#god please in another life give me a chance

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: You Always Have

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader, Reader x OC

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Toxic behavior, manipulation, cheating, swearing, heavy angst, intense emotions, suggestive content, sex

Word count: 5k+

Summary: What Paige wants Paige gets… even when she’s in the wrong…

🏷️: @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

It had been two weeks since I walked out on Paige, and honestly, I hadn’t looked back. It was hard to leave her, considering everything we had been through, but I knew I deserved better.

It was the right thing to do. Paige cheated on me—not once, but multiple times—and no amount of apologies or “I was drunk” excuses could fix that. I couldn’t keep playing the fool. Not anymore.

I was at a party, trying to enjoy myself, keeping my mind off everything, when KK found me. She slipped through the crowd, wearing that familiar apologetic look she always did when it came to Paige’s mess. She nudged me, an awkward smile on her face.

“Yo, she really misses you,” KK said, scratching the back of her neck like she was nervous. “Paige’s been asking about you non-stop. You should talk to her.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes at her. After everything, Paige was the last person I wanted to hear from. But I couldn’t deny that her words hit me like a sharp pang in my chest. Did Paige really miss me? Or was this just another act in her endless manipulation games?

“Why does she need you to come talk to me?” I asked, arms crossed over my chest, raising an eyebrow at KK.

“Look, I’m just trying to help,” she said. “She’s a wreck without you. I can’t make her stop calling me about you.”

I let out a dry laugh. “She had her chance. She blew it.”

KK winced but didn’t push further. “Okay, but think about it. Paige is at her place. She’s just… trying to make things right.”

I took a deep breath, feeling a familiar warmth spread through my chest despite myself. I hated that I still cared, even after everything. But I wasn’t weak anymore. I wasn’t the girl who put up with Paige’s bullshit. I was stronger now.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to sound neutral, but deep down, I knew I was already leaning toward going.

By the time I showed up at Paige’s apartment, I had convinced myself that it would be a short visit. I was just going to hear her out, let her apologize, and then leave. No strings attached. I wasn’t going to fall for her games again.

But when she opened the door, I felt my heart skip a beat. Paige looked… different. She had this look in her eyes, a mix of vulnerability and regret. And god, she was still beautiful. My pulse quickened.

“Can I come in?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Paige stepped aside, letting me walk past her into the apartment. The air between us was thick with tension, and I could feel the ghosts of our past lingering in every corner of the room.

The couch, where we used to cuddle for hours. The kitchen, where we shared countless meals. The bedroom—God, don’t even get me started.

“I know I fucked up,” Paige started, her voice hoarse. “I’ve been a terrible person to you. But you were my everything, and I messed that up. Please, just give me a chance.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I crossed my arms and looked at her, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between us. There was a time when I would’ve forgiven her without question, but I wasn’t that girl anymore.

“You know you don’t just get to walk back into my life like nothing happened,” I said, my voice cold. “You cheated on me. You broke my trust. Do you even know how much that hurts?”

She took a step toward me, her eyes pleading. “I do. I do, and I regret it every damn day. I’m sorry, more than you’ll ever understand. I just want us back. I don’t want to lose you.”

I bit my lip, trying to fight the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. But I couldn’t ignore the pull, the magnetic force that always seemed to draw me back to her. Even now, despite the pain, I still wanted her.

And maybe that was why, when she leaned in slowly, her lips brushing against mine in a gentle kiss, I didn’t pull away. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both testing the waters again. But the more I kissed her, the harder it became to hold onto the walls I’d spent the last two weeks building.

Before I knew it, the kiss deepened, and for a moment, I forgot everything. I forgot about the hurt. I forgot about the lies. All I could focus on was Paige and the feeling of her lips on mine, the warmth of her body pressing into mine.

But just as quickly as it started, I pulled away, my chest heaving. Paige’s eyes were wide, filled with confusion and hope.

“I’m sorry, Paige. I can’t do this,” I whispered, taking a step back. “This isn’t what I need. Not anymore.”

I turned to leave, walking quickly toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest. Paige didn’t try to stop me. She just stood there, staring after me in silence.

Five months later, I had moved on. I was dating someone else now—someone who treated me right, someone who respected me and my boundaries. But the shadow of Paige still hung over me, especially when I ran into her one night at a party. She was standing across the room with her friends, laughing and looking like she had everything under control.

I didn’t expect to feel anything when I saw her. But when her eyes met mine, something dark flickered in them. Her gaze didn’t leave mine as I made my way to the bar with my girlfriend, and I knew something was coming.

The next day, my phone blew up with messages from my girlfriend, who had seen the pictures. The ones where it looked like I was with Paige, laughing and standing way too close to each other.

“You told me you were done with her,” my girlfriend’s voice was shaky when she called me. “Why does it look like you’re cheating on me with Paige?”

“Wait, what?” My heart raced as I tried to process what she was saying. “No, it wasn’t like that. It was a setup. Paige—”

“Don’t even,” she interrupted, her voice tinged with hurt. “I can’t believe this. I thought you were over her.”

“I am over her!” I insisted, panicked now. “It was a mistake. You have to believe me.”

But she didn’t. She hung up on me, and I was left standing there, heartbroken, as everything seemed to fall apart.

I didn’t know where else to go, so I found myself outside Paige’s apartment again, my fists clenched as I knocked on the door.

When she opened it, there was no hesitation. I barged inside, anger fueling every step.

“You have no fucking right to ruin my life again, Paige!” I shouted, pacing the room. “You know damn well that was a setup, and you’re the one who orchestrated it!”

Paige didn’t back down. She stood there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips as she watched me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’ve missed you, babe. I know you missed me too. That’s why you’re here.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t set this up!” I yelled, turning to face her. “You manipulated everything. You made sure I’d be caught in the middle of all this.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” she shot back, her eyes darkening with a mix of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, not anymore. You’re mine, and you always will be.”

My chest tightened. “I’m not yours anymore, Paige. I’m done with you.”

But before I could leave, she grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me back toward her. “Don’t walk away from me,” she said, her voice lower now, dangerous. “You know you want this. You always have.”

I tried to pull away, but she was stronger than me. She shoved me against the wall, her lips crashing into mine with an intensity that I couldn’t deny. My body betrayed me as I responded, the heat between us igniting once again. But I wasn’t going to let her win. Not like this.

I broke the kiss, shoving her away. “Fuck you, Paige. I’m not doing this again,” I spat, turning to leave.

But as I opened the door, I heard her voice one last time.

“I’d rather fuck you than anyone else, you know that,” Paige said, her words laced with smirking confidence.

I froze as I felt the heat of Paige’s body close in on me again. The distance between us, so fleeting moments ago, seemed to vanish in an instant.

My back hit the wall with a soft thud, and I gasped, breath caught in my throat as her hand found its way to my jaw. The sensation of her fingers against my skin was electric, sending a jolt straight to my chest, my heart pounding harder with every passing second.

“Don’t,” I tried again, the words almost a whisper, but they were powerless. My chest ached, a dull throb where my emotions collided with all the years of history we shared.

Paige’s smirk never faltered, but her eyes… her eyes held a fire I couldn’t quite read—something dangerous, something raw. She stepped even closer, bringing her body into full contact with mine. I could feel the heat radiating off of her, the undeniable pull between us, no matter how hard I fought it.

“You can’t walk away from me that easily,” she said, voice low and dangerous, her words slipping into the space between us like a threat.

I tried to pull away, but the wall behind me offered no escape. Paige’s free hand came up to rest on my hip, holding me in place. My breath hitched as her lips hovered just inches from mine. I could feel the tremor in her hands as they gripped me, as if she too was struggling to keep control of whatever was unfolding between us.

“You really think you can just throw us away like that?” Paige continued, her voice now a soft growl, a breath against my lips that made my pulse spike. She leaned in just enough for me to feel her proximity, her lips a mere whisper away from mine. “You know you want this. You always have. I can see it in your eyes.”

I tried to stay calm, tried to summon some shred of resistance, but everything inside me screamed to give in. I was caught between the desire to push her away and the instinct to let go, to lose myself in her again.

I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “I can’t keep doing this with you, Paige.”

But then, she pressed her body fully into mine, the weight of her presence suffocating me, her lips brushing against my ear as she spoke again.

“Then why are you still here?” she asked, her tone almost teasing, like she knew exactly what was happening—how my resolve was crumbling under the pressure of everything that had once been so familiar.

Before I could respond, her lips found mine once more, this time more insistent, more demanding. And I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her back. It was a fleeting moment of weakness, a slip, a crack in the armor I’d built around myself.

But as quickly as it started, I pulled away again, my hands pushing against her chest, creating the tiniest gap between us.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling with frustration and longing, my breath shallow. “This isn’t us anymore, Paige. This is just you trying to have control. And I won’t let you.”

Paige’s eyes darkened, a storm flickering behind them. She reached up and cupped my face, her thumb brushing over my bottom lip like she was memorizing the feeling of it.

“Then stop pretending you don’t want this, too,” she said, her voice thick with something dangerous. “You think you can just walk away from me? That easy? After everything we’ve been through?”

Her words hung in the air, an unspoken truth between us. I hated how they made my stomach flip, how they made my resolve waver. But I couldn’t let her win. Not this time.

“I’m not yours anymore, Paige,” I said, my voice steady now, the weight of my decision crashing down. “I can’t keep letting you drag me through this.”

I pushed her hand away from my jaw, and for a second, she just stared at me—like she couldn’t believe what I was saying, what I was doing.

“I’m done,” I told her, the words leaving my mouth with a finality I hadn’t thought possible.

I shoved past her, but as I reached the door, I felt the sudden press of her palm against the wall beside me, blocking my exit.

“You’re not done with me,” she said, her tone low and dangerous, her breath warm against the side of my neck as she leaned in, her chest pressing against my back.

“Cause, I’ll never be done with you.”

“Seriously Paige, Don’t.”

“Don’t what, baby?” she purred, her voice a husky whisper that sent my pulse into overdrive. “Don’t touch you? Don’t kiss you? Or don’t remind you how good we are together?”

I tried to turn my head away, again, but she cupped my face in her hands, holding me captive. Her thumbs brushed against my cheekbones, a deceptively gentle gesture that belied the fire in her eyes. “I hate me,” I said, the words barely audible.

“I know,” she stated, her voice low and intense. “But I know want me. More than I want to admit.”

And then her mouth was on mine, a searing brand that erased all thought, all resistance. It was a kiss of pure, unadulterated need, a desperate claiming that left me breathless and weak. I tried to fight it, to push her away, but her strength was undeniable, her will unyielding. And deep down, a part of me didn’t want to fight it at all.

Her fingers danced down my body, teasing and tormenting, until they found the hem of my shirt. With a swift tug, it was gone, tossed carelessly to the floor. My bra followed soon after, leaving my breasts bare and aching for her touch.

“Wow, bet she doesn’t get you this wet, like I do, does she?” Paige whispered against my lips, her fingers already found a way of working their magic between my legs.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a coherent thought. My body was a symphony of sensation, every nerve ending screaming for release. A whimper escaped my lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“That’s right, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice thick with lust. “Taking my fingers so well. You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?”

Her words were like a whip, lashing against my skin, igniting a firestorm of desire. I bucked against her hand, desperate for more, my body betraying every ounce of resistance I had left.

“Come on, baby,” she urged, her fingers relentless. “Cum for me. Cum on my hands.”

I gasped for breath, my body trembling in the aftermath. Paige continued to stroke me until the last shudders subsided. Then, she pulled her hand away, her fingers slick with my juices.

“Good girl,” she murmured, licking her fingers clean.

Before I could protest, she tossed me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I yelped in surprise, my head spinning as she carried me down the hall. She kicked the bedroom door shut with her foot, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

She dumped me unceremoniously onto the bed, her eyes never leaving mine. I scrambled to sit up, but she pinned me down with her hands, her body hovering over mine.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say the word,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

“Fuck you,” I spat, trying to push her away.

But she didn’t budge. Instead, she leaned down and captured my lips in another searing kiss. Her tongue plunged into my mouth, and I found myself responding despite my best intentions.

Her hands roamed over my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She attacked my neck, sucking and biting until I cried out. Then, she moved lower, her mouth latching onto my breasts, teasing my nipples until they were hard and aching.

I moaned, my body arching beneath her touch. She knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed. And I was powerless to resist.

She moved lower still, her tongue tracing a path down my stomach, lower and lower until she reached the apex of my thighs. I gasped as she began to eat me out, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony.

As if she was on a mission, and having me under her was the end game. And it was working more than i wanted to admit.

I cried out, my body convulsing as I came again and again. “Mmm shit, ma that’s the 3rd time, I’ve made you cum only from my fingers and mouth. Alone.”

All I could do was whimper out while nodding head. I had been under Paige for so long, I lost track of time, lost track of everything except the exquisite pleasure that consumed me.

Eventually, finally she pulled away, leaving me gasping for breath, my body slick with sweat. She hovered over me, her eyes dark and possessive.

“You’re mine,” she said, her voice low and husky. “End of the day. You’re mine. I know you and your body more than you know yourself.”

And I knew, in that moment, that she was right. I was hers. Completely and utterly. And I hated her for it. For knowing that she was right.

Without a second thought she hooked the purple strap to her body, its smooth surface gleaming under the dim light of the bedroom. I watched her, my breath catching in my throat as she positioned herself between my legs.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice a low growl.

I nodded, my eyes locked on hers.

She plunged the strap into me, and I cried out, my body arching against the bed. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming, but I found myself craving more.

She thrusted into me at full speed , her hips piston back and forth, driving deeper and deeper inside me. I moaned, my hands gripping the sheets tight enough to rip them.

At some point she used her strength and stamina to flip me over, face down into her satin sheets, testing my limits, exploring my desires.

"Yeah, takin' my dick, like a good lil' slut," she growled, her voice a husky rasp that vibrated through my very core. I didn’t tap out, not even when my legs were shaking and my body felt like jelly.

Each thrust of the strap sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain through my tight cunt, pushing me closer to the precipice of oblivion. My legs trembled, muscles screaming in protest, but yet I refused to yield. I wouldn't tap out. Not yet. Not while Paige held me captive in this exquisite torment.

Her words, laced with dominance and desire, fueled the fire within me. "Oh, I know she doesn't have you feeling this good," she purred, her breath hot against my ear.

"Bet she can't make you cry and fall apart at the same time." A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined the depths of pleasure she promised, the complete and utter surrender she demanded.

Paige's hand left the strap for a moment, and I whimpered in protest, desperate for the rhythm to continue. Instead, she delivered a sharp smack to my ass, the sting a delightful shock that jolted me back to the present.

"Don't you worry, baby," she whispered. "I’ve got you. Right where I want you."

The smacks continued, each one perfectly timed to coincide with the thrusts of the strap, creating a symphony of sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.

And then, she did something completely unexpected. I felt her reach for my phone, which lay discarded on the bed. A moment later, I heard the unmistakable sound of the camera app activating.

"Paige, what are you doing?" I managed to gasp, my voice strained.

"Just capturing the moment," she replied, her voice dripping with amusement. "For posterity."

I could feel the heat of her gaze on my back as she positioned the phone, framing the shot. I knew exactly what she was doing, the image she was creating: me, bent over her bed, completely at her mercy.

And then, she did something even more shocking. I felt the vibrations of the phone as she typed a message, and a moment later, I heard the unmistakable "whoosh" of it being sent.

"What did you do?" I demanded, my voice barely a whisper.

"Sent a little message to your now ex girlfriend," Paige purred. "Just letting her know who you really belong to."

"What did you say?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

Paige leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear. "I just told her that you've always been mine," she whispered. "Even when you're not."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and unspoken desires. I knew that this was a line that couldn't be uncrossed, a point of no return. But as I lay there, pinned beneath her, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Paige resumed her relentless assault, her movements growing more frantic, more desperate. She was taking me apart, piece by piece, stripping away the layers of control and inhibition that I had so carefully constructed.

"That's it," she groaned, her voice thick with passion. "Almost there. Just a little bit more."

I could feel the pressure building inside me, a tightening coil of energy that threatened to explode. My body was trembling uncontrollably, every nerve ending on fire.

My body was a taut string, vibrating with every touch, every word, every movement. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the raw, primal energy that pulsed between us.

Paige continued her assault, her voice a constant stream of filth and praise. She told me how good I felt, how wet I was, how much she loved the way I writhed beneath her touch. Her words were like gasoline on a fire, igniting every nerve ending in my body.

I was teetering on the edge, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around me began to blur, the only reality the feel of Paige's hand on my ass, the pressure of the strap inside me, the sound of her voice in my ear.

"That's it, baby," she urged, sensing my impending release. "Let it go. Let it all go."

With a final, earth-shattering thrust, I shattered. My body convulsed, every muscle contracting in a spasm of pure, unadulterated pleasure. A strangled cry escaped my lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me, obliterating everything in its path.

I was vaguely aware of Paige slowing her movements, her grip on the strap relaxing as she allowed me to ride out the storm. My body trembled, my skin flushed, my mind blank. I was completely and utterly spent, a broken mess of pleasure and exhaustion.

As the aftershocks subsided, Paige gently withdrew the strap, leaving me feeling empty and vulnerable. She straddled my back, her fingers tracing slow, sensuous circles on my skin.

"You were so good, baby," she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. "You took everything I gave you and more."

I moaned softly, burying my face in the satin sheets. I was too weak to speak, too drained to move. All I could do was bask in the afterglow of our encounter, the memory of her touch, her words, her power.

I melted into the soft sheets, the weight of my body sinking deeper as Paige’s hands worked their magic. Each touch seemed to ease the tension that had been building up for days, months even, and I felt the knots in my muscles begin to loosen under her skilled touch.

Her fingers slid over my skin, gentle yet firm, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of contentment.

“Relax, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. “I’ve got you.”

I nodded weakly, my eyelids heavy, fighting the exhaustion that settled over me. There was something about her touch, something familiar and comforting, that made me forget the chaos, the hurt, the arguments.

It made me forget the reasons why I had walked away in the first place. In this moment, all that mattered was the way she made me feel—safe, cared for, even cherished.

But as my mind drifted in and out of clarity, the weight of the past slowly crept back in. The reality of who Paige was, who we were together, hovered like a dark cloud.

I shifted slightly, turning my face toward her, my breath slow but heavy. I could feel my chest rising and falling, but there was a growing heaviness in my heart. Something I couldn’t ignore.

“We’re bad for each other, you know?” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

Paige’s hand stilled for a moment, but she didn’t pull away. Her thumb brushed over the back of my hand, as if it was the only way she knew how to respond to the weight of my words.

“I know,” she murmured quietly, her words heavy with understanding. “But that doesn’t mean I want to let go, baby.”

I sighed softly, pulling away just enough to meet her gaze. My heart ached with the familiar conflict, the toxic dance we’d been doing for so long. The way she made me feel wanted, cared for, but also how she always seemed to break me down in the process.

“You’re toxic, Paige,” I said, my voice barely above a breath. It felt like the words had been buried inside me for so long, waiting to be released, to be said out loud.

Paige’s lips parted, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t argue. She simply nodded, like she’d expected it.

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes softening with something unreadable. “But I’ll work on it. I promise. I don’t want to lose you.”

I closed my eyes, my chest tightening. I wanted to believe her, I really did. But every part of me screamed that it wasn’t enough. The past weighed too heavily between us, the broken promises, the betrayals. I wasn’t sure if I could ever really trust her again.

“You have to really work on it, Paige,” I said, my voice shaky with the vulnerability I hated showing her. “I can’t keep letting you hurt me.”

She didn’t say anything at first. She just pulled me closer, her lips brushing over the top of my head, her embrace tightening around me. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like a promise, even if I wasn’t sure I could trust it yet.

“Shh,” Paige whispered, her voice a soft hum against my ear. “Just rest, baby. We’ll figure it out.”

I felt my body give in again, the exhaustion creeping back into my bones as she held me, her warmth wrapping around me like a blanket.

But the words still lingered in my mind. We’ll figure it out.

I spent the next few days in a quiet, reluctant haze, unsure of what to do with the mess of emotions I was feeling. I stayed away from Paige, avoiding her calls and texts, keeping my distance like I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt again.

It wasn’t easy.

I hated the silence between us, but I also couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that if I stayed, I’d fall into the same pattern again. We both needed time.

But after a week of avoiding her, I received a message that I couldn’t ignore.

“Please stop avoiding me. I thought we agreed to work on it… I want to work on it with you.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as I read her words. She wanted to try. She wanted to work on it. But was it too late? Could we fix what was broken between us?

I chewed on my lip, staring at the message as conflicting emotions flooded me. I was still angry, still hurt. But part of me missed her—the genuine parts of her, the ones I thought I could trust. I couldn’t deny the pull, the yearning to fix what we had.

Taking a deep breath, I responded, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before I typed back.

“I need time, Paige. I can’t keep letting myself get hurt, but I’m willing to try. But only if you are.”

The message was out before I could second-guess it, and I stared at the screen, feeling a strange sense of relief.

I wasn’t sure what to expect after sending that message. Part of me feared Paige would take my hesitation as rejection and pull away, but another part of me hoped—really hoped—she meant what she said about working on herself.

A week passed before I saw her again. I had buried myself in studying for finals, hoping that the stress of exams would distract me from the constant push and pull of my emotions. It worked, for the most part. But then, on a quiet afternoon in the Homer Babbidge Library, Paige found me.

I was sitting at one of the tables tucked in the corner, headphones in, my notes spread out in front of me. My brain was fried from cramming, and I had just leaned back in my chair to take a deep breath when I noticed her approaching.

She stood there for a moment, hands stuffed into the pockets of her UConn hoodie, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. But there was something softer in her eyes, something careful.

“Didn’t think you could hide from me forever, did you?” she teased, but her voice lacked the usual cockiness.

I sighed, closing my notebook. “I wasn’t hiding,” I lied.

Paige chuckled, pulling out the chair across from me without waiting for an invitation. “You were definitely hiding,” she countered. “But I’m not here to call you out. I wanted to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get to the point.

She hesitated, drumming her fingers against the table before speaking. “We have a home game tomorrow. You should come.”

I looked away, unsure.

Paige leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Look, I know you’re still unsure about me. About us. And I get it. But I meant what I said—I’m trying. I want to show you, not just tell you. So, come to the game. Let me take you to dinner after. No pressure, no expectations. Just… us.”

Her words hit something deep inside me. I searched her face, looking for any sign of manipulation, any hint of the Paige I used to fight with. But all I saw was sincerity.

“…Okay,” I finally said, the word coming out quieter than I intended.

Paige’s smile was small but genuine. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

And so, the next night, I found myself sitting courtside, watching as Paige dominated the game. She played with a fire I hadn’t seen in a while, her focus sharper, her movements calculated. Every time she scored, her eyes found mine in the crowd, a silent message passing between us.

After the game, she met me outside the locker room, still in her jersey, her hair damp from sweat. “You came,” she said, a little breathless.

“I said I would,” I replied.

Paige grinned, then reached for my hand. She hesitated for a split second before intertwining our fingers. “Come on,” she said, squeezing lightly. “Dinner’s on me.”

Dinner that night was different than any we’d had before. It wasn’t tense or filled with unspoken words. We talked—really talked—about everything. Paige told me about therapy, how she had been taking it more seriously since that night we last spent together.

“I know I have a lot of shit to work through,” she admitted, stirring her drink absentmindedly. “But I don’t want to be the person who keeps hurting you. I want to be better, for myself. And for you.”

Her words made something inside me soften. Maybe, just maybe, she really meant it.

After that night, Paige made it a habit to pull me back into her world. She convinced me to come to more of her games, to join her at parties, to grab late-night food at Ted’s.

Some nights, she’d show up at my apartment, asking to stay over, and other nights, I found myself in her bed, falling asleep to the sound of her steady breathing.

It was slow, cautious, but it felt… right.

A month passed like this, both of us dancing on the edge of something more. Then one night, after another home game, Paige drove me back to my place.

We sat in the car for a moment, the engine still running, the air between us charged with something unspoken.

Paige shifted, turning to face me fully. “I don’t want to do this halfway anymore,” she said.

I frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she exhaled, running a hand through her hair, “I want you to be mine again. Officially. No more weird in-between, no more hesitation. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

I stared at her, my heart pounding. Part of me had been waiting for this moment, but another part of me was terrified.

She must have seen the uncertainty in my eyes because she reached for my hand, rubbing small circles into my palm.

“I know I hurt you,” she said softly. “And I know I can’t erase the past. But I meant what I said—I’m working on myself. And I want to keep working on this. On us.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Was I really ready to give us another shot?

But then I looked at Paige—really looked at her. The way she was looking at me, waiting, hoping. She had changed. Maybe not completely, maybe not perfectly, but enough for me to see that she was serious about this.

So, after a long pause, I squeezed her hand back.

“…Okay,” I whispered.

Paige’s face lit up with relief and something else—something warm.

“Yeah?” she asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah.”

And just like that, we started again. But this time, we were determined to do it right.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Red Milkweed Beetle (Tetraopes tetrophthalmus)

Debut: Real Life

I love bugs, doop de doop doo. And this one right here is my very favorite! It's the Red Milkweed Beetle, my dear best friend who visits me every summer! Milkweed is one of my favorite plants, because it is home to Red Milkweed Beetle!

Red Milkweed Beetle is a species of longhorn beetle, none of which have horns, but all of which have long antennae. They should call that one cattle breed the Texas Longantenna! With a name like Red Milkweed Beetle, what you see is what you get. It's Red. It lives on Milkweed. By God! It's Beetle.

One of my favorite aspects of the Red Milkweed Beetle is how accessible it is! It is an excellent ambassador for insect-kind, and a perfect educational opportunity to convert the heretics (people who don't like bugs). It looks vaguely similar to a ladybug, so people are more receptive to it from the start. It's kind of big, so it's extremely easy to find and observe. It's harmless (unless you eat it but please don't eat it), so there's no risk in handling it. It's even so easy to pick up! You just reach over and get it, and that's it. You can hold it and look at it up close until it decides to fly away! An obnoxiously charming creature.

Another of my favo- huh? You still want to eat it? Come on. Don't eat it. Why not? FINE I'll at least give you a reason. Red Milkweed Beetle is toxic! If you want to eat it, I regret to inform you that you have failed one of the core lessons of Would You Eat. "Creatures Bright In Hue, Would Feel Nasty In You"!

Milkweed munchers like our beloved beetle, monarch butterfly caterpillars, and even milkweed slurpers like milkweed bugs are able to consume the plant's toxins, making their own tissues poisonous! They all share a red/orange and black color scheme as adults, to serve as a warning to potential predators. Isn't it nice that they all have similar colors? Only one creature needed to come up with the style, the rest only had to find a fitting outfit!

Now how in the world does something eat a poisonous plant? I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to eat it. You are not a specialized bug. Milkweed's trademark goop is not only toxic, but sticky, gumming up the mouthparts of any poor fool who tries to eat it willy-nilly. Getting your mouth clogged up for too long, is obviously, a death sentence!

Red Milkweed Beetle has a clever little trick. You don't have to worry about toxic goop if you simply remove the toxic goop! So, it chews a hole at the base of the leaf. The goop begins to drain out, and the beetle can start eating from the top, not having to worry about that stuff! What a smart beetle!

Sadly, when I tell people about Red Milkweed Beetle and it's feeding habits, I often get the same question: "So are they harmful?" It's not an intentionally mean-spirited question on the asker's part, but it's so frustrating that this is how so, so many people have been conditioned to think of insects. I suppose you could say Red Milkweed Beetle is, indeed, harmful to the milkweed plant. And if you say that, you would also have to say that monarch butterflies are harmful. They eat the plant, too! They don't get any special treatment just because they're popular.

Animals will eat plants. Plants will be eaten. It's how nature works! Milkweed plants and milkweed beetles evolved alongside each other, keeping each other in perfect balance. Red Milkweed Beetle "harms" the plant in a sustainable way that allows both to survive. As much as I hate that "are they harmful" question, I suppose it IS a good teaching opportunity, the perfect chance to immediately change a perspective for the kinder...

Now time for silly! If you know Red Milkweed Beetle, you've been waiting for this part of the post. This creature has FOUR EYES!... kind of! It kind of depends on what you call an eye. The base of the beetles' antennae are right there in the middle of its compound eyes, splitting each into two neat sections! So, two compound eyes, each split into two. That's not even counting the ocelli on top! Seven eyes! Even more than Opabinia!

Some insects have bisected eyes in a practical way. Whirligig beetles, for example, live on the surface of the water, and have a pair of eyes on top and a pair of eyes on the bottom, granting the ability to see above and below the water at the same time! Red Milkweed Beetle's four eyes allow it to... I don't actually know. I'm not sure anyone knows! They're the same kind of eyes, and they all operate in the same environment. They don't seem to help in detecting danger (they're pathetically easy to catch), and their warning coloration means they wouldn't really NEED to watch for predators. They can spend the day just mating in plain sight, and not have to worry about a thing! Not even judgement from their peers, because their peers are also mating in plain sight!

I need to end this post somewhere, and I think I have shared plenty of information already, so now is a fine time. What do YOU think of Red Millweed Beetle? Have you ever seen it? Would you like to? I'm rooting for you! Please share with me facts about them I haven't mentioned! And if you have any images of their larval and/or pupal stages, please show me! I have never seen them!

[loveinhereyes-flowersinherhair]

Bebe Buell on Jimmy Page (extract from her book “rebel heart”) ♡

“I was very attracted to Jimmy Page. He was my type - very dashing, very English, very Renaissance. He had that otherworldly, other time vibe. If you fantasised about being a princess and having a prince come and sweep you off your feet and take you on horseback to his castle, Jimmy Page was Sir Lancelot. What girl wouldn’t enjoy that fantasy, even if it was only for a week? We went out to dinner at expensive restaurants every night. We went shopping. Jimmy liked to go to metaphysical/astrology book shops. We spent a lot of time in bed. We stayed up all night, hanging out, doing drugs, talking with Robert, Peter, Richard, and their entourages. Sometimes, I would do a little cocaine; other times i would say no. I think Jimmy found that refreshing.”

“He had a medieval attitude - not macho, but manly. The image he projected was: ‘I would stab - not shoot, but stab - any dragon for you.’ If I could have been Jimmy Page’s girlfriend, I would have been. If Jimmy Page had asked me to leave Todd, I would have. But in the end, he didn’t.”

[macden]

I can’t believe I fr saw kaitlin and didn’t say anything

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo setting a condition to his Clan for him to give them an heir. "It's HER or no one." The elders aren't happy that he chose a non-sorcerer, but they reluctantly agree... that is, if Gojo manages to convince you.

“Come here-...I’m far from done, kitten.”

God, Gojo still makes you nervous, with his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine. Why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Is it the way he leans in to make eye contact while he licks you? Is it those blue piercing eyes? Or that immensely amused smirk that twists his lips just enough so he can keep eating you out?

"Mmmmm... stop moving so much, (Y/N). We are making a mess of my desk..." he purrs, all too pleased to watch your eyes roll to the back of your skull. "That’s my good girl..." the man between your legs, praises, "my future bride to be...-"

"T-...that's still u-...under discussion, S-Satoru." Your quivering protests are sweet chords of music for him, "I already t-.... told you that I d-don't want to be part of the jujutsu world.... nor b-belong to a-.... any clan."

"Not any clan, pretty. MY clan." 

You hear him slurp greedily at your folds and feel a warm trick of saliva run down your ass, and when your mouth is about to throw another protest-... Satoru Gojo makes a vacuum on your quivering clit with that annoying mouth of his. Your thighs tense and the muscles of your stomach follow, a quake that rakes your entire form, making you a pathetic mock of a human.

Both your hands fly to cover your mouth and Satoru chuckles deep, amused rumble that cracks the rest of your self-control. Your cheeks grow in the most adorable shade of pink, and your breathing hastens.

"So CUTE~"

Satoru whimpers, dumb founded, his broad chest puffing with so much fervor, so much blinding endearment that he feels like about to explode. He can see the doubt in your beautifully contorted features, and he dips his tongue inside you, fucking you with that fat tongue to try to make you agree to his terms, to be HIS.

Dammit! You feel… amaaaaaazing. Why? It’s like a flip inside you only he can switch at will—... even so, he’s dangerous, you remember. He’s a special grade sorcerer, you remember. He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s invincible, unreadable, impenetrable and lethal with a playful smile, and you really know absolutely nothing about him. 

Yet, he insists that you belong together. He insists on putting his child inside you, he insists that he will take care of you and his life will be yours. He insists that you belong in his world and if you're not there, he won't be there either. He insists on fucking you stupid every chance he gets, bending you over surfaces, of course! Always putting his coat or his shirt or any piece of his clothing, just so your skin never comes into contact with any unworthy surface. He insists, he insists and insists and insists...

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you... h-how do you manage to always have me wrapped around your little finger—?” 

“I want you, Satoru-u... but I can't-” 

He stops you with a soft but firm, squeeze to your waist. 

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head to slowly lick a strip down your sweet cunt, a farewell caress, the whisper of a kiss to his last effort before lunch time is over and he can try again, later. “Let me pretend just for a little longer that you said yes—"

Your gaze drops to his trembling thighs and the warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his gloriously thick and long cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  

“I'm yours, Satoru-” you offer in a quiet whisper and can feel him shake his head. “You aren't.... but I’ll make you change your mind. You, just watch me, kitten."

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek artwork HERE ;)

➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this story

[babyleostuff]

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬

𝜗𝜚 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄: fluff 𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: (sleepy)idol!seungcheol x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 867

⦗💌 ⦘ sleepy choi seungcheol means many things - dramatic, adorable, and very kissable

“and then he straight up left the room,” seungcheol said and nuzzled his head further up your neck, sighing happily as your nails scratched his scalp in all of the right places. “i swear he’s so dramatic sometimes.” 

you hummed in acknowledgment, and brushed your lips over his forehead. “i know someone who’s even more dramatic than seungkwan, y’know?” you smiled at him, the corner of your lips almost reaching your eyes upon seeing your boyfriend’s adorably confused expression.

god, his big eyes and pouty lips would be the death of you someday. 

“who?” he asked, and laid his head against your shoulder. 

you crooked your eyebrow at him, and shook your head in amusement. “it’s cute how you don’t see it. if i had a penny for everytime you were being dramatic i’d be a millionaire now.” 

“i’m not-” 

“yes you are, baby.” 

seungcheol huffed annoyed and peeled himself off you, taking his warmth with him and leaving you shivering like a leaf. he kneeled next to you, and crossed his arms, looking like an angry five year old. cute. “i’m not. give me one instance when i was being dramatic, hm?”.

“i love you so much, choi seungcheol. you’re so adorable.”

if you had to pick your favourite version of your boyfriend the sleepy version would be top three, no questions asked. the hair that was sticking in all possible directions from your scratches, the doe eyes, glossy with sleep looking at you and begging for a hug, strong body that usually made you weak in your knees clad in a cherry pyjama… 

all of this, and now him kneeling next to you, insisting on his life that he was not being dramatic. 

“i love you too, but baby,” he whined, dropping his head to your lap, “i’m not dramatic.” 

“sure, then what would you call what you’re doing now?” 

your boyfriend shook his head, making an even bigger mess of his hair. “you’re so mean sometimes,” he said, as he looked up at you. “i don’t like it. give me my girlfriend back.” 

you rolled your eyes at him. that’s exactly what you meant - one look from him, and you were already regretting all of the thighs you said. 

“okay, okay,” you caved in, and maybe that was for the better, because as much as you loved your pouty boyfriend, you appreciated the smile on his face even more. and now with him winning the “argument” he probably wouldn’t stop smiling even in his sleep. 

not dramatic my ass. 

“you’re such a simp,” he giggled, and threw his whole body back on yours, knocking all air out of your lungs. 

if you had at least one percent chance of pushing this big koala off you, you’d immediately send him flying, but there was no way you could move more than his little toe. but, there was another deadly weapon you could use against him. 

“sure, then no cuddles for you tomorrow. and say goodbye to kissing me,” you said, looking him straight in the eye, just to show him how serious you were about it, and with how quickly his smile disappeared from his face, your mission at getting back at your boyfriend was accomplished. 

“no, no,” he said, gripping your waist tighter, “i was just joking.” 

“sure.” 

“no, i’m really sorry, i,” seungcheol, now panicking, gently angled your head downwards, so he could reach your lips, “please don’t be mad,” he said and ghosted his soft lips over yours. “if you’re a simp then i don’t know what to call myself.” 

you rolled your eyes, but… well, that was very much true. “just kiss me, choi seungcheol,” you breathed, and chased his lips as he pulled his head away from you. 

“under one condition.” 

“huh?” you asked, dizzy from the need to be even closer to him. 

“don't call me that,” he stated, and finally crashed his lips against yours, depriving you from the remains of air that you had. 

you always joked that cheol had this amazing ability to put you to sleep just by one kiss, and he always argued that that was insane and impossible, but… maybe it was the warmth of his arms, maybe it was the safety that his embrace provided, maybe it was his smell that screamed “home” - whatever it was, your joke wasn’t that far from the truth. 

you didn’t realise, though, that you seemed to have a similar effect on him, because when you pulled away, your boyfriend's eyes were even sleepier than before, and his permanent pout was poutier than usual. 

“oh, and there’s one more thing that happened during practice today,” he yawned, and rubbed his eyes, “soonyoung and seokmin-,”.

“why don’t you tell me about it tomorrow?” you kissed his brow, as you felt his head getting heavier and heavier on your shoulder. “let’s sleep for now and talk tomorrow, hm?” 

with his last remains of energy seungcheol nodded, and sunk further under the covers, pulling you with him. it didn’t seem that he was feeling particularly big-spoony tonight, so you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. 

“night, baby,” you whispered into the darkness.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot  @iamawkwardandshy  @icyminghao @heeseungthel0ml @goyangiiwonu @bath1lda @ruurooozz @ny0sang @luuxian @onerubii @iamawkwardandshy @hurrican3-insert-nam3 @mekuiikore @luvseungcheol @thenotoriousegg

[mediocre-writing]

Fic recs Yoongi

Some fics I read this week, and I need to make people read them too lol I'll probably do it with the other members too.

Interlude | MYG | Series Masterlist @yoongiofmine (Idol!Yoongi X Deaf!Reader)

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

– This is simply the most beautiful Yoongi series I've ever read.

——

The Consequences of Fucking Up @borathae

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

– You won't regret reading it, trust me.

——

his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series @serendipitous-seven

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby

– THIS WAS ONE OF THE SOFTEST THINGS I'VE EVER READ 😭💞

——

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi @dancinglikebutterflywings ( Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader)

- Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters.

– I feel like this story and this writer deserves much more recognition, MY GOD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.

—

you're okay | myg (m) @taegularities

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

– This here comforted my heart in a way 😭😭💞💞

—

ex-things - m.yg. @namfinessed

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

– That was adorable and made me smile like a fool.

—

impression | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

– This is so cute, I love the husband!Yoongi

—

The Final - Day 02 | MYG | ONESHOT @yoongiofmine

Summary: You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

– it made me wild and crazy

—

dissertation | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many people doubted your union, how exactly an artist with as much influence as yoongi be a husband to a wife that is still studying. 

– Yoon being the person we all need, This writer is wonderful, please give him a chance. (I'm telling you this writer is amazing)

—

Shy - Yoongi X Reader @7ndipity

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

– This is something cute and warm.

—

YES, I WILL DO MORE BECAUSE WE HAVE MANY TALENTED WRITERS.

[myricall]

Bllk boyfriend headcanons<3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Boyfriend! Isagi who would never miss out the chance of giving you one of his jersey's to wear. He would never admit it but the way he felt seeing his name on your back, his number. Truly made him feel like you were his (ofc you always saw the he blushed when you wore them tho<3)

...

"Yoichi..? Are you okay?" you smile softly whilst laying on your stomach on his bed. He'd make sure to always have time every day to hang out.

Your boyfriend stood there in the doorway in some sort of gaze. God he loved the way his name was splayed out across your back.

His cheeks heated up.

"y-yeah.. Just thinking about something" he mumbled back, shutting the door behind him.

"why don't you come think about it on the bed with me?"

He couldn't resist you...

>>>>>

Boyfriend! Bachira that constantly peppers your face with kisses and cannot keep his hands off of you! You're sitting alone on his bed? Cuddles! Walking with him? You bet he's holding your hand. Just be prepared to be bombarded with physical touch.

... 

"Meg- that tickles" your sweet voice cuts through, trying to hide your neck as Bachira covers your shoulders with quick little kisses.

How could he resist!

You wore that strappy top that revealed your perfect skin. You tasted so sweet he could just eat you up for the rest of his life.

"just a few more!- peck, missed you today"

"-we only haven't seen each other for a few hours!"

"I know- too long. Now stay still"

>>>>>

Boyfriend! Rin that acts nonchalant when out in public but acts all soft when just with you. He may not act like it all the time but trust when I say this man is head over heels for you and he'll definitely show it when jealous... He makes sure to let everyone know you're his after<3

... 

Today was one of the rare days that Rin was free from all the training that he did.

"Rin! Isn't this shirt so cute?" You pulled out another shirt from the rack, showing it to your boyfriend who already had a handful of bags stacking up on his arms.

"Don't you already have one like that?" He muttered, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you.

"you just don't get it" huffing as you check out the shirt more.

Rin sighed, looking around the store before his eyes caught onto something. More like.. Someone.

Was that employee looking at you?

Eurgh. Not on his watch.

At an instant, he linked your arm with his, taking the shirt from your hands.

"We're going"

"But the shirt-"

"We'll buy it- let's go"

You left the store with a new shirt and a much more clingy Rin on your hands.

>>>>>

Boyfriend! Nagi who acts needy and helpless whenever you are near him. Everything suddenly becomes a hassle that requires your help. He swears that without you sitting in his lap, he'd lose at every single videogame.

... 

"Just one more game pretty" Nagi held you tighter in his grip making sure you were secure.

"You said that last match.. And the one before that.."

"Yeah but I'm on a win streak.. Please, you're my good luck charm" he huffed, keeping you in place as his thumbs tapped on his phone.

You shuffled in his lap, figuring you should at least get comfortable. You're gonna be here for a while...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~work of @myricall (help i need more ideas </3)

[iamespecter]

Ah yes, the one guy I like vs the five other femme fatales

I did the thing that I saw one other mutual do!!! honestly, it was VERY hard to pick for most of these (save for Caine and Glamrock Chica) because I ADORE a LOT of characters. And doing this honestly makes me realize just how much I gravitate towards characters that are doomed by the narrative or their scriptwriters one way or another

My current favorite is Caine because it's pretty much self-explanatory, he is my current blorbo. My scrunkly. My precious lil scrunkler guy

Chica is my comfort character. She literally raised me alongside Freddy Fazbear when I was going through one of the toughest moments of my life, living with my abusive dad (and yes the chicken and the bear are so married to me and me only)

Master Tigress save me you were taken from me by the fourth film and I will NEVER live that down

Where do I even start with Six from Little Nightmares. By god, this poor yellow raincoat wearing child of mine. I both love and hate just how hopeless her story is. People say that the ending of the first game ends with her escaping via a boat, but I really don't think so. I think she's stuck at the Maw because I keep saying it, THE BOAT DROPPING THE GUESTS LEFT. THERE IS NO "OTHER BOAT". IT JUST DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. (before this becomes a ramble, I'm gonna stop it right there.)

I'm VERY guilty of liking Lucy Wilde from Despicable me because I hate the franchise (the first film was good), but by god, IS SHE THE FUNNIEST SHIT. To me, she literally carries the films she's in, she inspired one of my main OCs' humor and even appearance. I don't care about Gru, or the villains, or the girls, just give me more Lucy.

GLAMROCK CHICA MY BELOVED I AM GOING DOWN ON MY KNEES RN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MARRY ME I'M PUTTING ALL OF MY POINTS IN THE RIZZ STATS PLEASE JUST ONE CHANCE BABYGIRL OINE CHANCE GIVE ME ONE CHANCE (I am Glamrock Chica's #1 fan and I will always be angry at Scott for what he's doing to her and her variants)

sigh,,,, what I ever did to like such characters that I know will end up crushing my heart one way or another, I don't know but I do know that at the very least, I have the power to diverge from canon as an artist

[arachine]

yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing. 

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks. 

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince: 

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’” 

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up. 

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad. 

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?” 

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there. 

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily. 

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy. 

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.” 

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level. 

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes. 

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him. 

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after. 

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.” 

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping. 

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner. 

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence. 

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question. 

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod. 

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement. 

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her. 

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul. 

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall. 

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat. 

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice. 

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed. 

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life. 

“You tried any dating apps?” 

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?” 

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?” 

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces. 

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes. 

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars. 

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!” 

“Right…” 

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too. 

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match. 

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace. 

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail. 

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’. 

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry. 

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch. 

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?” 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response. 

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”  

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself. 

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality. 

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.” 

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone. 

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type. 

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more. 

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit. 

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders. 

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it. 

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties). 

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile. 

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds. 

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are! 

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol). 

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so? 

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice. 

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say. 

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other. 

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it. 

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this). 

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too. 

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual. 

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago. 

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half. 

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’. 

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way. 

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult. 

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’” 

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call. 

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet. 

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body. 

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!” 

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother. 

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking. 

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention. 

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki. 

“Come in, hon!” 

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room. 

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception. 

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment. 

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time. 

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly. 

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana. 

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate. 

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you. 

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone. 

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue. 

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them. 

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here. 

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know. 

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–” 

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him. 

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it. 

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something. 

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder. 

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t. 

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact. 

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger. 

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?” 

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now. 

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway. 

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go. 

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs. 

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’. 

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children. 

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep. 

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him. 

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted. 

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight. 

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity. 

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say. 

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date. 

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further. 

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now. 

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot. 

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first. 

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened. 

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out. 

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch. 

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks. 

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?” 

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom. 

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you. 

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.” 

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation. 

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.” 

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting. 

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow. 

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.” 

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d. 

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness. 

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating. 

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?” 

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes. 

“I don’t know…” you trail. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow. 

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway. 

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you. 

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.” 

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?” 

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.” 

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter. 

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed. 

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate. 

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating. 

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed. 

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit. 

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental? 

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence. 

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver. 

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers. 

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door. 

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?” 

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time. 

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?” 

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?” 

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you. 

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?” 

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal. 

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly. 

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.” 

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat. 

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence. 

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water. 

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?” 

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows. 

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?” 

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?” 

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?” 

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly. 

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter. 

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?” 

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass. 

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased. 

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment. 

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?” 

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy. 

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed. 

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!” 

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.” 

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.” 

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song. 

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns. 

To fall in love 

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them. 

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame. 

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage. 

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do 

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems. 

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were. 

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down. 

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling. 

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful. 

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs. 

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.” 

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay. 

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles). 

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs. 

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.” 

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago. 

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.” 

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees. 

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound. 

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core. 

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love. 

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.” 

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you. 

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation. 

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins. 

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?” 

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue. 

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit. 

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.” 

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor. 

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them. 

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.” 

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes. 

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone. 

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand. 

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you. 

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears. 

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers. 

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously. 

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.” 

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm. 

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind. 

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.” 

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You. 

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally. 

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt. 

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give. 

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.” 

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium. 

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.” 

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days. 

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp. 

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration. 

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.” 

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you. 

Soon, that silence is broken. 

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads. 

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you. 

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages. 

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants. 

“Shit!” 

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you. 

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!” 

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom. 

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

© arachine 2023

[lexiputellas]

"Burn the Bridge," from the Broken Vows series.

Today is a beautiful day.

Or at least it would be—if not for your phone blasting through the room.

The curtains are shut, no sun slipping through, the AC humming at the perfect temperature. Freezing. Just the way you like it.

You squint at the screen, groggy, already knowing this can’t be good.

Alexia.

Her name flashes across your phone, demanding attention.

You answer. Because somehow, not answering could be worse.

“Why did you like a picture of Eva?”

You let out a dry laugh, rubbing your eyes. “Oh, hi. Good morning to you too, babe.”

“I’m serious.”

“So you still talk? Good to know.”

“That’s not it.”

You hum, waiting. “So what is it, then?”

“She jumped me at training, saying you were trying to destroy her life. She’s afraid you’ll expose her.”

That wakes you up. Your brows lift, and a laugh escapes before you can stop it—sharp, humorless. "Oh, that's rich. She sleeps with a married woman, helps wreck a family, and now she's the victim?" You lean forward, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Did you hold her? Wipe her tears? Tell her you’d fix everything?"

Alexia exhales, exasperated. “Will you stop acting like a child?”

“Will you stop lying?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Alexia,” you sigh, turning to lie on your back, staring at the ceiling “I don’t have it in me for this. Either say something that matters or just—stop.”

“For God’s sake—”

“You can go running to poor little Eva and tell her, 'My wife isn’t exposing you, you can live your life to the fullest now, don’t worry. You already destroyed the marriage, the family. There’s really nothing left to ruin.’”

Silence.

Then, a sharp inhale. You can practically hear her grinding her teeth.

“You’re impossible.”

You smile, satisfaction curling in your stomach. “And you’re predictable.”

“You think I don’t regret it?” Alexia snaps, her voice cracking like glass under pressure. “You think this is easy for me? I wake up every day hating myself.”

“Oh please.” You throw your head back against the pillow, amused at the pathetic little performance. “Cry me a fucking river. Regret doesn’t mean anything if you still did it.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“And you’re being pathetic,” you shoot back, sitting up now, fully awake. “Calling me first thing in the morning because poor little Eva is scared people will find out she fucks married women? Grow up.”

“I— That’s not the only reason I called.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not. You just missed me, right?” you sneer. “No one cares enough to ruin Eva’s reputation she’s already done a fantastic job on her own.”

Alexia exhales like she’s about to explode. “You think you’re so perfect? You think you didn’t push me away? You—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you cut her off, voice cold, deadly. “Say it. Finish that sentence. Blame me for you crawling into bed with someone else. I’m begging you.”

She goes silent, but you can feel the fury vibrating through the speaker.

“That’s what I thought,” you say, voice dropping, almost amused by how easy it is to rip her apart now.

“You’re impossible,” she hisses.

“And you’re a coward.”

Another beat of silence.

“Fuck you,” Alexia snaps, venomous.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m going to tell you one thing, and pay attention. I’m not doing the back and forth with you anymore. I don’t recognize the person you’ve become, and I don’t know if I even want to have something with you. Change, or please leave me the fuck alone.”

You hear a sharp inhale, like she’s about to argue.

You don’t give her the chance. You hang up.

This time, it actually feels good.

[calebverse]

caleb loves your scent. 

there’s just something so fresh, so sweet, and so you that got him addicted to it. he loves holding you close, so close, that he can pick up the smell of your skin and body wash. he would give you forehead kisses, taking the chance to place his nose by the crown of your hair for a whiff of your shampoo. the smell of your clothes helps him know you’re around him without even seeing you yet. he never misses the chance to tell you that you smelled good, amongst all the other praises he would say. and even when you would try to push him away when you say you’re all sweaty, he would still playfully tackle you just to catch your scent before reluctantly letting you go because you kept claiming you needed a shower. 

he is all-familiar to your fragrance, so imagine his surprise when he finds you after you got home from your work. 

he greets you with a hug, and then catches a new but oddly familiar scent on you. 

caleb lets loose of the hug but kept you in his arms. “new perfume, pipsqueak?” it smelled like leather with a hint of mint. it was thick, a complete opposite to the perfume you would usually go for. in a split second, he recognizes that it smelled like men’s perfume.

the thought of being you being close to another man to the point that whatever his perfume was rubbed off on you irked him. his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. 

you, however, were completely oblivious to the storm brewing in caleb's mind. you just smiled sheepishly. “it's yours, silly.”

“i was running late to work this morning, had to get dressed and put on my makeup quick. and then, conveniently,” you said with a roll of your eyes, “i found out that my perfume just ran out. can't get even a few sprays in anymore. but i saw your cologne, and i didn’t want to walk out without having anything on me. i only sprayed a little bit. one spray behind each ear, each wrist, and two sprays under my shirt.” 

caleb let out a breath he was holding. thank god it was his cologne and not anyone else’s. how was he not able to recognize it in the first whiff? 

and then it was as if a switch was flipped inside of caleb. you smell like him. you walked around, went about your day, carrying his scent. unconsciously carrying a claim he had on you. unknowingly letting people know that you were his, that a piece of him was on you. he wondered if you knew. he wondered if people asked about it. how did you answer? did you tell them it was his scent all over you?

while his favorite scent will always be yours, this came a close second. it all appeared so… territorial. and it pleased even the darker sides of his mind. suddenly, the idea of holding you close to him you start smelling like him, or the vision of him leaning in, kissing every part of your skin with the scent of his cologne was appealing.

“i see,” he said, clearing his throat. his hands made their way to your waist, and he tightened his grip three times. “don't worry pipsqueak, you can use it until you buy another bottle of perfume.”

“really?” you chuckled. “to be fair, i might have to research the brand and see if they have anything i could try. your cologne is great because it lasted the whole day. it's like i have you with me all the time.”

the statement was said in a tone that was cheery and playful, but the thought of it was so intimate in caleb’s mind. he couldn’t help but kiss your lips in short, consecutive pecks, eliciting a giggle from you. then he let his head rest on your neck, his nose pressed to the corner where your ear meets your jaw. 

“you smell nice.” caleb mumbled into your skin. 

“i smell like you.”

“exactly.” he replied. “and i don’t mind one bit.”

a/n: aaaaa it's been a while since i wrote an actual fic (this is a drabble to be honest) but this is me dipping slowly into it again! i've recently got hooked into the world of love and deepspace and we have this 6'2 colonel mf to blame. no complaints though.

anyways, this was slightly inspired by a real life experience and my first thought was 'damn that sounds like something caleb would do.' so here it is!

[auroralwriting]

poker face

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer and you go to the casino to find the unsub. you think he looks pretty hot playing poker.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: making out, gambling, poker face spencer aghhh

"Forensics got a fingerprint match on the last victim. Eddie Langdon. We're looking into him." You said as you walked back into the office that held some of your team members.

Hotch came in behind you, "Hey, any luck?" Emily asked.

"No, they don't want to allocate agency funds for the buy-in. I'm still working on it." Hotch replied, looking down to his phone as he got back on another call.

Rossi chuckled, "Well, I can't imagine why not. We're only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money so that FBI agents can play Texas hold 'em."

Emily eyed Rossi, "Hey, what about you?"

"What about me? What?"

"You could stake us the buy-in." Emily smirked.

Spencer sat down next to you, "Yeah, you're a best-selling author."

You nodded enthusiastically, "Don't forget a best-selling author and longtime FBI agent. You could loan us the money, or something."

"No," Rossi shook his head.

"Why not?" Emily frowned.

"One, it's against regulations, and I'd like to hold on to this job for a little while longer." Rossi began.

Under your breath, you muttered, "It's just a little violation, 's all."

Rossi just rolled his eyes at your comment. "And two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single-malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork."

"Poker chips are things!" JJ replied quickly with a smile.

Rossi just scoffed as Spencer spoke up again. "Maybe just think of it as like a new experience. I mean, at your age, how often does that happen?" Oh, no he didn't.

"At my what?" Rossi slowly turned his head to Spencer who just gulped and awkwardly looked away.

"Rossi, this may be our only chance to get this guy." You said slowly. "They government isn't going to give us the money. You're our only way to catch this killer. Please?" You paused for a moment. "And if it helps, you can just write a new book to get some more cha-ching."

Rossi sighed, "All right, fine. But I'm ignoring that last comment. I'm a decent poker player, but I can't promise that I can stay in the game long enough to--"

"You know what?" Emily interrupted. "I bet you're a great poker player, but what if we sent in Reid?"

"I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Parump because of my card-counting ability." Spencer commented as if it was the most casual thing in the whole world.

You raised your hand slightly, "Why did I not know this sooner?"

"Look, I know I'm not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not Blackjack." Rossi argued. "It's about bluffing, reading human nature, head games. It's not math."

That's when Spencer stood up, "That's not entirely accurate. There actually is a mathematical equation for knowing when to raise and when to fold. If P represents the size of the pot at the time of play, then P times N minus one, with N representing the estimated number of players in the final round of betting--"

"Okay! Fine, I surrender!" Rossi cut Spencer off quickly. "Just try not to lose all my money. Actually, you know what?" Rossi quickly spoke your name. "Take her with you, I don't want you losing all my money and if she needs to interrupt the game, then so be it."

Your eyes widened, "Rossi, I've never stepped foot into a casino in my life."

"You'll be fine!" Rossi waved it off as Spencer gave you a comforting look.

Oh, this was not what you expected at all.

Spencer and you had to get checked by security with the handheld metal detectors. Yours didn't go off, but Spencer's did. He played it off as just a pen. Thank god they accepted that.

The two of you walked in. For someone who stared at dead bodies and killers all day, this was the most nerve wracking thing you'd experienced in a while. It also didn't help that Hotch decided you and Spencer were to play a couple when you had such a big crush on him.

"Hey," Spencer muttered, "It's okay."

"Just nervous," You replied under your breath. The two of you made your way to the bar. Spencer got himself a drink, and you got some champagne. "Is it really just math?"

Spencer nodded, "Math, and a little bit of luck."

The moment you felt Spencer take your hand, you tried to pull away. "Spencer, what about germs--"

"I don't mind your germs, you're my friend. Plus, we have a part to play, remember?" Spencer muttered, locking his fingers between yours. Your heart pounded as you did the same.

"I'll observe as you play," You muttered, remembering the list of things you needed to look for to find the unsub. "I know you don't need it, but good luck."

Spencer smiled at you, the comment being just so sweet and innocent. "Thank you." You looked so nervous, so out of place. It made Spencer notice you more.

Spencer had taken a seat at a table, which you stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Your hands rested on the back of the chair. So far, no one caught your eye, until one man at another table did. Casually, you poked Spencer and he caught onto your stare.

"You know, would it be all right if I sat at table two instead of four? I have a pre-glaucoma condition and the light's kind of bothering my eyes." Spencer called over the employee, who took him to the desired table.

The men didn't just eye Spencer as he sat down, you noticed they eyed you too. Defensively, you wrapped your arms around Spencer's neck from behind. "Ah, I'm calling." One of the men said."

"I'll raise." One guy said. You stared at him, noticing his red eyes. Weird. "Eight thousand."

"Eight thousand.. That's, uh, fifty-six months wages for the average person in Bangladesh." Spencer commented casually. In reply, you giggled and played with some of hair, pushing it out of his face. Spencer hoped you didn't feel his face turn hot under your fingers. "Uh, kind of makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Hey, it's eight thou to you." One guy remarked. "Now, are you in or are you out?"

Spencer sighed, "I.. am in. And I raise."

"Three raise? That's too rich for my blood." The guy sighed. One man, the one who raised before Spencer, bored holes into him.

"Are you in, sir?" Spencer asked.

"I'll call."

"Call?"

Spencer flipped his cards, "Straight."

Based on everyone's reactions and Spencer's coy face, straight was a very good thing. Playing the act, you kissed Spencer's forehead and squealed lightly, deciding to stroke his cheek for a moment. "A gut shot straight draw? Are you kidding me?"

"That is just-- that is nuts."

It was no wonder Spencer was banned from casinos. Spencer's poker face was good. He simply just covered his mouth after a moment and stared, watching everyone's reactions. His hand slowly ran down to his chin, and in that moment, it did it for you. Sure, Spencer was your cute little nerd, but he'd never been so hot to you.

You noticed next to the man who was staring, he had an eight ball keychain. "Hey, mind if I look at this?" You asked, reaching for it.

The man was quick to grab your hand hard. Spencer jumped into action, pulling you from him.

"Hey. What's the problem, sir?" An employee asked.

"She's reaching for my chips!"

"I'm not even in the game," You remarked.

The employee grabbed your arms, "You need to come with me."

If Spencer's eyes could've gotten any wider, they would've popped out of his head. "Hey! Don't manhandle her! She can walk, let go!" Spencer ripped the mans arms off of you and pulled you into his chest. "Come on, love. Let's just go."

Spencer's words caused your chest to tingle as he guided you away. You watched as he clicked the call-device, it lit up red. The look on the mans face, your unsub, was clear. He knew.

You met up with the team as you were lead out the doors, "They're FBI agents," Hotch informed the guard.

"There he goes, plaid shirt, baseball hat." Spencer pointed.

After searching the whole casino, the unsub made a break for it. His name was Curtis Banks. You and Spencer were sent to his house to see if he was there. After a quick search, it was clear he wasn't there.

"Hey Hotch, he isn't here. There's a foreclosure sign in the lawn." You informed your chief.

"All right, you and Reid stay there in case he comes back." Hotch hung up the phone.

You shrugged to Spencer, "And we wait."

After a beat of silence, Spencer turned to you. "At the casino, you couldn't keep your hands off of me after I won." Spencer said out of nowhere. "Your physical proximity was close, you frequently stared at me--"

"I was playing my part," You argued.

"Yeah, too well." Spencer pointed out. "Were you checking me out?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, "No. Why would I do that?"

"Look at me and say it," Spencer demanded, but his tone wasn't harsh. It was simply just firm. "You won't look at me."

Slowly, you turned to look at Spencer, "I wasn't checking you out."

"You can't look me in the eyes. You've never not looked me in the eyes." Spencer continued.

"Stop profiling me," You tried to end the discussion. It was clear Spencer had caught you. You weren't interested in being turned down, especially when you were in some sort of steak-out with the genius.

Spencer frowned, "I'm not profiling you. I'm just telling you as it is."

"That's what profiling is," You countered. "We don't need to have this conversation. Was I checking you out? Yes, I was. Is that what you wanted me to say? That you looked so damn hot winning thousands of dollars with your best poker face while you let me all over you?"

Spencer said your name, but you kept rambling. It took him grabbing your chin and forcing your face closer to his to make you stop. "You think I'm hot?"

"Yeah," You stuttered. "Yeah, I do."

Slowly, Spencer trailed his finger over your bottom lip. "I always thought you were the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen."

"Where's this confidence coming from?" You asked.

Spencer shrugged, "Gamblers frequently experience a phenomenon called the 'winning high,' it releases dopamine and adrenaline, making gamblers do riskier things than they'd normally do."

"You gonna use that high to kiss me?" Your voice was a mere mutter. Your lips were just grazing Spencers.

"Is that what you want?" Spencer lowly asked.

"What do you think?" You retorted.

Spencer's lips slammed onto your own, harder than you expected. His large hand had the back of your neck, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It was hot, just how you wanted it. Flimsily, Spencer reached to the bottom of his seat to scoot it back. His hands went to your hips, guiding you to move across the seats to his lap.

"You know, we're still on the lookout." You mumbled, pressing another kiss to the genius's lips.

"They haven't called us yet." Spencer challenged, hand running down your back to your waist.

Slowly, Spencer's hand began to creep up your shirt, just to your navel-level. His kisses descended to your neck, pressing opened mouth, warm kisses to your skin.

"Spence," You whined, grabbing his hair to push him closer. He sighed in reply.

You both jolted when your phone began to ring. You grabbed it quickly, "What?"

"Ooh, someone's frisky." Derek teased over the phone. "We got the guy. You two are all good to head back."

"Thanks, Morgan. See you back there." You hung up the phone, tossing it back to to your seat. "Looks like we have to wrap this up."

Spencer smirked, "We fly back in the morning. We'll find some time soon."

Spencer's words weren't a tease, they were a promise.

[dualityvn]

Hello, I am writing this post in order to address my own community but also give a heads up to other yandere game devs on Tumblr. This has filled me with deep dread and I feel like it needs to be spoken about at once.

TLDR: There's a community of over 1k people who are seeking real life yandere relationships and planning illegal actions here on Tumblr.

I recently discovered there's a fairly big community here on tumblr of people who are seeking "yandere" partners in real life and/or identify as "yandere" themselves. Part of me is hoping and praying to the gods that it's just roleplay, but the community has "IRL" in its name and there is nothing in its rules indicating that it's roleplay. Some of the people in there are following my blog.

To other devs, I urge you to discourage such mentalities and make it as clear as possible that we DO NOT tolerate this stuff.

To anyone who identifies as "irl yandere" and is following this or any of my blogs, block me this instant. What you are doing and encouraging is abusive if it is outside of a consensual roleplay or BDSM scenario. Purposefully isolating a person from their loved ones, kidnapping them, harming them (again, without consent) is abuse. Get the hell out of my community, you are not welcome here. I will not have abusers use my game or participate in my community. Seek therapy.

There is a difference between exploring a crazy scenario in a game and pursuing said scenario in reality. NONE of the stalkerish, obsessive, overly jealous things Keith and Tenebris do in the game are okay to do to a real person. They are not role models, they are not ideal partners.

And to people who are seeking out "yandere" partners in real life, for the love of god realize that your fantasies will not play out the same in reality. You are putting yourself and all of your loved ones at risk. No matter how much you think you can appeal to a "yandere" or meet their needs, that is still an abuser who may go to extremes one day. There was a damn post in that community asking for advice on how to turn someone against their family. Another asking how to kidnap someone and being praised for it. This is not a joke. Do not invite abusers into your life. It will not play out like your fantasies. You will feel unsafe and violated, you may end up in a very very bad situation that you cannot get out of easily. There is a high chance you may lose your life when the abuser decides they can't have you to themselves any other way.

And to those of you in my fandom who are well in the head and aware this is nuts, please report this community if you come across it. The age of entry was 16, SIXTEEN YEAR OLDS ARE IN THERE LOOKING FOR ABUSERS. I cannot stress how fucked up this is.

I really really really hope I just somehow didn't pick up that this was all roleplay. I hope I didn't just witness someone trying to plan out how to kidnap a real person. Please just let me be a clueless idiot.

[writtenbyhollywood]

being rhea ripley’s girlfriend

─────────౨ৎ──────────

yourusername

liked by rhearipley_wwe and others

yourusername gym day with the best girl 🤭

view comments

yourbestfriend girl when r we going together

yourusername @/yourbestfriend soon I swear

user god rhea is so hot

yourusername @/user ikr

rheafan I need this woman

randomuser mami

yourusername

liked by rhearipley_wwe and others

yourusername if your girlfriend doesn't send u mirror pics , does she even love you??

view comments

user1 she’s feeding us content fr 🙏

yourusername @/user1 I provide when in need

rhearipley_wwe ❤️

user2 when is it gonna be my turn

randomuser48 barking

use_herrr wifey come backkk the kids miss youuu

yourusername

liked by rhearipley_wwe and others

yourusername little night out + another tattoo for the mrs

view comments

user1 give me one chance PLEASE

user2 new tattoo reveal???

user3 i’ve got some unholy thing to say

user_1 mamiiiiii

yourusername

liked by rhearipley_wwe and others

yourusername a little photo dump with the best people in my life

view comments

rhearipley_wwe so lucky to have you

randomuser4 they're literally the perfect couple

mamirhea my wife is so pretty

yourusername @/mamirhea your wife?bffr.

yourbestfriend love ya

rhearipley_wwe

liked by yourusername and others

rhearipley_wwe 👑

view comments

yourusername im going feral

user1 @/yourusername she's just like us

user2 idk if i wanna be her or be with her

user 7 I had a dream about us last night

yourusername 40m

─────────౨ৎ──────────

i honestly just did this for fun since my vacations just started

[always-just-red]

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?  

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”  

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”