't answer him as you made your way out the door, shutting in his face before he got to you.

Hyunjin was on his way back to his hotel, resting his head against the seat with his eyes closed, earning a concerned look from his manager.

"Are you okay?" He asked, even though he knows it was probably about seeing you again.

"I can't believe I made things worse between us," his eye lids tightly pinched together, seeing the scene replay in his mind.

"It will be okay."

He opened his eyes to stare up at the car's roof, "Will it? I can't believe I acted so jealous and she was right I'm the one who broke us up...I shouldn't be acting like this."

"Maybe you should text her to apologize?"

He let out a sharp chuckle, "that's if she hasn't blocked me."

"You'll never know if you don't try."

His managers words sat with him even when he made it to is hotel room, throwing himself on his bed, face down, letting out a angry scream. 'You'll never know if you don't try,' played in his mind again, knowing his manager is right.

He sat up, bringing his phone out before he began to text.

Hyunjin: Hey, I'm really sorry for the way I acted. I miss you.

'No...hate that.'

Hyunjin: I should have never said what I did, I still love you...

'No....UGH, why is this so hard!'

He turned on his back to look up at the celling, wondering what he could say. He couldn't sit still, getting up and pacing the room in hoping the correct words come to him.

'I have to man up and just do it,' he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to text, typing away at a fast pace.

He read it back, happy with what it said and sent it before it was too late. Like a scaredy cat, he threw his phone away from him on the bed and went to go take a nice hot warm shower.

Hyunjin: Hey, I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now or see my message but I'm really sorry for the way I acted. I guess I was jealous, which I shouldn't be. I'm happy to see you happy, you deserve that and the whole world. I'm sorry I broke up with you, I should have never done that, I regret it every day I miss you and hope that you do come tomorrow, I would love to see you again.

(Message not sent)

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*

Thank you so much for reading this short story! I'm debating to do a part two, so if you want/need a part two please let me know and I might write it. But thank you again for reading! 💗🤗

If you wanna check out my longer stories and other Stray Kids stuff click here, if not, it's fine 🤗

[literary-motif]

self-indulgent but isaac and pickle have an argument and because pickle has a strong fear of getting yelled at, they start crying in the middle of it

It Doesn't Matter

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: dissociation/panic attack

“That’s a dead end. We shouldn’t follow up on it.”

You frowned, glancing down at the papers in your hand again. It certainly wasn't. The case had become tangled quickly, leaving a garbled mess behind that you could only work through with difficulty. 

The stack of paper on your desk had steadily grown over the last two weeks — ever since the gentleman with the dead brother and missing wife had walked in, requesting your services — and the stress of making no headway and spinning in circles had begun creeping up on both you and Isaac. The air had been laden with tension for a while now, and it seemed his simple dismissal was suddenly the spark that brought the walls around you down.

“And how would you know that?” you snapped, slamming the papers on your desk. You turned to glare at him, annoyance getting the better of you. “This could very well be something. The brother-in-law never liked him, so what if—?”

“It’s a waste of time,” he said briskly, not looking up from where he was scribbling furiously on one of the pages. “Listen to me for once. You don’t have the experience I have, so just do as I say and we’ll wrap this up quicker.”

You gaped at him for a moment. Finally, he raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden silence. 

“What?” Isaac asked, his eyebrows furrowing at your stunned expression. 

It felt like a storm cloud rolled over you. Your gaze darkened, your anger spiked and for a moment the thought that this truly wasn’t such a big deal, that he did have more experience than you and his many years of working in this field had to amount in his rarely deceiving instincts all vanished at the height of your frustration. 

“You’re not always right, you know!” you said, “just because you’ve been doing this longer than I have doesn’t mean that you know everything.”

“Pickle!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the desk as he rose to his feet. “Stop being difficult!”

His voice cut through the air sharply, and although his voice did not echo, you felt it ring in your ears long after the silence had swallowed the room once more. There was a rising tide somewhere inside you, making your ears ring with his enraged scream. Isaac still stood behind his desk, but you could not make out more than his silhouette. The office was blurry, and it took you a moment to realize that it was not reality slowly melting away, but your own eyes that had filled with tears.

Distantly, you thought you heard something that vaguely resembled your name. It was hard to make out, and you felt strangely detached from yourself, your body. It all felt distant, like you were suspended in midair or submerged in the weightlessness of water. 

The chair under you did not feel like more than a distant echo. Something so far away could not hold you up. No, you were about to fall. You were going to fall any moment now, and once you did, there was nothing that could break it anymore. You would fall forever, for eternity in this strange space of weightless infinity.

Your hands moved sluggishly, fingers curling around the first thing they grasped, but it was surprisingly pliable. Not your desk, not the armrest. It moved, guiding your arms to some other place, taking your body with it until you were leaning sideways, resting against something. Your grip tightened, fingers grasping what you slowly realized to be fabric. 

You felt something against the top of your head, a brief pressure. You tried to focus on it, tried to grasp at the feeling of the things around you, and the longer you did, the more you started to actually feel them. They got closer, no longer distant. 

There was a gentle but tight pressure around you. Arms, you realized, holding you tightly. You were leaning against something warm, solid, and as you pressed your cheek against it more — to make sure it would not give, would not disappear once you pressed against it — you could make out a faint beating. It was a little too fast to be soothing. 

“Hey,” a voice said, your brain putting the pieces together in a sudden flash of enlightenment. Isaac. Yes, you were in Isaac’s arms. “Are you with me again? It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

You hummed, too exhausted for words. You still felt a little shaky, a little too fragile to escape Isaac’s grounding embrace, but thankfully he did not seem to be pulling away. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said quietly, placing another kiss on the top of your head, pulling you a little closer. “You’re safe with me. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, yeah? The rest of today is about you— about us.” 

[airandyeah]

Between Two Worlds (Gojo X Reader X Geto) Pt.4

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Chapter Warnings: Angst, memories...

The room was warm, lit only by the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Dust hung lazily in the air, catching gold in its softness. You were tangled with Suguru on the futon, legs entwined, your head resting on his chest as his fingers gently traced patterns across your arm.

“I think I’d like a house with a porch,” he murmured, voice low and sleepy. “Somewhere far from the city. Where you can grow those ridiculous flowers you keep killing.”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his ribs. “They’re not ridiculous. And I only killed one. Okay—maybe two.”

“Three,” he corrected, grinning. “But who's counting?”

You looked up at him, his hair falling into his face, eyes shining like he could see a whole future there with you. It was one of those rare, unshaken moments—before choices, before loss.

“What else?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Suguru paused. “A garden. A quiet life. You. Satoru, if he ever learns how to do the dishes.”

You laughed again, but your heart fluttered. The three of you, impossibly, endlessly connected. Back then, it didn’t seem like too much to wish for. Back then, he still belonged to you—whole and unbroken.

You turned, resting your hand over his heart. “Let’s make it happen someday.”

He didn’t answer at first—just pulled you closer, his arms tightening like he was trying to hold onto a dream that would one day slip through his fingers.

“Yeah,” he said finally, almost to himself. “Someday.”

Suddenly, the peace was shattered by a loud, familiar voice bursting through the door.

“I’m back!” Satoru announced dramatically, his voice booming with the same energy that had always been his signature. “And I’ve had the longest day! I demand snuggles.”

Suguru’s smile faltered as he looked at you, then at the door, where Satoru stood with a grin on his face, eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses. You couldn’t help but laugh—loudly.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, sitting up slightly, giving Suguru a playful nudge.

Satoru, of course, didn’t take the hint. He stomped into the room, his presence nearly overwhelming in the small space. “Ridiculous? Me? I’m just asking for what every good partner deserves after an exhausting day: affection!”

“Affection?” Suguru groaned, pulling his arm from around you and making a face. “You’ve been on that damn mission for three days and you still want cuddles when you come home?”

Satoru sat down between you two, completely unbothered by the half-hearted protests from both of you. He immediately leaned back against Suguru, head falling to his shoulder, looking up at you expectantly.

“Yes,” Satoru said dramatically, his voice full of mock indignation. “Cuddles. I want to feel loved after saving the world and doing all the heavy lifting while some people are just lounging around.” He paused, shooting Suguru a playful look, which Suguru only returned with a deadpan stare.

You couldn't help but smile, shaking your head at how effortlessly the dynamic between the three of you shifted back into something comfortable—familiar.

“Well,” you said, slipping back into the embrace with Suguru, “I guess if you’re so insistent, there’s room for one more.”

Satoru’s grin grew wider, as he wiggled his way in beside you, effectively sandwiching you between the two of them.

“There it is,” he said smugly, finally removing his sunglasses and revealing the tiredness hidden behind his playful demeanor.

The three of you stayed like that for a while—quiet, content, and wrapped in the soft, familiar comfort that only existed when it was just the three of you together. A moment that seemed as though it could last forever.

Until, of course, Suguru broke the silence, his voice lighter now.

“You’re an idiot.”

Satoru shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

And for a moment, it felt like everything was right in the world again.

The memory shattered like glass, the warmth and comfort fading with a sharpness that left her breathless.

Your eyes blinked back into the present, and Satoru’s concerned face loomed in front of you, his hand gently waving in front of your face.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern. “You okay?” His brow furrowed, eyes scanning your face. “You zoned out for a second there.”

It took you a moment to regain your bearings, to push the remnants of the past back where they belonged. You shook your head slightly, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Satoru didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Thinking about what? You sure the patrol went okay last night?” He glanced at you, his tone casual but the edge of worry not completely masked.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured him, voice steady now, though there was a slight tremor in your chest that you couldn’t quite shake off. “Patrol was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Satoru studied you for a beat longer, then sighed, clearly not buying it but deciding not to press the issue. He gave you a gentle smile, his usual playful energy returning.

“Well, if you say so,” he replied, his voice lightening. “But if anything was wrong, you know you can always tell me, right?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile in return. He reached out, ruffling your hair affectionately, his touch warm and familiar.

But even as he leaned back, the weight of Suguru's presence, and the memory of what he'd asked you, lingered like a shadow in the back of your mind.

“You know what? No matter what the higher-ups say, we’re taking the day off. Just you, me, some snuggling, and bonding. No missions, no cursed shit. Just us.”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but a soft laugh bubbled up from your chest despite yourself. “Are you serious?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really think we can get away with that?”

Satoru grinned widely, throwing his arms up dramatically as if the world was his to command. “Who cares? We’ve earned it. I’ve earned it especially after everything that’s happened. So, what do you say? Let’s forget it all for a little while, yeah?”

His words were so simple, but the offer was too tempting to resist. The chaos, the responsibilities, everything that had piled up over the past few days felt so distant in that moment. It was just the two of you, and maybe—for just a little while—that was enough.

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in days, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to relax. “I guess I can’t really argue with that,” you said, sinking into the couch beside him.

Satoru’s eyes lit up with his usual spark of mischief, and he stretched out even further, settling comfortably against the cushions with a satisfied sigh. “Exactly. Just you and me. No missions. No cursed shit. We can pretend for a little while that everything’s fine.”

It was a rare moment of peace, and for a moment, the weight of everything else seemed to lift. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d allowed yourself to just… be. But in this moment, with Satoru by your side, it felt like it was all you needed. No need to worry about the rest of the world for now.

And for the first time in a while, you let yourself breathe.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @socklessxpanda Perma Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine

[starryeyedwolves]

Flicker

The studio was cold, the light dimmed by the thickening dusk, like the last breaths of a dying star. Sirius sat, bent over a canvas that bore the weight of years, his hands trembling ever so slightly as they traced the curve of Remus’ face. The strokes were delicate, fragile—an imitation of life, an echo of something that had once been whole. The paint had begun to crack in places, like ancient frescoes left untouched by time, but still, Sirius painted.

He painted like his soul was tethered to Remus, like each stroke was an act of faith, a prayer to something greater than the world they lived in. Remus, his muse, his lover, his everything. And yet, in the silence that hung between them now, there was no connection.

Remus leaned against the doorframe, watching him with eyes that were growing tired of being seen. His face had always been a portrait of sorrow, but now, it was simply a mask he wore, as if to shield himself from the weight of the world—and from Sirius.

"Do you still see me?" Remus asked, his voice raw and thick with a bitterness neither of them had ever spoken before.

Sirius didn’t look up. He couldn’t look up. Because if he did, he would see the truth: the slow withering of the man he had once worshipped with every fiber of his being, the slow erosion of the spark that had once burned so bright in Remus’ eyes. And he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

"Always," Sirius whispered, though the words tasted like ash.

It was a lie, but Remus knew it. Remus had always known when Sirius lied. And still, the silence stretched, thick and choking.

"Sirius…" Remus stepped closer, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. "I’m fading. You’re painting ghosts now."

The words cut deeper than any blade could. Remus’ body was withering—sick, drained, an empty shell of the man who had once held Sirius’ heart in his hands like a delicate thing. The sickness had crept in, uninvited and unseen, stealing his strength, leaving only the hollow form of him behind. He had never asked for Sirius to fix it. But Sirius had tried. Tried, in ways that made him lose himself.

Every painting was a plea.

Every glance was a prayer.

Every moment, as fragile as the thread of a spider’s web.

"I…" Sirius’s voice faltered. "I can’t bear to see you slip away, Remus."

Remus’ laugh was hollow, brittle. "Then why don’t you let go, Sirius? Why do you keep painting me like this? A thing that no longer exists?"

Sirius’ breath caught in his throat. "Because you’re still here. You’re still with me. I’m not letting go of you."

Remus’ eyes closed, but he didn’t look away. "You’re holding onto a memory, Sirius. You’re holding onto a ghost."

The room felt colder, the shadows more suffocating. Sirius clenched his fists, fighting the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to drown him. "I—" He couldn’t form the words, could barely summon the strength to speak.

"You should stop," Remus said softly. "Stop painting me. Let me be gone."

"Please." Sirius’ voice broke, cracking like ice under pressure. "I can’t."

Remus reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the canvas. "You’re keeping me alive in your art, Sirius. But it’s not me. It’s just the idea of me. I’m already gone, and I don’t want you to hold onto that… empty thing."

Sirius’ hand trembled as he gripped the brush, his knuckles white. He wanted to scream, to tear the canvas to shreds, to shatter everything around him. But all he could do was paint. Paint a face that was slowly fading, one brushstroke at a time. The pain of it was unbearable. He was losing Remus, and all he could do was make a likeness of him, as though the paint could preserve him forever. As though it could keep him from vanishing.

But the colors weren’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"You’re wrong," Sirius whispered, staring at the canvas with eyes full of torment. "I need this. I need you. I can’t lose you."

"You already have," Remus said, his voice gentle but firm. "You lost me a long time ago."

Sirius’ breath hitched, his vision blurring. He stood, trembling, as he turned to face Remus, who was already retreating into the shadows of the room, a silhouette against the fading light. "Don’t leave me," Sirius begged, his voice raw with desperation. "Don’t fade from me. Don’t disappear."

But Remus had already faded. He had already left.

Sirius fell to his knees before the canvas, the brush slipping from his fingers, as tears blurred his vision and blurred the painting. And in the soft, hopeless silence that followed, it felt as though the world had forgotten to turn.

A whisper lingered in the air, a soft, aching plea: "Don’t let me go."

But Sirius, trapped in the endless repetition of his art, could not answer.

He had already lost him.

And still, he painted.