#he really said ‘this would be so much better if it was just a funny little guy’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashytracktales · 4 hours ago

Note

My love….i need some ANGST. Like make me cry….then make me wet 😱😅

IM SORRY ITS BEEN ONR OF THOSE DAYS and your posts always make the day better.

Final call | LN⁴

📞 summary ──── Lando thought that ending things was the right decision. But he never really let go. When one final, desperate call pulls her back into his orbit, old wounds resurface, anger and longing collide, and the lines between love and heartbreak blur.

📞 pairing ──── Lando Norris x (she/her) ex!reader

📞 rating ──── explicit

📞 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, Lando struggling with withdrawals from his usual life, drunken texts, heavy angst and arguments, swearing, heartbreak, power struggles between both characters, smut, fingering with teasing and edging, unprotected sex, praise, desperation, overwhelming pleasure leading to emotional vulnerability, begging, multiple orgasms, post-sex tenderness, crying (I need to touch some grass fr fr).

📞 word count ──── 12.8k

📞 date ──── Mar. 30, 2025

📞 a/n ──── Been working on this for over a month now. It feels like a fever dream, I have no words. Enjoy whatever this is and I apologize in advance 🤧

IT IS A random Saturday night during the winter break, and Lando would rather stay home. But he’s spent the last two months buried in the same routine; rinse and repeat. It’s been easier that way, keeping himself too busy to think, and too exhausted to feel anything else.

This time around, his friends have been quite insistent, pushing him to get out of his self-imposed isolation.

“Come on, mate,” said Max, his frustration evident in every word he uttered, even through the speaker, “One night won’t kill you. Everyone is expecting you to be there.”

“Why would they?” asked Lando, not particularly interested in Max’s answer.

“Because I told them you’ll come. Now, don’t make me a liar, and get your athletic physique up. I’ll get to yours in five.”

Lando tried to argue at first, but Max wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, eventually, after what felt like ages of back-and-forth, he caved, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

Now, standing in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by laughter and music, he wonders why he agreed, after all. When he’s not in the mood to party or to be around people in general, everything is suddenly way too loud, too annoying, and nothing satisfies him. The air is thick with a weird combination between spilled liquor and various perfumes, adding to his irritation.

Avoiding to make a scene, Lando shifts awkwardly, nursing a drink, half-listening to whatever story Connor is animatedly telling. He feels bad when he realizes that he hasn’t seen most of his friends since the breakup, but he knows they’ve only been giving him the space he needed, waiting for him to bounce back.

But Lando hasn’t. He’s just gotten better at pretending things are going the right way. Fake it until you make it, or whatever.

“Landooo,” Max says suddenly, nudging him out of his thoughts. “Look who I ran into!”

Lando turns and his eyes lock on her, her alluring presence catching him off guard.

“This is Eva,” Max continues, “An old friend of mine.”

He can’t help but think how effortlessly beautiful she is, all bright eyes and easy smiles, with the kind of confidence that makes people gravitate toward her instinctively.

“Hey,” the girl says, offering him a playful smirk. “I was starting to think you were just a figment of Max’s imagination.”

Lando forces a chuckle. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been… around much.”

Eva tilts her head, taking him in. “That’s a vague answer.”

Max claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “He’s just being mysterious. It’s part of his charm, you’ll see.”

Lando rolls his eyes, but plays along. He knows what Max is doing, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

Because maybe Max is right. Maybe he should try.

And so he does.

He engages in conversation, letting himself slip into the rhythm of it. Eva is funny and easy to talk to. She makes it effortless, steering their interaction in a way that keeps his mind from wandering. As the night progresses, they end up dancing, and hands are suddenly everywhere while the music envelops them like a protective dome.

At some point, he offers to buy her another drink, and she smiles, nodding at Lando’s initiative.

“I’d like that,” she admits, her eyes sparkling under her eyelashes.

They weave through the crowd toward the bar, and as they wait, she leans in a little closer. It’s subtle at first — a touch to his shoulder when she laughs, then her fingers grazing his bicep. Lando notices it, but he doesn’t react. Not until he feels her fingertips brush against his hand. At that, he looks down and sees the way her small hand lingers against his, making his chest tighten.

She’s watching him with anticipation in her expression, waiting for him to do something. Anything. To respond, to take her hand in his, to let this moment be what it’s supposed to be.

Lando closes his eyes for a fraction. Then he pulls his hand away. Eva’s face doesn’t fall, but something shifts in her eyes; the spark goes away, being replaced by something Lando can’t quite decipher. Confusion, perhaps? Understanding, maybe? Pity, for sure.

She nods, taking a step back, putting distance between them. “Right,” her voice is light, but unbothered. “Cheers for the drink, Lando. I should get back to my friends.”

Lando swallows, guilt gnawing at him. “Eva, it’s not that I don’t—”

She stops him with a tiny smile hanging in the corner of her mouth. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me, darling. It was fun meeting you, hope to see you around. Have a nice night.”

And with that, she’s gone.

He watches her disappear into the crowd, debating going after her or scanning the place to find someone else.

Finally, Lando turns back to the bar, giving his head a little shake.

Well, that went well.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go and signals for another. The liquid burns his throat, but it’s still not enough. He needs more, now that he’s alone. Just for tonight.

As Max said, it won’t kill him.

A few minutes later, Lando returns to his people with another drink in hand. He looks much more relaxed, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s still there, somewhere, lost among the lonely nights spent in his apartment, buried under the lies he told his friends just to be left alone.

Max spots him first and frowns, “Mate, where’s Eva?”

Lando shrugs, “I think she didn’t like my bucket hat.”

Max squints in his direction, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t even try, did you?”

He did, but won’t bother explaining that to Max. It’s not the time nor the place and, taking a slow sip of his new drink, Lando doesn’t answer, ending the conversation there.

HIS PLACE IS drenched in darkness, exactly how he left it, when Lando stumbles in. He kicks off his shoes haphazardly, muttering a curse as one skids across the floor.

So, Max’s plan hadn’t helped; nothing ever does. He had laughed at all the right moments, sipped at overpriced drinks, and told himself he was having fun. But the ride home had been silent, his thoughts crashing against him like a lost boat against the waves in the middle of a storm.

His friend offered to stay over, but didn’t insist when Lando told him he was okay; two months of pretending he was.

Two months of convincing himself he made the right choice, that he needed space to figure out who he was outside of them. He told himself he needed to be alone and focus on his work, because the aftertaste of the last season still lingers. He wants to see his dream manifesting before his eyes, and he knows that comes with a set of sacrifices. He is ready, but how far is he willing to go? What else is he willing to give up?

Because all he’s done in her absence is slowly descending into madness.

With a defeated sigh, Lando collapses onto the couch. His head falls back against the cushions, just as his phone starts buzzing into his pocket. He doesn’t need to check it to know it isn’t her. She hasn’t reached out since the day she walked away, her face crumpling in defeat as she whispered, I can’t keep fighting for something you clearly don’t want.

The memory of her face still haunts him, because he knows now, just as he knew then, that he should have fought harder. He wishes he had at least tried. Although he also knows it wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, because the mental state he was in at the time would’ve made everything worse for both of them.

Without thinking too much of it, his thumb finds her little icon, and before he can stop himself, Lando starts typing.

10:24 PM: Hey, you up?

10:24 PM: Sorry.

10:26 PM: Can we talk?

10:30 PM: You ever think about us?

10:35 PM: Forget I said anything.

10:39 PM: No, actually, don’t. You were everything. You ARE everything.

10:39 PM: I may be a little bit drunk, but I fucking miss you, baby…

10:41 PM: I don’t miss you because I’m drunk BTW. I just miss you.

10:41 PM: All the time.

10:45 PM: Was I ever enough for you? Like, in general… do you think we could’ve made it work?

10:47 PM: God, I hate you for making me question myself like this.

10:58 PM: I don’t hate you. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you.

11:59 PM: Remember when we went to Lake Como and got lost trying to find that little café? I think about that all the time. It started raining, and we both got sick, then we stayed in bed for a week.

11:08 PM: Are you happy?

11:10 PM: Please, say something.

11:10 PM: I know I ended this, but don’t ignore me.

11:10 PM: Please…

On the other side of the city, she’s sitting across from a man who could be plucked from a brochure for Monaco’s elite. His posture oozes confidence and he’s immaculate, from the tailored suit to his charm that has her smiling politely but distantly. He’s nothing like Lando, and she noticed that from the first date. That’s the reason why she agreed to go out again. And again.

Now, she’s four dates in, and she tries to convince herself she could get used to seeing this man as something more. But it’s not that easy when all he talks about is crypto currency and boats.

Suddenly, her phone starts buzzing, a succession of vibrations that she tries to ignore at first.

Once.

Twice.

Three-four-five-six-seven times.

When it keeps going, she excuses herself to glance at the screen, and her stomach twists as she sees his name. What freaks her out at first is that only now she realizes that she never changed his contact name, and LANDO ♥︎ now occupies both the entire size of her screen and her entire mind.

“Is everything okay?” her date asks, his voice cutting through her haze.

She blinks, confused, “I’m sorry, yeah,” she says, a wave of heat crawling up her chest and neck. “I forgot to put it on silent.”

A deep ache settles in between her lungs as she touches the icon to silent her phone. She wishes she could do that to her brain right now, because all of a sudden, her entire world starts spinning faster.

It’s the first time he’s reached out since he ended things. For her, this is monumental. But she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t even be tempted to read whatever nonsense he keeps typing out. But then another message comes through, begging her not to ignore him, and something about the desperation in the rapid notifications makes her break.

“Excuse me,” the girl says quickly, pushing her chair back as she gets up, ready to head towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Somehow, she knew the quiet won’t last forever, but she kept hoping that Lando was happy, even without her. She hated him for a few hours after he broke up with her, but all the hatred faded away the next morning, when she woke up in an empty bed, trying her best to understand his decision.

She did, eventually. And she accepted it. More than that, she respected it, because she knew that Lando would do the same for her.

Rage.

She put in so much work, and now it’s all for nothing.

She exhales heavily, gripping the edge of the sink before finally, finally unlocking her phone, not so surprised to see more texts flooding the screen.

11:12 PM: I just wanna talk, I swear.

11:12 PM: Can I call you?

11:12 PM: Just once, please.

11:13 PM: I miss your voice.

Her heart breaks a little, but before she can overthink it, she presses that call button herself, and Lando picks up on the first ring. There’s silence at first. Nothing but his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the muted background noise.

Then, she hears his voice, rough and slightly slurred, “You called.”

She closes her eyes, trying her best to control her trembling hands. “Only to tell you to stop texting me, Lando. I am busy.”

A pause. Then a slow, shaky inhale, followed by Lando’s curiosity, “It’s almost midnight on a Saturday night, how busy are—” he stops himself as if realizing something obvious, his next words dripping in disappointment, “Oh, you’re busy,” he continues, but this time his voice changes to nonchalance. “What am I interrupting?”

She presses her lips in a thin line, bringing her fingers to her temple. “None of—”

“Are you with someone?”

Her throat tightens. “None of your business,” she finally manages to say.

His heavy breath crackles through the speaker. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She doesn’t confirm it. Doesn’t deny it. Just exhales slowly, wishing she would disintegrate into thin air before the conversation gets to an end.

To break her silence, Lando makes a noise, something caught between a bitter laugh and a sigh. “How boring is he? Be honest.”

The girl blinks, letting out a dry laugh. “Excuse me?”

“The guy you’re with,” says Lando, “How boring is he? Does he talk about taxes and golf? I bet he fucking sucks at golf.”

“Lando, how drunk—”

“Does he make you laugh?” his voice drops, softer now, but unsure. “Like I used to? God, I miss your laugh.”

She grips the sink tighter, warning him, “Stop that.”

Silence.

Then, in true Lando fashion, he blurts out something completely ridiculous, “And I miss you.”

Her stomach flips. Painfully.

He shouldn’t have this right. He broke up with her. He was the one who argued in detail why they should break up and stay that way. Him. But hearing his voice again, after all this time, she realizes how easy it is to fall back into it. Into everything they had.

“I do,” Lando insists, “I really fucking miss you, baby. Do you miss me?”

The words hit like a sucker punch.

Yes.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to break. “No,” she ends up saying.

“No,” he echoes. And for once, he sounds completely sober.

She swallows hard, forcing her voice to stay steady as she repeats, “I am busy. Goodbye, Lando.”

And before he can say anything else, before she lets herself feel too much and tell him the truth, she hangs up. With a heavy heart, she presses the phone against her chest, eyes shut, trying to breathe through the emotions crashing over her.

Breaking up with someone when you still love them is like throwing yourself into a bottomless pit. You don’t know when or if the fall will ever end, you have no idea whether or not you’ll be alone on the other side if it does end, and you certainly don’t know if you’ll make it there alive. They had their problems, of course. Everybody does. But for the first time in their relationship, Lando’s goals didn’t include her, and she had to make peace with it.

Inhaling deeply, she looks back at her reflection then she steels herself, smoothing her dress, and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

THE SECOND SHE hangs up, her words brand themselves into his brain, and for a while, he’s terrified that he’ll go mad, because they won’t stop replaying in his head like a broken record.

Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando.

Goodbye.

The finality of it slams into him, sucking the air from his lungs, and all the light from his eyes.

He can’t do anything but stand there, phone still pressed to his ear, as if maybe she’ll change her mind and call back. As if this is just a silly test, some cruel joke played by the universe to see how much more he can take before he completely breaks.

To his horror, the line stays dead, and the realization settles in too quickly for him to process, a dull ache spreading through his chest like poison ivy.

She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t soften, didn’t give him anything to hold onto. And maybe it’s better this way, but how easy is it to close the door on someone like that?

For the past two months, he told himself that if he ever needed her — really needed her — she’d be there for him. Because he knows her, and he knows that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many miles stretched between them, she’d still be his person.

But now, the truth is staring Lando in the face. And it looks like him. She’s gone for good, and he has no one to blame but himself.

His jaw clenches, his hold tightening around the phone so hard he might break it. The room feels too big, too empty, too goddamn quiet to the point it gets too much. With an angry exhale, Lando hurls his phone across the room, watching it smashing against the wall before clattering to the floor, the sound slicing through his ears like a gunshot.

With a deep sigh, he drags his hands down his face, fingers digging into his skin as if he can claw the frustration out of his body.

What did you expect? he asks himself. Then, he laughs. A dry laugh, deprived of real amusement.

At that time, space was what he needed, but she was never something Lando needed to escape. She was his anchor. His safe place. And now, she’s out with some other guy, probably smiling in that adorable way she does when she’s trying to be polite but isn’t actually interested.

Or maybe she is interested. Maybe she is moving on.

The thought nearly guts him.

Pushed by fear from behind, Lando forces himself to move, pacing the the living room while he runs a hand through his hair, irritation simmering beneath his skin like an annoying itch he can’t scratch. His heart is racing, thoughts spiraling faster than he can control. The only time he felt like this before was when his car slipped from his grasp back in 2021 at Spa. He knew he had to brace for impact, and knew his time was limited to do so. The difference now is that he can’t even brace himself, because the impact already took him by surprise.

This can’t be it.

After a moment, he crosses the room and picks up his phone. It has a little crack across the screen, but it’s still functional and, in his foolishness, he takes it as a sign to start typing again.

11:59 PM: Fuck your goodbye. You’re really just going to pretend like I don’t exist?

11:59 PM: After everything?

12:01 AM: Such a fucking liar.

12:01 AM: You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything. That you don’t miss me at all.

12:04 AM: I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, alright? But I swear to god, I never stopped caring about you.

12:04 AM: Not for a second.

12:07 AM: It’s so stupid, but tell me to move on, and I will.

12:08 AM: Tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I’ll leave you alone.

12:48 AM: Please, don’t leave me like this…

12:48 AM: We can find a way, I know we can.

12:53 AM: No one will ever know you like I do, you know that, right?

12:53 AM: He doesn’t know how you hum when you’re nervous or how you always steal the blanket in your sleep, does he?

01:23 AM: Got it.

01:23 AM: If you ever meant what we promised, just know that this is my final call.

The moment he sends the last text, Lando knows he’s got only one chance to make it right. And maybe he took it too far this time, but he’s also at peace, knowing he did everything he could to catch her attention.

Their worst fight ever, before breaking up, nearly ended them right there and then. They were on the verge of walking away, but when all the anger settled and the silence stretched between them, they both realized neither wanted to lose the other. So, they needed a way to say it. A final chance to make things right.

A final call.

A desperate ‘I need you’. No games, no pretending. If one of them said it, the other showed up, no questions asked.

But the seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes turn into his darkest hour.

HER KNUCKLES ALMOST leave marks against Lando’s door from how aggressively she’s knocking. She is relentless, angry, and insistent, like she wants to break through it at all costs.

Behind the door, Lando frowns, pushing himself off the couch where he’d been slumped, after the realization hit him. But when he swings it open, his heart nearly flatlines.

She’s standing there, chest heaving and eyes wild with fury, with her tears still fresh on her face. Before he can say a word, she pushes him hard, forcing him a step back as she storms inside. The door slams shut behind her, the sound ringing through the silence of his empty apartment.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Lando?” her voice cracks, her chin trembling under the weight of her furious words. “Are you actually serious?”

Lando barely has time to react before she shoves him again, her palms pressing into his chest with all the force her adrenaline generates.

He stumbles back, blinking at her in shock.

“You’re such a coward!” she yells, “This is so unfair, you know?” her voice wavers, but her anger doesn’t falter. “You have no right to do this to me. None.”

Lando swallows hard, his mind scrambling to catch up. But too much is happening too quickly, and he doesn’t get the chance, before she interrupts him right when he’s about to speak.

“No. You’ve said enough, now I’m talking,” her breath is ragged while pointing a finger at her chest, her whole body shaking with rage as she glares up at him. “You don’t get to pull me in just to push me away. Again and again. You don’t get to decide when you love me and when you need space. And you sure as hell don’t get to use your last call just to make me drop everything for you. Because of course I will, and you know it!” she says, laughing at herself in disbelief. “That’s so fucking selfish, especially when I know you don’t even mean it, and you’re just too fucking pressed that I’m moving on without you.”

His stomach twists. “I do mean it.”

“Oh, really? Then why do you do this?” she asks, her voice breaking as she shoves him again, weaker this time. “Why? One second, you’re in love with me, and the next, you want to be left alone. And now you’re dragging me back in like I don’t have a choice, like I don’t have a life outside of you.”

Lando flinches, guilt settling deep in his bones. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“You don’t know what you want,” she accuses, her voice trembling in frustration. “Because if you did, you’d know how ridiculous you’re being right now. You can’t do this to people who love you, Lando. You can’t just… fuck with my peace like this just because you’ve had a rough night. I’ve had plenty of those myself!” she loses it, turning around only to take a break from seeing his face.

Her words hit Lando like a freight train, but she doesn’t even realize what she’s just said. She’s too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, too exhausted from holding herself together. But Lando heard her loud and clear: she still loves him.

He takes a step toward her, thinking that she’s done with pushing, but when she suddenly turns around, she starts hitting his chest again, enough to pour out all the anger, all the irritation, and all the heartbreak she’s been carrying like rocks in her pockets.

Lando just stands there, letting her, because he knows he deserves it.

Finally, she lets out a shaky breath, her hands falling limply against him. Her forehead presses into his chest as the fight drains from her completely, and a sob wracks through her. Instinctively, Lando’s arms move on their own, pulling her into his tight embrace.

He wraps himself around her, his grip firm but careful, like she might slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. Her tears soak into his shirt, and for the first time in months, the floor stopped moving under his feet, and Lando can breathe again.

They stay like that for a long time. No more words. No more yelling. Just the sound of their breathing, and their hearts beating in sync. Lando’s hand is gently moving up and down her back, and she hates how safe she feels with his scent enveloping her from every direction.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, she sniffles and pulls away just enough to wipe her cheeks.

Her fingers brush lightly against his damp shirt, letting out out a humorless laugh. “I probably ruined your stupid shirt. There’s make-up all over. Sorry.”

Lando shakes his head, his hands still resting on her waist. “That’s okay.”

She scoffs, stepping back to free herself from his embrace. Next time she looks up at him, her eyes are still glassy, but there’s something softer in them now. Then, quietly, she says, “He was boring, by the way.”

She walks past him without another word, heading straight for the couch, just like she did a thousand times before.

Lando turns to follow her, his mind slowly starting to catch up.

She’s here.

She came.

He hesitates for a moment before he enters her personal space again, watching as she sinks into the couch, exhaling silently as if she’s trying to steady herself. She rubs the mascara smudges beneath her eyes, and the sight twists something deep in his chest, realizing that he did this to her. Again. And he hates it. Hates knowing that he’s the reason she looks so lost, with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Hates that she showed up at his door furious, but now she just looks tired. Most likely of him. Of their situation. Of running in circles that he’s designing with the sole purpose of torturing her.

Still, as Lando lowers himself onto the couch beside her, a strange sense of normalcy settles over him. They’ve sat like this countless times before, curled up together watching movies, falling asleep tangled in each other, making love, and sharing lazy conversations over takeout. He can still picture her lying here in one of his hoodies, laughing at some stupid joke he made, eyes bright and full of adoration. But tonight, the space between them is foreign, like a chasm neither of them knows how to cross.

He exhales, raking a hand through his curls. At least, her words sobered him up, his thoughts clearer than they’ve been in months.

“I met someone tonight,” Lando’s voice cuts through the silence.

Her heart drops in her stomach, but she turns her head to look at him. Her expression is unreadable, however, Lando can see the way her fingers tighten on her thighs, like she’s bracing herself.

He swallows. “If you need a reason why, this is it. Max introduced me to her,” his tone is quieter now, a bit uncertain. “I think he was trying to… I don’t know. Set me up, maybe.”

She nods once, a short, clipped motion. “And?”

“I tried,” he admits. “I really did. She was nice. We had a few drinks together.” Lando huffs out something that’s almost a laugh but lacks any real amusement. “I even thought that maybe it could work out. I hoped it would work out.”

She doesn’t say anything, but looks at him with empty eyes and dry lips.

Lando sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “But then she tried to hold my hand and…”

A beat of silence.

Another deep sigh.

He lifts his head just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye before continuing, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend,” he adds, voice faint, like the confession is physically weighing on him. “It felt so wrong.”

She turns her face away, staring at the opposite wall, her jaw clenched. She understands him, of course she does. Because that’s exactly what she was doing before her phone was flooded with his texts — pretending. Faking it. Settling for something that, deep down, was so utterly wrong.

Lando shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

He watches her profile, trying his best to understand what’s going on inside her head, what she’s thinking, and if she’s warring with her own heart, just like he did for the past two months.

Finally, Lando leans back against the couch. His fingers drum restlessly against his knee when he starts speaking again, “Do you like him?”

She stiffens. “What?”

“The guy you were with tonight,” he says, studying her closely. “Do you like him?”

The girl rolls her eyes, pressing her lips together. “You are so incredibly stupid, Lando.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “I still want to hear you saying it.”

She hesitates, “I don’t know. He’s nice.”

It’s Lando’s turn to roll his eyes now, “Nice.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Yeah, nice. Like the girl you met? What is wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he mutters. But when she keeps staring, he forces himself to continue, picking at the lint on his pants, only to avoid her piercing eyes. “It’s just… you never went for nice.”

Her expression flickers between annoyance and something else he can’t quite name.

“You don’t know me like that anymore,” she warns him.

Lando lets out a quiet breath, “People don’t change that easily,” he says it like he talks from experience. “I’d still be able to recognize you blindfolded.”

His words almost knock the wind out of her. She tilts her chin up, trying to hold onto her anger, but it’s slipping through her fingers like sand. Especially when he speaks so soflty, no bitter trace behind his voice. It’s just a fact.

“I don’t know about that,” she whispers.

“I do,” he says, getting closer to her side of the couch.

She takes a breath in, exhaling slowly. “You walked away, Lando. It was your choice. What changed?”

Instead of looking back at her, Lando’s picking now at the skin of his thumb with his nail, until he feels the blood under his fingertip. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“For who exactly?”

His chest tightens. “It was for you too,” he says in a defensive tone. “I couldn’t be what you needed. It took me years to finally be competitive, and I barely had time to breathe outside work, let alone be someone you could rely on. There was so much noise around me, I just couldn’t put you in second.”

She shakes her head, her expression caught between irritation and heartbreak. “You didn’t have to change anything for my comfort. I know what racing means to you. Knowing you were there was enough for me.”

He swallows, guilt pressing heavy against his ribs. “Not enough. I didn’t want to drag you down.”

Her lips part, a flash of disbelief crossing her face. “Do you even hear yourself?” she gestures wildly, “You were never dragging me down. I was so happy for you, Lando. Still am,” she blinks rapidly, trying to push down the emotion rising in her throat. “But you decided I was an inconvenience.”

Lando closes his eyes briefly, his fingers curling into fists. He knows she’s right. He knows. But back then, he had convinced himself that letting her go was the only way to keep her from ending up hating him. Now, she’s standing next to him, looking at him like she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream or sob.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all he can say. And then, “I just... missed you.”

Out of instinct, she makes herself smaller on the couch, raising her knees to her chest.

“I tried to act like I didn’t, but I was miserable,” Lando adds, “Everywhere I went, I was looking for you. Waiting for you.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head again. “Spare me, won’t you?”

“I’m not saying this to change your mind,” he defends himself quickly. “I just need you to know. Because it was eating me alive.”

Her arms loosen around herself, her posture softening just a fraction. “Do you think I wasn’t miserable too?” her voice cracks on the last word. “You said I was pretending you didn’t exist. Do you really think I just walked away and simply forgot about you?”

Lando stares at her, taking in the way her lower lip trembles, the way her eyes are shining with new, unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Stupid, stupid,” she repeats.

She’s still mad at him. But she aches to be closer, to touch him, to bury her face in his chest and just breathe him in. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend that everything is okay again.

Cautious, Lando lifts a hand like he’s giving her time to pull away. But when she doesn’t, his fingers brush against her hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind her ear. His touch is light, barely there, but it still gives her chills. Then, without thinking too much of it, she leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

A tear slips down her cheek, and before she can wipe it away, Lando’s thumb does.

“I’m sorry.”

She lets out a quiet sob, and that’s all it takes for Lando to pull her into his arms without hesitation. She melts against him, fists gripping the fabric of his shirt, pressing her face back against his chest as she lets more tears out.

Lando buries his face in her hair, whispering all over again, as if that will make her believe him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tears are threatening his eyes too, but he closes them before they can escape.

He feels the warmth of her breath against his collarbone and, once again, he’s terrified. He would rather her push him away, rather her scream at him, tell him she hates him, hurt him back. Because all this silence is unbearable. It swallows him whole, and tells him everything he’s too afraid to admit: that he drained her, emptied her out until there was nothing left to give.

He’s about to apologize again, but then he feels it in the way her fingers, still curled into the fabric of his shirt, twitch slightly, and the weight of her head is pressing deeper into his chest — she fell asleep. As soon as things went quiet, she slipped under, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the time of night and everything to do with him.

A lump forms in his throat as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. He shifts carefully, moving just enough to lean back fully, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible. But unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come easy for him.

HER PALM RESTS against his cheek, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. Every exhale of hers tickles his jaw, and it feels like muscle memory, the way her body molds into his, the way he instinctively holds onto her even in sleep.

Lando doesn’t stir. He never does. He’s always been the type to sleep through anything — alarms, thunderstorms, and morning light flooding the room. Even now, he’s dead to the world, his lips slightly parted, his arm wrapped lazily around her waist.

But his phone vibrates on the coffee table, and that’s what wakes her up, the sound cutting through the stillness. She barely registers it at first, burying her face against his chest, but when it buzzes again and again, she groans softly.

Disoriented, her breath deepens as she takes in her surroundings: the familiar scent, the heavy weight of Lando’s arm, the warmth of his body against hers. And then, all of it crashes down on her. Last night. Every whispered apology, every push, every tear, every way she let herself slip back into him like she never left.

Suddenly, a wave of panic wakes her up for good and, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, she tries to muffle the sob that threatens to escape. She can’t cry again; she’s way too exhausted for that. But her body betrays her, stiffening next to him as his weight becomes suffocating.

Luckily, the continuous buzzing takes her out of it and, reluctantly, she finally reaches for Lando’s phone. The screen lights up with a crack across it, and lots of notifications. It’s 1:04 PM, and a text from an unsaved number catches her attention first:

Hey, Lando ;) This is Eva. Max gave me your number, said you weren’t feeling well last night. I’d like to see you again tonight if...

The rest of the message is cut off by the lock screen, so she lets the phone drop back against the glass of the table, swallowing past the tightness in her throat and slowly turns onto her side, facing him. Lando looks so peaceful like this. His curls are messy, his face slack with sleep, no frown decorating the smooth skin of his forehead. His eyebrows are a little fuzzy, so she gently styles them back into shape with her thumb.

She missed their lazy mornings more than anything. The way the concept of time never seemed to exist when they were wrapped up in each other, away from anything that could potentially come in between them.

Her hand is still weak as she presses her palm to Lando’s chest. His heartbeat thrums beneath her fingertips, steady, warm, alive. That’s why she came here in the first place: for him. And in the clear daylight, she realizes that the familiarity between them can’t be reversed. Last night was a lot, but she can’t let herself fall into it again, no matter how badly her body wants to stay curled into him.

She brings the same palm to her chest then, trying to put some distance, but Lando stirs instinctively. His arm pulls at her waist, his fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress, unwilling to let her go even in the hazy blur of waking up.

His body recognizes hers before his mind does; the warmth, the normalcy of having her there. Then, reality creeps in, dragging him back into consciousness. And with it comes the dull ache pressing against the inside of his skull, the dryness in his throat, the remnants of last night staining his entire body with exhaustion, guilt, and shame.

“I feel like shit,” he speaks against her shoulder, voice raspy from sleep. His head is pounding, his stomach unsettled, but her scent is the only thing guiding him to something steady. He breathes it in, eyes still closed, and continues, “I need a greasy burger for breakfast.”

“It’s past one,” she says quietly.

Lando groans, rolling onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. He can feel her presence, but even though her body is so close to his, he starts to feel the tension. The distance. He realizes it the second she moves again, getting in a sitting position, ready to leave the bed. Leave him.

Lando’s eyes snap open, desperate to catch a glimpse of her, even as the sunlight nearly blinds him. Her hair is messy, hands resting against her lap. Her dress is all wrinckled and drapes over her frame, making her look small in a way that destroys him. Like she doesn’t belong to this moment, like she’s already halfway out the door.

“I should go,” she says the words that he was so afraid of, and it feels like a knife to his ribs.

“You should stay,” he insists. “We can get something to eat, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She presses a palm against her forehead, realizing the gravity of the situation. Giving him false hope won’t help anyone.

“No, thank you. Falling asleep was already bad enough.”

Lando clears his throat before speaking again, slightly unsure, “Was it, though?” he asks and, in return, she shoots him a warning look. “I know, I’m sorry.”

However, she’s no longer angry with him. She exhausted the last of her strength last night, and now all that’s left is the bitter taste of what could have been.

“Is that the only thing you’ll say now?”

He licks his lips, throat still dry as if he drank sand. “Yes. Until you forgive me.”

It was meant to be lighthearted, a little joke, and a weak attempt at softening the weight pressing down on both of them. Based on past experiences, she always forgave him. So why should now be any different, right? But when she doesn’t react, when the silence only thickens, he realizes how fucking stupid that was.

She blinks once, twice. Her gaze flickers away, “Your final call,” she says quietly, “Did you do it because of that girl? You got scared because you liked her more than you thought you could?”

Lando’s heart stalls for a second, caught off guard by her inquire. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what the hell I was doing. I mean, I was scared. But not of her,” he stops, thinking of it. The frown comes back, and it looks like the thought gives him a headache. “I was scared of falling back into something I couldn’t fix. Still am. You and me… we’re not easy, you know?” he lets out a small, bitter laugh, almost self-deprecating. “We’ve never been easy. And I’m just so tired of fucking things up.”

She doesn’t think much about her actions lately. She wasn’t thinking last night when she left her date in a rush, and she certainly isn’t thinking now, as she turns her body to face him.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Lando. The only thing I do understand is that you pushed me away just so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. Because you couldn’t handle me, is that right?”

Lando winces. The weight of her words hit him harder than any punch. “No, it’s not right. I just didn’t know how to fix… me,” he says it for the first time out loud, his voice breaking on the last part; surprisingly, it’s not making him as uncomfortable as he thought it would. “I didn’t want to lose you. Not like that.”

She scoffs, “And now what? You think one drunken night is enough to put you on the right track? You think you know what you want just because you’re afraid of losing something that’s no longer yours anyway?” the girl asks, watching as his facial expression changing in pain. “I’m sorry, Lando. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I need answers.”

His voice is barely a whisper as he replies, “The only answer I can give you is that I didn’t know how to be what you needed at the time. Is that so hard to believe?”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. “It is,” she agrees, “Because you never asked me what I needed. Not once. You just did what was best for you. And now…,” her voice trails off before moving her eyes on a random point on the floor, “You’re not showing me anything. You can say that all you want, but how do I know you won’t push me away again? I need to know you’re here, that you’re really here.”

Lando reaches for her then, almost instinctively, his hands determined as he cups her face. “I am here,” he whispers, leaning in, his breath shaky against her skin. “You’re just too stubborn to let me back in. And I get why,” he rushes to say as he feels her tensing under his touch. “But, please. Let me fix us. Please.”

Neither of them speak for a while after that. She’s so close to him now, she can hear both of their heartbeats, the weight of every single second hanging between them like lead from a strand of hair.

She is hesitant, but she pulls him in first, her lips barely brushing over his. Even though it’s a featherlight touch, her close proximity ignites something highly flammable in Lando. He stills, his breath caught in his throat, his hands curling into fists as if holding himself back, too afraid to take it any further too fast.

Just as he leans in, just as he starts to close the little gap, slowly, she pulls away. The loss of her, even for a second, makes his patience snap and, without giving her the chance to build another wall between them, he reaches out, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her back to him, this time with purpose.

She doesn’t resist — can’t, really.

His forehead presses against hers and neither of them move, trapped in the space between knowing and doing. His grip tightens against her jaw, thumb stroking over the edge of her cheek, his breath hot against her parted lips. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid lingers in the air, and it’s suffocating. She exhales shakily, closing her eyes for a moment, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers splayed over his heart, feeling the way it pounds beneath her touch. And then, as if her body betrays every ounce of hesitation in her mind, she fists his shirt and pulls him back against her.

They crash together, and the world tilts within a second.

Their lips meet in a clash of want and desperation that knows no border of sanity. His hands are suddenly everywhere, cradling her face, threading through her hair, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. She presses into him, her nails scraping against the back of his neck, anchoring herself to him like she’s afraid he’ll slip away any minute. Like he’s going to change his mind again, and tell her to leave, because he needs to be alone.

But he won’t. He never will again. The taste of her floods his senses, familiar and intoxicating, making his body buzz with excitement as he deepens the kiss. He breathes her in, trying to make up for every second he’s spent without her.

She wants him, and she’s aware that things could go exponentially wrong after this, but she’s already broke the rules the moment she crossed his threshold last night. She shifts against him, pressing closer, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. He stirs slightly, humming, his arms automatically locking around her, helping her sit on his lap.

Her lips brush against his jaw, trailing down the column of his throat. She’s barely even touching him, but she knows he feels it, because she hears the way his breathing stutters, the slight twitch of his fingers against her hip. She smiles, shifting again, innocent, except not at all, because her thigh suddenly drags over his, pressing just enough to feel the growing heat between them.

Lando lets out a sleepy grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “What the hell are you doing?” his aroused voice is exactly how she remembers, rough and deep, and able to send shivers down her spine.

She hums, pressing another kiss to his collarbone. “Nothing.”

Lando chuckles, his hand sliding to grab her waist, fingers lazy but firm. “No, I think you’re doing something.”

And, whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause to think.

She lets out a dry laugh, edged with sadness and a hint of accusation, “Always making me ache, aren’t you?” she asks, pressing her lips against his ear, while positioning herself above him, helping Lando get rid of his shirt. Soon enough, her fingers are dragging down his stomach, nails grazing lightly at his abs. “It’s like it turns you on to see me in pain, isn’t it?” the girl sighs, brushing her hips against his in a way that makes him curse under his breath.

His fingers dig more into her waist, his patience thinning by the second. “You know that’s not true,” his voice sounds so angelic, that she actually believes him for a second because of it. “I’m sorry you can’t trust me anymore. But there’s nothing I hate more than to see you hurting because of me.”

She nods, giving him the impression that his words have the power to make her weak. In reality, she’s just curious to find out how sorry he really is.

“You’ve said that about a hundred times already,” the girl reminds him, “How bad, though?” she tries to push the limits, mostly to see if there are any, the words slipping from her lips like something delicate and filthy all at once. “Bad enough that you’ll drunk text me again? To see if I come running to you? Again? To say you’re sorry a hundred more times, hoping I’ll let you fuck me in whatever position you want, for as long as you want just because I feel for your sorry ass?”

His nostrils flare as he exhales in disapproval, “Stop that shit.”

“Why?” her voice sounds overly seductive, but somehow, he knows it’s just a trap. “Isn’t sex your answer to everything?”

There you go.

Lando’s jaw tenses as the words continue to leave her mouth, unforgiving, each one winding around his self-control like a vice. His fingers twitch on her waist, the weight of her straddling him making it impossible to think straight. She knows exactly what she’s doing, pushing, teasing and testing the waters of his restraint.

And fuck, it’s working.

Her dress has ridden up her thighs higher, exposing smooth, warm skin that begs to be touched, and his hands find their way there without permission, fingertips pressing into her like he wants to make sure he’s not just dreaming, and she’s actually there.

“Not trying to fuck my way back to you, if that’s what you mean,” Lando disagrees just as he lets his fingers drift higher, watching the way her breath becomes more uneven. “But won’t back down if it works, either. So what does that say about you? That we’re just the same?”

She puffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. Just a lot of tension, coiled so tight between them that something is bound to snap. Soon.

“We’re so not,” she argues, tilting her head slightly, her lips so close to his that he can taste her breath. “I actually have the balls to stay when things get tough.”

Her unfiltered comment it’s all it takes.

Lando moves in a blur, gripping her hips and flipping them over in one swift motion, pressing her into the couch as a surprised gasp leaves her lips. He hovers over her, his body fitting perfectly between her open thighs, hands braced on either side of her head. The sudden shift has her looking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and chest heaving in anticipation.

In this position, Lando looks at her like he’s trying to figure out what to do to her, aware that the changing in dynamics favors him. His hands find the hem of her dress, fingertips teasing the edge as he watches her reaction, giving her a chance to stop him — or to take back her words, whichever comes first. But she does neither. Instead, she lifts her hips, a silent plea, and that’s all the permission that Lando needs.

He peels the fabric up, savoring the way her body is revealed inch by inch. His mouth finds the newly exposed skin along her ribs with the speed of a man starved, trailing open-mouthed kisses up her torso, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. Lando can feel her shiver beneath him, her fingers tangling into his curls, tugging just enough to pull a string of sweet noises out of him.

“I won’t be able to stop if we—” he murmurs against her skin, a last sliver of hesitation buried underneath all the want.

She cuts him off by cupping his jaw, guiding his face up so he has no choice but to look at her. “I won’t ask you to,” she assures him, lifting her hips up once more to meet his, feeling how hard he is against her. The contact is like a drug she’s been deprived of for too long, and now that she has access to him again, her mouth starts moving before wiring to the rational side of her brain, “I wanna do laundry together later.”

Despite what he’s just said, Lando does stop, watching her intently. Because he knows that she means more than just laundry. For starters, it means she’s staying. It means she’s letting him try. It means the weight in his chest that’s been suffocating him for weeks finally lifts, replaced by something warm yet fragile, something he doesn’t dare break this time.

He has to swallow past the ache before pressing himself against her, letting her scent wrap around him like the most familiar kind of comfort.

“Yeah?” he finally whispers, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly might shatter whatever weak truce they’ve found between them.

She nods, a real smile appearing on her face, the first one in months, “Yeah,” she parrots, which urges Lando to plant another kiss on her lips, lazier this time. And she welcomes him.

Gradually, his grip consolidates around her, his teeth catching her bottom lip, and suddenly, the slow morning is anything but. Now he’s wired, wide awake, and so fucking hard.

Her hands work fast, pushing at the waistband of his pants with an urgency that makes Lando’s pulse hammer in his throat. He moves enough to help her, and then the fabric is gone, pooling somewhere on the floor, next to her dress and panties.

The feeling of skin on skin has the power to set him on fire, every inch of him hypersensitive as she drags her fingers down his stomach, nails scratching lightly against the ridges of muscle before wrapping around him for just a second, only to say hi. His breath catches, head tipping forward before he forces himself to look down at her.

“You’re a menace,” Lando points out. His voice is thick with desire as he rolls his hips against her once her hands move around his neck, dragging his length along the soft skin of her inner thigh, brushing lightly where she needs him most. He feels her shiver, her nails digging into his back for a fraction of a second before she exhales a breathy laugh.

“I had to adapt,” she says, her voice saccharine, but teasing, fingers biting into his shoulder blades.

“I can see that,” his tone is rough, but there’s something playful underneath it. He continues to move, this time with more intention, the tip of his cock catching against her slick heat.

She bites her lip, her free hand reaching up to pull him down on her and crash their lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, too desperate to be anything but raw. He groans into her mouth, their breaths blending together, and she takes the moment to wrap her legs around his waist, locking him against her completely, the heat ever-growing.

The easiest thing in the world for Lando is to get lost in her warmth, her scent and the way his skin vibrates with every touch of her delicate palm.

The hardest thing in the world for Lando is to stop when every nerve in his body screams for more, just to make sure she wants this as much as he does, even though it risks snapping her back to reason, forcing her to push him away all over again.

“If you don’t—”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “I do.”

With that, his hand is already in motion, dragging down her stomach, pushing between her thighs. He finds her soaked, warm, and slick against his fingertips, and it makes him want to howl, knowing that he still has the same effect on her; if anything, the time spent apart only made her miss his touch more.

“Shit,” he slurs, pressing two fingers against her clit, moving them in torturous circles. “Missed seeing you this needy in the morning.”

She hums, thighs twitching. “Techincally, it’s not morning anymore.”

Lando shakes his head in disbelief, “That smart mouth,” his fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance but never pushing in, just pressing there, feeling the way she opens up for him.

For a moment, his fingers stay right there to tease her, barely giving what she wants, what she’s silently begging for with the way her hips roll forward. Agonizingly slow, he pushes in, finding her so ready for him and so fucking tight, that Lando swears he could lose his mind just from feeling her in his hands.

The girl huffs out a breath, her frustration evident as she glares up at him, “Lando.”

“Yes, love?” he uses his fingers to press further just a little more, but never enough, feeling her walls hugging him impatiently.

She bites her lip, a flush creeping down her neck, and he knows she hates the way he’s making her ask for it.

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You win. Now stop being a dick.”

Lando smirks, dipping down to press a kiss to her shoulder, dragging his teeth along her skin before pulling back to look at her. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully, fingers curling lightly inside her pussy, enough to make her whimper. “I kinda like seeing you like this.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but it’s ruined by the way she starts panting when he finally, finally, glides his fingers in and out, her body agreeing with everything he has to offer. His thumb presses against her clit, rubbing her wetness against it as he watches her fall apart, her hands clinging onto him for support.

“Fuck,” she cries, head tipping back, and Lando swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Yeah, fuck,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then her jaw. Her back arches instantly, a moan spilling from her lips as her nails dig into his arms, while he’s going faster, agonizingly so, dragging his fingers in and out, feeling how her body fights to keep him in. “This what you needed?”

She quickly turns her head from side to side, fingernails scratching along the skin his shoulders. “More,” she whispers, already out of breath. “Wanna feel you.”

Lando pulls his fingers out, watching the way her slick clings to them in the rich color of the afternoon light. He blows out the breath of air he was holding, trapping her thighs in his grasp as he lines himself up, the tip of his cock dragging through the wetness pooling between her legs.

“Well, if that’s what you want, that’s what you get, baby. Wanna see you drip on it,” he muses, pressing just barely inside before pulling back out, coating himself in her slick. “See how much you missed me.”

She whines, hips jerking up.

The grin on Lando’s face widens. “There you go, you beauty.”

She meets his eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his kisses. Seeing her like that, squirming under him, throws Lando into a spiral. For now, he has no idea where this moment will take them. All he knows is that he wants to make the most of it, to memorize her body lines and the sound of her moans, because once the haze fades and clarity takes its place, anything is possible.

And that terrifies him.

Sinking into her feels like homecoming, and the sweet stretch is making both of them whine in unison, cling onto each other. He swears under his breath as her walls constrict around his length, her mouth falling open in a breathy gasp.

“Holy shit.”

She’s so full of him, just like she wanted, the feeling even better than she remembers.

Lando presses a kiss to her jaw, his hands holding her waist tight enough to leave faint marks behind. “Not letting you go ever again,” he says with his lips glued to her skin like he’s in a trance, voice strained as he fights to keep control of his own body.

She nods, barely able to realize what’s she agreeing on, mind buzzing with thoughts of him, him, only him. “Promise?”

Lando sighs, pulling out slowly, almost all the way before sinking back in. The sound alone — that lazy, wet, messy drag of his cock leaving her, again and again — enough to turn him into a savage man. He watches, entranced, as the evidence of how much she wants him spills down her slit, glistening and painting her inner thighs.

In answer to her plea, Lando links his pinky finger with hers, his hand covering hers entirely. “Promise you, baby. You’re fucking unreal,” he rasps.

Waiting for her was pure torture, but the thought that this can be over before it even properly begins, forces him to still inside her then pull out entirely, his cock, flushed and soaked, resting against her thigh, leaving more of their mess behind. He grips the base, stroking himself once, careful, watching as her empty cunt clenches in his absence, her body desperate to be filled again.

“I’m so glad I got drunk,” says Lando, tracing his fingertips through the wetness between her legs. He presses a long finger back inside her, for his own pleasure, only to feel how impatient she is.

She cries out, thighs snapping shut around his wrist, back arching off the couch. “Yeah, me too,” she blinks up to him, her sincerity spurring Lando on.

He adds another finger as a reward, fucking into her deeper, his other hand stroking his cock in time with her gasps.

“We were always gonna end up here, weren’t we?” asks Lando, his hand working her faster now, watching as she writhes beneath him.

She lets out a choked moan, but can’t answer, too busy rolling her hips against his movements.

“Me, apologizing,” Lando continues, sounding so out of breath, “While you moan my name. Like always, is that right?”

“Lan,” she warns.

“Juuust like that. Look at you,” he chuckles, watching the way her body responds, getting covered in a sweaty layer of goosebumps, and the way her thighs tremble. “As desperate as ever.”

She whimpers, pushing up onto her elbows, dazed and itching to see what he’s doing to her. And the sight makes her pulse race: Lando between her legs, his fingers moving inside her, fucking her with a contrasting gentle force, while his other hand works over his cock, slick and hard, ready to stretch her all over again.

His eyes flick up to hers, dark and hungry, lips parted as he watches her descending into despair, slowly but surely. He drags his fingers out, just to press them back in, firmly, watching her body tense, making her whine louder.

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he praises, voice subdued and teasing. “Feel it,” his strokes on himself grow lazier, drawing out the moment. “Feel me.”

She nods frantically, her thighs so close to give up from so much shaking. “Not… enough.”

Lando mewls, biting his lip as he watches her squirm, his patience hanging by a thread. “No?” he asks amused, pulling his fingers out and lining himself up again. “Let’s do something about it then. Show you how sorry I am, hm?”

He pushes back inside without any warning in one fluid motion, and the sensation wrecks both of them at the same time. She’s always so fucking tight, but soaked enough that there’s no resistance, just the messy slide of him stretching her open with every inch.

“Shit,” his voice is barely a sound, more like a guttural groan as he bottoms out, his hands finding their way back home, on her hips.

The heat of her, the way she pulses around him, has his heart racing relentlessly, and their sounds fill the living room every time they move together. Lando grits his teeth, withdrawing just halfway before thrusting back in, harder each time.

She gasps, her body craving him, like she can’t get enough. “More.”

He snarls, pace picking up, his hips snapping against hers, skin meeting skin in a rhythm that’s almost punishing. “More?” Lando asks in amazement, “You fucking take everything I give you, and you still want more?”

She nods, dragging her hands down his back, nails leaving marks that burn, but it only spurs him on, thankful she gives him something he could feel for hours after they’re done.

“Always more,” she whimpers, legs wrapping weakly around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she yammers. “Feels so. Good,” she chokes on the last word, lifting her hips in desperation.

Lando is close to sobbing at this point, slamming into her, his control unraveling by the second. “Good girl. Gonna make you come so fucking hard you’ll feel me every time you blink.”

Her whines break into cries as he fucks her harder, each thrust hitting the exact spot inside her where she needs him most. His hand slips between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing her in messy circles, just to see her fall prey to the pleasure that only he can give her.

“Yes,” she nods, her body keep moving on its own to meet his. “Yes, I’m so close. Don’t stop!”

He is far too hypnotized by the way she loses it under him, demanding more and more with each passing second. Lando’s hands move then to encircle her waist, squeezing gently before sliding higher up her ribs, and finally to her breasts. They don’t rest there for too long, though, as she grabs his wrists and moves them around her neck, pulling his face right above hers. Her legs tighten tighter around him, and her palm cups his ass cheeks, pressing him deeper into her.

“That bad?” he asks her, and all she can do is nod again, speechless. “Come on, then. Wanna feel you drench my—"

Lando can’t even finish his sentence as her moans get louder, a blinding pleasure tearing through her in waves, over and over again, too intense to hold back. She cries out, back arching, body shaking she squirts, soaking both of them.

“Ah, shit. Shit shit shit!” Lando’s voice is wrecked, his hips stuttering as he watches her welcoming the euphoria.

The sight, the feel of her pulsing around him, squeezing him so tight has the power to destroy him. He barely manages a few more thrusts before he breaks, burying himself deep, groaning as he spills inside her, warmth flooding her walls. His body shudders against hers, muscles tensing, pleasure rolling through him in waves just as endless as hers. His hands are holding on to her like she’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And right now, she is.

For them, the time stops. They just breathe each other in, their bodies locked together, still vibrating. He can feel everything, from the soft rise and fall of her chest to the tiny aftershocks still making her pussy throb around him, pulling him deeper even though he’s already buried to the hilt. It makes Lando gasp softly, dragging his lips lazily over her jaw.

His fingers brush along her side once they manage to catch their breaths. “You okay?” Lando’s voice is low, lightly dipped in concern at her sudden silence.

She nods weakly, eyes snapping open, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips. “Okay,” she breathes out, lovingly tracing her fingers along his spine.

Lando smiles mischievously, “Okay.”

Before she can register what he’s doing, he grabs one of her legs and pulls it up, resting it over his shoulder, changing the angle entirely.

“The fuck?” her inquire is startled, but it quickly turns into something else the moment he starts moving, the new position making everything tighter, deeper. Heaven.

His grin is downright devilish. “Not done,” he informs her matter-of-factlty.

To that, Lando’s hands settle firmly back on her hips, pinning her in place before he draws back and thrusts into her measured at first, the kind of stroke that leaves her breathless.

Somehow, the finish line turns into a brand new start, and all she can do is brace for it.

“Oh, my—Lando!” her stomach twists, fingers grasping at nothing, forced to cling to the cushions because she can’t reach him like this. The position keeps her wide open for him, helpless, unable to do anything but take it.

Lando hums, his grip tightening. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Spread wider for me,” he instructs. “Can you give me one more?”

She whimpers, barely able to think, let alone answer, as he starts pounding into her, his rhythm relentless. Every thrust knocks the breath from her lungs, her body struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of it, but somehow excited and so willing to push the limits.

“Please,” it’s both a cry and a plea, but she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for.

“Obsessed with those pretty noises. Just take it, baby,” he breathes, driving into her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His grip shifts then, spreading her even wider, forcing her open until there’s nowhere for her to run. His pace slows just for a fraction, not out of mercy, but because he wants to feel every inch of her hugging him, wants her to feel how deep he is, how there’s no part of her he isn’t claiming.

And then he sees it.

Right there, in the soft plane of her lower stomach. Every time he pushes in, there’s a faint, tantalizing bulge, proof of just how deep he goes; his brain short-circuits. The sight of it has him helpless, hunger twisting tight in his gut, making his cock twitch inside her.

“Fucking hell,” his voice is nothing but raw, shattered arousal. He can’t help himself, instinctively bringing his wide palm to press down on it, applying the slightest pressure, feeling himself inside her from the outside.

“Fuck’s sake, Lando,” her moans turn high, her body jerking as if there is no such thing as too much pleasure.

“You feel that, baby?” Lando’s eyes are wild, rolling his hips a bit slower now, pushing so far inside her that she swears she can feel him in her throat. “Feel how fucking deep I am?”

She nods, tears beading in the corners of her eyes, her hands clawing harder at the sheets because it’s too much.

His forehead falls forward, resting on hers. “Forgive me.”

A simple — yet not really — plea, wrapped in something devastatingly tender. It makes her stomach flip, makes her heart ache in a way that feels too big for her body. She clenches around him involuntarily, and he groans, his grip on her hips tightening.

Her leg slides down his waist, hands instantly flying around his back, pulling him impossibly closer, her lips brushing against his jaw as she nods. “Please, Lando…”

“I need you,” he says, “Need you by my side when I win. Need you by my side when I fuck up. When I’m flying so high it feels like I’ll never come down.”

The sweat blends with the smell and the desperation behind his confession, and somehow, the moment feels endless, even though both of them know it quickly approaches the end.

“Need you when it gets too loud, when I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just noise. Need you when I wake up, and when I go to sleep. Just… need my pretty girl that knows me better than anyone,” he praises, pressing his palm firmer against her stomach, feeling the way she squeezes him from the inside. “Need to fuck you like this every day, baby. To be the one that drives you mad. Please. Please, forgive me.”

His words send a shockwave through her, a moan ripping from her throat. Lando hisses, thrusting deep again, watching the way his cock bulges against his palm, and the way her body welcomes him with no resistance.

He is right there, balancing on the knife’s edge of pleasure, and it’s almost infuriating. His whole body shakes with the effort of holding back, but he can’t tear his eyes away from where they’re joined. The sight has his stomach tensing, his cock throbbing inside her. The slick glide, the way she clenches around him every time he grinds in deep, and the way her body drags him back in with every pull out it’s fucking unbearable.

“Baby, I can’t—” she drags him deeper into the heat of her release, her weak arms pulling him impossibly closer as if she’ll disintegrate without him.

That does it for Lando, shattering whatever control he has left. His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic as the pressure in his spine explodes.

“Fuck” he groans as his release bursts inside her, hot and thick, flooding her walls. His hips jerk against her as wave after wave crashes through him, his cock pulsing with every sharp, overwhelming aftershock.

But even as his body shudders with euphoria, even as his breath stutters against her throat, his hips keep moving.

“I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” he rasps, pressing into her with hard grinds, still spilling inside her, his body demanding more. “Fucking hell, I can’t stop.”

She gasps, over-sensitive but still achingly wet for him, her body responding to every push, every deep roll of his hips.

“I know, I know,” she says, wrapping herself around him.

“Yes? Just a little more,” he begs, “Please, just let me feel you a little longer.”

His movements slow eventually, each thrust turning sluggish, drawn out, until he can’t physically move anymore. The last of his pleasure drains from him, leaving his body heavy, and utterly spent. Finally, he collapses on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing ragged, skin covered in a generous layer of sweat. His natural scent sends her home in an instant, and all she wants right now is for time to freeze in place.

She doesn’t say anything, just exhales softly and presses a kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek, her lips brushing over his damp skin. She moves tenderly, kissing his jaw, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose. He’s still inside her, still holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

People talk about the quiet before the storm, but the quiet after is much more terrifying. It gives you time to see the destruction it left behind, and there’s nothing you can do but watch. She has always hated feeling powerless, and it’s only when she tilts her head, pressing her lips to his forehead, that she feels it. A warm, wet drop against her collarbone. Then another.

Her fingers still where they were stroking through his curls. “Lando?” she whispers, pulling back just enough to look at him, hoping that her suspicions will not come true. But that’s when she sees the raw emotion in his eyes, the way his brows are furrowed, the silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

He looks almost startled, like he hadn’t even realized he was crying. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

She cups his face instinctively, her thumb catching a tear before it can fall, just like he did last night. “Lan…” she speaks a bit louder this time, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head in response, his hands gripping her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear again, this time for more than two months.

Lando presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, feeling more tears running down his cheeks, “Tell me it’s not too late for us,” he pleads, pulling back to finally meet her gaze. “Tell me I haven’t fucked this up beyond repair.”

Beneath the surface, the pain still lingers. But much deeper down, their bond is still knotted tightly, and even though the rope is taut, ready to snap at any small gust of wind, the fact that she’s still in his arms is enough for the rope to become the binder that holds them together. She can’t name the feeling without giving him everything all at once. Instead, she just brushes her nose against his.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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starxanemone · 2 days ago

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꩜ⴰ ࣪˖ BLLK LOVE LANGUAGE HEADCANONS

chigiri hyoma & karasu tabito ( as per @bleedingwhiteroses222 request )

⸻ in which i'll be rating their love language on a scale of 1-10 based on my understanding of their personality + include the type of person they'd be compatible with.

⸻ [ part i. itoshi sae & nagi seishirou ] [ part ii. isagi yoichi & itoshi rin ] [ part iii. bachira meguru & noel noa ]

CHIGIRI HYOMA

ACTS OF SERVICE: 6.5/10. Based on Chigiri's attitude throughout the manga and the anime, he strikes me as the type to be really independent, but selfish sometimes. So, in terms of acts of service, I feel like he wouldn't necessarily be opposed to it, but he doesn't actively go out of his way to do big things for you. His acts of service would revolve around things that you both do like maybe fixing hair and self-care stuff. He'll help you do your hair or even do it for you.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: 6.5/10. I feel like he's more the type of person to listen to your concerns and insert comments here and there—sometimes they're funny, but there are times when he tends to be pretty blunt that it's kind of annoying. He strikes me to be kind of sassy and I guess depending on who he directs it towards is what determines your stance on this characteristics of his. I'm sure that he's fun to gossip with though because he seems like the type to be good at flaming someone. He's giving diva.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: 7/10. I'm sure you'd have to be the one to initiate the intentional romantic type of physical touch most the time; things like hugging, hand-holding, kissing, etc. But I think he'd be the type to touch someone a lot unintentionally. Like if you're crossing the street, he'd clasp your wrist so you don't lag right behind him since he tends to walk pretty fast. Or he's the type to remove lint on your shirt, or pat your hair down when it's starting to get messy throughout the day.

QUALITY TIME: 5/10. The way I view Chigiri is that he's extremely independent sometimes. So, I think that he's not opposed to dates here and there, but don't expect it to be an incredibly frequent thing. He'd message you everyday, sure, but I feel like he'd be content with having a sort of relationship wherein you both still have some healthy distance and therefore, some independence.

GIFT GIVING: 8/10. He definitely gifts you things that he also uses. Maybe like a hair-tie or a first aid kit "just to make sure." He's fond of the idea of doing similar things down to routines, so by gifting you things that he also uses, it would make spending time with you to be more productive. He would buy you flowers here and there sometimes and maybe an extremely short letter.

COMPATIBLE WITH: like he said, someone who is understanding. I agree with this because he does tend to he pretty moody sometimes (I like that he's aware of that). He would be great with someone who genuinely listens to him, but also knows how to advise him sometimes whenever he'd get much too moody.

KARASU TABITO

ACTS OF SERVICE: 9/10. He's a gentleman, I'm quite sure. He's probably the type to feel obligated to open doors for you all the time, letting you walk in first, or the type to make you walk on the side of the sidewalk farther from the road so he's walking nearer to the road. He's good at observing people and so he's aware of actions and characteristics to present that would make him appear better to you and to ensure that you're feeling comfortable.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION: 9/10. He doesn't seem to be the type to be good at comforting, but he's really good at providing insights. He's good at grasping the situation and viewing it from different angles, so if you're talking about some sort of issue or event, best know that he'll provide some valuable insight after he finishes hearing you out.

PHYSICAL TOUCH: 5/10. Not good at initiating stuff like this. I bet that he's a noob at this. Although he's good at keeping a certain facade up, there are certain actions that could probably break that facade momentarily, but all of that has to be initiated by you. I rated him a 5 here because he's not crazy about physical touch in itself, rather, it depends on who the person initiates it with him.

QUALITY TIME: 5/10. Same with physical touch; he's not crazy about it considering that he's a very independent person, but if it's someone he cares about, then he likes it. With him, it always depends on who it is. It doesn't matter what type of things to do when spending quality time; it will always depend on who.

GIFT GIVING: 8/10. He's the type to give flowers, or chocolates, or romantic shit during the beginning of the relationship, but as it progresses, expect those to be less in exchange for more practical gifts. Again, he probably has an idea on how to "hook" someone, and in order to do that, he has to conform to some sort of standard in terms of romance which involves doing semi-cheesy shit. After a while though, when he grows used to you, I think he's truly prefer to give practical things.

COMPATIBLE WITH: Someone who he views as an "equal" or even someone he can look up to, so maybe someone strong, independent, and wise. Wise in a sense that they'd be able to convince him take a break from his constant facade with their words or actions, and strong in a sense where they genuinely have a good grasp of themselves and the situations they're in, similar to him.

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aionishoh · 2 days ago

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realized I haven't posted anything so take this:

Male!Yandere x former yandere! reader (Highschool setting)

originally written in a they/their, so im sorry if i missed a spot

There he were. Absolutely doing nothing but catching your attention. he blended in perfectly in the crowd but your mind made them the only thing you see. It was almost funny how you could miss such a thing.

It started with a simple pass by. You walking in a direction, and them walking in the opposite way. You didn't really pay attention to them and assumed it was a normal stranger. Completely unknown.

But it was when you saw him again. You realized how nice he looked. You began to notice his fashion sense. Shirt always a bit ruffled, bag swung lazily, hair clean but a little disheveled.

Then, on the third meeting. It was more of a fate. "Ah! You again. We have met, have we not?" He asked, looking at you with a sense of rememberance.

Did i mention you accidentally bumped into them during your second meeting? Hopefully i did.

"Ah! Uhm, yes. We did meet."

He introduced themselves, and you got welcomed into a side you didn't expect. Infatuation.

It turns out, he often frequented the places you went to. Along with sharing the same classroom. But, you went ahead and got a bit greedy.

"Hey, do you mind if i could borrow some notes?"

"Oh, sure."

You memorized his handwriting. Noticing how it was consistent and messy at the same time. The notes scattered but placed into relevant areas. You noted the way he wrote their o's and a's.

"Can i borrow a pen?"

"I don't really have the pens you use. But yeah, here."

You noted the way he held their pen. The way he looked when writing down. The way he magically made their handwriting look smooth with ease. You noted the pen he always uses.

Then, it started getting more personal.

A camera.

In a modern world, who would need cameras when its already built in with phones? But, you couldn't deny the thought made you giddy.

As days passed, you made a little home where you can devote yourself to him. A shrine.

All the pictures hung up were him. All in various locations, all unknowingly taken. You were fully convinced you should be in a mental asylum but a little memorabilia wouldn't hurt a person.

In the shrine itself, was a couple of few things that belonged to him. A few strands of hair, a toilet paper that was used to dry his hands. A handkerchief that he thought fell off a roof but was miraculously landed in your everyday spot.

It was perfect. All that needed was a candle to light up your world full of him.

You walked past the cafe where you had the same order as him, your bag behind you and filled with materials needed for a group project with him.

A couple of few steps, you arrived at his house.

"Oh hey, welcome to my humble abode."

"Very humbling indeed,"

You placed your bag down, sitting on the couch, admiring his home before getting reminded of her "excuse". "Ooh, sounds really bad but can i use your bathroom?"

"Yep, its just down the hall. Mind if i take the materials out of your bag?"

"Not at all!"

With much haste, you went to his room after three tries and one of them finding the actual bathroom. The room seemed to be his taste, which led you to knowing it was his in the first place.

With a hum, you quietly snooped around. Finding personal belongings, such as their watch, diary, wallets. But then you reached the closet.

A voice in your head said take a small piece of clothing, but you knew better. Although you were creepy, taking pictures and knowing things about him. You knew this was a line that you shouldn't cross.

You carefully returned the things back to the way they were before heading back to the living room.

"You sure took a while."

"Spent most of the time trying to find it."

While doing this simple project with him. You realized your actions was almost concerning. I mean sure, you looked like those creepy guys from Wattpad, but this was borderline concerning.

As soon as you two finished the project, you went to your once safe shrine and removed the pictures from the wall. Taking one last look at each one before tearing them up.

This was bad. And all because of a crush. You werent even aware that your infatuation turned into an obsession. An addiction.

You threw the keepsakes and gizmos into the trash. Removing every hint of your previous crush.

You mentally set a line. If you were gonna have a crush, it wouldn't have to end with you taking photos of them and praying to them like a God.

It would be normal. A normal crush where you admire them and where you confess to them during Valentines day.

This is the end for your obsessed self.

The next day was a bit of a awkward situation. Usually you were talking to him about random yaps, making sure you would be remembered but you didn't need to anymore.

"Heya Y/N, ready for the presentation?"

"Hm? Oh sure! I already got what i need to say memorized."

During these times, you would usually scooch much closer to him as possible without being too obvious. But now, you just did as you normally did.

The project got graded well, and that was your last interaction with him for now. Atleast thats what you thought.

As days bled into weeks, he noticed how you weren't as clingy anymore. He noticed how you would usually wait for him after school but now he's the one waiting.

Only for you to be walking with someone else on the way home.

He began to pay attention on how you didn't have that same glint in your eyes whenever you looked at him. His eyes noticing how you seemed more calmer near him instead of you fidgeting.

Soon, he heard wind from your friends that you found a new crush.

It wasn't that he didn't know you had a crush on him, oh, no. Absolutely not.

He knew you looked into his room during the group project day. He had a camera set up in the corner and watched you shovel through his stuff. Watching you open his closet and only to pause.

Why? He had perfectly set up everything that day. The way to the bathroom had an easier shortcut, but he led you to the longer way where you can find his room. He purposefully left the door unlocked and his belongings out.

He neatly placed his most favorite clothes out front where you could easily take them. But in the end, you didn't take anything. Even placing back where the items belonged.

He always pretended like he didn't see you scuttling around whenever hes out. He always made sure he looked good in every photos you tooked. He knew that he was your Sun and it inflated his ego.

But why the change of crush?

He noticed that you aren't that clingy with your crush. You didn't take strange photos anymore. You didnt take any stray hair than fell from their head.

You were disinterested in him.

Merely seeing him as a old crush, and one you quickly got over of so quickly.

After all these times of pretending to be dumb, you let him go?

After all this time he spent trying to remember the things you talked about to him?

Impossible.

The new guy didn't even look closely to him. In fact, he was the complete opposite of him.

He hated how you weren't there to be his number one fan. He despised the way you seemed more far away than usual. He hated how you would only give him a wave or a nod when you pass by him in hallways, and not running up to him with a cheeky smile.

Well, might as well buy a camera and some thumbtacks. He's gonna need it for his shrine.

Oh, did i mention hes more crazier than you?

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artsyannierose · 2 days ago

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Catching Up (with an Umbrella) - Sonamy Fic

thanks @essycogany for the idea!!

Bright, green eyes peered over the windowsill, searching for their target in the overwhelmingly decorated cottage.

Target locked: in the kitchen

The intruder hops over the windowsill and lands on the wooden flooring without a sound, red shoes slowly inching further. Within the kitchen, the pink figure’s back remains turned while washing dishes in the sink and singing. The intruder creeps closer, gloved hands outstretched in front of him as he nears his target. Step by step, closer and closer…

”GOTCHA!!”

The shriek that pierced his ears was deserved honestly, as the dish Amy had been holding fell to the floor with a crash of broken glass. She whirled around in a frenzy of messy pink quills and a frazzled expression.

“Sonic! What the heck?!” Amy cried as she stared down at the hazardous minefield on her kitchen floor.

“Sorry Amy, my bad.” the blue hedgehog let go of her torso and shot her a guilty grin before dashing to her closet to snatch a broom and a dustpan. “Hang on, I’ll help you clean!”

”You better…you’re lucky that wasn’t one of my favorites,” Amy grumbled as she bent down to collect the larger shards. Sonic rapidly swept the floor clean and dumped the pieces in the trash, but an unamused glance from Amy stopped him in his tracks.

“What?” he asked.

”I hope you know that one sweep of broken glass doesn’t make it safe to walk around, right?” Amy raised an eyebrow at him. Sonic merely stared back at her, quizzical. “What do I do with you…?” Amy sighed, smiling fondly at her blue hero. “Grab a wet tissue for me, will you?”

”Yes ma’am,” Sonic saluted her before disappearing and reappearing in a flash with her request. Amy dabbed the floor, collecting the smaller pieces of broken glass still on the tiles before folding up the paper and handing to Sonic to discard. Amy’s fingers brushed against his briefly before he left to trash it.

It really didn’t matter how many times she held Sonic’s hand, just the mere idea of the physical contact of her hand with his was enough to awaken the butterflies in her stomach. She swooned as he returned, crouching to her level.

“So, is that all?” he asked her. “Are we done?”

”Um, one last thing,” Amy replied, a faint blush dusting her cheeks at the proximity. “Could you get the vacuum cleaner for me?” she asked him.

”Sure thing!” he winked at her and again dashed off. He returned not a millisecond later with the machine in hand, plugging in into a nearby outlet. Amy watched as he began to clean the last of the glass with the vacuum, doing a thorough job this time around.

It was funny how he pretty much knew where everything in her house was, just because he’d been here so many times by now. If Amy thought about it, his visits had become more and more frequent as of late. She never really had to direct him to anything; he knew her house just as well as she did. Of course, Sonic never officially called anywhere his home—that boy ran wherever he wished, his only master the wind that blows free—but if he had to say, his friends’ homes would be his choice. At least, Amy liked to think that he would perhaps call her his friends home…

”Alrighty, all done!” Sonic exclaimed, throwing a hand out to showcase his hard labor. Amy giggled and offered a light applause.

”My hero, whatever would I do without you?” She swooned, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead. “But you owe me an answer buddy. What the heck was that for?!”

”I said I was sorry! An innocent prank I swear!” Sonic’s quills stood up a bit as he tried to explain himself. Amy’s wrath could be scary, but fortunately this time she seemed more like she was just playing with him. “I…just stopped by to see the best hammer-wielder in the whole wide world?” he tried. That got crack of a smile from Amy.

“Nice save,” she smirked at him for a second, then turned into the purest grin you could find on a person. The hedgehog flung herself onto her companion, nuzzling her cheek against his with a giggle. Sonic faltered a bit, stumbling backward before resting his hand on her back.

”Hey there,” he laughed gently.

”Oh Sonic, I‘m happy to see you,” Amy beamed, not bothering to let go. To his credit though, Sonic allowed her to stay attached to him as long as she wanted (albeit a little flummoxedly), before she finally untangled herself from him. She didn’t let go of his arm though. “Though you couldn’t give me much of a heads up, hm?” She gestured at her unbrushed quills and pajamas. Realizing what a mess she was, Amy’s face turned the color of her namesake. “Wait let me at least go cha-“

”Nah it’s cool, I honestly was just wondering if you’d be up to make some chili dogs,” Sonic interrupted her. “I’ve been all over the world, but somehow your chili always hits the spot,” he grinned at her. “Plus, you look fine to me!”

“Of course you’d say that, I bet you barely brush your quills,” Amy rolled her eyes.

“Hey now, my quills don’t need brushing. The wind-tousled look adds to my charm, don’t you agree?” He ran a hand through his quills before smirking at her in way that nearly gave Amy an aneurysm.

Ignoring the obvious evidence of her massive crush on smug hedgehog written all over her face, Amy shoved her hand in his face, attempting to hide herself from his view. “At least Shadow understands the importance of proper quill maintenance,” she huffed, blowing her bangs out of her face. She stole a glance at Sonic’s face, and the sight caused an undignified snort to escape her lips.

He looked so offended.

“Shadow? Are you kidding me?? You’re telling me you prefer Shadow’s style over mine?” Sonic gasped dramatically, yanking Amy’s hand off his face and pulling it down near his chest.

“And what if I am?” Amy smiled sweetly at him, mockingly.

And then Amy found her back pressed against the wall, nose nearly touching her hero’s, all in the blink of an eye. Emerald eyes pierced her own, causing an explosion of color to flood her face.

“You really prefer Shadow’s style over mine?” he said with a much lower voice, a small smile dancing on his lips. Coherent words were unable to leave Amy’s mouth, while Sonic’s thoughts screamed at him to let her go, though he made no effort to move.

Amy pushed against his chest, creating distance between them.

“That’s…that’s cheating…” she mumbled, completely flushed red. Sonic merely snickered in response. He released the kabe-don, finally allowing Amy to breathe. She drew in a long inhale and exhale before turning to Sonic again.

“A-Anyway, about the chili, “ she attempted to change the subject, “I’m so sorry Sonic, but I have…a prior commitment today in about an hour.” Amy glanced at the clock, her ears wilting a little. “Speaking of which, I really should start getting ready. You’re welcome to stay of course, make yourself at home, but I’ll be gone till pretty much night time.”

”Oh…” Sonic hesitated for a moment. “Would you mind if I tagged along?”

”I…“ Amy was taken aback. Sonic wanted to come with her? She hadn’t even told him what she was doing…which unfortunately didn’t favor company. “Sorry Sonic, I’m really sorry but this is a thing with the owner of this new restaurant down the street—I was going to help him set up business! And I doubt you’d like to be swarmed as the main attraction for the first day, would you Sonic? And then on top of that I have so many errands to-”

”You know me scarily well,” Sonic admitted, wincing at the idea of being a viewing attraction for hours. “I get it, that’s fine, I guess I’ll just hang here for a bit.”

Amy’s brain stuttered for a moment. She was still getting used to this weird dynamic between her and Sonic. It was like they were kind of a couple without really putting a label as such. Not that she was complaining (Amy had been living on Cloud 9 for the past few months), but it felt so, so surreal. But it also felt so natural. She wouldn’t really have it any other way; it was still just Sonic and Amy being Sonic and Amy, except now Sonic and Amy were being Sonic and Amy with a quiet something.

“Yeah sure, stay as long as you like! Call me if you need anything—you know where the phone is,” Amy started to head into the bedroom. Sonic threw some finger guns at her before flopping onto her couch. Amy stifled a laugh with her hand before rushing upstairs.

Sonic rolled over, quills splayed in every different direction. He glanced around the living room, which was oddly put together despite the fact he’d showed up here unannounced. The only things out of place was a plate on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers on the floor, and an opened notepad on the table. Sonic wasn’t sure exactly what he planned to do here while Amy was gone, but all he knew was that he wanted to be around her.

Err—her cozy cottage, that is.

Sonic wasn’t entirely sure why he kept showing up at Amy’s place so often as of late, because he sure wasn’t such a regular visitor in the past. Something really shifted in him after the tumultuous adventure on the Starfall Islands, where Amy (along with Tails and Knuckles) were imprisoned by the cyber energy. Sonic didn’t think he’d ever been more unsure about the outcome of the future; he hadn’t been sure how to get his friends out of cyberspace completely, he hadn’t known what Eggman was planning, he hadn’t known if he would be able to survive the augmenting pain from the corruption in his body, despite how indefatigably stubborn he was. And he hated to admit it, but in the moment, he hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to talk with his friends normally again—talk with Amy again.

And boy did he do some serious introspection about that. He figured that he regretted not making up his mind sooner about how he felt about her. Up until then, he had tried to not dwell on it excessively, but the hours upon hours of sprinting around the tranquil island scenery with nothing but his swirling concerns left him with little else to do. He recalled sitting and watching the rain patter softly against the lush green grass and wishing for nothing more than for Amy to rest her chin on his head and joke about him never checking the day’s weather. She’d of course, be prepared with an umbrella just barely big enough for the both of them to squish under, but she’d offer it nonetheless.

It had accidentally become a thing for them, Amy randomly running across Sonic just chilling in the rain, only mildly annoyed that his fur was getting soaked. She’d scold him for being irresponsible and risking catching a cold while holding her umbrella over him instead. Sonic, for his part, snarked that she worried too much, but would hold the umbrella over the both of them.

The first time Amy had tried that, Sonic disliked the close proximity and chose to make a run for it instead. He did that a lot. He hadn't been fond of those strange, unfamiliar feelings bubbling up in his chest whenever she was around. Fear? Revulsion? Perturbation? Embarrassment? He could never quite put his finger on it, and to be honest he really hadn’t wanted to. All he knew was that running away from them at least stunted their growth, so that’s what he did. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but he didn’t really mind Amy’s exuberant affections anymore. He actually felt weird after she stopped instantly pouncing on him on sight, sometimes not even noticing him right away because she was so engrossed in her work. Of course he was immensely proud of her, of how she’d found her calling and her passions; heaven forbid he ever discourage her from them. But she was undeniably much busier now, so different from when her prime incentive was to keep up with him. One time, he even had to draw her attention to him that he’d been there a while and she hadn’t even bothered to say hi, and her simple reply was that she’d been preoccupied. She still hugged him rather frequently, yet Sonic found himself deciding that frequently wasn’t enough.

So perhaps, if he wanted her attention, he surmised that he was going to have to get it himself.

“Okayyy I’m donee~” sang the cause of his pondering, twirling out into the living room. She struck a cute little pose, clad in a collared button-up, paired with a pleated skirt in the same off-white shade. The gold accents on the front and sleeves gave her a professional look, as did the little black handbag thar she rested on her left arm. “What do you think?”

Sonic let out a low whistle before holding a thumbs up. “Ya look good Ames! Very chic,” he smiled at her. The beam she replied with practically lit up the room, cheeks dusted the loveliest shade of rosy pink.

“Well then, I suppose I’m off!” Amy unlocked the main door and stepped outside, heels clacking on the stone path in front of her house. She spun around and blew a kiss at the blue hedgehog still strewn across her couch. “Don’t miss me too much, my darling~”

She could’ve sworn his cheeks colored, just a tad, before he held up a finger heart at her. It was her turn to blush furiously, opening and closing her mouth much akin to a goldfish. With a final rush of blood to her face, she grasped the door handle in a hold that threatened to remold the metal.

“Bye,” she said intelligently, before slamming it shut.

She ambled down the path to her fence, taking a deep breath to return her face to her not-on-fire mode. She was fine. Sonic had just sent her a finger heart. No big deal. Just a finger heart.

The girlish, high-pitched, euphoric squealing reached Sonic’s ears all the way back inside. He chuckled to himself, imagining the way she was probably bouncing around and clutching her face.

He exhaled loudly, already bored. He didn’t plan to stay for long, and would likely return again only after Amy did. He hopped to his feet snd stretched a little, feeling his blood circulating again. His eyes landed on the open notebook in the table.

Now, far be it from Sonic to snoop through a lady’s personal belongings while she was away, but all that stained the pages was a simple sketch in pen of an umbrella, and to the left, a commendably accurate sketch of Sonic himself. He tentatively lifted the book to his face, observing her meticulous handiwork. Every detail was so on-point, and this opinion was in the eyes of the original himself. Sketch Sonic was looking to his side, eyes indicating that he was looking at something he liked a lot. One hand ran through his quills, as if trying to maintain his tousled style. He appeared so effortlessly handsome, entranced by something in the distance.

Sonic wondered if this was the way Amy saw him.

Or maybe…was this the way he looked at Amy?

His attention turned to the umbrella on the other page, a much more simple drawing. Just an umbrella with a heart on top. Amy’s name was written in Japanese, in a very over-the-top, swirly manner, underneath the umbrella on the left side. On the right, he could make out erased pencil scribbles resembling his own name in Japanese, in different positions and styles. Seems as if she had been trying to write his name in a way that matched hers, but couldn’t quite figure out how to make it work. He smiled, picking up the discarded pen and quickly scribbling underneath the umbrella on the right.

Perfect.

He bounced out the window, dashed off, and bounced right back in. He put the item he’d brought on top of the notebook, looking pleased with himself.

Then he left again, feeling the fresh spring breeze caressing his face as he raced across the sun-kissed landscape, the morning providing a beautiful landscape to embrace.

——————

Amy poked her head into the living room in the twilight rays streaming through the window, looking to see if Sonic had happened to stick around, or perhaps had fallen asleep. Upon seeing nothing but an empty couch, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“Sonic?” she called out into the silence. Her only reply was the soft zooming of cars across the roads of the bustling city outside. She sighed and dropped her handbag on the coffee table before flopping onto the couch in exhaustion. She yanked off her shoes, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor. Her feet ached from the constant running around today, and she silently relished in the relief she felt in her heels.

Her gaze fell downward until it landed on the open notebook resting on the surface of the table. Amy’s back shot up straight, the mortifying realization dawning on her that this had been here since morning—all through Sonic’s visit. She snatched the book, identifying which drawings he might have seen.

“Oh shoot. Oh no no no…”

Amy drew Sonic a lot, but she was never quite fond of the way her sketches turned out. Something always felt off. Didn’t feel like her Sonic.

She squinted at the drawing on the paper, scrutinizing its minor errors. Had Sonic seen this? She hadn’t wanted to show him anything until she was satisfied with it.

Finally, her jade eyes drifted to the little umbrella. Amy recalled absent-mindedly doodling this a few hours before Sonic had arrived.

Except it was different now.

Her breath caught in her throat and her fingers just barely glazed the paper. A titter escaped her mouth as she hugged the book to her chest and squealed happily. Written underneath the umbrella on her side was, of course, her own name, but the addition of the signature of her beloved beneath the umbrella on the other side was what elicited her fangirling. Her sparkling eyes opened to find a resplendent, hot pink peony that she somehow managed to completely fail to notice, too enthralled in her own fantasies. She venerably picked it up, as if touching something sacred. Its vivid splendor characterized itself in its gorgeous rosy hued petals, certainly much deeper than Amy’s pastel fur.

She could practically feel Sonic’s emotions left behind by the blossom, like a warm embrace to her heart. She walked to her window, where a gentle night’s breeze kissed her cheeks. She took a deep breath, taking in the pleasant moment, as well as the sweet scent of the peony. Burying her nose within its petals, she gazed longingly at the silver jewel adorning the sky, casting its silver glimmer on the resting world below.

“…I love you, Sonic,” Amy mused, intending the sentiment to be between her and the moon. She smiled and planted a kiss onto her fingers, then sent it away to find her love.

Little did she know that her sweetheart wasn’t far at all—in fact, he’d been perched in a nearby tree, watching her every reaction to his gift. Somehow, he had felt that she was home while enjoying his run through the hills, and sure enough, when he returned, he arrived to see her pick up the notebook.

The second those words left her mouth, he smiled tenderly at her. She couldn’t see him, not through all the shrubbery (and definitely not with the way she was fixated on the moon). He watched her blow a kiss into the night, trying to reach him somehow. He held out his hand, pretending to catch it and brought it to his chest.

The last thing Amy glimpsed before heading inside to go to bed was an unnatural dust cloud, kicked up from a speedy take-off.

#sonamy #sonic the hdegehog #amy rose #sonic x amy #fanfic #sonic fanfiction #artsyanniefics #holy crap i’ve been writing this for nearly a month #and no im not done i’ll make this into a series #yk how u wanted it to be like sonic chasing amy #well yeah how about a series of domestic fluff #cuz that motivates me to write more sonamy i think #anyways hi guys writing sonamy after 4 years #what do u think

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eldritchenochian · 7 hours ago

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spoilers for Stardust Rhapsody season 2 (eps 15 & 16) below

stardust rhapsody is (was? idk.) my favorite Legends of Avantris campaign. I've watched the first season upwards of 5 times now, and almost all of the fics and fanart I've made have been related to it. it got me through some pretty rough times.

I am disappointed with season 2, so far.

the whole idea of "all of that was just a story, and very little of it actually happened" just feels very. not great.

all those characters we love and connected to, including Pyke who told the story, are not at all what we know now. some characters weren't even real to begin with.

what was the point? both of caring about the characters, and retconning it all? it feels bad to have a set of characters that I spent so much time dedicated to- drawing, writing, analyzing, relating to- just to be told "none of that matters cause it didn't actually happen, also there's a copium leak in here".

we do not know these characters anymore. Pyke has proven to be an unreliable narrator- the past what, 2 years? of character development and recordings and story building mean nothing, because it's been made out to be an embellished story riddled with lies and barely truths. we don't know if the Pyke and Rett from the first season are the real Pyke and Rett or just a lie told by Pyke- same with everyone else. their backstories too- Pyke isn't even actually a racer. Leo doesn't exist, Rex is just some random guy- who knows what else about the crew was made up. Kavir and Dandy's backstories too, probably. which, ouch.

maybe it's stupid, because these are fictional characters. maybe I'm just not smart enough to enjoy the "story within a story" trope here. idk.

I get that they threw the campaign together relatively quickly, and thought the characters didn't mesh super well together (that second one is bs, they were peak found family, and the crew even said they qere the most stable party after the icebound crew). I get that they planned to do this for a very long time. but there were better ways they could've gotten rid of Leboosh and Chuckles. which I'm also upset about, but. not important in the face of throwing away 14 episodes of canon.

I guess I just feel like I've been made to feel stupid for getting attached to a handful of characters and expecting that their story would go in a direction that I enjoyed.

also I don't like Glup. I know he and Quibly are supposed to be comic relief, but he doesn't really feel like a character. he can't even talk directly, Derek has to do interpretation as Quibly. sure it's funny, but he can't meaningfully contribute to conversations, or planning, or interacting with non party members unless they speak his language. I know they're going for the Han Solo and Chewbacca type relationship, but idk. it doesn't appeal to me in this format. Chuckles was a fully fledged character, Glup is mainly a bit that's been turned into a character.

now I may be completely wrong about this, but it feels like they're trying to change the direction of stardust from something a little more lore based with bits of humor at points, to something more humor based with a sprinkle of lore at times. like another campaign that the algorithm and shorts really really love. nothing wrong with being more marketable, but doing it at the expense of good characters and great stories just feels bad.

for those who were there with me in Discord last night while we watched it live, don't get me wrong, I had fun. it was fun to theorize about what was actually going on, maybe this was real, maybe this was all a coma dream- until the cast addressed it and debunked it themselves. I'll be honest towards the end of episode 15 and all of 16 I saw (I bailed early, which is insane), I was not having fun. all I could think about is the fact that some of these characters don't matter as much to them as they do us, and that they are willing to get rid of them because they don't like them anymore. which campaign could be next? what if when Witchlight comes back, they pull this again, and one or even two characters leave in a heartbreaking, unsatisfying way? what then?

I desperately hope this is something I cam get used to, like they said on stream it may take some folks a while to come around to the change. I really hope so. please don't ruin stardust for me Avantris I BEG

#sorry for putting my complaining? venting? in the main tags but i need to know who else feels this way #cause DAMN am i disappointed #legends of avantris #stardust rhapsody #ez yaps #ez complains

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tarnishedsilverjewelry · 1 day ago

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He reacts to your ex stories

A/n: gave Johnny a chubby S/O bc I K N O W that he likes bigger S/Os!! My source? ME (im right shhhh)!!! Also Raiden my pookie bear ily. And Kung Lao (my king) would apologize if he thought a joke went too far?? Idk why I saw someone say he wouldn’t??

Warnings: Mentions of Self harm scars, you lowkey got crazy exes lol (one of them is based off of one of my own exes. I won’t say anything else), mentions of fatphobic exes, please let me know if I missed anything!!

JOHNNY

You hadn’t been bating long, about 10 months

So it was still under wraps for the most part, especially since he had gotten a lot of new fans with his new Mortal Kombat franchise

At this point, you felt comfortable with being mentioned but still off camera. Johnny was incredible all around

But you said nothing…until you had a bit too much wine

“Do you wanna show me off?” You slurred, curling around one of his expensive pillows

“Course I do, baby. But I didn’t think you were ready..”Johnny laughed, gently prying the wine glass from your hand. “Nuh uh, nobody wants to show me off…cause your friends will laugh.” You pouted, reaching for your wine glass—eyes brimming with tears.

Johnny furrowed his brows deeply, hands gently pulling you closer “Baby if you wanted to, I’d buy a billboard with us on it. You deserve the world and more, I don’t know where you got that.”

You sniffled and snuggled against his strong chest and muttering “All the guys I ever dated said so..” Johnny laughed a bit and replied “Baby, those boys can’t handle real women. I promise you when you’re ready and sober we’ll announce everything.”

Privately Johnny was livid. Were these people so cowardly they’d put their friends over a relationship? These horrid people feasted on your insecurities and kept you down so they could…what? Hit and feel better about themselves?

He hadn’t really dated people who weren’t models, but those were different. They usually had connections he wanted to further himself in the acting world

But you had been different. People from outside the industry, with no connections or knowledge about the world he’d thrust himself in. And now you thought he wanted to hide you?

Of course, he wasn’t mad at you. This wasn’t your fault in the slightest. You had been treated poorly by other people, now it was up to him to reverse these insecurities.

But first, he had to tuck you in.(you’d fallen asleep on the couch)

RAIDEN

You, apparently thought that bringing up feminine trauma was funny? He knew it helped you cope by joking about it..but you had a therapist for a REASON??? He does think the jokes are funny, if it helps you he’s down🤷‍♂️

So when he set a plate down a little harder and you jumped about three feet in the air..yeah he’s a little concerned. Immediately drops everything and comes over to comfort you.

And you being you are just like “oh yeah sorry lol. My ex used to thrown stuff at me when he was upset. My bad.” Did NOT help, it actually made it worse!! Raiden has never been so tempted to hurt someone before in his life.

Like genuinely. He’s overprotective of the people he loves, not overly so but when they so casually something so concerning and are just…cool about it? He loose control of his anger and shock you a little.

VERY tempted to ask Lord Liu Kang for their address (he’s doesn’t dw) or to just like…smite them (he also doesn’t do this)

Bc you’re so…cool?? And bubbly and pretty and funny and lovable?? Being with you was like..euphoria but all the time? So the fuck were you dating (from what he’s gathered) some monstrously hideous sewer person? You were like the human equivalent of joy and happiness, you practically had a sparkly golden aura around you all the time?? So why were these…leeches hanging off you like a disease??

It’s genuinely perplexing

Safe to say…he’s upset and confused. And might be planning to hurt them but shhhhhhhhhh.

KUNG LAO

You had this habit of checking under the bed and in the closets before bed. Throughly.

Lao is very endeared by this, and thinks you’re adorable. If you’re sick or don’t wanna get out of bed he’ll do it no worries!

One night however, he makes a little joke about you being afraid of the bogey man.

And you just casually said “oh no my ex used to stalk me and hide in my closet and under my bed to mess with me while I was sleeping. Now it’s just a habit”

Mind you, you’re both dressed in matching Pjs about to go to bed. “What?” “Have I not told you that? Yeah he sucked” “that’s putting it lightly. I’m sorry if I upset you, with my joke.”

You giggled, pressing close to him “No it’s okay, he’s all the way across the world now. And in jail, but it’s just a silly habit now.” “I don’t think so, you apparently dated a supervillain it’s good to be careful.” He replied, pressing a kiss to your head. “Goodnight, my louts.” “Night Lao..”

He can’t sleep though, too worried about you a few years before you’d met. Sleep deprived and paranoid being stalked relentlessly by a man who didn’t seem to have a problem with hurting you

And gods he’s upset he wasn’t there to help you. Keep you safe from him.

Silently he vows to always be there and protect you. His focus was to defend Earthrealm, but now it was on protecting you.

#tarnishedsilverjewelry #mk1 x reader #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 johnny cage #johnny cage mk1 #mk johnny cage #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk1 raiden #raiden mk1 #raiden mortal kombat #mortal kombat raiden #raiden x reader #raiden mortal kombat 1 #mk1 kung lao #kung lao x reader #kung lao #mortal kombat kung lao

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wolfertinger · 2 days ago

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I have been really thinking a lot about everything as all of this Wis stuff is going down. And I’m just perplexed by her inclination at every move to demonize Sawyer when Sawyer has always been simply REACTING to Wis’s outbursts and the situations in front of them. However Mari would always project her insecurities onto Wis, Sawyer calling her out on this as seen in a screenshot posted here. Even with this Wis insists on protecting her, a literal rapist.

I am coming as a former friend of Mari, we had became friends in 2023 if I remember correctly Via Sawyer. Me and Sawyer have been friends for YEARS(2017) I know them very well, we lost contact for a bit but gladly able to find eachother again.

Something about Mari that simply Wis chooses to ignore is the fact she’s a HUGE Salem / Puppychan orbiter and has been for years. And she constantly tried to get Sawyer and Salem to be friends acting as if she were a peacemaker. By doing this it constantly undermined Sawyer’s comfortability and problems with Salem for keeping contact with Torin and LYING.

Mari by forcing a friendship between the three of them in itself shows you her character. To be quite frank, I don’t care if my gf’s ex is someone I had idolized, just the fact they’re broken up and have good reason to not talk to their ex anymore is ENOUGH for me. But Mari doesn’t hold much consideration for anyone but herself.

As Mari continuously did this making Sawyer uncomfortable, she held no regard to anyone but herself. She wanted to befriend Salem, She didn’t want to loose Salem, even if it made her partner upset. Even calling Salem cutting contact with her “almost like a breakup”. This was said during a call we had that night as she messaged me but was very rude to me for some reason because I was saying things she did not like??? Keep in mind I was at work closing a drive thru by myself, she was aware of this too.

I’m not sure why Wis has this narrative that Sawyer bad Sawyer evil Sawyer stalker when I’ve only ever seen her tweak on the internet about them. Mari was the one concerned about Salem, even making an alt to comment on a vent he made on cohost because she wanted to be friends with him still.

Mari has always been the one concerned with Salem and always was watching even going to him and Wis after the breakup crying wolf. Why is that your first thought, to plead sympathy from an ex of ur current ex and their current partner. Who you said you thought was so ugly bla bla bla, projecting your internalized transphobia on how a trans person should look onto her.

That is more in line with stalker behavior than anything Sawyer has ever done. And to be really honest as I write this it’s almost funny how Wis has like this self importance in the narrative. Mari never wanted to really be friends with Wis, only Salem. Cat had no concrete opinion on Wis, the issue lied between Sawyer and Salem. Wis really has nothing to do with any of this, yea protect your partner but you have insane self importance if you think you’re the one anyone is worried about let alone stalking ??

Yet Wis has her own narrative of events, kinda admire her ability to lie so much and pretend she hasn’t admitted and posted herself scrolling on Sawyer’s page. It’s really weird how much she deflects simply because she just really wants Sawyer to be a bad guy in this situation.

It’s just really bizarre, and reading everything on this page made me really see an extreme version of Mari on Wis. They both love to deflect things they have done onto their enemy of the week. They claim to take accountability but when nobody gives them easy forgiveness it’s “FUCK YOU, YOU ARE EVIL YOU HURT ME”. They parallel each other extremely. I don’t understand how you can live life like this not wanting to change for yourself or the better, instead

I can go on about how Mari was not a good friend to have, as there were many situations she had expected me to be emotionally available for her despite me going through a really hard time in my life as me and current gf were having one of the worst years of our lives and had split for a very long time. Mari knew this too, this was no secret.

Sawyer has always been a very blunt and honest person. I never understood why Wis is on this tirade of how they are dishonest. As no matter what Sawyer has kept it real with me, never hiding anything from me. They don’t expect me to formulate an opinion that aligns with them, they give me the facts and I bounce off what I see. We have a very open and honest friendship, there is nothing I wouldn’t say to them I don’t fear anything.

Apologies for the literal novel, I just feel like I needed to say my piece as I have a perceptive that hasn’t been brought up. I don’t engage in stuff like this often, I have nothing to gain from this at all as my online presence is kinda dead as I work and go to school full time.

i have some screens I attached validating the aggressiveness from Mari and harping over Salem cutting her off not worried about her partner being upset and hurt by this only what she felt about it. Most of what she told me was during calls.

#no comment. just wow.#all of these people are awful. i am deeply sorry you had to. and continue to. deal with them.

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impishsensei · 2 days ago

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satoru partially expected that to be the end of that and for utahime to leave him be, wallowing in his misery. what he hadn’t anticipated was her to start crying, nor for her to pull him tightly into a hug as she continued to openly weep. he thought it was a little funny that she was the one getting more emotional than him over her rejecting him. a slight solace, because he’d always thought she was cute when she cried, and it’d been quite some time since he’d seen her cry hard like she did in that moment.

still, wasn't enough to lift his spirits. if anything, it made him feel worse because it’s proof that she really does care about him, but not in the way he wished she would. he tended to retreat into himself at times like that because it was easier to pretend he didn’t feel, than to acknowledge and contend with it.

he was uncharacteristically quiet as she spoke, allowing her to get out all that she wanted to say, even if it took a while because of her blubbering. he felt guilty for dropping something like that on her. he should’ve known better. him of all people knew that a kiss wasn’t all that much to get worked up about… though utahime wasn’t the type to kiss just anyone, and she’d apparently really wanted to kiss him, but he knew it had to be curiosity. kissing him was something she’d done impulsively with someone she trusted. it wasn’t like utahime didn’t know his reputation. she probably figured a guy like him wouldn't care.

his hands tightened into fists in his pockets, as that too felt like pouring acid on his wound. the idea that she simply didn’t think he’d react how he did because she’d never considered him like that. she didn’t see him like that. she’d said herself that if it was just screwing around, maybe. but he didn’t want to just fool around with her, and she knew that. she so clearly felt awful about that, pitied him even, and he believed her. he believed she didn’t want to hurt him. utahime might have often insulted him, but she wouldn’t ever try to maliciously hurt his feelings. she was too pure-hearted. she wasn’t anything like him, who’d been such a jerk in the past that he’d say things specifically to hurt her feelings.

that was just another reminder that he was an idiot for ever thinking there could be something there. honestly, it was a miracle that she even considered him as a friend that she’d cry over. maybe it was just because they’d always been around each other. they were a constant in each others lives, and even if she was interested she didn’t want to squander that. she’d always been the less daring one. it showed then.

then she started softly saying his given name, and that in addition to how tightly she hugged him, how she’d pressed gentle kisses to his forehead, and removed his blindfold got to him. it was a surprisingly well-kept secret that she was his weakness, because he was so weak for her. he’d do anything for her, as he’d told her earlier. although he thought it was cute when she cried, he didn’t want her to cry like that. it was devastating to think that she cried so profusely over hurting his feelings. it reminded him that he definitely needed to work on concealing them more. he was the guy that was supposed to handle anything and everything, not some pussy that cried because a girl didn’t return his feelings. he’d do better.

so, as much as it hurt him and he knew it’d continue to sting, he pulled himself together smiled slightly, meeting her gaze finally. he tilted his head a little, and even though the laceration to his heart was fresh — that it would reopen constantly from her being so close yet so far — he looked at her in the way he so often would when he knew she wasn’t looking. how he’d look at her when his blindfold or shades concealed just how longingly he looked at her for years.

❝ i could never shut you out. you know that, ❞ satoru lifted his right hand to her cheek, gently cupping it as his thumb wiped away her tears. he brushed some of her hair behind her ears, and once more he was struck with the need to kiss her again, but he held it in. he’d held it in for years. he could do it again. he could shove all his feelings down and lock them away. he was good at that.

❝ don’t cry. you don’t need to cry over me and my feelings. i’ll be fine. i’ll get over it, ❞ he lied. he wouldn’t be fine. he wouldn’t get over it. satoru gojo was nothing if not an expert in putting a mask up and acting like he was. he thought he was pretty convincing, at least.

he wasn’t going to let his anguish over getting rejected detract from how cute she looked not-so-subtly asking, insisting that he needed to help her. he could feel yet another one of cupid’s arrows striking him right in the back, but he’d shrug it off. he could take a million arrows and walk it off because he had to. he didn’t mind it if it was for her.

he pressed on with his lie, as if it was as natural as breathing.

❝ really, we’re fine. you don’t lo--reciprocate my feelings. it happens. i gotta accept it and move on. you don’t gotta be sorry for that, ❞ satoru knew he never would. he couldn’t. that was a side-effect of not allowing himself to actually sit with his feelings — how deeply the betrayal and loss of suguru in his life was a testament to that.

he chuckled then as well, gingerly lifting her injured hand to his face and pressing a soft kiss against her burn. while he did so, he kept his eyes trained solely on her face. it was a tendency of his, to watch for a reaction like that. if she ever had let him go down on her, she’d see. unfortunately for him, that was going to remain a fantasy.

❝ you can stay as long as you want. spend the night, even. i’m a little surprised you’d want to, but you’re injured so let the great doctor gojo treat you! ❞ he easily fell back into his typical playful demeanor, because he didn’t want her to be sad. he’d much rather have her annoyed by how much he tended to annoy her. that’d prove that nothing changed despite everything that transpired between them.

he would have offered his spare room to her, but he’d used it as a storage/mini-gym so there was no bed in there. it wasn’t like he had guests that came to stay with him all the time. even on the rare occasion where he’d brought a girl he was hooking up with over to his place (it was only ever the few he considered friends and understood it was nothing more than casual sex), they’d be in his bed with him if they didn’t leave right away. even when his other friends came to visit, it wasn’t like shoko or ijichi or nanami stayed long enough to sleep over.

satoru was surprisingly quite the minimalist when it came to decorating. despite spending a fortune on securing himself luxury penthouse in tokyo, he didn’t spend all that much time there. it wasn’t a very lived-in space. his surplus of expensive clothes was all that he had a ridiculous excess of.

he was just about to head off to his room to get himself changed into something more comfortable for the evening, when he recalled something he had forgotten to address.

❝ also… i don’t give a shit what my clan or the higher ups think. i’d rather die alone than marry some random chick. seriously, what are they gonna do? be really mad at me? oooh, i’m soooo scared! they can come to me and talk shit and see what happens, ❞ he grinned confidently then, making a gesture with his hands to say that he’d beat any of their asses if they tried to tell him what to do. the old clan head made that deal, not him, and the old clan head was dead. satoru was the new clan head, and he could easily tear that stupid piece of paper up. he only refrained because he didn’t need to deal with that drama yet. while they couldn’t make him bend to their will, they could still be annoying.

in a way, it was kind of a good thing that utahime rejected him. if she hadn’t, and they’d inevitably gone public, everyone would know his weakness. he didn’t put it above the higher-ups or his clan elders to threaten to hurt the person he loved in order to reign him in. honestly, they were probably waiting and salivating at the thought of finding a way to get to him. regardless, he’d kill them if they made any sort of threat. all of them. the elders and higher-ups. he held no love for the higher-ups that regarded him with contempt, nor his own older family members who’d spent years treating him harshly and using him as a tool for their own agendas.

well, their attempts to.

❝ i’m gonna go shower real quick, so you can go ahead and make yourself at home. try not to hurt yourself again, hime, ❞ he teased her, donning a cheeky smile. he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, and while he padded over to his room he’d pulled his shirt halfway up until he realized that it was probably inappropriate to undress like that while still in the room with her, so he tugged it back down. he paused just before the door to his room, and turned back to look at her again. he felt like he was doing an excellent job taming his feelings. ❝ i only have 1 shower, so you gotta use mine. i’ve got a huge bathtub, too, if you wanna relax in there when i’m done. i only have one bed, so you can sleep on that. i’ll take the couch, ❞ he added.

satoru whistled as he kicked his room door closed behind him. he was going to shower, but there was a little something he needed to take care of so he’d be far less likely to get excited in utahime’s presence later. he pulled off the rest of his clothes on the way to the bathroom — shirt, belt, pants, socks — and let his thoughts run wild in the warm shower. before he got started, he noticed he still had some women’s body wash, shampoo, and conditioner, which was neat since he figured utahime would appreciate that over the more masculine scents of his. as much as he would’ve enjoyed her smelling like his body wash, he knew she’d hate it.

he took a hold of himself, exhaling a relieved sound, and imagined a scenario where she didn’t stop kissing him. an alternate timeline where she returned his feelings, too. where he’d have her laid out on any flat surface in his home, and his face was nestled between her thighs showing her that he actually could put his mouth to good use. he imagined taking her, and when he thought of her softly saying his name along with what he wished to here most from her, that was it. he hoped he hadn’t been too loud. he didn’t think he was.

he was quick with cleansing himself after that, drying himself off and slipping on a fresh pair of underwear, some gray sweats, and a blank tank-top. he normally didn’t include a shirt in his sleep apparel, but he had a guest over that wouldn’t want to see that, so he opted for some modesty.

❝ i’m happy to see you didn’t leave, ❞ he said as he made his return to the living room. he’d been only 15 minutes, so hopefully she hadn’t gotten too bored without him around bothering her. ❝ i was even generous enough to leave plenty of warm water for you. your luxury bath or shower awaits, hime~! ❞

UTAHIME WAS NOT SURPRISED BY HIS RESPONSE. She had expected Gojo to act this way. He was not the type of man who took rejection well. Utahime could SEE that he was upset, and she had NO IDEA how to comfort him. She wouldn't know how to make him feel better — and the last thing she wanted was for him to take her words the wrong way. So, she tried her best to explain herself. She wanted him to understand where she was coming from.

"Gojo, please listen, okay ? It's not that simple."

She was trying to be kind, but her tone was blunt. She wasn’t going to SUGARCOAT her words or give him false hope. Utahime knew her rejection was harsh, and she couldn’t soften the blow. SHE HAD NO OTHER CHOICE.

"I cannot have a romantic relationship with you. It's not an option." She couldn't say that she would be okay with it. She couldn't say that she would want to try it. She couldn't say anything else. She just couldn't. "I can’t just say no without explaining why." She had no desire to hurt his feelings. She didn’t want him to feel rejected. She didn’t wish him any ill will. But he was the last man she would ever want to be with. That wasn’t a lie. Even if she had never considered the POSSIBILITY — he was still the last man she would ever date. Even if she had been interested.

She leaned her face into his palm, pressing her cheek against his touch. Her hand rose to cover his, and she held it there, staring into his eyes. "I'm saying no because I want to remain friends. It wouldn't be just something casual with you, and that's the only kind of relationship I could have with you." Gojo was important to her. Their relationship mattered to her. The two of them had history, and a lot of it. He was a big part of her life.

"If I were to start something with you. . ." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I can see myself falling in love with you, and I'm not sure that would be a good thing."

It was a BAD THING.

If Gojo was just looking for a woman to warm his bed, he could have any woman in the world. There were so many who would fall at his feet, willing to do anything he asked of them. He had no shortage of willing partners.

If he was looking for a serious girlfriend, she could picture him with one of his ' fuck buddies ' — the ones who were more than happy to keep his company until he decided to move on to someone new. There were women who could put up with his bullshit and didn’t take his teasing to heart. They didn’t let his reputation or arrogance turn them off. They liked him. He was still friendly with those girls. Utahime wouldn't PRETEND she cared about how they felt for Gojo, but they didn’t strike her as the type who'd settle down with him. They weren’t interested in commitment, and they’d made that clear. They were just like Gojo — and that was why they worked.

But her.

Though there was a part of Utahime, a very small part of her, that wondered if she should give him a chance. What would it be like if she dated him ? She couldn't picture herself as his girlfriend. She could not envision herself being his lover. The thought of dating him felt strange and foreign. It didn't feel RIGHT. It didn't FEEL SAFE.

Utahime would STRUGGLE to accept his past relationships and lovers. It would be hard for her to see him with other women, no matter what their connection was. If they were just casual partners, it would bother her. If they were dating, it would bother her. If they were married, it would bother her. If he was the father of someone else’s child, it would bother her. Even if they were just friends, it would STILL annoy her. She wouldn’t be able to let go of her feelings for him. Moving on would never come easily. She had NO desire to put herself in that position.

Utahime was a realistic woman, unwilling to hold unrealistic expectations. She couldn't risk their friendship for something as fickle as romance. If it didn't LAST, if they couldn't make it work, it would change everything between them. And she wasn’t sure she wanted things to change. It wasn’t just about not wanting a relationship with him. A relationship with Gojo Satoru would be COMPLICATED, bringing rise to a whole different set of problems.

"I won't be anyone's mistress."

Utahime couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. She was staring down at the floor — her head bowed — keeping her expression carefully hidden. She couldn't let him see her face. Not wanting him to see the tears blurring her vision.

Utahime's body shook, her lips trembled, and her chest grew tighter and tighter with each passing second. The STRESS was overwhelming, making her feel sick. She was starting to feel like a COMPLETE JERK.

"It's not that I'm not interested. It's just not a good idea," she mumbled softly, and her voice broke. Utahime felt her eyes closing. The sting of tears was irritating.

She HATED crying.

"It — It's a bad idea, yanno !"

If they were to get together, if they were to enter a relationship, and things did not work out, Utahime knew their friendship would be DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR. She couldn't put herself in that position. She couldn't risk losing him. She cared about him too much. Even if he was a pain in her ass. "I would hate myself if we didn't work out." Utahime was struggling to find the right words, and her tongue was getting tied. She could feel her chest getting heavier, and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. "I would hate us both. Because," Utahime sniffled as she raised her head to meet his eyes, wiping her face over and over with the back of her hand.

"I would end up blaming you for my own stupidity."

Utahime could hear the DISAPPOINTMENT in Gojo's voice. She hadn't needed to see his face to know how much she had hurt him. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and the light wasn't shining in them anymore. She could feel her resolve crumbling as she watched him step back and slip his BLINDFOLD back over his eyes. He didn't want her to see him, and she couldn't blame him. She was not in the position to ask him to take it off, not after what she had just said.

Gojo. . . was CRYING.

It was only for a moment. He had quickly covered them, but she noticed the tears — the way his eyes had watered, and the glassiness there. Utahime didn't like seeing him in pain, or knowing she was the reason behind it. Gojo was RETREATING into himself. Gojo was hurting right now. This was her fault. She had made him feel this way. It was ALL her fault. If only she hadn't kissed him, none of this would have happened. Her hand reached for his sleeve. "Please. . . don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

HURTING HIM HADN’T BEEN HER INTENTION. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him down toward her, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly to her chest. She had REJECTED him, and it hurt him. Of course it would. She saw it herself. She could see it in the slump of his shoulders, in the way his voice was thick with restrained emotion. His laughter had sounded forced to her ears — she could hear the pain in his voice, and it made FRESH TEARS burn her eyes again.

It wasn’t her intention to hurt him, and yet here he was — upset because of her. She hadn't meant to reject him so HARSHLY. That had been cruel. She hadn't intended to. But she had to be honest. She had to let him know where she stood. She WOULDN'T stand for the idea of LEADING HIM ON.

Utahime's eyes closed as she hugged him, and her chin rested on his shoulder. His body was stiff against hers, but she held him close anyway — as if he were a child, as if she could hold him tight enough, he would not feel sad anymore.

She wasn't sure what to do. So, she did the only thing she could think of doing. She HUGGED him. She hugged him, and she stroked his hair. She did it gently, carefully, and tenderly. Utahime did not want to do anything that might hurt him. She had wanted to show him she cared, her concern. She hadn't meant to make him feel like this. She had made the mistake of kissing him — she was the reason Gojo had put his WALLS back up. She had never meant for him to feel the need to.

"Gojo. . . Hey, are you. . . ?" Her words trailed off. It was STUPID to ask him if he was okay, when clearly, he wasn't. He didn't respond, and her expression faltered.

"I'm sorry." She was at a loss of what else to say. Utahime didn't want Gojo to pull away, but she wouldn't be surprised if he did — she was EXPECTING him to.

"I'm sorry."

Utahime felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She felt TERRIBLE for hurting Gojo's feelings. "It's not like that, Gojo. I just. . . I can't." She didn't want him to be upset. "We just can't." Her hands SLIPPED from his hair, and her arms lowered until her palms were resting on his back. Her fingers curled against his shirt, and she pulled him into her chest. She should have been gentler with him. She should've let him down slowly.

"I—"

Utahime had a tendency of putting her foot in her mouth, she lacked delicacy when it came to dealing with emotional situations, and she had a tendency of being BLUNT. That was why she struggled to express her emotions. She had difficulty finding the right words. She wished she had picked better words to explain herself. She hadn't meant to sound like she was rejecting him. She had a feeling Gojo knew she was not ENTIRELY opposed to his proposition.

"I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't want to, and I, really, really wanted to."

Utahime knew she was making it worse. She shouldn't have added that last bit. But she had. It was true, and there was no taking it back.

"You know. . . You know. . ." Her lips were moving, but no words came out. She had no idea how to explain herself. What could she even say to him ? That there was something about the thought of him WANTING her that had been very appealing ? That she couldn't tell if it was just a physical thing ? That she could still feel her heart POUNDING HEAVILY in her rib cage ? That she didn’t understand why this was affecting her the way it was ? There was NO WAY she could tell him that. It would only confuse him further, and make things more complicated between them. She had said what she needed to say, yet the pang in her chest LINGERED.

"Gojo. . . I. . ."

It was not that she didn't trust him. It was that she couldn't TRUST HERSELF. She couldn't afford to give him the wrong impression. It was a DELICATE situation, and she couldn't risk complicating things further.

"I just. . ." She couldn't think of the RIGHT WORDS. They were failing her, and it was FRUSTRATING. Utahime's eyebrows furrowed, and her cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. Why did she have to struggle so much when it came to talking about her feelings ?

She could feel the air around them becoming TENSE, and her palms were getting sweaty. She felt a little SICK, unable to keep her hands off him — SUBCONSCIOUSLY afraid that this would be the last time he would let her touch him like this. Utahime couldn't stop herself from touching him. Her hands STROKED his back, slid up his neck, and tangled in his hair. She pressed her body closer against him, holding him so tightly that he could probably feel her heart racing. She could feel her nails digging into his FLESH, and the way his breath tickled the crook of her neck made her heart stutter.

"It's a bad idea," she insisted again, her voice cracking. It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than him.

"You have a fiancée."

The word FIANCÉE was a much - needed REALITY CHECK. It reminded her that their relationship was a NON - ISSUE. It reminded her that this was just not possible. This was something that could not be, even if she had wanted to. If she had met him at a different time, or if they were different people, things might have been different. But they were not. Gojo was a man whose life could not be fettered to the ordinary. She was not the woman he should want to spend his life with.

"It's not just about me, or you, or us. Your family would never approve. My family would never approve. There are expectations for the both of us, and a relationship will never be an option."

There was no point in them entertaining the thought of a THEM. Even if she were to, nothing would come of it. Their feelings would change. The fire would fade, and their relationship would burn out. And if things didn't end on their own, the Higher - Ups would make sure of it.

Gojo Satoru was not the man the elders would APPROVE for her. He was not the man her parents would want her to marry. If they knew they were together, they would INTERVENE and force a separation. They would make things difficult, and they would tear them apart. This was the harsh reality, and they could not avoid it.

She could not deny that there was a part of her that wanted to say yes. There was a part of her that was TEMPTED by his offer. If it was just sex, then she would have entertained the idea. If it was a CASUAL AFFAIR, then she could have gotten over the fact that he was engaged. It was not like his fiancée was a girlfriend or lover. He was set to marry a woman he had never met before. His marriage would not be about LOVE. It would be a BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT.

Utahime knew Gojo didn't have feelings for his fiancée. He had never met the woman before, and his engagement was the result of a negotiation between his clan and her family — a marriage arranged to secure the strength of the Gojo family line. Gojo would have a wife and an HEIR to carry on his family's name, and the other family would gain the honor of being associated with ' THE STRONGEST. ' It was a win - win situation — a marriage made out PRACTICALITY.

Utahime could not imagine a worse fate for him. But she was not a BAD ENOUGH person to allow him to ruin his life for a what if. If Gojo was going to make a mistake, she would NOT be a part of it. She would not help him ruin his life by getting involved with her. He would REGRET it. She would regret it. It was a TERRIBLE IDEA.

"Satoru," she murmured his name. ( She was not above using his first name — to get him to lower his guard down. )

Utahime rested her chin atop his head, squeezing him as tightly as she could. Her embrace was strong and firm — PROTECTIVE — her arms wrapped around him as though she were trying to SHIELD him, to keep him from feeling more hurt. But she could not guard him from her words. He had heard what she said, and she could not take them back.

"Satoru, Satoru, Satoru," she whispered his name repeatedly, and her arms tightened around him. "Please. . ." She knew what he was doing, and she just hated it so much. She didn’t want to make things WORSE — she could only hope she hadn’t.

"Don't do that." Her voice was soft and full of REGRET. "Please, Satoru." Her tone was gentle, and her touch was soothing. Her fingers moved through his hair, brushing and petting and caressing. She was trying to make him feel better, and she hoped that her actions would convey what her words could not. She hoped that he would understand, that he would not take her words the wrong way. She didn’t want him to misunderstand her.

Utahime pulled back, and her hands slid from his hair and brought his face close to hers. She lifted his head, and her gaze met his. There was something in her that WRENCHED at the sight of him. His blindfold was on, and his eyes were CONCEALED.

"Don't shut me out." She pressed her lips to his forehead, and her hands slid up to push his blindfold UP AND OFF. She flung it across the room, then cupped his face in her hands. She didn't want to look at Gojo and not see him looking back at her. She wanted him to see her, to be present with her, and to be aware of her. She did not want him to hide behind his mask. GENTLY, she held his face in place, placing a kiss just above his eyelid, her thumbs brushed the tears from his cheeks.

"Please. . ." Her eyes searched his face. Gojo's eyes weren't on her. Shit. "Satoru," she murmured softly. "Look at me." She had done this. This was her fault. She had made him cry, and it made her chest ACHE. It made her feel panic. Fuck.

"Do you want me to pretend I didn’t hear you ?" She just needed him to look at her. Utahime felt her chest constricting, and she tried to breathe. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and the air in her lungs was BURNING.

"Because I won’t. And you don’t get to pretend you didn’t say it either." Anger. She felt ANGER welling up inside her. "You can't take it back now."

She couldn't DECIDE what was more painful — hearing him confess that he liked her or seeing him cry because of her. BOTH WERE EQUALLY UNBEARABLE.

"Satoru Gojo." His name was spoken with so much CONTEMPT. "You scare me, Gojo," she said, tone clipped. "You always have. Because you make me feel things I don’t know how to deal with ! And that’s not your fault. But it’s not mine either !"

She leaned her face closer to his. She probably looked like a mess. SNOT - FILLED and ugly crying — she hadn't cried this hard in a long time. "So don’t shut me out."

Utahime paused, and for the first time, let herself smile — a small, watery smile. She knew she shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't, and yet, she held on TIGHT. She didn't pull away. She didn't release him. Her hands refused to ALLOW him to move away. Utahime had a question to ask him, and she needed an honest

"Do you want me gone ? Because it's okay," she told him. "I can walk. I can leave. If that's what you need. If you want me to go. . . then just say the word. I'll go."

But, please, don't.

"But, if not. . ."

Let me stay.

"Then we'll stay like this. We can stay here together, and. . . and. . . talk—"

Please, let me stay.

"Until. . . Until. . ."

I can't stand it.

"Until I know we're okay !"

Shoko's place was a little ways, but she would manage by herself. She'd rather walk than have him drop her off. She glanced at the burn on her hand, then back up at him. "You, take care of me, okay ?" She asked, showing him her hand and still not letting go. It wasn't a bad burn. It didn't hurt as much anymore, and it didn’t need any medical attention. It wasn't serious. SHE'D BE FINE. The water had soothed the sting.

"I got hurt while making you tea. Take responsibility for what your kettle did."

Utahime sniffed.

"If you want to pawn off your responsibility to Shoko. . . then — then you'll have to treat me to lunch tomorrow ! !"

#songcurse #꒰ v: main. ꒱#she's a lil bit devious huh...#my apologies if there are any inconsistencies #i lied i ended up adding a lot #hopefully smth u can work w #if not lmk #cw long post #cw suggestive #no icons bc im lazy and runnin out

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