#he took like a day to get back to me trying to figure it out

[brninghouse]

Let me help you | Robert Reynolds

Pairing. Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary. A year after the events in New York City, the memories of that dreadful day come back to haunt you. Luckily, this time you have Bob with you and he will not let your pain drag you down, the same way you won’t let him blame himself for it.

Word Count. 3.8k

Tags/Warnings. Hurt to comfort, slight angst, SMUT, mention of Bob’s father and trauma, female receiving penetration, use of pet names such as honey, sweetheart and baby. Reader calls him Bobby during sex.

EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD, MUST BE 18+ TO READ, I WILL BE CHECKING. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Notes. My comeback to being a fic writer since I abandoned my writing blog back in 2023. Shoutout to Mr. Bob and his pathetically charming self for dragging me back to my writing ways. Also… I created and pushed the Inexperienced!Bob agenda in this fic. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed.

You could feel the darkness trying to consume you. It worked slowly, yet it felt as if it was rapidly trying to drown you, robbing the air straight out of your lungs and leaving you without any air left to breathe. It was an all-consuming feeling of dread — except this wasn't a feeling, it was a person. He had a face and a name. The exact same face of the man you would eventually come to fall in love with, but it wasn't him, not really.

It was the silhouette of the darkest parts of him. The dark side of him that wanted you to feel the exact same type of pain he was feeling. All of the abuse and suffering. He wanted you to feel it, too. He wanted every living person to feel it.

He was nothing more than a void — and he wanted you to drown in it. He wanted you to understand that there was nothing more in this world than the neverending feeling of numbness and agony.

His darkness was consuming you and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Honey, you have to wake up,” a worried sleepy voice urged you while a warm hand wiped the sweat off your forehead, carefully brushing and putting away the strands of hair that were stuck to it.

You opened your eyes so fast it felt like your heart was about to give out. Your breathing came out in quick, unsteady gasps that made it hard to figure out where you were. Your heart was beating just as hard as last year, back when the man next to you wasn’t the one he is right now.

“Bob?” you asked, trying to catch your breath and reaching out to him with a shaky hand.

“Hey, it was just a nightmare. Can you, uh.. can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked, sitting up in your shared bed and turning on the bedside lamp next to him before taking your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. You didn't reply, all you could do was close your eyes and sit up next to him, bringing your free hand to your racing heart.

Your lack of an answer didn’t help soothe the worry he was feeling. “C’mon, sweetheart. Please,” Bob begged you, squeezing your hand two times.

I’m here. He’s gone.

You nodded once and opened your eyes, turning your head to the right and meeting the soft brown eyes of your boyfriend who was sitting next to you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice raspy and strained. He shook his head. “It’s okay. We can do it together,” he answered with a small smile.

Bob took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, and then exhaled. You copied his movements, keeping your hand in his. “Again,” he said before taking another deep inhale and then letting it out, never taking his eyes away from you.

You weren’t able to count the number of times you breathed in and out with Bob, but he stayed with you through it all. Holding your hand until you were finally able to breathe normally.

You stayed silent for a while, but Bob didn’t seem to mind. All of his focus was on you, and he would wait for you for eternity if that was the time you needed to get a word out. “I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“None of that, honey,” he answered, not missing a beat. “Does it hurt to speak?” He thought of things he could do to help, rummaging through his head for any useful advice when his eyes lit up as he remembered something from his childhood.

“Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” He asked, his eyes shining as if he had finally gotten the right answer to an unsolvable paradox.

“Please,” you whispered. Bob took hold of the covers that were discarded away to the bottom of the bed and brought them up to your chest, standing up with a small groan as his feet met the cold floor and he stretched his arms above his head, giving you a clear view of his toned shirtless figure.

“I’ll be right back,” he replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to your bedroom door and walking out.

Bob didn’t take long walking to the kitchen and grabbing you a cold glass of water, yet every second he spent outside of your shared room made you remember your awful nightmare, which you wouldn’t even describe as a nightmare — it was a terrible fucking memory.

You anxiously chewed on your bottom lip as you stared at your door, impatiently waiting for your boyfriend to come back. The door eventually opened after a few minutes and Bob walked in with a glass of water in his right hand, you took notice of the metallic straw inside of it.

“It’s, uh… so it’s easier for you to drink,” he explained.

“That’s nice, thank you,” you replied before taking the glass from him and taking a small sip. The coldness that seeped through your body and the feeling of the condensation on the glass helping you ground yourself back to reality.

“Better?” He asked, climbing back onto the bed and placing a hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You hummed and leaned your body closer to him, leaning your head against his toned shoulder.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“You really need to stop apologizing, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he replied, turning his head to the left and kissing your temple.

You stayed silent for a while, taking small sips of your water. Finding comfort in each other’s presence and the sound of his steady breathing next to you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“It was—,” you started.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But my mom used to tell me that talking about these types of things could help make you feel better,” Bob rambled, moving his free hand as he spoke to try and make his statement seem casual.

Bob had once shared with you that his mother used to help him out whenever he’d wake up terrified from nightmares about his father. She would give him a glass of water — with a straw to make it easier to drink — and comfort him through it all. He mentioned those moments were what eased his mind whenever he had one of his Low Days.

You let out a soft sigh, setting the empty glass on the bedside table next to you. “It was about last year,” you said softly.

“Oh,” Bob whispered, his shoulder going tense beneath your head. You didn’t have to look up at him to know there was a look of worry in his eyes.

You placed your hand over his on your thigh. “It’s not your fault,” you tried to comfort him, only to be quickly cut off by him.

“But it was me who did that,” he stated, his head hanging low.

“You weren’t in control, Bob. God, you didn’t even remember what happened once we got you out,” you said, slightly turning your head to press a kiss against his shoulder blade, causing Bob to let out a shaky breath.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I.. he,” Bob corrected himself, “He hurt you. He hurt every civilian in the city,”

“It wasn’t you, baby. I mean, now you're considered a hero. A goddamned Avenger, for fuck’s sake.”

“A pretty useless one. All I do is clean up after everyone and be Walker’s gym buddy,” he said, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You also helped Alexei get that Red Bull sponsor for his ugly New Avengerz merch,” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

That caused Bob to let out a genuine smile and it was enough to make you feel like you had single-handedly caused world peace. It felt like the sun had shone straight through your heart. An infinite sunbathe.

“You’re a good person, Bob,” you lifted your head from his shoulder, sitting up to meet his gaze and bringing a hand to caress his cheek. Bob closed his eyes at the feeling, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he felt your touch on his skin. “Once you learn how to control your powers — how to control him.. you’ll be the most powerful member of this team.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you, honey” he replied, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the palm of your hand a kiss, his eyes not leaving yours as he did it.

“Knowing you’re next to me is enough to make me feel better.”

A bright blush took over Bob’s cheeks. He wasn’t fully used to all of this, to the way you seemed to love him despite his darkest moments. Two months into your relationship he had shyly confessed to you that he had no romantic experiences due to his addiction and Low Days. That didn’t change the fact that he was eager to learn and make you feel just as loved as you made him feel.

He was about to open his mouth to say something along the lines of you being too sweet for a messed up man like him when he was distracted by the yawn that escaped you. A soft smile adorned Bob’s features.

“Oh, honey. You must be tired,” he said in the softest voice he could muster. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Is it that obvious?” You joked, another yawn leaving your lips, causing Bob’s smile to get even bigger. “Nope, not at all, sweetheart.”

Bob extended his arm to turn off your bedside lamp with a small sigh and moved to lay down facing you, you followed his movements, laying on your side and pressing your back to his strong chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of his beating heart against your back to lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to notice that your attempt to slip back into dreamland was futile. You had no idea how long you spent trying to go back to sleep, it could’ve easily been fifteen minutes or an hour, but that didn’t matter. You just couldn’t.

You were so fucking exhausted, your body knew that but your brain wasn’t cooperating. You couldn’t fall back asleep. You tried to switch positions and move around, but it was useless. Nothing was working. Maybe your nightmare shook you up more than you thought.

“You okay over there?” You heard Bob’s tired voice behind you.

“Yeah… No. I don’t know why I can’t fall back asleep,” you answered, frustration lacing your tone.

Bob’s right arm that was gently wrapped around your waist moved down as his warm hand traveled beneath the sleeping shirt you were wearing — his sleeping shirt to be exact. His hand rubbed slow circles on your skin.

He used his free hand to move away the hair that was covering your neck and began to trail sweet kisses up your throat, moving slowly until he reached your jaw. “Is this alright?” He asked. You hummed and closed your eyes as he continued scattering soft wet kisses against your jawline until reaching your earlobe, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Let me help you, honey,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath and wandering hand under your shirt causing a heat to build up in your core. A whimper escaped your lips as your hips involuntarily pressed back against his. The feeling of his hardening member against your ass and his toned, strong chest right behind your back making you feel dizzy.

“Bobby,” you gasped, slightly turning your head to meet his eyes. “Tell me what you need,” he replied, licking his lips and pulling his hand away from under your shirt to use it to lift himself up and hover above you. You weren’t able to get any words out so you did what your body was begging you to do.

You pressed your lips against his and kissed him. Bob eagerly kissed you back, using his free hand to hold your face and lift it up towards him, a small moan leaving his lips. You two had been in this position several times, yet it always felt like the first time for him, because due to his inexperience: every feeling was new to him. Moans and whimpers would always escape him whenever he found himself making out with you.

His hand moved from your cheek to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pressing himself closer to you. The kiss was heated but still soft — still so Bob. He pulled away to take a breather before saying, “Wait, I, uh.. I think I know of something that could help.”

He shifted his position to lay on his back, spreading his legs and manhandling your body, moving you to sit between his thighs. “Is this.. Is this alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you answered, letting out a sigh of comfort as you laid your head on his chest, your back pressed against his shirtless figure, his head above yours and his legs keeping you in place, spread next to yours.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.. or if it’s too much,” he rambled “Oh! And also if I do something wrong—“

“It’s fine, Bobby,” you replied with a small smile. “You’re pretty good at what you do, don’t worry too much about it.”

Your statement brought a bright blush to his cheeks, the second of the night — which wasn’t strange because he always got shy whenever you praised him during your intimate moments. He still wasn’t used to being praised, especially not on times like this.

He lets out a nervous laugh as he uses his left arm to hold your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and his right hand smoothes over your covered abdomen, the tips of his warm fingers making you shiver and internally beg for more.

“Can I.. Is it okay if I take this off?” he asks, slightly pulling your shirt up, your eyes close as you feel his lips against your ear.

“Please,” you exhale. Bob slowly pulls your shirt over your figure, causing the cold air of your shared room to hit the soft skin of your bare chest, making your nipples harden. Leaving you almost completely naked, the only thing covering your body being your panties that were getting wetter by the second.

“Jesus,” Bob whispers, bringing his hand up to softly trace the outline of your right breast. Taking his time as he trails the tips of his fingers through its underside, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He slowly brings his fingers up to play with your hardened nipple, pinching it slightly before using his whole hand to grope your breast.

“Stop teasing.”

“I wasn’t trying to tease,” he replies. You didn’t have to see his face to know there was a huge smile adorning it. “I’m just admiring my beautiful girlfriend.”

You try to move closer to him, wanting to feel something — anything that could help ease the burning in between your legs. You dropped your hand over his left arm that held your waist in place and pushed your hips back against his, a moan escaping you as you grind your ass against his hard cock.

Bob’s self-esteem boosted at the sweet sound you let out, giving your breast a last squeeze before trailing his fingers downwards to where you wanted it the most.

“Please, Bobby,” you pathetically whimpered, your hips involuntarily jutting upwards towards his hand as your body begged for more of his touch.

“Shh, I know, honey,” he hushed your pleas. He trailed his fingers through the plush of your thighs before letting them linger along the hem of your drenched panties. He slowly brings his hand down to cup your covered pussy over the fabric of your underwear, causing another moan to escape you.

You threw your head back against him, your breathing coming out in unsteady pants. You could feel and hear his heavy breathing, too. Feel him getting worked up over the sight of your begging body. He slowly pressed his fingertips down to touch you through the drenched fabric of your underwear, the pressure of his fingers against your covered folds feeling just right.

“God, look at that,” Bob panted. Quickly taking his hand off of your needy core to stare at his fingers, watching them glisten with your slick wetness. “Can’t believe all of this is because of me, sweetheart.” You whimpered at the loss of his hot touch, your hips bucking towards him in a desperate way of trying to get closer.

“Only for you, Bob. Fuck.”

Bob’s chest swelled with pride at your reaction. “Lift your hips, honey,” he ordered, his breath fanning against your cheek as you swiftly lifted your hips and watched him slowly bring your underwear down, finally letting you completely spread your legs as your naked pussy met the cold air of the room.

Bob’s entire world stopped spinning the second he saw your bare body laying against him. He could see your wet pussy glisten with arousal due to the dim light that entered your room through the small crack underneath the door. He had seen you naked a bunch of times already, but it still felt new to him to see a woman’s body be this needy for his touch. It still surprised him that he could be the cause of the wetness that dripped on your bedsheets. He was nothing more than a recovered addict with a shit ton of mental issues and yet… he could cause this. He could somehow make you trust and love him completely.

“Touch me, Bobby,” you begged.

Your boyfriend happily obliged, swiping his long middle finger in between your folds and spreading your wetness through your pleading pussy. “Bob,” you warned.

He let out a shaky laugh, “Sorry, I got you.”

He slowly eased his middle finger in you, feeling the way your walls clenched against it, begging for more. Both of you moaned at the sensation. “You’re so warm, honey,” he moaned.

“More, please.”

Bob used his thumb to press your clit and give it slow circles, feeling the way it pulsated under his finger. Making his blood flow straight to his hard member. You mewled at the feeling of his middle finger pumping in and out of you as his thumb worked on your clit. Your wetness covering his hand.

He took his time pumping into you in an easy rhythm, waiting for your begging body to be ready for him to add a second one. Remembering everything you taught him about pleasing your body. Bob’s free hand came up to grope your tits as he began to drop wet kisses on your neck, sucking on your skin, forgetting that you’d wake up in a few hours to a purple bruise sitting there.

“So good, Bobby,” you whimpered, closing your eyes and letting the pleasure he was causing you take all over your body. His strong hand groping your breasts and his other one working on your pussy making you feel drunk on him. The length of his finger pumping against your soft walls made your body melt against him.

Bob slowly entered his thick ring finger inside your wet heat, causing a moan of his name to escape you. He began to push it in and out, matching the rhythm he had created with his middle finger. Your body shook against him. He added more pressure to his thumb on your clit, circling it faster as he felt your breathing hitch and saw a blissful expression take over your face.

“Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me, you always do,” he praised.

Your body kept shaking and your breathing came out in short gasps. “Relax, honey. Breathe,” Bob reminded you, but it was useless. You could feel him all over your body. Only him. Not The Void. Not your suffering. Only Bob and the love he felt for you.

You could smell your arousal and hear the lewd sounds of his fingers moving in and out your pussy, it all felt too much and too right. The fire you felt in your belly got bigger, causing your hips to buck against Bob’s fingers, wanting more. “I think I’m gonna—” you exhaled.

“I know. I got you,” Bob whispered in your ear. Bob put more pressure on your clit the moment he felt your walls clench and shake against his fingers. You closed your eyes and let the pleasure you were feeling wash all over you.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whined. A hot feeling taking all over you as Bob continued to ease his fingers in you, helping you ride your orgasm. Seconds later, you come all over his fingers, your wet and hot fluids soaking his hand and spilling over your sheets. It was all so hot, Bob couldn’t help but moan at the sight.

Your body shuddered and your legs shook as you kept your eyes closed and came down from your high. Trying to catch your breath and focus on the whispered praises you were getting from Bob that seemed light-years away.

“Are you with me?” Bob asked. You hummed and buried your head on his chest, making him chuckle. Bob slowly pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the overstimulation you were feeling. “I’m sorry, honey,” he apologized before raising his soaked fingers to his lips and groaning as he tasted your hot juices.

You could feel a wave of exhaustion lulling you to sleep. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, I’ll just run to the bathroom real quick for a towel to clean you up. I’ll be right back,” he spoke softly, remembering how you taught him about the importance of aftercare.

Just as he was about to leave for the bathroom you said, “Hey, Bob?” stopping him on his tracks.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you. I’m thankful that Valentina almost killing me brought us together,” you replied in your sleepy state.

“I love you, too. You have no idea,” and you really didn’t. Because he would never let the darkness consume you. He wasn’t going to let you drown in it, the same way you wouldn’t let him drown either.

Bob admired your naked body for a bit more before walking to the bathroom for a towel. He wondered if life had always been this beautiful.

© BRNINGHOUSE. do not translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[fromdove]

RAINCHECK (LITERALLY) ! j.todd x reader

"what? you said I could come over,"

— no warnings, gn!reader (but written with a fem reader in mind.), tooth rotting fluff...you might get cavities

— for my teeny tiny babiest mon cheri (@minorlyatfault),,, i wass going to write j.todd angsty smut but i pussied out like a lil bitch soooo.. sorri. might post it some other day maybe...

— I tried to make jason a little bit more boyish in this because sometimes people forget he's only 19.. like my baby (grown ass man but still my baby)

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

“rainy today. stay dry, don’t forget your hood, hood.” “also. my place is always open if patrol gets too much. keys under the mat if you need it.” “and the couch. and me. obviously.” “also also: i got the cereal. your weird cinnamon one." “figured it might cheer you up. or at least distract you for five minutes.” “no pressure. just… letting you know.” "okokokok sorry bye now."

Maybe he wouldn't show. Maybe he had other plans. Maybe he'd decide the rain was too much. But you couldn’t help but send the message anyway, hoping something might shift.

You didn’t expect much back—maybe a text about a bat emergency or a thumbs up, like always. But even so, there was this soft hope inside you, an old feeling you tried not to acknowledge. Maybe this time, he’d show up in a way that felt like he was staying.

You forget about it. you put the cereal away. you watched the rain start, steady and slow, like the city was being tucked in.

You’d just started boiling water for tea when the knock came.

You paused, staring at the kettle like maybe you imagined the knock. One knock. Then another. You waited. The knock came again. Soft, but certain. You turn the stove off and walk to the door.

you opened the door. and he was there.

The hallway light caught in the rivulets running down his jacket. He blinked at you like he wasn’t sure you’d really open the door. His breath fogged in the space between you.

He was drenched head to toe, water clinging to his leather jacket & dark hair plastered to his forehead.

"You said your place was open,” jason says, almost sheepishly. “Also, you weren't kidding about the rain."

you blink at him. “you walked?”

"the bike hydroplaned. & your street's a no-fly zone." he shrugs. “batboat wasn’t available either."

“I thought about calling,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… didn’t want to give you time to say no.” He laughs, short and dry. “Guess I hoped the rain would work in my favor.”

you took him in: tired eyes, half-smirk, shivering hands. jason todd: the only man alive who could look like a stray dog and a greek statue at the same time.

you let him in before the thunder can answer.

His wet shoes make a soft squelch on the doormat.

You remember when he used to disappear for weeks. When “I’m fine” meant blood and bruises and locked doors. This—just showing up, soaked and tired—was growth.

“you’re lucky I like soggy vigilantes,” you say, walking beside him.

“you love me for my sogginess,” he says while he give you that smirk, leaning his head against yours. “it’s part of my charm.”

"uh huh. very charming. very wet dog chic. now give me your clothes"

“is that a threat or a promise?”

you glared. he smirked wider, teeth glinting as he peeled off his jacket and hoodie, all soaked leather and black cotton, until he was left in a clinging grey tee.

You try not to stare, but his shirt clings like it’s auditioning for a romance novel cover. You turn away before your face betrays you, pretending to care very deeply about the floor.

You hand him a towel. dry clothes. the navy hoodie you stole from him last week.

He doesn’t even look at you when he takes the hoodie, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips and the tiny flicker of recognition in his eyes. he doesn’t comment on it though. Either way, the hoodie fits him just as well as you remember.

He didn’t even ask for it back when he saw you wearing it last time. Just grinned that half-grin and said, “looks better on you anyway.” You pretended not to melt. You’re still pretending now.

Behind you, you hear him rubbing the towel through his hair—brisk, impatient.

And once he’s changed and warm and only slightly damp-haired, he walks over to your cabinet, somehow knowing exactly which one contains the cereal you bought him, takes it and walks back to the couch and flops onto your couch like a man recently rescued from sea.

he hums while he tears the cereal box open to get to the cereal. you go to turn the heater on. You then make your way over to sit next to him on the couch.

“You eat like you’ve been starved,” you mutter. “Maybe I have,” he says, too casually. You glance at him, but he’s already crunching again, like he didn’t just say something that cracked your heart open a little.

You noticed he's stolen your blanket. You blink at him. He grins around a mouthful of cereal like a child who's won a very small war.

But very silently and gently though, he pulls the blanket over and drapes most of it around you—at least 95%, like he’s sacrificing something monumental. You roll your eyes with a smirk. “Seriously? The heater’s on. I’ve been warm and cozy in my apartment all day. You clearly need it more than I do.” You push the blanket back onto him. He doesn’t say a word—just arches one amused brow, the corner of his mouth threatening a smile.

For a moment, you just sit there. Only sound is the rain tapping on the windows & the sound of crunching cereal coming from Jason. his fingers find yours, soft, almost shy. like he’s not used to being held with nothing expected in return.

You let your fingers curl around his. He stiffens—but then relaxes into the touch like it’s a language he’s only just remembering how to speak.

you notice him, hoodie half-swallowed by his broad shoulders, hair only a tiny still damp & curling a little at the ends.

“thanks,” he says finally, like it’s too small a word for what he means. “for what?” “uh y'know" he shrugs, not used to expressing his feelings, he continues though, "letting me in your home. I like being here.”

“you’re allowed to. that’s kind of the point.”

“what’s the point?”

“me,” you say, nudging him with your socked toe. “you. cereal. kisses, ideally.”

that gets his attention. slowly, like he’s afraid it’ll scare you off, he turns to face you.

“kisses, huh?” he says, voice low. teasing. unsure.

you nod. slow. serious. “just one. I’m rationing.”

You try to keep your voice casual, but there's something about the way your heart beats faster that gives you away. You’re rationing kisses now, huh?

“reasonable,” he murmurs. “global supply chain issues and all.”

“Oh, yeah. Kissflation’s out of control these days,” you say, deadpan.

He chuckles, clearly entertained—amusement flickering in his eyes.

His hand then hovers near your jaw, not quite touching. Your heart does a thing in your chest you don’t have words for. And then—finally—he leans in.

he kisses you like it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do tonight.

It’s not perfect—he still carries the faint smell of rain, copper, and those cheap Crime Alley cigarettes—but there’s something achingly human in it. It’s warm, a little unsteady. He kisses like he’s holding on for dear life, like if he stays close enough, long enough, the storm won’t reach him. Like maybe you’re the calm he’s been chasing.

your hands find the edge of his hoodie. his hand finds your cheek. and then he pulls back an inch, breathless and stupidly soft-eyed.

“so,” he says. “that was your one.”

“mm,” you say. “might go over budget.”

he kisses you again. & again. &&& again, like he’s finally decided that being here—being loved—isn’t something he has to earn.

And later, much later, when the rain turns to mist and the cereal gets eaten dry out of the box, he falls asleep against your shoulder, mumbling something that might’ve been thank you, or I love you, or please don’t stop letting me in.

You absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair—it’s soft now that it’s dry, fluffier than you expected. He’s completely still, breathing slow and deep, totally out. He’s melted into your side, bit by bit, like your warmth pulled him in and he just… stayed. Like some part of him finally let go.

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Seven ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, domestic country vibes

Word Count: 3,209

Synopsis: You & Mark are about to set off on a road trip to your hometown in Georgia, and Mark’s about to get a crash course in southern living. The real challenge though? Meeting your family.

a/n: this chapter got a bit long but there was a lot i wanted to do with it – it’s also my FAVORITE so faaar

read part six ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The week before the trip, you were practically glowing.

Mark couldn’t even finish a sentence without you interrupting with something like, “Oh! Did I tell you my mama has a peach tree in the backyard now?” or “Wait till you try Daddy’s smoked brisket—he’s been workin’ on that recipe since before I was born.”

He swore you hadn’t stopped smiling in three days.

You were packing early, too—which Mark found both adorable and mildly terrifying. Every time he came over, you had a new duffel bag half-zipped on your bed. You kept saying things like, “Should I bring my cowboy boots or my church boots?” and “Do you think your lil’ superhero suit’s wrinkle-resistant, baby? ’Cause I got the iron out.”

He was happy just listening. You talked about your brothers like they were a trio of rowdy golden retrievers, about your Meemaw’s cast iron skillet like it was a national treasure, and about your mama and daddy with a kind of love that made Mark ache a little.

“You really think they’re gonna like me?” he asked one night, trying not to sound nervous.

You’d blinked at him like he’d asked if water was wet. “Sugar, you carried a busted water heater outta Meemaw’s crawl space and didn’t even mess up your shirt. They’re gonna adore you.”

—

The sun had barely crested over the rooftops when Mark showed up at your place, backpack slung over one shoulder, a hopeful smile on his face.

“You ready?” he asked, bouncing slightly on his heels. “I figured we could take off by nine—be there by lunch if we fly.”

You didn’t even look up from where you were strapping down the world’s most over-packed cooler in the bed of your pickup.

“We are takin’ off by nine,” you said sweetly. “In my truck.”

Mark paused. “...Wait. We’re not flying?”

You stood up, dusted your hands off, and opened the driver’s side door like the conversation was over.

It hit him slowly. A memory montage in his brain: you sidestepping the subject every time he offered to take you flying… how you suddenly “remembered errands” when he mentioned rooftop views… how your voice got a little too light whenever he said, “Wanna try something cool?”

He blinked. “Hold on. You’re scared of flying.”

You paused mid-sit, one brow arching over your sunglasses.

“I’m not scared of nothin’ sweetheart,” you said, pulling the door shut. “I just prefer transportation where my feet stay firmly on the ground—just like God intended.”

Mark snorted. “So... you’re telling me you’ll hand-feed a goat, slap a copperhead off the porch with a broom, and throw me a wrench from the roof of a barn—but you draw the line at a little air travel?”

You didn’t respond, just gave him a look.

Then the engine roared to life.

“Wait—are you serious?”

You put the truck in gear.

Mark took a step forward. “Babe.”

The tires rolled.

“Babe?!”

You rolled down the window. “I got a seat warm and ready, darlin’. You can either get in or get to joggin’.”

Mark hesitated for one tragic second.

You were already rolling toward the road, and now he had no choice but to run and all but launch himself into the passenger seat, backpack bouncing off his shoulder.

You barely glanced at him as you adjusted the mirror.

“Good choice, sugar.”

He leaned his head back against the seat with exaggerated breathlessness.

“I can’t believe I just got hijacked by a woman who won’t get on an airplane but owns a tire iron named Lucille.”

You reached over and turned the radio dial.

“Buckle up, baby. You’re in my airspace now.”

—

The road trip was an adventure in itself.

Every time you stopped for gas, Mark had to learn a little more about southern road-trip culture. Boiled peanuts were first. His face when he tried them? Priceless.

“...So these are beans. Just... wet beans,” he’d said, eyebrows raised as he chewed through the first batch.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, casually popping a handful in your mouth. “You ain’t a true southerner 'til you’ve had a bag of boiled peanuts and a sweet tea. You’ll get used to ‘em.”

Mark’s response was just a grimace, but he kept eating.

Next stop: barbecue. Of course, because no one goes to the south without trying proper BBQ.

The tiny hole-in-the-wall diner was legendary, and Mark had learned one important lesson: don’t try to compete with southern food. He made the mistake of ordering a side of fries with his pulled pork sandwich, and the waitress side-eyed him so hard he almost felt like he was in an old western standoff.

"You don’t need fries with that, sugar,” she said, placing an extra side of cornbread in front of him.

He never questioned it again.

Somewhere past the Alabama line, the sky had turned into a soft hue of amber-pink. You had one hand on the wheel, the other lazily tapping to the beat of the crackling country radio. The hum of the tires on pavement was steady, soothing—and then, there it was.

A familiar little guitar twang floated through the speakers.

You perked up instantly. “Oh my stars, babe—it’s you!”

Mark, halfway through unwrapping a MoonPie, blinked. “Wait, what?”

You gave him a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the stranger with the big iron on his hip!”

Mark blinked, laughing under his breath. “That makes zero sense.”

“Sure it does,” you said, eyes still on the road as you started to hum along. “Only instead of a shooter, you’ve got fists.” You glanced sideways at him, voice dropping just a touch. “Big. Iron. Fists.”

Mark’s ears turned red instantly.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly. “I’m just sayin’… a man with hands like that?” Your voice was syrup-slow now, just soft enough to ruin him. “I wonder what else those big irons can do.”

Mark straight up choked on air.

He turned toward the window, jaw clenched, trying to reset his whole internal system.

“Okay—nope, nope,” he muttered. “We are driving. Public roads. Laws. Sanity.”

You just smiled, innocent as pie, tapping the steering wheel. “Mhm. Eyes on the road, baby. We got states to cross.”

Mark sank down into the seat, dragging a hand down his face.

—

The sun was just starting to dip below the tree line, that perfect golden hour haze settling over the world as your truck rolled past the weathered “Welcome to Georgia” sign.

Mark was reclined in the passenger seat, a bag of pork rinds half-eaten in his lap, and the windows were down just enough to let in the soft evening breeze.

And right on cue—as if the state itself had been waiting—the radio crackled, and Ray Charles’s voice slid in smooth as honey.

🎶 “Georgia… Georgia…” 🎶

You gasped softly, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my lord, they knew,” you whispered, hand lifting off the wheel like you were praising the radio gods. “They knew we were comin’ home.”

Mark laughed, watching you with that same look he’d worn for the past three states—utterly helpless.

“I feel like I should salute or something,” he murmured.

You nodded solemnly. “Just put your hand over your heart and think about fried chicken. That usually works.”

As the chorus swelled, your voice joined in—not loud, not performative—just soft, like the words had lived in your chest your whole life. Mark listened, barely breathing, and yep—there it was. That twist in his chest.

Every mile brought more pine trees, more wraparound porches, more soft red clay kicked up by old trucks and tractors and summer wind. And then finally—you pulled up the long gravel drive to your family home.

The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over a big old farmhouse with a weathered roof, rocking chairs, and flower boxes blooming bright as July.

And standing dead center in the doorway was your daddy.

Tall. Silent. Holding a .22 like it was just another part of his outfit.

Mark froze halfway out of the truck.

“...Is that—?”

“Yep,” you said, already slamming your door shut. “That’s Daddy.”

Mark blinked. “Does every member of your family answer the door with a gun?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps showin’ up on porches with bruises. It raises questions.”

He swallowed, slowly stepping around the truck like a man walking into a saloon showdown.

“Evening, sir,” he offered, voice polite.

Your daddy didn’t blink. “Name?”

“Mark Grayson.”

Silence. A long, slow scan from head to toe.

“Occupation?”

You coughed behind your hand. “He’s... uh... real strong.”

Another beat.

Then finally—Daddy lowered the gun.

“Strong, huh?” he said gruffly, then turned and walked back inside without another word.

Mark exhaled. “Okay. Cool. That’s fine. Totally normal.”

You looped your arm through his, grinning up at him. “Welcome to Georgia, sugar.”

The screen door creaked open before you could even make it up the steps, and there she was—Mama.

Hair up in hot rollers, apron on, flour dusted on one cheek, and a casserole dish somehow already in her hand.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!” she called. “My baby girl and her mystery man!”

You barely got up the steps before you were swept into a hug that smelled like cornbread and Chanel No. 5. She kissed both your cheeks, then held you at arm’s length, giving you a once-over.

“You eatin’ enough? You look thin.”

“I’m fine, Mama.”

She waved that off and turned her gaze to Mark—and Lord have mercy, that woman could scan a soul. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes? Sharp as Meemaw’s sewing shears.

“And you must be Mark.” She stepped closer, still holding that casserole like it was loaded. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

Mark smiled, sweet and a little nervous. “All good things, I hope.”

She leaned in, patted his cheek, and said, way too gently, “We’ll see.”

Then she swept past, calling over her shoulder, “Y’all come in and wash up. Supper’s almost ready.”

He turned to you, eyes wide. “...She terrifies me.”

You grinned. “Oh, honey. That was her bein’ polite.”

The screen door hadn’t even shut behind you when the thunder of boots hit the hallway.

Three of them.

Your brothers.

Built like linebackers, all flannel and worn jeans and big grins that didn’t quite hide the fact they were absolutely sizing Mark up like he was about to be thrown into a ring.

The oldest, Jesse, clapped Mark on the back hard enough that might’ve dislocate something in the average man. “So you’re the one who’s ‘real strong,’ huh?”

Mark coughed. “I—uh, yeah. I guess.”

The middle one, Beau, grinned. “What’s your max bench, son?”

The youngest, Caleb—sweetest face, meanest grip—smirked. “Bet I could take you.”

Mark blinked. “...Take me?”

“Wrestlin’,” Jesse said cheerfully, already rolling his sleeves up. “Out back. After supper.”

Beau nodded. “It’s tradition.”

Mark turned to you with the slow horror of a man realizing he might be about to fight three generations of corn-fed chaos.

“...Do I have to?”

You were already biting back laughter. “Well sugar, it’d be rude to say no.

—

Dinner smelled like heaven dipped in butter and baptized in bacon grease.

The table was packed. Casseroles, cornbread, sweet tea in mason jars the size of your head, bowls of mac and cheese that looked legally golden, fried okra stacked like tiny crunchy monuments, and a pecan pie cooling on the counter like it knew it was the finale.

Mark was trying his best to keep up. He was polite, he was charming, and he said “ma’am” so many times Mama actually started to smile for real.

He thought—for one shining second—that maybe he was in the clear.

You bumped your knee against his under the table and whispered, “You’re doin’ great, sugar.”

He leaned close. “I think your mama likes me now.”

You gave a small, noncommittal hum.

He blinked. “What?”

Before you could answer, Jesse leaned back in his chair, wiped his mouth, and said, “So, Mark…”

Oh no.

Here it comes.

“You ever wrestled a hog?”

Mark froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “I—no?”

Beau grinned. “Good. Wrestlin’ us should be a breeze, then.”

Mark’s fork dropped to his plate.

“Wait, you guys were serious?”

The chairs scraped back. Jesse was already rolling his sleeves up again. Beau was cracking his knuckles. Caleb was taking off his flannel like this was Friday Night Smackdown: Backyard Edition.

You just sipped your tea, absolutely zero help. “I did say it’d be rude to say no.”

Mark turned to Mama in desperation. “Ma’am? Is this… normal?”

She didn’t even look up from her sweet potato casserole. “Just don’t bleed on the gardenias, dear.”

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the silver hush of moonlight and the warm, golden glow of the porch light to spill across the yard. Crickets chirped their nighttime chorus, the rope swing creaked slow in the breeze, and three full-grown men stretched like they were about to enter a pay-per-view main event.

You leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed and smiling like it was a front-row ticket to the best show this side of the Mason-Dixon. Mark stood in the middle of the yard, looking real concerned for a man who regularly fought intergalactic warlords.

“So this is happening,” he said slowly, glancing between your brothers.

“Oh, it’s happening,” Jesse confirmed, already tossing his cap to the ground.

“No cheap shots, no runnin’, and no weird city kung-fu,” Beau said, rolling up his sleeves. “Just a good ol’ southern-style throwdown.”

Mark blinked. “City kung-fu?”

“You know what I mean,” Caleb added, nodding like that clarified anything. “No yoga nonsense. No pressure point magic. You go down, you stay down.”

Mark looked up at the porch where you stood, very much not helping, grinning.

You just shrugged. “Play nice, sugar.”

Mark sighed and looked back to the brothers. “What’s the win condition?”

“You tap,” Caleb grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Or cry. We ain’t picky.”

You gave Mark an innocent smile. “Told you dinner was just the warm-up.”

Before he could reply, Jesse lunged.

Mark barely dodged, skidding backward in the dirt. “Okay. Okay, we’re doing this!”

Beau came next—broad, fast, and aiming to grapple. Mark sidestepped again, trying not to accidentally dislocate anything, and that’s when Caleb came in low, arms wrapping around his middle like a linebacker with something to prove.

They went down hard.

You let out a gleeful little cheer. “Get ‘em, baby!”

From the ground, Mark shouted, “I’m trying!”

He rolled, kicked off the dirt, and spun out of Caleb’s hold like he’d done this a thousand times. And he had. Just never while holding back this much.

He couldn’t hit hard. Couldn’t fly. Couldn’t suplex Jesse into orbit no matter how tempting it was.

But what he could do?

Use every ounce of technique drilled into him by Cecil’s trainers, by Nolan, by muscle memory and pure, stubborn will.

A quick twist of the hips—Caleb was down. Jesse came from the right—Mark ducked, grabbed, and pinned. Beau tried to tackle him from behind—Mark dropped to the ground, rolled forward, and flipped him like a pancake at Sunday brunch.

The yard went quiet.

Mark stood panting, grass-stained and wild-eyed, hair a sweaty mess, moonlight silvering the sweat on his skin.

You tilted your head, eyes shining. “Well hot damn,” you said, slow and syrupy, “the stranger with the big iron fists delivers.”

Mark looked up at you, dazed, like maybe he was hallucinating the whole thing.

“That was hotter than church with no A/C,” you added, fanning yourself with your hand.

Mark mouthed help me.

And then—WHAM—Caleb launched himself one last time, and Mark caught him mid-air. One-handed.

Set him down like a toddler. Patted his shoulder.

Total silence.

Then Jesse, flat on his back, wheezed, “This man’s made of steel.”

“Boy just caught me like a sack of mulch,” Caleb mumbled, from the ground.

Beau shrugged, picking grass out of his hair. “Hell. Fair and square.”

You clapped politely from the porch. “Good hustle, boys.”

Mark staggered toward you, the scent of sweat and churned-up dirt clinging to him like battlefield glory.

Mama met him at the screen door, holding a plate in one hand and a dish towel in the other. She gave him a long look, then handed over the plate—loaded with leftovers.

“You earned your seat at the table, son.”

Mark blinked. “...Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

As you held the door open and Mark stepped inside, you leaned close, all smiles. “C’mon, baby. I’ll patch you up.”

Mark looked at you like a man reborn.

—

Mark wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing over at you. His heart gave a little jump when you looked right back.

Your smile was soft, but he could see the mischief still dancing in your eyes. “That all you got, sugar?”

He gave you a half-smirk, rolling his shoulders as if to say, no big deal. "Just a warm-up."

You shook your head with a small laugh, stepping closer to him. He could feel the heat of your hand on his arm as you reached up, your fingers brushing his jaw—gently, tenderly. His breathing went still as your lips met the bruise on his cheek, soft as silk.

The world around him blurred as you kissed each tiny little scuff and bruise with that special tenderness that only you could give. He was absolutely done for, and he knew it.

When you pulled back, he was breathless—and not from the fight.

You cocked your head, letting your hands rest on his chest. “You’re lucky you’re made of steel sugar, them boys have been known to break an arm or too,” you said teasingly.

“I’m lucky to have you,” he muttered, still stunned by your care, your touch, your everything.

You hummed a sweet sound, brushing a finger over his lips. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Mark managed a crooked grin. “I think I’m good for now... unless you’ve got something with a little more kick than sweet tea?”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curling into that mischievous smile that had been driving him wild all day. “Oh, I’ve got somethin’,” you purred. “But you ain’t ready for it yet.”

Mark chuckled, though he wasn’t so sure anymore. If you kept looking at him like that, he might just be ready for whatever you wanted to throw his way.

“Careful, darlin’,” you said, slow with heavy lids. “If you keep makin’ eyes like that, we might end up gettin’ in trouble.”

“Already in trouble,” Mark muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. “Think I’ve been in trouble since the moment I met you.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear just enough to send a shiver down his spine. “Well then,” you whispered, the words lingering in the quiet space, “guess we better get real good at bein’ in trouble.”

[cherbii]

FUEL | Ryomen Sukuna

summary -> spending time with your bestest friend yuji always means that his cocky, egotistical big brother is there, breathing down your neck, he’s gets under your skin, and you under him!

warnings -> BESTFRIENDS.BROTHER!Sukuna, language, alcohol use, substance use, smut! p in v, fingering, oral (M), voyeurism, semi-public sex(?), risky sex, high sex, light dacryphilia, intoxicated sex, cnc, (this can be triggering soooo), mdni.

You were tired, but you weren't going to show it. The TV flickered quietly in the background, but your eyes were fixed on your phone. Yuji had disappeared somewhere in the house, and, as usual, Sukuna was lurking around, taking up space like he owned the damn place.

You could hear his boots clattering against the hardwood floors as he made his way into the living room, and then the familiar scent of cigarette smoke wafted through the air. Of course, he'd be smoking in the house. That was just how he was.

You didn’t look up when you heard him drop down onto the couch beside you. He didn’t need an invitation, he just did what he wanted.

After a few moments of silence, you felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it right away. Instead, you stared at your phone, half-focused on whatever was in front of you.

"You still on that thing?" Sukuna's voice was low, casual. There was no attempt to be polite, but there wasn’t any real animosity in his tone either. He was just... there.

You didn’t answer right away, tapping away at your screen for a few seconds longer before finally looking up at him. He was sitting with one arm thrown over the back of the couch, cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers.

"What do you want?" You asked, a little too sharply. You didn’t mean to, but there was something about the way he always invaded your space that got to you.

Sukuna didn’t flinch. He never did. Instead, he took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled the smoke into the air, and then shrugged like it wasn’t even a big deal. "Nothing. Just bored."

You sighed and went back to your phone, trying to ignore the fact that he was now sitting far too close for comfort. It was quiet again, but you could still feel his presence, like a weight you couldn’t shake.

"Don’t you have somewhere to be?" You muttered, not even glancing at him. You didn’t want to look at him; he had this way of making you feel like you were always aware of him. Too aware.

He exhaled another puff of smoke and grinned, but there was no malice in it. "Nah. I’m good."

You glanced at him then, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously? You’re just gonna hang out here and...what, annoy me?"

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes met yours, not in a challenging way but just... observing. "Annoy you?" he repeated, as if it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "That’s rich coming from you."

Your lips twitched, fighting back the urge to snap something back at him. You weren't in the mood for his usual games. And yet, here he was, with that damn smirk on his face, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world. It bugged you.

You exhaled, looking back down at your phone. "Whatever."

A beat of silence passed. Then, out of nowhere, you heard the sound of his lighter flicking. You knew exactly what he was doing before the smoke hit your nose. He always did it when he felt like throwing something into the air just to see how you’d react.

You turned your head sharply. "Seriously? You’re still smoking in here?"

He shrugged, taking another long drag. "Don’t like it? Then leave."

You bit back a retort. You weren’t going to be the one to walk out. Instead, you moved your legs to the side, making just enough room between you two. You knew damn well he was close enough to feel your movements, but you didn’t care. Let him figure it out.

The silence stretched on, but now it felt different. It wasn’t just that you were ignoring him; it was that there was a weird... pressure. You could feel the space between you two closing, even though you weren’t looking at him anymore.

Then he leaned in a little closer, enough that you could feel his warmth, and you cursed inwardly. "You sure you don’t mind me staying here?" His voice was quiet, teasing, but you could tell he wasn’t really asking. He never asked.

You finally broke, tossing your phone to the side and sitting up a little straighter, your eyes narrowing as you shot him a look. "Don’t you have any other friends to bother? I'm not your personal entertainment."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "What makes you think you’re special?" He said, his tone light, almost too light. Like it was all a joke to him.

You leant back against the couch, crossing your arms and looking away. "I don’t," you muttered. "But you sure act like it."

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and rough. It wasn’t a mockery. It was more like... he actually enjoyed the tension you were building, the little game you were playing.

You stood up abruptly, pacing a little just to get away from the weird tension that was building up on the couch. "You can stay or leave, I don’t care. Just stop hovering around me like I owe you something."

You turned to face him, and for a moment, your eyes locked. He still had that same smirk, like he knew something you didn’t. You hated it.

You couldn’t stand it. You took a deep breath, brushing your hair out of your face and then scoffing. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Sukuna just took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m not the one who’s angry."

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t change the fact that, in some weird way, he had a point. As much as you tried to push him away, he was still here, getting under your skin without even trying.

And that annoyed you more than you were willing to admit.

You stayed standing, arms crossed, staring at him like he was the problem. He just sat there, like he had all the time in the world. Flicked his cigarette out and crushed it with his boot, not even looking.

“You’re still breathing my air,” you said, bored.

Sukuna smiled like he was proud of himself. “It’s not yours.”

You shifted your weight onto one leg, not bothering to hide the attitude. “It is when you stink it up.”

He laughed under his breath, barely even moving. “Right. Blame me. Always easier than admitting you like the attention.”

You scoffed, hard. “You’re not that important.”

“Sure,” he said lazily, like he didn’t believe you for a second. “That why you’re still talking to me?”

You didn’t answer, just dragged your tongue over your teeth and looked away. He was good at this. Way too good. Always pushing, always acting like he wasn’t even trying.

Out the corner of your eye, you caught him watching you. That same stupid look, like he knew exactly what he was doing. You wanted to punch him. You also kind of didn’t want him to stop.

“You’re a dick,” you muttered, pulling your phone out just to have something to do.

Sukuna leant forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “And you’re obsessed.”

You snapped your head towards him. “Obsessed?”

He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

You laughed, short and mean. “It doesn’t.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said, voice low, mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.

You stared him down for a second, refusing to look away first. His tattoos were visible under his shirt collar, creeping up his neck. His rings clinked lightly when he flexed his fingers. He didn’t even pretend to act innocent. Sat there like he owned the room. Like you were just some entertainment to him.

You hated him. You really fucking hated him.

But you hated the way your stomach flipped more.

“You need a hobby,” you said finally, bored again.

He smiled properly this time, slow and sharp. “Got one. Annoying you.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. “Get better taste.”

“No fun in that.”

You clicked your tongue, not even pretending to hide your irritation anymore. You could feel the tension thick in the room, but you weren’t gonna be the one who cracked first. “Keep dreaming,” you said as you walked past him.

He laughed quietly, low in his throat. “Already do, baby.”

You flipped him off without turning around. You knew he was smiling.

You could still hear him laughing when you left the room. Annoying. Loud. Like he knew he got to you and loved every second of it.

You ended up in the kitchen, pretending to be busy, opening cupboards for no reason. Anything to not look like you were rattled. You grabbed a glass from the shelf and filled it with water, even though you weren’t thirsty.

Heavy boots thudded across the floor. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Told you,” Sukuna said behind you, voice closer than it should’ve been. “You love the attention.”

You stared down into your glass, rolling your eyes. “You’re fucking delusional.”

He leant against the counter next to you, arms folded. His tattoos peeked out under the sleeves of his black shirt, the metal of his rings catching the light when he shifted. You tried not to look, but he made it impossible, standing there like he was daring you to say something.

You took a sip of water just to stall.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he added, like he was just commenting on the weather.

You set the glass down harder than necessary. “If you’re gonna sit here and chat shit, go do it somewhere else.”

Sukuna smiled lazily. “If I wanted polite conversation, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

You cut him a sideways look. “Good. I’d rather die than small talk you.”

He laughed again, low and rough. Like you’d said something funny without trying.

You hated the way it made you feel warm under your skin.

You hated it even more when he stepped closer, slow like he was giving you time to move away if you really wanted to.

You didn’t.

Not that you’d admit it.

“You always get this flustered around guys?” he asked, voice a little quieter now.

You turned to face him fully, arms crossed tight. “You’re not a guy. You’re a fucking disease.”

He grinned, all teeth. “Harsh. You kiss your mommy with that mouth?”

You shrugged, pretending not to care. “No. But I’m happy to tell you to fuck off with it.”

His eyes dropped, just for a second, like he was thinking about it. About your mouth.

You caught it. You knew exactly what kind of look that was. Your stomach tightened but your face stayed blank. You weren’t giving him shit.

Not yet.

“You’re real mouthy for someone who’s blushing,” he said, voice low.

“I’m not blushing,” you snapped.

He tilted his head a little, smirking. “Right.”

You hated the way he was looking at you. Like he could see right through the bullshit. Like he knew you liked the way he was crowding your space.

“You think you’re so hot,” you muttered, looking away.

Sukuna leant in a little closer, just enough for you to catch the smoke still clinging to his clothes, something sharp and warm underneath it. His voice dropped even lower, almost lazy.

“Never said that,” he murmured. “But you’re thinking it.”

You gripped the edge of the counter so you wouldn’t punch him.

Or kiss him.

Either felt equally possible right now.

He was still standing too close. Still watching you, not even blinking. You swallowed hard and pushed off the counter, brushing past him like he wasn’t even there.

“You wish,” you said over your shoulder.

He chuckled behind you, deep and low. “Every night, baby.”

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t give him the satisfaction. You just kept walking, pretending like you weren’t biting down a stupid smile.

You left him standing there like an idiot and made your way back to the living room, plopping down on the couch without even caring if you looked pissed off. You were pissed off. Mostly at yourself, because your face still felt too hot and your hands were still shaking a little.

Sukuna always did that to you. Always pushed until you wanted to either scream or climb him like a tree. Disgusting. You hated him.

You grabbed the TV remote and flicked through channels mindlessly, pretending you weren’t still thinking about the way he had looked at you. That smug, lazy grin like he already knew how you tasted.

You were still pretending to be fine when Yuji wandered in, arms full of snacks like he was hosting a party for one.

“You better share,” you said without even looking at him.

Yuji laughed and dropped a bag of crisps on your lap. “Chill. I got extras. Where’s my idiot brother?”

You shrugged, acting casual. “Probably outside, giving himself lung cancer.”

Yuji flopped down next to you, already tearing open a packet of sweets. “Freak,” he muttered under his breath. “You’d think being twenty and broke would make him less cocky.”

You smiled a little, sharp. “Delusion runs in the family.”

Yuji shoved your shoulder, nearly knocking you off the couch. “You’re so annoying.”

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, snatching a sweet from his packet without asking.

You sat like that for a few minutes, eating junk and pretending your mind wasn’t still half in the kitchen. Pretending you didn’t notice the heavy footsteps coming back down the hall.

Sukuna sauntered in, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He caught your eye across the room and smirked, slow and dirty, like he knew you were thinking about him.

You immediately looked away, picking at the crisp packet in your lap.

Yuji didn’t notice a thing, bless him. Too busy shoving food in his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Sukuna leant against the doorframe, popping the cap off his beer and taking a long sip. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, like he was bored but entertained at the same time. Like he could see right through you.

You hated it.

You hated the way it made your skin itch under your clothes.

Yuji finally noticed and frowned. “The fuck you looking at?”

Sukuna shrugged lazily. “Nothing worth talking about.”

You scowled at him over your shoulder. “Keep it that way.”

He grinned, wicked and slow. “What, you miss me already?”

You flipped him off without missing a beat.

Yuji snorted a laugh, not realising the tension snapping tight between you and his brother.

“God,” Yuji said, shaking his head. “You two bicker like an old married couple.”

You almost choked. Sukuna just chuckled, low in his chest, like Yuji had said something hilarious. “Don’t you fucking say that ever again.”

“Yeah,” Sukuna added casually, “She’s not my type.”

It was so casual, so offhand, it should not have bothered you.

But it did.

You felt your stomach twist hard and ugly before you could stop it. You shot him a glare, sharp enough to cut glass.

“And you’re not mine, so perfect.”

Sukuna’s smile widened just a little, like he could feel the lie dripping off your tongue.

Yuji groaned. “Christ, I’m surrounded by dickheads.”

You leant over and ruffled Yuji’s hair just to piss him off. “You love it.”

He swatted at your hands, muttering under his breath about finding better friends, but you barely heard him. Your focus kept sliding back to Sukuna, still standing there, still drinking his beer, still watching you like he was thinking about things he shouldn’t say out loud.

It made your whole body feel tight.

It made you want to fight him.

Or worse.

You kicked Yuji’s leg lightly. “Put a movie on or something, loser.”

He grabbed the remote and started scrolling through options while you leaned back into the couch, forcing yourself to relax. Sukuna finally moved, coming to sprawl lazily in the armchair across from you, legs wide, shoulders relaxed like he had not a single thought in his thick skull.

You avoided looking at him.

Mostly.

Eventually Yuji picked some shitty action movie about sorcerers, and settled in, and for a while the three of you sat in a weird kind of peace.

If you could call it that.

Every now and then, you caught Sukuna staring. Not like he was trying to be sneaky about it, either.

Just…watching.

Like he was studying you.

You shifted in your seat, pulling your legs up onto the couch and hugging a pillow to your chest, like that would protect you from whatever game he was playing.

It was almost normal until the movie hit a boring part and Yuji got up to grab another drink.

The second he left the room, it was like the air changed.

You didn’t look at Sukuna.

You could feel him though.

“I’m not your type, huh?” He said, voice low, almost lazy. You didn’t answer. Didn’t move.“You’re full of shit.”

You turned your head slowly, fixing him with your best unimpressed glare. “And you’re full of yourself.”

He smirked, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. “Maybe. Still doesn’t make you less of a liar.”

You squeezed the pillow tighter, resisting the urge to throw it at him.“Do you ever shut up?” You asked, voice flat.

He shrugged, his eyes dropping to your legs tucked up under you, then back to your face. “You’re fun when you’re pretending you don’t want it.”

Your face burned, and you hated it, hated how fast he could get under your skin with just a few words.

You didn’t even try to answer.

You just turned your face back to the TV like he was not absolutely winning this round. He let out a low laugh, almost quiet enough that you could pretend you didn’t hear it.

Yuji came back a second later, plopping down next to you like nothing had happened.

The weirdness melted away just like that, like a light switch flipping off.

Sukuna leant back in his chair again, casual as ever, smirking like he hadn’t just cornered you without even moving from his seat.

You hated him.

You hated yourself more.

The movie droned on. You pretended to care.

But all you could feel was Sukuna’s stupid eyes on you, burning holes through your clothes.

Waiting.

You were so screwed and you knew it.

Yuji fell asleep about twenty minutes later, his head tilted back against the couch, mouth open, breathing loud enough to be annoying if you were not so grateful for the excuse to get up. You stretched your legs out stiffly, your body half-dead from sitting so tense for so long, and walked towards the kitchen under the excuse of needing a drink.

The second you moved, you could feel Sukuna’s eyes drag after you, lazy and heavy like he was sizing you up for something worse than teasing. You yanked open the fridge with more force than necessary, grabbing a random can without even looking at it. Anything to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you rattle.

You cracked it open and took a long sip, pretending you could not feel him moving behind you until he was close enough that you caught the faint smell of cigarettes and something musky that had no business smelling that good. You stayed where you were, hand tight around the can, breathing slow.

“You’re shit at hiding it,” he said, voice right against your ear.

You tipped your head back a little to glance at him, unimpressed. “And you’re shit at minding your business.”

He laughed under his breath, low and amused. “You’re mad ‘cause I called you out?”

You faced forward again, focusing way too hard on the fridge door. “I’m mad because you never shut the fuck up.”

There was a beat of silence, thick enough to drown in, and then his fingers brushed your hip lightly, just a drag of knuckles through your shirt. Casual. Meaningless. Except it wasn’t. You tensed before you could stop yourself, the can of whatever in your hand starting to crumple slightly under your grip.

Sukuna leant in closer, his mouth just above your skin, and said, almost conversational, “Could shut you up easy, if you want.”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose and turned around, bumping your back into the fridge for space. He stood there, one hand still half-raised like he might touch you again if you made the wrong move. Or the right one. His smile was slow and filthy, the kind that made your stomach knot in the worst possible way.

You stared up at him, giving him your nastiest glare. “You’re fucking dreaming.”

He lifted one brow, unbothered. “You sure about that?”

You hated how close he was. You hated how much you wanted to lean in just to see what he would do.

Instead, you shoved past him with a rough shoulder check and stalked back into the living room, dropping onto the couch like you owned it. Yuji was still half-dead to the world, snoring softly.

Sukuna followed at his own pace, sitting himself down in the armchair again, stretching out like he had not just pushed you to the edge of your sanity. He tipped his head back, letting out a long, heavy sigh like he was bored.

You took another long sip from your drink, slouched down in the couch, and stared at the TV without seeing a single thing.

He was still looking at you.

You could feel it like a pressure point between your ribs.

“You’re staring again,” you said without looking at him.

He made a lazy noise. “Maybe I just like what I see.”

You snorted. “Get your eyes checked.”

Sukuna chuckled and tipped his beer back, drinking slow. When he set the bottle down, he leant forward, elbows resting on his knees, tattoos on his arms flexing with the movement. He tapped his fingers against the glass, eyes dragging up and down your body like he was undressing you without even pretending to be subtle about it.

“You always act like you’re too good,” he said, voice low and amused. “But you’re sittin’ there, looking at me like you’re desperate.”

You turned your head sharply to glare at him. “I’d rather die.”

He grinned wide, all teeth and bad intentions. “Bet you’d make dying look good too.”

Your mouth opened to fire something back, but nothing came out. Your brain blanked completely, overloaded by the way he was looking at you, like he already had you cornered and was just waiting for you to realise it.

You snapped your mouth shut and flipped him off again instead, the gesture sharp and tight.

He laughed under his breath, slow and mean. “Cute.”

Yuji snuffled and shifted in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent. You and Sukuna both went still, frozen like kids caught stealing, waiting for him to fully wake up, but after a second, he settled again, snoring louder this time.

You exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through your hair, feeling half-strangled by the tension.

You should leave.

You should run home, slam the door behind you, lock it, throw your phone in the river and never come back.

But you stayed.

You stayed because you were an idiot.

You stayed because part of you wanted to see how far he would push.

Sukuna stretched lazily again, his shirt riding up a little to flash more of the tattoos inked across his stomach and hip. He caught you looking and grinned.

You scowled and ripped your gaze away, pretending your face was not burning up again.

He sat forward, resting his arms on his thighs, voice low. “You keep looking like that and I’m gonna think you’re begging for it.”

You shot him a flat look. “In your wet dreams maybe.”

He laughed, the sound rough and real. “That a promise?”

You threw a cushion at his head. It bounced off and landed on the floor uselessly.

He just smiled wider, picking it up and tossing it back onto the couch like it was nothing. You both sat there, staring each other down, the shitty action movie blaring in the background, Yuji snoring like a buzzsaw.

It should have felt stupid.

It should have felt awkward.

It didn’t.

You dropped your head back against the couch and closed your eyes. “I fucking hate you.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna drawled. “That why you keep coming back?”

You flipped him off without even opening your eyes.

He just laughed again, warm and low and absolutely infuriating.

You stayed like that, pretending to nap, pretending not to feel his eyes raking over you every chance he got, pretending not to want to push him harder just to see if he would finally snap.

Because you were stupid.

Because you were already too far gone to back out now.

Because he was right.

You were absolute shit at hiding it.

And he knew it.

Yuji snored through the rest of the night, only waking up around two in the morning looking confused and bleary, asking why you were still there. You flipped him off half-heartedly, muttering something about falling asleep during the movie, and he just shrugged and stumbled off to bed, not even questioning it. 

Sukuna watched the whole thing from his armchair, that lazy, unreadable look back on his face like he hadn't spent the last hour practically eye-fucking you from across the room. You shoved your feet into your shoes and grabbed your bag, feeling his eyes trail after you the whole way to the door. He didn’t say anything, not even when you glanced back at him once. He just smirked, the kind of smirk that stayed burned into the back of your brain even after you slammed the front door shut behind you.

You didn’t sleep well the rest of that night.

The next morning, you were sprawled across your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone when Yuji’s name popped up on your screen. You answered without thinking, holding the phone against your ear while staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Oi,” Yuji said, sounding way too cheerful for someone who had snored like a dying animal all night. “What’re you doing today?”

You grunted. “Recovering from your sleepover of hell.”

He laughed. “You’re dramatic. Anyway, listen. My parents are doing this BBQ thing later. They said you can come if you want.”

You made a face even though he couldn’t see it. “Sounds boring.”

“Free food.”

You paused. “Alright, sold.”

“Good. Come round around three.”

You tossed your phone onto the bed and flopped onto your stomach, groaning into your pillow. You could already feel it, the way this was going to spiral. You could deal with Yuji’s parents. They loved you. You could even deal with Yuji being a loud dumbass.

It was Sukuna that was the problem.

You didn’t know if he would even be there, but knowing your luck, he’d be lounging around the backyard like he owned the place, smoking something cheap and acting like you were the one who kept throwing yourself in his way.

Still, you got up. Got dressed. Told yourself it was just another afternoon. Nothing you couldn’t handle.

You rocked up to the house a little after three, kicking the front door lightly with the toe of your boot. It swung open almost immediately, Yuji’s stupid grinning face appearing.

“You’re late,” he said.

You pushed past him into the hallway. “Cry about it.”

The house smelled like grilling meat and cheap beer, and you could hear laughter from the backyard. You kicked your shoes off and wandered through the house like you owned it, tossing a casual wave to Yuji’s mum when she popped her head out of the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “Go grab yourself a drink outside, we’re just getting started.”

You thanked her and pushed open the sliding door to the backyard.

The sun was bright and hot, beating down on the lawn. There were a few folding chairs scattered around, a big cooler packed with drinks, and Yuji’s dad manning the grill like it was a life-or-death situation. A couple of Yuji’s cousins were lounging around too, kicking a football between them half-heartedly.

And, of course, Sukuna was there.

He was perched on the back fence like some kind of feral cat, cigarette dangling from his fingers, head tilted back to soak up the sun. He had a black shirt stretched tight across his chest, sleeves shoved up to show off the mess of tattoos winding up his arms. His rings caught the sunlight when he tapped ash onto the grass below.

He looked like he didn’t have a care in the fucking world.

You grabbed a drink from the cooler and cracked it open, pretending not to notice him. You could feel his eyes find you anyway, lazy and slow, dragging over your legs, up your body, stopping at your mouth like he was considering saying something filthy.

You flipped him off without even looking at him properly, raising your drink in a mock toast.

He chuckled low under his breath, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, and you could feel the smugness coming off him in waves even from a distance.

Yuji came barreling out behind you, grabbing two plates from the stack by the grill. He bumped his shoulder into yours hard enough to slosh your drink a little.

“Yo, get me a drink, would you?” He asked, already piling food onto his plate.

You rolled your eyes but reached back into the cooler, grabbing another can and tossing it at him without much care. He fumbled it and almost dropped his food, swearing under his breath.

“Dickhead,” you said sweetly.

He shot you a look but didn’t argue, too busy stuffing half a burger into his mouth in one bite.

You wandered a little further into the yard, away from the noise. Sukuna slid off the fence lazily, crushing his cigarette under his boot, and strolled over like he had all the time in the world.

You caught the slight smirk on his face and scowled.

“What now?” You asked, voice flat.

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets, muscles flexing casually under his shirt. “Nothing. Just admiring the view.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re such a creep.”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the smoke and the cheap cologne he wore, the one that always made your stomach do dumb things.

“You’re the one staring.” He murmured, voice just low enough that only you could hear it over the shouting and laughter from the rest of the yard.

You took a long sip of your drink and stared up at him, letting a slow, obnoxious smile spread across your face. “Yeah, keep dreaming, lover boy.”

He let out a quiet laugh, teeth flashing. “I ain’t the one dreaming, brat.”

You bumped your shoulder into his as you brushed past, heading towards the little shade the tree in the corner of the yard offered. He followed, of course, like a fucking shadow you could never shake.

Yuji shouted something from across the lawn, waving you over, but you ignored him for a second, too busy leaning back against the rough bark, pretending to be unbothered.

Sukuna stood in front of you, just close enough that if you shifted a little forward, you’d be touching. He lifted his can to his lips, drinking slow, watching you over the rim.

“Y’know,” he said casually, voice rough and lazy, “you keep throwing all that attitude ‘round and you’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

You batted your lashes at him, fake sweet. “Oh no. Whatever will I do.”

His mouth twitched, barely holding back a grin. He leant down a little, bringing his face close enough that you could feel the heat off his skin.

“Could show you what happens when you mouth off like that,” he said, voice low and dangerous and thick enough to choke on.

You tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes, pretending to think. “Sounds boring.”

Sukuna laughed properly then, deep and rough, and you hated how much you liked the sound of it.

Yuji shouted again, louder this time, waving his arms like an idiot. You sighed loudly and shoved off the tree, brushing past Sukuna again, your shoulder dragging against his chest for half a second longer than necessary.

You barely made it halfway across the yard before Yuji grabbed you, shoving a plate into your hands and steering you towards the patio like he thought you were gonna pass out.

"Eat before you die or something," he said, half laughing, half serious, collapsing into the chair next to you.

You rolled your eyes, balancing the plate on your lap, and picked at it with zero enthusiasm.

"You’re so dramatic," you muttered, stabbing a sausage like it owed you money.

Yuji grinned, stretching out in the sun, already halfway through a burger like he hadn’t eaten earlier. You barely listened to him ramble about some cousin drama when Sukuna dropped into the chair on your other side.

He didn’t say anything, just slouched low, legs wide, another cigarette hanging from his fingers like he couldn't be bothered to care about anything. His knee knocked against yours, slow and heavy, and he didn’t move it.

You shifted just enough that your leg pressed back against his without thinking. He flicked his cigarette into the grass and leant back like he hadn’t noticed, but you could feel it. That awareness.

You took a slow bite of potato salad just to have something to do with your hands, eyes glued to your plate while Sukuna practically radiated heat next to you.

"Swear you two are gonna kill each other one day," Yuji said, laughing like it was hilarious, completely missing everything.

You hummed under your breath, pretending to listen. Sukuna didn’t say anything either, just scratched lazily at the tattoo on his wrist, the ink stark against his skin.

The sun dropped lower, the air getting heavy and sticky, and someone finally shouted about swimming. You glanced up, squinting towards the pool where a couple of people were already dragging towels out.

Yuji perked up like a kid. "You brought stuff, right?" He asked, looking at you.

You shrugged, chewing the inside of your cheek. "Might’ve thrown something in the car."

"Go get it then!" He said, already kicking his shoes off. "We’re swimming."

You dragged yourself out of the chair, tossing your plate onto the table, feeling Sukuna’s gaze dragging over you as you stalked off. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. You could feel it.

It took you a minute to grab your bag out the car, digging through all the random crap until you found your bikini stuffed into the bottom. You hesitated, checking your reflection in the car window, fixing your hair half-heartedly before heading back across the yard.

Yuji had already cannonballed into the pool fully clothed, because of course he had. You laughed under your breath, shaking your head, and ducked into the bathroom to change.

The bikini was a little tighter than you remembered, nothing insane, but enough that you felt a flicker of self-consciousness before you stomped it down. Whatever. You looked good. If anyone had a problem with it, they could choke.

When you came back out, the yard had shifted properly into chaos. Music was louder. Cousins who showed up, were screaming. Someone was grilling again.

And Sukuna was standing by the edge of the pool, cigarette dangling from his mouth, arms folded across his chest, watching everything like he was above it.

His eyes slid over to you the second you stepped out, slow and deliberate, taking you in from head to toe like he had all the time in the world.

You ignored the way your stomach flipped, walking right past him towards the shallow end.

Yuji popped up out of the water, hair plastered to his face.

"Get in!" He yelled. "It’s warm, I swear!"

You raised an eyebrow. "You say that, then I dive in and get hypothermia."

Yuji just grinned, evil, and splashed a wave of water at you that soaked your legs instantly.

"You’re such a dick," you said, laughing despite yourself.

You backed up a step, wiped water off your thigh, and caught Sukuna still watching you. He hadn’t moved, still leant against the fence like he was bored out of his mind, but the cigarette was gone now, and his eyes were sharper.

"What, you too scared to swim?" you said, loud enough that he could hear.

He huffed a laugh, pushing off the fence, taking a few lazy steps closer.

He looked you up and down again, slow enough to make your skin heat, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.

Sukuna gave you an uninterested glance, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. The orange light from the tip glowed against the fading sunlight, making his features look even sharper, more defined.

He let out a small huff of laughter, the sound almost condescending. "Not scared," he muttered. "Just got nothing to prove."

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Doesn't seem like you're too confident."

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding it under his heel before pushing off from the fence. His eyes met yours with that bored expression, and you couldn’t help but feel a small shiver run down your spine. Every movement was so effortless, so fucking confident.

Sukuna walked toward the pool, not hurrying, just moving in that slow, deliberate way of his. You watched, eyes following his every step, the way his broad shoulders rolled beneath the tight t-shirt he wore, how his jeans clung to his legs. He was still fully dressed, but you couldn’t deny the attraction, the way he had this almost arrogant charm about him.

He stopped just before the edge, glancing at you with a smirk that made you narrow your eyes. "You really want me to get in that bad?" he said, his tone low, like a challenge.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, you’re the one who’s all talk, aren’t you?"

He shrugged, slowly beginning to untie his jeans. The sight of him pulling his pants off, revealing just enough of his toned body in his boxers, made your heart race a little faster than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t trying to tease you directly, but every movement he made was calculated to fuck with your head.

Without breaking eye contact, Sukuna stepped into the pool, the water splashing around his legs as he moved in. He took a moment to settle in, leaning against the poolside casually like he didn’t give a shit, before glancing at you.

“You gonna come closer, or are you just gonna stare?" He said, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

You smirked, swimming away from the edge and kicking your legs to move toward him. "What, you think I’m scared?" you shot back, trying to cover up the heat that was rising in your face.

He watched you with an unreadable expression, but his lips curled slightly, just enough to show he was enjoying whatever the hell this was. "If I wanted to play games, I'd be in the shallow end, brat."

You rolled your eyes, but the insult didn’t sting. In fact, it made something stir in your stomach, but you weren't about to admit that. "You’re the one who’s acting like you’re too good for this," you muttered, floating lazily just out of his reach.

Sukuna snorted, shaking his head as he pushed off from the poolside. "I’m just waiting for you to stop pretending."

You gave him a look, ready to shoot back with something witty, but the tension between you both was almost unbearable. It was like an electric current, making everything feel sharper. He was too close for comfort, but you weren’t going to let him see how much it affected you.

"Is this your idea of fun?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you kept your distance, but not enough to lose the proximity.

"Something like that," he said, his tone still casual, but there was something else in the way he looked at you, like he was studying you. He leant in closer, but you weren’t about to flinch away from him. Not this time.

You were about to snap back, but Yuji swam by, his splash breaking the moment between you two. "Stop being weird, guys!" he called, completely oblivious to the tension building.

You glared at him, but your eyes flicked back to Sukuna, who had an even deeper smirk on his face now. He wasn’t finished with you yet.

Sukuna leant back against the edge of the pool, arms folded, completely unbothered. "Guess we'll see if you’re just talk," he said, voice low, challenging. He didn’t need to say more, and you hated how that challenge in his eyes made something in you want to rise to the occasion.

You splashed some water at him, but he just laughed, easy and low.

The sun dropped fast after that, the backyard slipping into that lazy, golden hour glow.

Everyone climbed out of the pool, dragging towels over themselves, wandering off toward the porch where the food and noise still lingered. You dried off too, tugging on a hoodie over your swimsuit, feeling the chill start to creep into the air.

Yuji barely lasted another hour. He crashed face-first on the couch inside, mumbling something about needing a nap, leaving you outside with a few of the older cousins messing around near the fire pit. You stayed back, leaning against the railing, not quite ready to go in yet.

You caught Sukuna's eye across the patio. He jerked his chin toward the side of the house. You didn't even hesitate before following.

Behind the house, it was darker, the light from the fire barely reaching. Sukuna pulled out a crinkled baggie from his back pocket, fishing out a half-rolled blunt. He lit it up with a lazy flick of his lighter, smoke curling out between his lips as he leaned against the fence.

"You ever smoked?" He asked, voice low, lazy.

You shook your head, trying not to fidget.

He grinned around the blunt, taking another long drag before blowing it out slow. "Come here, brat."

You moved closer, heart hammering a little harder with every step. Sukuna held the blunt up between two fingers but didn’t hand it over.

"Open your mouth," he said, tone just shy of a command.

You hesitated a second too long, and his hand came up, gripping your jaw lightly, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. The pressure was firm, tilting your head just enough to make you feel how easy it was for him to move you if he wanted.

"Don’t make me tell you again," he muttered, smirk curling.

You glared but parted your lips, and he brought the blunt close, tapping it against your bottom lip. You sucked in a breath, trying to pull the smoke in like you’d seen him do, but it burned immediately, making you cough and turn your head.

Sukuna’s fingers tightened a little under your jaw, keeping you from pulling away.

"Nuh-uh," he murmured, thumb brushing the hollow of your throat now. "Come on, baby. You can take more than that."

Your face burned, but you stayed still. He moved in closer, his chest brushing yours, smoke clinging to the space between you. He held the blunt to your lips again, his other hand sliding up to the side of your neck, fingers curving loosely around your throat, not squeezing, just there, heavy and sure, like a silent threat.

"Deep breath," he said, voice dropping even lower. "Don’t fight it."

You inhaled again, slower this time, feeling the smoke burn through your lungs. His fingers flexed slightly against your throat, almost like he could feel every shaky breath you took. When you coughed again, trying to pull back, his grip firmed just enough to keep you there, not hurting, just controlling.

"That's it," he muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes. "Good fuckin' girl. Look at you."

You blinked up at him, chest tight from the smoke and something else you couldn’t name. His thumb stroked slowly over your throat once, sending a violent shiver through you.

He let you go after a second, taking the blunt back and hitting it deep, exhaling the smoke in a slow cloud over your head.

"Not so innocent now, are you?" He said, smirking wider.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to ignore how lightheaded you felt, or the way his touch still buzzed against your skin.

"Thought you said you were teaching me," you snapped, voice rough.

Sukuna just laughed, low and dark.

"I am," he said, tapping ash off the end lazily. "Lesson one—," he leant down, voice brushing your ear, "—you listen when I tell you what to do."

Your knees wobbled a little, but you planted your feet, glaring up at him.

"Lesson two?" You asked, breathless despite yourself.

He brought the blunt back to your mouth, eyes gleaming.

"Lesson two," he said, "take more."

You gave him a stubborn look, but when he tilted the blunt closer, you leant in. His fingers brushed your mouth again, steady, coaxing. You dragged the smoke deeper this time, trying to hold it like he showed you, but the burn clawed at your chest, making you cough again. He chuckled low, hand sliding to the back of your neck like he couldn’t help himself, thumbing at the soft skin there.

"Not bad, baby," he murmured. "You’ll learn."

You exhaled shaky, blinking up at him, the world starting to tilt in slow, syrupy circles. The high hit fast, a warmth spreading through your veins, loosening everything. Sukuna was still too close, heavy-lidded eyes pinning you in place like he was sizing up his next move.

He brought the blunt to his own mouth, taking another lazy drag, watching you over the ember glow. The night buzzed low around you, the faint laughter from inside fading into nothing, just you and him out here, hidden by the dark.

"You feel it yet?" He asked, voice dropping even more.

You nodded, words sticking in your throat. You felt it alright. Every brush of air, every look he gave you, it all hit sharper, heavier.

He grinned, like he could see it happening. "Good." He flicked ash to the side, then tilted his head at you, tapping the blunt against his thigh. "C’mere."

You hesitated, just a blink, but he saw it. His smirk deepened, daring you.

"You scared, brat?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, stepping in till your toes bumped his. His hand shot out, fingers curling slow around your wrist, tugging you closer until you nearly stumbled into his chest.

"There she is," he muttered.

You could smell the smoke on him, feel the heat off his skin, and it made your head swim worse than the weed. His thumb stroked idle circles against your wrist, his other hand holding the blunt loose by his side.

"You want another hit?" He asked, voice rough and lazy.

You nodded before you could second-guess yourself. His grip on your wrist shifted, and before you could process it, he tipped your chin up with two fingers. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either, just firm enough to make you feel how much stronger he was.

He brought the blunt up again but paused, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes.

"Open."

You obeyed, breath shallow.

Instead of putting the blunt directly between your lips, he took a long pull off it himself, then leant down, exhaling the smoke slow into your mouth. His fingers stayed on your jaw, keeping you there, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip almost absentmindedly.

The secondhand hit was stronger, hotter, curling down your throat and making you shudder. He didn’t pull back right away either, like he was daring you to move first. His breath was hot against your mouth, and your heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your ribs.

You coughed once, the smoke scratching down your throat, but he didn’t let go. If anything, his hand shifted, fingers skimming down to your neck again, wrapping around it like he was reminding you who was controlling the pace.

"There you go," he murmured. "Getting better already."

Your knees almost buckled, but you dug your nails into the front of his hoodie to keep steady. His grin turned a shade darker, pleased.

"Bet you’re real good at taking things when you want to be," he said, tone sharp with meaning.

You glared up at him, cheeks burning, but you didn’t back off. Not even when his fingers flexed lightly around your throat again, just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

"You gonna let go or what?" You rasped, hating how wrecked your voice sounded.

Sukuna huffed a quiet laugh, finally letting his hand drop, brushing his knuckles down your collarbone like he couldn’t help himself.

"Maybe," he said, voice all low threat and lazy promise, "if you ask nice."

You wanted to shove him, to wipe that smug look off his face, but your head was swimming, your skin buzzing, and all you managed was a weak shove to his chest that didn’t even move him.

He leant in closer instead, his mouth right by your ear now.

"You high yet, baby?" he asked, a dangerous rasp in his voice.

You nodded, breathless.

He smiled against your skin, slow and dark.

"Good," he murmured. "Means you’ll stop runnin’ your mouth for once."

You were too spun out to even come up with a comeback. He pulled back, satisfied, tapping ash off the blunt and taking another drag like he hadn’t just ruined you without even trying.

The night air felt heavier now, wrapping around you both like a secret.

Sukuna took one last hit, flicked the end of the blunt to the dirt, and ground it out under his boot. Then he grabbed your wrist again, tugging you after him with an easy yank.

"Where—.”

"Shut up," he said, not unkindly.

He pulled you behind the shed, away from the light, hidden even more.

And you let him.

"You look wrecked," he said, almost admiring.

Sukuna flicked the blunt into the dirt, grinding it under his boot like he could not be bothered. His attention was all on you now, his stare heavy, pinning you where you stood.

"You did this," you muttered, trying to sound pissed, but it came out breathless, shaky.

He laughed under his breath, stepping closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering something small. "Yeah," he said, "and you fucking liked it."

You barely had time to react before his hand caught your chin, rough fingers digging in just enough to make you feel it. His thumb dragged along your bottom lip, slow, filthy, making you shiver where you stood.

“You got something smart to say, brat?" he muttered.

You shook your head, your breath catching when his thumb pushed just slightly into your mouth, making your lips part around it. His smirk deepened like he could read every filthy thought running through your mind.

Without warning, his other hand wrapped around your throat, not choking exactly, just holding, just reminding you he could. You barely had a second to gasp before he yanked you closer and crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like he meant to leave bruises.

It was messy, rough, all teeth and tongue and heat. He bit at your lip until you whimpered, forcing you to open for him, forcing you to let him in. His hand tightened slightly at your throat, controlling the kiss, making you weak and dizzy in the best way.

You clutched at the front of his hoodie, desperate for something to hold onto as he kissed you harder, rougher, grinding you back against the wall of the shed. His body was all heat and muscle, caging you in completely, making it clear you were not going anywhere until he was done with you.

"You taste fucking sweet," he rasped against your lips, his breath hot and ragged.

Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was back on you, kissing down your jaw, dragging his teeth lightly along your throat. His hand slipped up under your shirt, palm rough against your bare stomach, making you shudder.

"You gonna let me have you, baby?" he muttered against your skin, voice dark and low.

You barely managed a nod. Words were beyond you now.

"Good girl," he growled, biting lightly at the junction of your neck and shoulder, leaving a blooming bruise behind.

He pulled your top up and off in one rough tug, tossing it somewhere behind him. His mouth was on you immediately, licking, sucking, biting at your chest like he was starving. His hands roamed everywhere, rough palms dragging over your ribs, squeezing your waist hard enough to leave fingerprints.

Your shorts and bikini came down next, another rough tug, leaving you bare against him, your skin prickling in the cool night air.

He stepped back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, possessive, hungry.

"Fuck," he muttered, raking his gaze over you. "Knew you’d be a fucking sight."

His mouth crashed onto yours again, hungrier this time, desperate. His hips ground against you, slow and filthy, letting you feel how hard he was through his jeans.

"You want it, baby?" he rasped between kisses. "Say it."

"I want it," you whispered, wrecked.

He chuckled low against your throat, the sound rough and mean. "Fucking course you do."

Sukuna stepped back just enough to tug his hoodie over his head and toss it aside, revealing the heavy lines of muscle under his tattoos, his body almost glowing in the low light from the lamp. He didn’t give you long to stare, though. He grabbed you by the chin again, rough, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, dark with something feral.

"Get on your knees," he said, voice so calm it made you shiver.

You dropped instantly, like his voice had stripped the strength right out of your legs, sinking to the dirt with a quiet gasp. Sukuna stood over you, tall and imposing, the glow of the lamp throwing wicked shadows across the heavy muscle of his chest, the black tattoos that carved along his arms and stomach looking even more dangerous in the dim light.

He undid his belt with one hand, slow and deliberate, while the other gripped your hair at the base of your skull, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The metallic click of the buckle and the rasp of the zipper sounded deafening in the charged silence, your breath catching as he pushed his jeans down his hips.

When he pulled himself out, your mouth dried instantly, thick and heavy, flushed dark with arousal, the same black ink that marked his body swirling down the base of his cock. The intricate lines curled along the thick shaft, brutal and gorgeous, and at the tip, a glint of silver caught the light, a piercing that made your stomach clench violently.

Sukuna pumped himself lazily in his fist once, precum already beading at the slit, smearing over the silver bead as he dragged it down.

"Open," he said, almost lazy, thumbing at your bottom lip with rough fingers, smearing a stripe of precum across your mouth.

You obeyed instantly, cheeks burning, thighs pressing together under the weight of his stare. Sukuna guided his cock forward, tapping it lightly against your tongue, the cool kiss of metal and the slick heat of him making your stomach tighten. He chuckled low in his chest, then pushed forward slowly, filling your mouth inch by inch, making you stretch around him.

You could feel everything, the throb of veins, the heavy pulse against your tongue, the brush of the piercing dragging lightly as he fed himself deeper, the weight of him suffocating and perfect.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, the words rough and strained. "Mouth is fucking made for this."

He didn’t let you set the pace. His fingers tightened cruelly in your hair, forcing your head down as he rocked his hips forward, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat. You choked, spit spilling down your chin already, but Sukuna only smirked wider, chest heaving.

He started thrusting, slow and punishing, making sure you felt every thick inch, the piercings dragging deliciously against the sensitive parts of your mouth until your eyes were watering and your lungs burned with the effort.

"You can take it," he muttered, voice dark and coaxing, his hand sliding to the side of your throat, feeling the bulge of himself under your skin. "Come on, brat. Don’t tell me this is too much for you."

You whimpered around him, desperate, and the sound made him grunt, his hips jerking forward hard enough to make you sway. He dragged your head back with a firm tug, then shoved back in just as rough, the motion filthy and wet.

Your throat spasmed around him, spit and precum dripping freely now, your body trembling from the intensity, but you didn’t want him to stop, you needed more, needed everything he gave.

"That’s it," Sukuna growled, dragging your head down with both hands now, the piercings and tattoos catching against your tongue and lips with every brutal thrust. "Fucking take it. Show me how good you can be."

He didn’t let up, fucking your mouth with slow, devastating thrusts that left you choking and gasping. Every time you gagged around him, he praised you, muttering filth into the heavy night air, telling you you were his good girl, his perfect little cocksleeve. His hand squeezed lightly at your throat again, not enough to hurt but enough to make you dizzy, his cock pulsing against your tongue.

"Messy little thing," he rasped, voice dripping with pride. "Bet your pussy’s fucking dripping, just from choking on my cock."

You moaned helplessly, the sound vibrating around him, and Sukuna hissed through his teeth, his rhythm picking up, driving harder, deeper. His abs flexed with the force of each thrust, tattoos tightening over muscle, and you could feel the thick drag of the piercing every time he pulled back, slick and hot and filthy.

He was using your mouth without mercy, fucking deeper every second, his body straining with control as you whimpered and clawed at his thighs, needing something to ground yourself.

"You can take more," he muttered, rough and hoarse, his hand gripping your throat tighter for a second, just enough to make you see stars. "You’re my fucking good girl, aren’t you? You want it all."

You nodded weakly, drooling and wrecked, and Sukuna groaned, the sound low and broken, before he started thrusting even harder, grinding into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. His hips snapped forward with brutal precision, the piercings catching and dragging inside you, spit flying from your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You barely noticed anything but the heat, the scent of smoke and him, the filthy sound of your wet, messy throat taking him in over and over.

"Gonna cum down that pretty fucking throat," he growled, his voice wrecked, hips starting to stutter. "Gonna make you swallow every fucking drop."

You whimpered encouragement, hollow and desperate, and Sukuna snarled low, burying himself fully down your throat. His cock twitched hard against your tongue, hot, thick spurts of cum flooding your mouth.

You struggled to swallow all of it, some of it leaking past your lips, dripping down your chin, but Sukuna only held you there, groaning deep in his chest, his hand cradling your head almost possessively.

When he finally pulled out, his cock slipped from your swollen lips with a filthy wet sound, and you gasped harshly, chest heaving, a thick string of spit and cum connecting you to him. Sukuna stared down at you, his cock still half-hard, tattoos gleaming in the light, the silver piercing at his tip glinting wickedly.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered roughly, grabbing your chin and smearing the mess across your cheeks with his thumb, filthy and proud. "My fucking mess."

Before you could even catch your breath, he yanked you up by the hair and crushed his mouth against yours, filthy and bruising, tasting himself on your tongue. His kiss was brutal, teeth scraping, tongue demanding, his hands bruising your hips as he pulled you flush against him, grinding the heavy weight of his cock against your stomach like he was already thinking about the next round. When he finally pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours, he grinned, dark and dangerous.

"And that's just the fucking start, brat," he rasped. "I’m not even close to finished with you yet."

You tried to steady yourself, but his hands were already back on you, rough fingers sliding down the curve of your arse, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints. He bent his head, dragging his teeth down your throat, and you arched into him without thinking, gasping when he sucked a brutal mark just below your jaw.

Your hands scrabbled against his bare shoulders, nails digging in, but it only made him groan low in his chest like you were doing exactly what he wanted.

"Fuck, you’re needy," he muttered against your skin, voice almost amused, the heat of it burning into you.

You opened your mouth to snap back something sharp, but it dissolved into a breathy whine when he hooked one arm under your thigh and hitched your leg up around his hip, pinning you between him and the rough wall behind you.

"You gonna be good for me now?" he said, grinding his cock against you again, dragging the head right against your soaked pussy, teasing but not giving you anything real yet. "Or you gonna keep fuckin’ running that mouth?"

You couldn’t help it, you tilted your chin up, breath hitching. "Maybe I like giving you a hard time," you said, voice thinner than you wanted it to be, the ache between your legs getting worse by the second.

Sukuna grinned, wide and wicked. "You like being fucking difficult, yeah? That’s alright. I’ll make you beg soon enough."

You shivered, the filthy promise in his tone sinking deep. Your fingers tangled in the messy pink of his hair, yanking him back down to kiss you again, sloppier this time, both of you panting against each other’s mouths. His hands slid between your bodies, fingers finding your cunt with an obscene ease, spreading the wetness over your clit, slow, lazy circles that had you gasping against his mouth.

"Already this wet?" he muttered, dragging his mouth down your throat again, nipping, biting, soothing with his tongue. "Fuck, you’re easy, baby."

"Shut up," you mumbled weakly, nails digging into his back, but you couldn’t even pretend you were unaffected when he slipped two thick fingers inside you, fucking you open without mercy, his palm grinding against your clit.

"You gonna take me like this?" he rasped against your ear, thrusting his fingers harder, watching the way you writhed against him. "Out here, where anyone could fucking see? Hm?"

You whimpered, clenching around his fingers, hips rocking against his hand like you couldn’t help yourself. "Please?” You gasped, heat pooling in your stomach fast and filthy. "Want it."

He chuckled darkly, pulling his fingers free and dragging them across your lips. "Taste yourself," he ordered, and you obeyed without thinking, sucking his fingers into your mouth, moaning around them as you tasted yourself.

His eyes burned into you, darker than you had ever seen them, his cock twitching against your stomach.

"Fuck, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, stepping back just enough to fist his cock, stroking it slow, letting you see the piercings glinting in the low light, the thick black tattoos wrapping around the shaft. Your mouth went dry, cunt clenching around nothing.

"You want it?" he asked, voice a low rumble, fisting himself slow, teasing, smirking when your hips bucked towards him without permission.

"Yes," you breathed, desperate, wrecked.

"Say you fucking need it," he said, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to make your lips part, forcing you to stare into the molten hunger burning behind his eyes. His cock was thick and heavy against your thigh, the piercings cool against your skin in the night air, the black tattoos winding up his shaft like marks of something dangerous, forbidden.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your mind hazy and weak with need, but you still managed to whisper it, desperate and filthy and wrecked.

"I fucking need it," you breathed, voice cracking, shameless.

He smirked like he already knew it, hand sliding from your face down to your hip, gripping hard, and he gave a lazy thrust between your soaked thighs, dragging his cock through your slick folds without pushing in yet.

You whimpered, trying to move your hips to catch him, to take him inside, but Sukuna just growled low in his chest and slapped your arse, hard enough to make you jump and squeal.

"Patience, brat," he muttered, dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit in slow, teasing circles, smearing you messier, wetter. "Gotta feel how bad you fucking want it."

You were losing your mind, gasping against him, nails clawing at his chest like you could force him to stop teasing, but Sukuna was having too much fun. His hand caught your jaw again, rough and firm, making you look at him.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, and when you obeyed without thinking, he slid two fingers in, letting you taste yourself off his skin, fucking your mouth slow with his fingers the same way he did with his cock. You moaned around them, hollowing your cheeks, tongue desperate against his knuckles.

"Good fucking girl," he murmured, pulling his fingers free with a wet pop, and finally, finally lining himself up properly. He tapped his cock against your cunt, making sure you felt every inch, every piercing, before he started pushing in, slow and brutal and unrelenting.

Your head dropped back with a broken moan, hands grabbing at him helplessly as your cunt stretched painfully around him, the piercings dragging slow and sweet inside you, sending jolts of too much pleasure through your already-sensitive body.

"Fuck, you’re tight," he muttered, voice strained, his grip bruising on your hips as he forced you down on him inch by inch, not stopping until you had taken every thick, heavy, goddamn perfect part of him.

You whimpered, barely able to breathe, thighs shaking already, but Sukuna just grinned against your mouth, lips brushing yours as he held still inside you, making you feel the full weight of him.

"You can take it," he muttered, rolling his hips just enough to make you feel the piercings drag along your walls again, making you sob against him. "Fucking made for it."

You didn’t even realise you were crying until he licked a tear from your cheek, filthy and slow, grinding against you with shallow, brutal thrusts that never fully pulled out, just worked you open more and more, dragging the pleasure out until you were mindless.

"Feels good, huh?" he muttered, voice all low grit and smugness. "You’re fucking soaked, baby. Dripping for me."

You could barely manage a whimper, nodding helplessly, grinding back against him without shame, trying to take him deeper even though he was already buried inside you. Sukuna groaned, low and rough, and set a punishing pace, snapping his hips hard enough to make you cry out, the sound swallowed by the heavy night air.

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand against the rough siding of the house, his free hand sliding down to your throat, not choking you fully, just holding you there, owning you, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

"Look at you," he growled, fucking into you rough and deep, hips slamming against your arse with filthy wet sounds. "Drunk on it. You gonna cum already, baby? Huh? Gonna fucking cum on my cock like a good girl?"

Your body was beyond your control, spasming around him, chasing the high he kept dragging just out of reach. Your hips stuttered against his, desperate and frantic, and Sukuna just chuckled darkly, rolling his hips slower again, grinding the piercings inside you just right, making your whole body lock up.

"Say it," he ordered, voice low and brutal against your ear. "Say who’s fucking you. Say who owns this fucking tight cunt."

"You," you gasped, the words ripped from you without thought. "You, Sukuna. Fuck, it’s yours, it’s yours!"

"Good fucking girl," he growled, slamming into you harder, deeper, his hand squeezing your throat just enough to make your head spin, to make your high twist tighter, more intense. "Cum for me, brat. Fucking soak me."

You came with a broken cry, clenching around him so tight it made him curse low and filthy against your skin, hips jerking erratic as he chased his own orgasm. He fucked you through it, ruthless, dragging every last shudder and sob from your body until you went limp against him.

"Fuck, fuck," Sukuna muttered, pulling out at the last second to stroke himself fast, the heavy weight of his cock jerking in his hand, and then he was cumming hot and messy over your stomach, groaning low and rough as he spattered you with it, filthy and perfect.

He leant against you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard, bodies shaking, the night air cool against your sweaty skin.

"Still with me, brat?" he muttered, voice rough but smug.

You nodded weakly, completely wrecked, feeling his cum cooling on your skin, feeling the bruises blooming where he had grabbed you, and you had never felt so fucking good in your life.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Sukuna’s hand slid lazily down between your thighs again, two fingers dipping into your overstimulated cunt without warning, making you jolt against him with a choked whimper. He chuckled low in his chest, watching you squirm against the wall, utterly spent and still greedy for more.

"Still fucking dripping," he muttered, voice dark and amused, curling his fingers slow and filthy inside you, dragging more slick from your ruined hole just to smear it against your inner thighs. "Pathetic."

You whined, trying to wriggle away from the teasing touches, but Sukuna just grabbed your hip hard enough to leave bruises, holding you still like you were nothing but a toy he hadn’t finished with yet. He slid his fingers back into your cunt with slow, cruel precision, grinding his palm against your clit until your legs threatened to give out.

"Thought you were tougher than this," he said, mocking, letting his mouth brush against your ear in a way that made you shiver. "Crying like a little bitch already."

You gasped, fists weakly beating against his chest, but he only laughed, low and mean, thrusting his fingers deeper until you sobbed against his shoulder, too fucked out to form words.

It was only when you heard the faint sound of the back door creaking open that you stiffened, panic spiking through your exhausted body. Sukuna just grinned wider, shoving his fingers in deep one last time before pulling away like he hadn’t just been knuckle-deep inside you, wiping his messy fingers off on your hip without a care.

You didn’t even have time to react before you heard Yuji’s voice ring out, high-pitched and alarmed. “WHAT THE HELL?!” His wide eyes locked onto you and Sukuna, and you could see the shock in his face before he yelled, “I—what the fuck are you two doing?!”

Sukuna just leaned back, completely unfazed, smirking as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What does it look like?”

Yuji’s face twisted in panic, his hands flying to his head. “I CAN’T—NO. NO. I’m out!” And without another word, he turned and bolted back toward the house, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape.

You stood frozen, still processing, and watched him disappear, your heart pounding in your chest. Sukuna let out a low chuckle, his voice as calm as ever. “He’ll be fine. You’re the one who should be worried.”

You could barely get out a response, still too stunned by the whole situation. Your head felt light, the alcohol and the awkwardness settling heavily on your shoulders.

Sukuna, though, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Come on, brat. Let’s get back inside before he blows a gasket.”

[mysterymachine67]

heyya! bro if I give you everything that's in the list of the things I wanna do to dean Winchester ass, it'd be like dropping a nuclear viagra bomb because jesus I'm down bad 😭

but MY NUMBER ONE I SWEAR I shared this to everyone on here not irl is. dilf reader ladies and gentlemen and not just nonchalant calm dilf no where's the fun and attitude in that? I mean like I mean like a downbad pervert dilf for dean but he never says anything because even he thought it's creepy, until either he walked into dean jacking off to his stolen clothing or like dean bluntly admitting during their drunken state?? IDK DILF READER GOT ME ON A CHOKEHOLD OR EVEM SUBTOP DILF?? BECAUSE COCKY DEANAAAAA

or if you're not into the pervert dilf line, anything relating to reader being older than dean can make my dick cry and ascend

PAIRING -> Dean Winchester x Older M!reader

SUMMARY -> You’ve had a little crush on Dean for a while, but you never told him because 1. You’re older than him by a couple years and 2. You’re sure he’s not even into men. But one day when you hear something from his room, you think maybe it’s the day you do something about it.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

I think I love you, anon. Also you sent this back in March and I want to APOLOGIZE. I am so very sorry 😭

You liked him. You liked him a lot actually. To the point where it even creeped you out yourself. Every time you’d work with them for a hunt, or go visit them Dean always caught your eye. He was a complete ladies man, no way in hell did you have a chance. Also with your age. You assumed he wasn’t into older women, or even men. But little did you know you were so, so wrong.

The bunker was quiet as you walked through the door. Sam had called about needing your help on a hunt, so you took it, of course. You got to help them and see the man you love? Hell yeah. But while on the phone Sam said that he’d be out for a few hours, so it’ll only be you and Dean till he got back. In your opinion it was even better.

You sat your bags down onto the one of many tables. The thud echoing a bit. You didn’t see Dean in any of his usual spots. Probably in his room. Not that it..mattered or anything. So, without anything better to do, you walked to the kitchen. Attempting to find yourself a snack, or even a drink. In which you did. Walking out of the room with your preferred option. You probably should be opening books, looking online for more information about what happened, and trying to figure out what you guys were dealing with. Buuut you decided to roam the halls instead. Yes, you already know your way around the place. Yet that didn’t seemed to faze you.

After walking down one hallway, you turned down the one with Dean’s room. Silently getting a bit excited. Your steps were quiet, not intentionally. But they were quiet enough to where nobody could hear them unless they tried. You couldn’t help it. You stopped right in front of Dean’s door. It was quiet in there, or so it seemed to be. Maybe he was sleeping, taking a nap? Or maybe even listening to music. Nope. The moment you pressed your ear against the door, because why not? You heard a muffled moan.

You have got to get your mind out of the gutter. He probably wasn’t even doing what you thought he was doing. Yeah no you were right. Out of every sound that left him you swear you heard your name in between at least two times. It was clear. Broad as daylight. Now the thought of Dean Winchester jerking off to you, a man that is much older than him, is stuck in your mind. You thought about the face he was making— how pretty he must look, and how long had he been trying to get off. If it were to be you in there, hand wrapped around his cock, would he be even louder than he is now? Would he buck his hips into your hand, begging for more?

Oh you wonder what he sounds like when he—

No, get your head in the game. You have a man jerking off, whimpering behind the door you were currently pressing your ear against. What should you do? Walk away and pretend that this isn’t happening? Or walk in and have the best sex you’ve probably had with the man you’ve been crushing on? Choices, choices, choices.

You’d hate to admit, but your cock was hard. Pressed up against the confinement of your boxers and pants. After a few very long seconds you decide to just walk away. Figuring that’d be the best option. But then just as you start to move your feet, you hear Dean moan your name again. That was the final straw. Your hand found itself on the doorknob, twisting. Thankfully it was unlocked, otherwise it’d be super embarrassing if it wasn’t. And ohhhh this is the sight you’ve been wanting to see. Dean’s hand was wrapped around his cock, hand covered in his own cum, face twisted into a look of pleasure, while his cock was an angry shade of red while twitching. Would it be wrong to say you nearly came in your pants right then and there?

You walked in, shutting the door behind you. When he heard that door click shut his eyes shot open. Hands scrambling to hide his hard-on with the blanket next to him. “What the hell, man?”

“Uh, uh. Don’t act as if you weren’t just moaning my name not too long ago.” You stated, bluntly. And all he did was look at you, confused. Knowing damn well he was just doing that. He was caught, there really wasn’t much to do in this situation. So, he swallowed—looking away for a moment. He refused to have eye contact.

“Listen, I don’t know what you mean,” His eyebrows were raised slightly, and he shrugged. “So if you could get out, that’d be great.” You were going to do anything but that.

You soon got Dean to crack; admitting that he was indeed jerking off to you.

Just as you walked away from his bed, not to leave, but to just roam his room. He called out, stopping you from leaving because to him it seemed like you were. He wanted it, wanted you. Especially to feel your cock hit his prostate with every—

Woah.

He looked down. He had to, because every time he looked at you it just turned him in even more. His cock twitching under the blanket he hid it with.

“‘M not leaving just yet. We haven’t even gotten started,”

—

Dean’s lips crashed against yours—groaning when he felt your hands roam up under his shirt. The kiss was heated but passionate. Something the both of you have been waiting for. He was sat on your lap, your hand around his cock. Jerking him off while your other was feeling him all over. But you wanted to see more of him. So you pulled your hands away, Dean letting out a small groan from the loss of your touch, and helped him take off his shirt. The moment it was off he pulled you back in for another kiss. God, could he let you catch your breath?

By the time your cock was deep in his hole, abusing his prostate, Dean was already nearly out of it. Noises flooding from his mouth, movements getting sloppier and sloppier by the minute, and hands grabbing at whatever he could grab at. And you? You were enjoying this. Who wouldn’t? You have a man that you’ve loved forever bouncing on your cock, which feels like heaven. You moaned into his mouth when he clenched. With how good he felt you couldn’t get enough, bucking your hips up slightly. Driving your cock deeper into him. You shut your eyes and leaned your head back, soon feeling lips on your neck. They trailed up to your jaw, peppering kisses everywhere he could. “Jesus—“ Dean groaned—breath hitting your skin. “Feel s’good,” he mumbled.

You smiled. “Yeah?”

“Mmm..” he tried. One of your hands trailed down his back, feeling his skin against your palm. You groaned, absolutely loving and reeling in the moment.

You were sure the both of you would want way more after this. Him riding you was amazing, yes, but you knew in a matter of minutes after the both of you would cum, you’d want more. And oh, you were right. When you saw how he looked when he came, and how such pretty noises left his mouth, you pulled him off your cock and pushed him into a position that left him exposed. Leaning in closer to him you whispered:

“Y’gonna let me fuck you good?”

And Dean responded with a quick nod.

[qwordavoider]

Some 8x16 coda/future ep spec based on things we’ve seen and heard from the cast. There are some spoilers from 8x16 later on, so tw: mcd

———

Maddie turned back to her station and answered the incoming call.

“911, what’s you’re emergency?”

“Help, I’m trapped,” the voice said on the other end of the line. It sounded vaguely familiar.

“Ok can you tell me where you’re trapped?”

“It’s small and dark. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay we’ll figure it out. Can you tell me your name sir?”

“Bobby. Bobby Nash.”

Maddie gasped.

Bobby continued, “I’m underground, maybe? I smell dirt.”

“Ok we’re going to get you some help Bobby, just hang on for me.”

“Maddie, can’t breathe.”

Gasping sounds came from the other end of the line. Tears streamed down Maddie’s face.

“Try to calm your breathing. Preserve your oxygen.”

“No time, tell Buck I love him. Tell him he’s going to be okay”

Buck sat straight up with a gasp clawing at his chest. His sheets, tangled and soaked with his sweat, were clinging to his body and making his skin crawl. Buck threw them off and was putting on clothes before he even knew what he was doing. He grabbed his keys, got in his car and drove. No destination in mind.

He was pulling into a neighborhood when his breaths started coming in quick panicky pants. Too overwhelmed to focus on driving, he pulled into a driveway.

Buck pressed his palm into his sternum hoping to ground himself from the panic. He took a few breaths before he was able to see straight again. It was then that he realized where he was.

He stepped out of the car, bracing himself on the hood for a minute to steady his legs. Once Buck was sure they wouldn’t collapse under his weight, he made his way to the front door. He hesitated briefly before raising a hand to the door and knocking. Buck’s realizing that it’s the middle of the night and there’s no guarantee of an answer. But he can’t go back to sleep with the image of Bobby buried in the dirt, struggling to breath. Saying those damn words.

He knocked a little harder this time, still to no answer. He was about ready to give up and head home when a light came on inside. Buck let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. He heard the dead bolt unlatch before the light of the door opening caused him to squint.

“Evan?”

His voice was slightly hoarse from the sleep Buck no doubt interrupted. But he couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty.

He had been leaving the funeral, Bobby loaded on a plane so he could go home and be laid to rest with his family. Buck wasn’t needed anymore. Maddie and Chim were leaning on each other. Hen had Karen to support her. Athena had her kids in Minnesota with her. But Ravi and Eddie invited him to go out for a few drinks in Bobby’s honor. So he would go and humor them for the perfectly acceptable amount of time before finding an excuse to leave.

He was a few steps behind them when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Tommy’s hand.

“Evan, I-”

“You don’t have to-”

“But I want to. I know we’re not us right now, but if you need anything, day or night, I’ll be here.”

Buck hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to accept it then, but it’s like his body knew this is where he needed to be tonight.

He was fidgeting a lot. But he still had some anxiety left over from the nightmare that sent him running here.

“Evan?” Tommy asked again, “Are you okay?”

The tears started flowing before Buck even comprehended Tommy’s question. His knees decided to stop working in that moment and he was falling. Luckily Tommy was there to catch before he could hit the ground.

He was sobbing, unable to stop the emotions that had been building for the last couple of weeks. Buck clung to the only man who could potentially bring him comfort tonight.

“It’s okay Evan. Let it out. I’m here,” Tommy soothed while rubbing circles along Buck’s back.

When the sobs slowed down, Tommy guided Buck inside and settled them on the couch.

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want something to distract you?” Tommy asked.

“I’m so tired,” Buck replied not really answering either question.

“We can go to my room and watch a movie until you fall asleep?” Tommy offered.

And that sounded like the best idea Buck had ever heard. He nodded and let Tommy lead him back to his bed. Buck quickly nestled himself into Tommy’s side while the other man looked for a movie to watch. Buck didn’t even notice what he chose nor pay any attention to it after. All he could focus on was the feeling of Tommy’s arms around him and the familiar scent of the man he loved.

After who knows how long, Buck finally got the courage to croak, “Tommy I-”

“You don’t have to-”

“I know but I want to. Thank you for this. For everything. I- We should talk,” Buck kept his eyes focused on the piece of fuzz on Tommy’s shirt directly in front of his eyes.

“We will. But in the morning. Right now, we both need sleep.”

Buck nodded against his chest and he felt like he could breathe just a little bit easier than he had been since Bobby’s death. Sleep finally claimed him as he snuggled closer to Tommy’s chest.

[bleedingichorhearts]

I've been thinking of this smut imagine: A hot space marine husband who got Reader, his wifey sent him nudes while he's in a mission as a suprise for him and It's her boobs pics:

https://twitter.com/natrepellant/status/1900432992155451572?t=N4HXDBVOWj0G7ZTWUu5Sdg&s=19

Well it's just pics of her boobs covered by his favorite books and that is the hottest thing for him, he got horny and he's several planets away from wifey, so when he got back, wifey is looking at days of being bred for making him so hot and bothered while he was on his mission 🙂

"Ough, well ain’t you a bag of goodies? You’re definitely going in the sinners box." - Ichor

Summary - "You send a rather brave image of yourself to your marine with he’s doing his duty to the Emperor, and in turn? He vows he would breed you once he returns."

TW// Smut, Size Difference, Breeding.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

You didn’t think much of it when you sent the picture. Well, not until it took you a few moments to realize what you had did, and now you mentally cringe at yourself at the heresy that you have done. Heck, you’re not even sure he would like such pictures!

Does he like boob pictures? Booty pictures? Side profile? Top or bottom profile? Open? Closed? Showing more or less? Why were you more nervous about how you positioned and presented yourself rather than being worried about why you had sent it, not that you had any particular reason. You had just felt good that day but still missed your lover. Your lover that had responded with a promise.

“Little wife, I’m breed you into the bed once I’m back.” Is what he responded with, and you swear to the Emperor you had exploded into a puddle right then and there. He wasn’t supposed to respond like that! He was supposed be a… a loving warrior! Well, you guess that was a way of showing his love… but you are not used to responses like that, and you wouldn’t have figured he would send a reply like that either!

“Your picture plagues me.” Is the last vox that you get from him after a few weeks before it is silenced. A blush going to your cheeks at the simply thought of him… No! You need to focus on your duties! That is what your hubby is doing right now, and you shall do the same, and you do, but you also forget about sending him such a picture anyway after a while of nothing happing.

Well… until your hubby comes back and snatches you away and doing what he had promised.

“My little tease.” The space marine behind you groans, rutting up into your core like his life depended on it. His chest pressed up against the back of your head, showing you just how much bigger he is. His hands fisting at the sheets around you, not willing to squish you beneath his weight and break you. “Giving such a brave picture of your breed-able frame.”

He huffs, and you can feel how his chest inhales and exhales behind your head, hear it. Feel how his cock splits you into two, claiming what is his again and again, making sure that it was- is only him fucking you like a rabid dog in heat. His hands twisting and tearing at the sheets as his weight alone keeps you in place on his cock.

“You would like that? Would you, my little wife?” A low, frustrated growl leaves him that turns into a groan when he feels your walls squeeze around him. His body having to curl a little around your body to give a kiss to your forehead before resuming his pace. “To be bred by your husband whom you teased with a simple picture of your breasts, covered by some books.”

“Y-yes!” You moan out into the sheets, your heated breath making them a bit moist as you claw at the sheets yourself. Your body arching back into him while he hits the special spot inside of you. Your walls already trying to milk him of his worth. Not that your body could handle all of his seed.

“Oh? Did I hit the spot?” He teasingly coos, pausing for a brief second to lean back and trail his hands down the sides of your body, very pleased at the size difference as his cock inside of you gives a twitch. “Sweet little wife, taking me so well."

“You ah, r-remembered?” You breathe, nuzzling into the sheets, trying to calm yourself of being rutted into like an animal. Your body feeling like it was pulsing.

“Of course I do, little wife.” He responds softly, leaning back down to kiss the back of your bare neck and spine. Scarred lips making contact with your sensitive skin. “You’re a delicious little thing to look at, even if you’re with child.”

You hum, affected by his last comment. Your walls giving him a gentle squeeze as you imagine how he would work with you. Lifting you up into his arms so you won’t have to walk with a hefty belly… “Seems like you’re not against that idea. Shall I make it true?”

His weight presses gently into you one more. One of his arms hooking under your knees and slowly rising it up to put you in a more open, comfortable position, but still gets access to you. His thrusts coming in slow at first. Both of you getting used to the new position.

“You… you sure?” You ask, getting breathless over more while his pace increases. Hands dusting the sheets a lot harder considering he lifted your leg up for more access, and damn wasn’t he hitting everything inside of you just right. “We- ah! Should talk about it.”

“We already have, little wife.” He coos again, a bit more sweetly this time. Another huff and groan leaving him. Skin slapping against skin as a whine leaves your mouth, getting you to shut up and flutter your eyes closed for a moment. Feeling that familiar coil inside of you snap.

You had expected him to stop, to let you breathe again, but he fucks you through it. Having yet to climax himself. His huffs being the only thing heard as he puts more of his weight down on you. Effectively trapping you.

“Don’t worry, little wife.” He manages to huff a low chuckle, purring. Reminding you of what he had said in text. “I’m just going to stain those pretty thighs of yours a shaking white. Perhaps have a taste of those teasing breasts of yours.”

Fuck, he was just doing what he promised to do: breed you into the bed with some additional ungodly thoughts added. Perhaps, it would be best to send a nude picture when he more closer, but making him wait and want you was a bit more delicious than you would admit. You’ll be definitely trying it again.

That is if you can get out from underneath him from fucking you senseless of course.

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666, @ilovewolvezz.” - Tagged

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason's days in the league with baby Damian (pt. 3)

Jason day's with the league and babysitting his baby brother. Damian is one years old at the time.

Jason and Damian were having a playdate, right around the time Jason visited the Al Ghul family and the League of Assassins. He was trying to annoy his baby brother, but the little one had become more accustomed to giggling.

Jason: Cabbage.

Jason covered Damian’s face with his hands, then removed them, then covered his face again, and quickly took them away. Baby Damian giggled, shaking his head.

Jason: You get cabbage.

Jason covered Damian’s face once more. The baby blinked and smiled softly. This adorable bundle made Jason question again how this kid was related to Talia or Bruce. He dropped his hands and picked up the infant.

Jason (sweetly): You have to be a stolen baby. There’s no way you have their genes.

Suddenly, Jason heard someone clearing their throat from behind him. He turned around to see Talia standing there, her eyes blazing with anger.

Jason (still holding Damian, unfazed): Hey Talia, you sure you didn’t kidnap someone’s child?

Talia (gritting her teeth): I told you nine times to stop asking me that!

Baby Damian whimpered, covering his ears from the loud noise. Jason cradled him gently.

Jason: It’s okay. She’s a loud harpy most of the time. Talia, I was joking, calm down. The kid’s sensitive to sounds.

Talia (crossing her arms, trying to intimidate both boys): Plug his ears! ...I felt my body constrict after saying that to my son. What has come over me? What are these emotions?

Jason: Assuming you’re the mother of this child, I’d chalk it up to motherly instinct— or at least not complete apathy.

Talia (shrugging with reluctant acceptance): That’s close to a compliment. Jason, don’t feed my baby slander about me. I’ve already had to deal with one former Robin giving me migraines — I don’t need two.

Jason sighed, bending forward while holding Damian just enough so that Jason’s head rested on the tiny boy’s forehead. Damian giggled from the tickling hair.

Jason: Talia, I think you’re not completely nuts or a total morally bankrupt succubus, or—

Talia: Would you stop listing insults he's actually said to me.

Jason: I’ll save the rest for later. I don’t see you as completely evil, but you are a villain and you work with your father, who’s a total asshole. Don’t say “asshole,” Damian.

Damian babbled something that sounded like he agreed for now.

Talia: Give me a break. My father can be a blithering ass eighty percent of the time, but I think both of us can… I can be a semi-decent parent. Look at the cute outfit I put him in.

Jason (bouncing Damian, complimenting green onesie): This is adorable. By the way, have you figured out when you're going to tell the father of this… possibly kidnapped child he has a baby boy?

Talia let out a weary sigh, her head tilting back as if he asked her to to divide zero by itself.

Talia: Ha, ha— and not yet. I do have a plan, but Bruce will find out around step eighty. I’m currently convincing my pig-headed father to stop swearing death on Bruce—

Ra’s entered right as Talia said that and cleared his throat to get his daughter’s attention. She spun around, smiling nervously.

Talia: Father, greetings. I can see by your angry-

Jason: Resting bitch face.

Ra's: Uncalled for

Talia: Ignore him. Am I wrong on you're swearing death on my true love?

Ra’s: True love, soulmates, and twin flames are all nonsense, invented by love-sick buffoons. We’ve been over this. And what I've sworn is I’d challenge him to a battle to the death if he accepted, there’s a difference. Anyway, leave the child with Jason. I need to discuss these stupid Titans who've trespassed and they refuse to talk to me alone. Like I'd waste time stabbing one of them.

Talia sighed and left with her father, but she quickly peeked her head back into the room and waved goodbye to Damian.

Jason (waving Damian’s tiny hand): We’ll stay hidden here.

Talia nodded and hurried off to talk to the Titans.

Jason turned to Damian, smiling.

Jason: I’ve already fought two Robins. Let’s play hide and seek, Damian.

Damian made more baby babbles and squeals as Jason stood up. Sneaking out through a secret door and slipping his face mask on, he continued talking to Damian.

Jason: I look like a robot. Do you like my mask?

Damian nodded.

Jason: You know, you’re not that bad for a baby brother.

First time meeting Damian

Jason's days in the league with baby Damian (pt. 2)

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

hii could you write a fic where nam gyu is trying to comfort reader after arguing with her and making her cry??pretty please 🙏🙏

Didn't mean

Character: Nam Gyu x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Nam Gyu never wanted to be the kind of man who made you cry. But after a heated argument leaves you in tears, he has to confront both his guilt and his feelings—and figure out how to reach you through the silence.

Warnings: Raised voices (off-screen), crying, emotional vulnerability, brief mention of insecurity/self-worth

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice.

He hadn’t meant to say the thing about you “always needing something” when all you were doing was asking for five minutes of his time.

But stress had chewed away at his temper. And instead of stepping back, breathing, thinking—he’d let it out.

Now, the apartment was still. Quiet in the way only regret can make it.

You were curled up on the far edge of the couch, knees tucked to your chest, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like you were trying to disappear into them. Your face was turned away, but he could tell—he could feel—it. The shimmer of tears, the occasional breath hitch, the silence that wasn’t peaceful but punished.

Nam Gyu stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, guilt pressing on his lungs like wet cloth.

“...Hey,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him.

His throat tightened. “I know you probably don’t want to hear me right now. But I’m sorry. For what I said. For how I said it.”

Still, nothing.

So he moved slowly, kneeling in front of the couch, just enough to see your eyes—red at the edges, lashes still damp.

He hated that. Hated that he’d put that look on your face.

“I get scared sometimes,” he admitted, voice lower now, like if he said it any louder it would shatter. “That I’m not enough. That you’ll wake up one day and realize there’s someone better out there—someone more patient, more stable. Someone who doesn’t snap over stupid things.”

Your gaze flicked toward him, silent but softening.

“I wasn’t really mad at you,” he said, hand hovering near yours without quite touching. “I was mad at myself. But I took it out on you. And that’s... that’s not fair. That’s not love. And I love you.”

You blinked, one tear escaping down your cheek. He reached for it without thinking, brushing it away gently with the back of his knuckle.

“I’m not good with words when I’m upset,” he whispered. “But I’ll get better. For you.”

There was a long pause. He didn’t push. Just stayed kneeling there, breathing in the ache between you, willing it to pass.

Finally, your voice came—quiet, hoarse. “You made me feel small.”

His heart cracked.

“I know,” he said, eyes stinging. “And I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel anything less than the most important thing in my life. Because you are.”

You looked at him then—really looked—and after a heartbeat, your hand reached out, lacing fingers with his.

“You scared me,” you whispered.

“I scared myself,” he said honestly. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I never do again.”

You shifted, slowly sitting up, and when he opened his arms, you fell into them like a wave returning to shore. He held you tightly, one hand cradling your head, the other curled around your back.

“I love you,” you murmured, muffled against his shoulder.

“I love you more,” he breathed. “And I’m so sorry.”

You stayed like that for a long time—wrapped in each other, letting the storm pass.

And this time, when the silence settled between you, it was quiet in a way that felt like healing.

[hollowmem]

Ooo thank you! What about if Johnny and Reader has to babysit, sprung on them out of nowhere. Maybe Captain’s toddler or baby? They’re frazzled but pull through just peachy. 😍 There are some hilarious mishaps though feat. precocious child thoughts that got them thinking of having a bairn of their own. Reader teases that Johnny needs to give her a ring first.

Week of leave

AFAB !Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You and Johnny were all set to head off for a proper week of leave — no drills, no alarms, no MREs. Just the two of you, a rental car, and plans to do absolutely nothing productive.

You were finishing up paperwork in the common room when Captain Price walked in, his little girl balanced on one hip, holding a worn elephant plush by the ear. She was looking around with sleepy curiosity, thumb in her mouth.

“Hey, Cap,” you greeted, raising an eyebrow.

“Got a favor to ask,” Price said and came straight up to you. His voice dropped to the kind of tone he usually reserved for classified ops. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other option — but my sitter bailed, and I’ve got to be on a flight in two hours.”

You glanced between him and the toddler, already half-suspecting where this was going.

“She’s comfortable with you,” he said. “And you’ve got good instincts. More mature than most on base.”

There was a pause. Then, like an afterthought, he added, “MacTavish’ll be with you, right?”

Johnny, who had just walked in with a bag of chips and a look of betrayal, sputtered. “You sayin’ I’m not mature?”

Price gave him a flat look. “You once duct-taped a GoPro to a pigeon, Johnny.”

“That was science, mate.”

You bit back a laugh and looked down at the little girl, who was now trying to poke her tiny fingers into Johnny’s tactical boot.

“She’s good,” Price said softly. “Sweet. Just needs someone to keep her safe for a couple days while I’m out.”

You exhaled. “Yeah. We can do it.”

The next few days were a delightful disaster.

You’d been tackled at 6 a.m. by a giggling blur in dinosaur pajamas. Johnny had discovered that she would cry every time he stopped reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar — so he’d read it seven times in one morning. The living room was a graveyard of half-chewed snacks, scattered crayons, and one suspiciously sticky throw pillow.

At night, after she finally passed out in her makeshift cot, you and Johnny would collapse on the couch, exhausted but kind of glowing.

One evening, Johnny watched her sleep, arms tucked under her chin, that elephant plush beside her.

“She’s a handful,” he said quietly. “But she’s… I dunno. Makes things feel real.”

You looked over, heart thudding.

“She called me ‘MacFish’ again today,” he added after a beat.

“She likes you,” you said, smiling. “She trusts you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I get why Price picked you, know. You’ve got this… steadiness about you. Like you already know what you’re doing.”

You tilted your head. “And what about you?”

He shrugged, then glanced at you. “I think I’d figure it out — if you were figuring it out with me.”

You smiled at that, but something in his voice made your stomach flip. It wasn’t a joke. Not this time.

You both fell quiet, watching the rise and fall of the toddler’s breathing, the peace of it — the weird, warm glow of the moment. For the first time, it wasn’t just funny or chaotic or sweet.

It felt... possible.

“You ever think about it?” he asked softly.

You blinked. “About what?”

“Having one. A kid.” He cleared his throat. “A family. With me.”

Your heart stuttered. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell he meant it — not some flippant joke or playful nudge. He was serious. Nervous, even.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment. “I do.”

He turned to look at you then — really looked — and you saw it: the hope. The longing. The love.

You reached over and took his hand. “But if we’re doing the whole family thing,” you teased gently, “you better start thinking about rings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, between the two of you, something new had quietly taken root — a future that felt more real than ever.

[mummyemmatojames]

36. A Tough Day: An Accident and a Lesson in Care

Hello, dear community. Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with a heavy-hearted update on our MDLB and FLR journey. Yesterday was rough—I feel terrible after an incident that left James upset and me questioning how I’m handling our rules. I neglected his needs in a way that led to an accident, and I’m still reeling from the guilt. I’d really appreciate your thoughts on how to move forward and prevent this again.

What Happened

We were out shopping in the afternoon—picking up some groceries and a new formula flavor I wanted to try since he’s been lukewarm on the last one. At one point, James quietly asked me to go to the toilet, following our rule that he needs my permission in public. I was distracted— juggling bags, checking my list—and I brushed it off, saying, “Mummy will take you in a minute, sweetheart.” I meant to follow through, but I got caught up in the checkout line and totally forgot. It slipped my mind completely, and we headed to the car without a stop.

As I was loading the boot, James started fussing from the backseat about the new formula I’d shown him—grumbling that he didn’t like the sound of it. I was already frazzled, so I popped his dummy (or “dumdum,” as we now call it) in his mouth to settle him (he’s not allowed to speak with it in). I figured it’d calm him down while I finished up, and we started the 10-minute drive home. But a few minutes in, I heard him fussing again—little whimpers that turned into semi-crying. I glanced back and saw his face crumpling, and then he whispered, “Mummy, I really need to pee.”

My heart sank and when I looked down I realised he’d had a tiny accident right there in the backseat—not soaked but a tiny wet patch—because I hadn’t taken him when he asked. I pulled over as soon as I could and let him pee in a bush, grabbed some wipes and a spare pair of pants from the boot (thank goodness I keep extras), and cleaned him up as best I could on the side of the road. I took him home, nursed him to try to comfort him, and changed him fully, but he was furious and humiliated the whole time. “You forgot me, Mummy,” he said, his voice shaking, and even after nursing, he pulled away, still upset. He’s been quiet and distant since, playing with his train set but not really engaging with me.

My Guilt and Reflection

I feel awful—like I failed him as his Mummy. He trusted me to take care of his needs, and I let him down by forgetting something so basic. The dummy didn’t help—it kept him quiet when he was trying to tell me he couldn’t hold it anymore, and I missed the cues because I was too caught up in my own head. I’m kicking myself imagining if this had happened in the shop—him having an accident in public would’ve been so much worse for him, and it’s only luck it didn’t. My poor boy was already embarrassed enough in the car; I can’t bear the thought of it being more public.

This was a wake-up call. I’ve been so focused on rules like asking permission, nursing, and the dummy to keep him in his little space that I didn’t think about how they might backfire if I’m not fully present. He’s thriving with the structure—emotionally, physically—but today showed me I need to balance it with better attention to his immediate needs. I can’t just brush him off and assume he’ll wait; he’s my little boy, and he relies on me to follow through.

Rethinking the Rules

I might need to tweak some things so this doesn’t happen again. The permission-for-toilet rule works at home, where I can take him right away, but in public, it’s trickier—I get distracted, and he’s too shy to push when I delay. Maybe I should let him signal me quietly if it’s urgent—like a tug on my hand—or just take him the moment he asks, no matter what I’m doing. The dummy’s great for calming him, but I shouldn’t use it to silence him when he’s trying to communicate something important; I’ll save it for comfort, not control, in those moments.

I also need to be more mindful when we’re out—keep a mental checklist so I don’t forget what he’s asked for, especially something as basic as a toilet break. Nursing him after didn’t fix it this time—he was too upset—and I hate that he’s still furious and humiliated. I’ll talk to him later, once he’s calmed down, and apologize properly, but I want to make sure I’ve got a plan to prevent this moving forward.

What Do You Think?

I’d really love some advice from the community—have you ever had a moment where a rule led to an accident like this? How did you adjust to make sure their needs weren’t neglected? For those with permission rules in public, how do you stay on top of it when life gets busy? And if you’ve had to rebuild trust after a slip-up—especially when they felt humiliated—how did you approach it? I feel so bad for my poor boy, and I want to get this right.

Thank you for being here as I work through this guilt. I love our dynamic, but today reminded me I need to be as attentive as I am strict—James deserves that from his Mummy.

With all my love (and a lot of regret), Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[joocomics]

DOUBLE TAKE

03 ⋮ do you dance?

MASTERLIST || NEXT

pairing: rockstar!junhan x fem!reader x supermodel!jooyeon

genre: slice of life, smut ( 18+ ) ─�� 1.7k words

your friend’s rock band books the coffee shop you work at for a day to shoot their new music video. at first glance, everything is going well until the line between story and reality begins to blur

✎… light alcohol consumption, (semi public) oral sex (m!rec), face fucking, pet names, brief condescension (f!rec), cum eating, name calling (slut once), spit kink

( xdh masterlist )

It’s Sunday night, and the place is open for you, Junhan’s band, a scattering of crew, and Jooyeon.

There’s clinking of bottles, upbeat dance rock pulsing through the space. Fairy lights across the ceiling, casting a golden glow - they’re finally out of the dusty box they had been shoved into since a poetry reading was held here last year. You almost didn’t bother searching for them, worried it might look like you’re trying too much, but in the end, they pull everything together perfectly.

You finish your drink as lightness in your chest subtly settles. You’re not drunk - just warm and a little more nonchalant than you are usually.

You put away your empty glass, not stopping your gaze from scanning the room to peek at him.

He’s slouching against the decorative cushions. Drink in hand, head tilted in focus as a crew member tells a story that seems to make everyone laugh including him.

Unsure if you kept your vision for longer than you should’ve or if maybe he felt curious to search the room for you too, Jooyeon glances your way.

It’s vividly clear - the second he locks eyes with you, he loses the string of the story.

Seeing him get distracted by your unhidden attention, seeing his lips curve with intrigue is all it takes for your feet to move. You weave through few dancers until you’re standing in front of him. You lean slightly over the messy table.

“Do you dance?” You ask, voice soft but steady.

Jooyeon straightens his casual posture. Amusement glints in his eyes as he looks surprised by the question.

Then, after a brief pause, he answers:

“No.”

“Good,” you smile. “Me neither.”

Jooyeon breathes out a short chuckle, but there’s something almost coy in the way he follows you to a small, empty spot near the middle of the place.

Your hands settle at his broad shoulders, his drop to your waist. This touch… the shrinking distance has everything and everyone melt into a blur. It feels almost cinematic.

“We should do it again sometime,” Jooyeon says with a low voice, but his eyes don’t meet yours just yet. Instead, they take in the close view of your lips. “Just for us.”

Unlike his, your gaze flickers up to his face. You know exactly what he means.

The kiss. The one that was just acting, except for the part where your stomach flipped when it happened. And the part where you took his hand to place it on your body because at one point a kiss was not enough.

You’ve been thinking about it for days; reminiscing on the spark, on the thrill, on the sweet taste you exchanged. Too sweet for two simple strangers.

On how he somehow brought out a version of you that you’d been trying to find on your own for a really long time.

A moment passes before you lock eyes.

He doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s done for you.

Behind his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Junhan slipping through the back door alone.

You shove away your train of thought. Your gaze moves back on Jooyeon.

“Can’t we just do it now?”

His eyes are slightly glossed over, half-lidded and inspecting the details of your face.

He follows the way your teeth discreetly tug at your bottom lip. At the same time, your gentle fingers study the back of his neck, causing his grip to twitch against the sides of your figure. Such light touches, but they make his entire skin heat up.

His mouth forms an attractive smirk with a single easy curl of his lips; it’s not from his rehearsed ones, it’s not the smirk he gives photographers and fashion magazines, but a different kind.

More natural and softer.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, we can.”

Jooyeon shuts the door behind you - you’re in the small kitchen, lips fighting for dominance.

You don’t stop kissing even as you place hands on his shoulders to push him back. You have the whole area memorised so you don’t need to look to know which way to guide him.

He makes few clumsy steps, suddenly pressed against a wall.

“Fuck!” He groans into your mouth, bringing a smile on your lips. His hands slip down to cup your ass with a lazy, yet insistent grip. “You know… It was so hard for me to hold back that day.”

“From what?” You ask quietly before moving your mouth to the side of his neck.

There’s a hint of playfulness dripping from your words that has Jooyeon smirking right before sighing from bliss. Your kisses are wet and sloppy, sending warm thrills through his spine as they land lower and lower.

“Ripping your clothes off your body.”

Your heart flutters at his words, then almost skips a beat when his hand settles around your neck - just the way it did the first time.

“Showing everyone how good I can fuck you.”

Your gaze finds his eyes only to see them drop between your bodies where you unzip his pants; rubbing his bulge through the fabric for a moment before pulling them to his knees.

“Is that everything you wanted?”

Jooyeon’s pants drop to the floor. His Calvin Klein boxers rest around his thighs as you wrap fingers around his erection. You haven’t shifted your vision away from him even once - you keep it upon his face, observing every twitch caused by the rush invading his body.

“Shit— baby...” He opens his eyes, wetting his lips before speaking again. “Filling your mouth with my cum was on my mind too.”

You swallow thickly as your imagination paints the image for you on the instant. The motions of your fist maintain the stimulation, slowly and steadily.

“Or paint your face… you have such a pretty face.”

Jooyeon’s hand loosens around your throat but something in the way the rush magnifies forces it to drop completely. However, he quickly brings it back up, filling it with one of your boobs; squishing eagerly and arousing himself further.

Another sound of pleasure slips from his lips, low as the rest, but thinner, and you decide it’s time to do something more for him.

“Tonight you can choose one.” You murmur softly, and the corner of your mouth slides up briefly as you level it with his cock.

Pressing your flat tongue to the underside of his length, you spread the moisture you gathered, all the way up to the flushed head. Your lips close around it, sucking gently from all sides.

The immediate sensation has him groaning louder right away.

“Ah, fuck! That’s it baby, yeah…” He keeps his head pressed back for a moment; jaw open, eyes shut while focusing on the way you move back and forth simultaneously twirling your tongue. He’s in awe at how you pick up the perfect pace from the start. “Holy fuck… how am I supposed to pick? There’s so many things I want to do to you already...”

A brief airy chuckle echoes in the room once he looks down to watch you force yourself further against him, to welcome as much of his base as you can inside your throat.

He moves a hand on the back of your head, not applying any pressure yet, just letting it rest as you breathe heavily through your nose.

“You want all of it, is that it?”

You blink up, fluttering lashes at him; there’s a spark of lust mixed with something deeper in your eye that’s glinting as a response.

“You want it so bad, don’t you, baby?”

You slowly retrieve; your throat suppresses a needy sound before you gasp for air.

“Shit, you drooled so much all over me.”

You watch Jooyeon smearing your saliva along his cock, moaning at the speedy gliding of his hand. As he does so, he steps around you to switch places.

Looking up at his hovering figure, you tilt your head back, separating lips to welcome him back in.

“There you go,” Jooyeon coos as your mouth does its best to take him; your glossy eyes don’t leave him out of sight while your lips stretch. He presses a finger beneath your chin to keep you perfectly still. ”Like that, baby, yeah… such a good small mouth.”

He slides deeper, then pulls out almost all the way only to push himself through once again. His hips move leisurely on the surface of your tongue - not so much to make it easy for you than to savour the nice feeling. To explore you.

Your hands remain still on the sides of your body as his voice eventually rises higher, and his rhythm - quicker.

“Fuck—“

The pleasure tightens in his core the moment he invades your throat. He waits few seconds, relishing the warmth before making another move; his muscles tense while you slobber around him, puffy lips hugging his base as though they are your pussy walls.

“Look at you, you crave this cock so fuckin’ bad.”

Jooyeon empties your mouth in a flash. He gives you two seconds to breathe and adjust before he lifts your chin back up, pushing through your slick lips.

That earned you a quick glimpse of his face - there’s tension and focus all over his features, sharpening them even more, contrary to the coy smile he was wearing when you led him to the dance floor.

This time, he’s not gliding through - he’s thrusting. Deliberately; intentionally trying to hit deeper with each next slamming of his hips, aiming for release.

“Gonna give you all of my cum, baby, just sit still…” He says in a rush above you. His voice is nearly a whisper as the flowing rush begins to take over. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about too, right? Wanna swallow my cum like a good little slut? Fuck, I’m close!”

Your figure freezes rigid and obedient on the ground - head pressed against the wall and his lower abdomen, hands unable to flinch, nowhere to grasp.

Your jaw tenses more as you try to relax your hollowed cheeks without thinking about the soreness, but that’s not what helps you block out the discomfort. It’s hearing the shift in Jooyeon’s moans.

The ropes of his climax land on the back of your throat, warm slightly salty, and that causes a compelling change in his voice - delicate and desperate.

You shoot a glance up at his quivering body, waiting to meet his eyes for one more silent thank you.

Thank you for seeing me.

Thank you for picking me.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

♡ taglist: @sweet-dreaming-girl @zelinkcrossing @bahng-chrizz @candlelitvamp

[romeavedefenders]

★ ⋮ Cuddling Heacanons! ⸝⸝

⤷ characters; Vylad (MCD), Gene (MCD), Zenix (MCD) ⤷ cw; sfw, NOT proof-read, gender neutral!reader, angst in Vylad's but more-so yearning on his end, all 3 end up being softies for their s/o <3 ⤷ xtra; me when i- wen- i- when i disappear after making the acc with the other admin and then come back bc my MCD phase comes back every time it gets warm out.... [ wc; 1.8k , request info ]

Vylad ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ (0.6k)

⚝ Out of the three men, Vylad is way more intune with his human side rather than his Shadow Knight side. He still is very much aware of his status, but he knows the warning sides and knows when to step away- which makes him one of the sweetest Shadow Knights ever to exist <3

⚝ Adores cuddling! Does it more so for his mental well-being over anything, just being close to his partner is an add on to it.

⚝ Vylad has started giving silent signals that he could go for some one-on-one time with his partner, either it be a certain nod of his head or an amount of squeezes he’d give his partner– he’d more than likely request some cuddles than [YourName].

⚝ It never seemed to bother [YourName], but it did make them question the reasoning behind Vylad always seemingly like he couldn’t go 24 hours without holding them which dwindled into a cuddling session each time.

⚝ And there is no way to go about asking without sounding odd, blunt, or rude. For a while, [YourName] didn’t ask much about it, just accepting the cuddles as they were! But then, one night, [YourName] and Vylad had started relaxing for the night. 

⚝ The two sat in front of the fire, their travel mates having gone to sleep in their own tents about an hour ago. “Vylad?” [YourName] asked, their head resting on their boyfriend’s shoulder, their body slotted perfectly in Vylad’s lap and arms. 

⚝ Vylad hummed softly, acknowledging his partner and signaled to let them keep talking, “What's with.. The cuddling?” [YourName] questioned softly. Vylad paused, trying to figure out if his partner is asking and trying to stop him from being so clingy or touchy. “Not that I don’t enjoy it, I just am curious..” [YourName] cleared up quickly, Vylad relaxed. 

⚝ Vylad took a moment, trying to figure out the exact reason he enjoyed being so close to his partner. I mean.. Who wouldn’t want to be close to the one they love? 

⚝ “I think it’s because I just want to make sure you’re safe.” Vylad mentioned, chopping it up to that at the end of the day. If Vylad wanted to be brutally honest? He did it to remind himself that he’s still human deep down, he remembers his siblings, his childhood, his monster of a ‘father’ and angel of a mother. 

⚝ He was human despite it all, it didn’t matter if biologically he was dead and revived as a Shadow Knight, if he could feel [YourName]’s heartbeat and memorize their heartbeat and keep them safe, then he’s human. 

⚝ Vylad’s love for cuddling truly stems from his need to protect, his want to be human once more, and to remember the good from his childhood. He remembers sitting in his mother’s lap, squished between his older brothers, listening to her tell them stories as he fell asleep. He was trying to provide that sense of comfort to his partner, truly. 

⚝ [YourName] could just tell from the look Vylad had, they knew there was more to the story- but they didn’t push. Instead, they fixed themselves so they could hold on to Vylad more and press kisses to his cheek. 

⚝ Vylad seemed to snap from his dazed memory-lane state, softly chuckling as he fixed his hold on his partner. It wouldn’t be long before Vylad and [YourName] put the fire out and head to their own tent to rest.

⚝ Vylad loves any position that involves [YourName] facing his direction, he keeps them close and buries his face into their hair to get a whiff of their smell. A smell that Vylad couldn’t forget, forever associated with [YourName]. Brought him comfort, something that he seeks and places with his partner and their comforting snores as they sleep and cling to him.

Gene ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ (0.5k)

⚝ Gene is definitely another dude I can’t pinpoint much of a personality out of? Another one I’d deem peculiar one (i’m trying to call him weird while being nice about it–) 

⚝ Won’t ever admit to liking it, but definitely lets you cling to him. Not a huge toucher unless others are around & he knows they want to piss him off.

⚝ Gene wasn’t usually one for personal connections, he kinda thought his loyalty was suppose to go to Shad and Shad only. He had this facade that he had made up and thought he had to keep up with, but in reality he didn’t.

⚝ Each Shadow Knight was human once, it’s natural for them to fall back into hold habits or never let go of something from their humanity. Gene’s would be wanting to be loved.

⚝ So when he met [YourName] and they were more than okay being second in his mind, Gene fell into a romantic relationship with them. It was definitely odd to hear about, most of the lower ranking Shadow Knights started some rumor about Gene using [YourName] or [YourName] using Gene. 

⚝ Made Gene feel small, like he was cuffed up once more in that prison cell after his stupid little brother ratted him out. 

⚝ Then, one day, the rumors had randomly stopped? Gene didn’t question it, claiming he wasn’t one for gossip since he found it childish. [YourName] would just shrug, acting as if they’re unaware of the rumors in general.

⚝ During Gene’s moments of weakness, [YourName] would do their best to comfort their boyfriend, which is how cuddling came up as a topic. 

⚝ Gene was very much hesitant on doing it, he found the thought of being so close dumb and the little sleep Shadow Knights required wasn’t enough to validate cuddling in general. [YourName] pulled out their begging eyes, Gene groaning as he caved and flopped down so [YourName] could do as they pleased cuddling-wise.

⚝ [YourName] definitely is the one who has to start all the cuddling sessions, and they have to be quite up front about it too; “I want to cuddle.” [YourName] says, their arms crossed as they approached their boyfriend.

⚝ “Pardon?” Gene asked, giving his partner a confused look. When [YourName] gave him a look as if they weren’t going to repeat themselves, Gene sighs in a little frustration and pitched the bridge of his nose. After a little bickering, Gene excused himself and assigned someone else to take over his post.

⚝ Gene won’t ever admit to anyone, no one, dead, alive, undead, NO ONE!!!! That he actually quite likes cuddling. He likes it because [YourName] is usually the big spoon or holding him. He likes being able to bury his face into their shoulder and actually feel peace. 

⚝ Prior to cuddling with [YourName], Gene felt as if he’d never know what peace felt like. Ever since his rugrat of a brother ruined his human life, he just knew he wouldn’t feel peace ever again. 

⚝ So when he found that peace was in [YourName]’s arms? Gene swore he wouldn’t ever speak of that, scared it would be ripped from him the moment he acknowledges it out loud.

⚝ Cuddling sessions last up to as long as Gene sleeps or takes a break, so varies from 35 minutes to 4 hours. There was no need for words either to end a session, all he had to do was gently tap at [YourName]’s waist and they let him go, demanding to kiss his cheek before letting their boyfriend return to his post.

Zenix ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ (0.6k)

⚝ Zenix was always an odd ball, you know? From the moment we meet him throughout the entire series he’s kinda just a ghost figure that’s mentioned and pops up when we don’t expect him to– so.

⚝ Awkward. Confused at first. Eventually gets comfortable.

⚝ Let’s set the scene; it’s in those 15 years that the main group was in the Irene Dimension, which kinda gives me a little more free reign? Anyway..

⚝ Zenix takes a little while to realize that cuddling is an enjoyable thing to do, not just something humans do to keep warm.

⚝ At first, he let [YourName] cuddle him because he thought that since they weren’t undead or anything special of that nature, they were seeking warmth.

⚝ But when he noticed they were sweating throughout the night, he would push [YourName] away and let them rest- but by the morning, [YourName] was pressed right back up against Zenix.

⚝ After a few nights of this, Zenix finally asks about it: ‘What the hell is your deal?’

⚝ “My deal?” [YourName] asked, looking up from counting the coins they had stashed away. “Yeah. Your deal. You always are against me at night, the weather is starting to warm up. You don’t need my heat, you just sweat.” Zenix said, his brows furrowed with confusion. 

⚝ Zenix had been a Shadow Knight for so long now, he forgot that when two people (undead or alive) can cuddle for more than just warmth and need to remain alive. 

⚝ [YourName] laughed, rolled their eyes, and finished counting the money. When they realized Zenix was being 100% for real, [YourName] sighed as they shook their head, “I just like.. Cuddling you. I feel safe.” [YourName] summarizes awkwardly, setting the coin bag into their backpack.

⚝ Zenix had some sort of ‘ah-ha!’ moment, realizing that [YourName] was simply seeking normal couple actions. He also wasn’t use to dating, nor was he a touchy guy. He had just started holding [YourName]’s hand in public, not just to make sure they remained beside him when they were running.

⚝ From that conversation, Zenix started to be more open about cuddling. It took a few weeks, but he started initiating cuddling rather than waiting for [YourName] to hint that they wanted to be held. 

⚝ Zenix definitely randomly squeezes [YourName] when they cuddle, but not like death-grip squeezing, just a reminder to him or his partner that he’s there. It’s also his way of making sure [YourName] is still breathing as 9 times out of 10, it makes [YourName] stir when they’re asleep or giggle when they’re awake.

⚝ As hinted before, Zenix is a natural heater, so he’s an excellent fella to have around in the colder months. [YourName] loves being held by Zenix, and he had found this out because despite it being hot and [YourName] just kept on chugging along with the cuddling when they were able to lay low. 

⚝ So, during the hotter months, Zenix does everything he can to cool his body temperature down and that includes manually breathing. It’s so odd, and it doesn’t bother him, but just being aware of bodily functions is odd– especially when people don’t naturally focus on breathing or count seconds between when their chest rises and falls, but it seems to do the job to cool down the heat. 

⚝ Zenix 100% takes over big spoon once he’s aware of [YourName]’s love for cuddling! He can’t handle the thought of not being able to jump up or roll over his partner if danger comes along.

⚝ Zenix doesn’t have a certain cuddling position he likes, he’s noticed as long as he gets to hold [YourName] to his chest and feel that they’re still very much alive and safe, he’s satisfied. He does have a preference on if he is in the position to kiss [YourName]’s head or not (he 100% wants to have them face him so he can, hehe)

lets see how long dis aphmau phase lasts this yr !! - Stari ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[zeke-fanfucs]

HERES MY FIRST ON MY BBY COLT! (Not my art btw. Shout out to whoever made it tho)

Title: “Getting Under Switchy’s Skin”

Colt leaned against the bar in the dimly lit cantina, his eyes scanning the room with an almost predatory ease. His tail flicked idly behind him, a sure sign of his amusement. Hipswitch was across the room, talking to Mahatma, but Colt wasn’t interested in them. No, his eyes were on Karmor, who was sitting at a corner table, fiddling with his journal. The quiet kid was way too serious for Colt’s taste, and for some reason, that made him all the more interesting.

With a grin that could melt steel, Colt pushed off from the bar and swaggered over to Karmor’s table. He was careful to make his footsteps loud enough that Karmor would hear him coming.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Colt said smoothly as he took a seat across from Karmor without waiting for an invitation. “A little loner time? You should know, it’s dangerous to spend too much time in your head out here. You might miss something… or someone.”

Karmor looked up, a little startled, but didn’t flinch. His gray eyes met Colt’s with a cool indifference that was only slightly interrupted by the awkwardness of Colt’s sudden presence.

“I’m fine,” Karmor replied flatly, as if he’d been through a hundred of these kinds of encounters. “What do you want?”

Colt smirked, leaning in just enough for Karmor to feel the heat of his presence. His tail curled slightly, the long appendage sweeping across the floor as he locked eyes with the younger man. “I don’t know,” Colt said, voice smooth like honey. “I’m just trying to figure out why you spend so much time being so… quiet. Got a lot on your mind? Or are you always this mysterious?”

Karmor stared at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. He glanced toward Hipswitch, who was now giving them a curious look from across the room.

Colt couldn’t resist. “Oh, don’t mind Switchy. He looks like he’s about to break something, but he’s too busy pretending you don’t interest him. What do you say, Karmor? Maybe we should ditch the brooding and have some fun?”

Karmor’s lips twitched as if he might respond, but before he could, Colt stood, straightened his coat, and tossed a sly grin over his shoulder.

“Just a thought,” he said. “Don’t let me stop you from having a good time.”

He turned to walk away, but he didn’t miss the way Hipswitch’s eyes followed him, burning with a silent fury. Colt couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. This was going to be fun.

· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·

Title: “Flirting with Fire”

It was another long day of tracking down bounties. The gang had just finished their latest job, and they were all sitting at a small table in a diner on the outskirts of town. The air was thick with exhaustion, and the crew was scattered about, minds either on the next job or just trying to wind down.

Then the door swung open with a jingle, and Colt strolled in like he owned the place. His eyes immediately locked onto Karmor, who was sitting near the far corner, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. The smirk spread across Colt’s face as he casually made his way toward the table.

Hipswitch was the first to notice. The moment Colt’s gaze landed on Karmor, Switchy’s posture stiffened. He muttered something under his breath, but Colt was already too far gone to care.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the mysterious Karmor,” Colt’s voice cut through the murmur of conversation like a blade. He leaned over the back of Karmor’s chair, his breath warm against Karmor’s neck as he spoke, “Mind if I join you, or are you too deep in that head of yours?”

Karmor stiffened, but only for a moment. He shot a brief glance at Hipswitch, who was staring daggers into Colt’s back, but didn’t say anything. He just sighed.

“I’m not interested in company, Colt,” Karmor replied flatly, setting his coffee down.

Colt just grinned wider, sliding into the seat next to him without waiting for an invitation. “Aw, come on, I’m not that bad. You’re not gonna make me drink alone, are you?” His hand brushed ever-so-lightly against Karmor’s arm as he reached for the menu. It was an innocent touch, but the way it lingered sent a clear message.

Hipswitch was already standing up, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape as he walked over, trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

“You really can’t take a hint, can you, Colt?” Hipswitch snapped, stepping closer to the table. “Leave Karmor alone.”

Colt just tilted his head back, looking at Hipswitch with a playful smirk. “Oh, come on, Switchy. You know I’m just having a little fun.” He shot a wink toward Karmor, who looked decidedly unamused. “You can’t blame me for trying, right? He’s a handsome guy.”

Karmor shot a quick look at Hipswitch, but when he saw the barely-contained anger in his eyes, he simply shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I’m fine, Switch,” he muttered, his tone cold but calm.

That didn’t stop Colt. Every chance he got, he was right there, sliding into Karmor’s space. Whether it was a brush of his fingers as he passed Karmor a drink or an exaggerated compliment about Karmor’s “brooding intensity,” Colt made damn sure to throw a flirt or touch in Karmor’s direction, and every time, Hipswitch’s patience seemed to wear thinner and thinner.

It wasn’t even about Karmor anymore. Colt could tell that Hipswitch was getting frustrated, and there was something undeniably satisfying about it. He wasn’t a fan of the whole “gang dynamic” they had going, but getting under Hipswitch’s skin? That was fun.

The next time they crossed paths, it was in a rundown alley. Karmor was leaning against the wall, scribbling in his journal, when Colt appeared from behind a corner.

“Well, if it isn’t the quiet thinker himself,” Colt purred, sidling up to Karmor like a cat toying with its prey. This time, he didn’t even bother with subtlety. His hand brushed against Karmor’s shoulder as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Karmor’s ear. “You know, you’d look even more mysterious with a little smile. You should try it sometime.”

Karmor stiffened, but before he could respond, a loud shout from behind them interrupted the moment.

“Colt!” Hipswitch’s voice thundered, and Karmor could practically feel the fury rolling off him. “Cut it out!”

Colt chuckled, not even looking at Hipswitch as he shot Karmor a sly grin. “Sorry, buddy. Looks like your fan club’s calling.”

Karmor just sighed and shook his head, an amused glint flickering in his eyes despite himself. The game had begun, and the stakes were higher than ever.

· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·

 Title: “Explosive Moments”

The mission had gone sideways. Fast.

One moment, they were staking out a target, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The next, they found themselves caught in a chaotic firefight. Explosions rocked the ground beneath them, and gunfire filled the air like an unstoppable storm. The gang had scattered, and Karmor—who had been stuck covering a narrow alley—was now pinned down by a group of enemies.

The worst part? There was a timer on a nearby explosive device counting down, its red numbers glaring ominously. The pressure was suffocating. The enemy had planted it, and Karmor was the closest, far too focused on the incoming fire to notice it in time.

Colt saw the device as he sprinted through the chaos. He could hear the ticking, and his mind raced as he skidded into the alleyway where Karmor was crouched behind a wrecked vehicle. Colt’s sharp eyes locked onto the device and then shifted to Karmor, who was looking frustrated but determined, his hand gripping his side as though he’d taken a hit.

“Hey, Karmor!” Colt called out with a grin that didn’t match the danger of the situation. “This isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but I think it’s time for a little rescue.”

Karmor turned just in time to see Colt’s smirk before the explosion timer reached the final seconds. His heart skipped a beat.

Without warning, Colt was there, his tail flicking out, coiling around Karmor’s waist like a steel trap. He pulled the younger man toward him with surprising strength, wrapping an arm around his back as he hauled him up.

“What the hell—” Karmor began, but Colt didn’t wait for him to finish.

“Shh, no time for talk,” Colt said smoothly, the playful glint in his eyes never fading, even as the seconds ticked closer to their doom. “I’ve got you.”

Karmor could feel the heat of the explosion approaching. The seconds were counting down, and every instinct told him to resist, to run, to fight. But the next thing he knew, he was in Colt’s arms, his body pressed against the Varkari’s chest as Colt easily scooped him up, carrying him with almost too much ease.

And as if the situation wasn’t already bad enough, Colt’s grin widened, knowing full well that their escape route was right under the nose of the one person who’d been itching to kill him for months. Hipswitch.

From across the battlefield, Hipswitch saw the scene unfold like a slow-motion nightmare. His eyes locked onto Colt, carrying Karmor as though it were the most casual thing in the world. And that smile—God, that goddamn smile—only made it worse.

“No,” Hipswitch muttered under his breath, his knuckles white as he gripped his gun. “He better not—”

“Hold on tight,” Colt said with a mischievous grin, tightening his hold on Karmor as he dashed toward the exit. The bomb was close. Too close. But Colt didn’t even flinch as the world around them started to blur in the rush.

Karmor, still too stunned to speak, barely had time to process what was happening. He was caught in the whirlwind of Colt’s movements, the heat of his chest pressing against him, and the intense focus Colt had as he sprinted toward safety.

But Colt wasn’t finished.

As they cleared the alley and the explosion went off behind them, shaking the ground, Colt jumped into a roll, twisting in midair to land safely on the other side of the wreckage. He grinned like a maniac, his tail flicking proudly as he stood up, holding Karmor effortlessly.

Karmor blinked, disoriented, and then shot him a look, the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You’re insane.”

“I know,” Colt replied with a wink, his grin not faltering for a second. “But you’re welcome.”

As Karmor squirmed out of his arms, trying to regain his footing, Colt let him go but didn’t miss the satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced back toward the wreckage. He knew exactly who had been watching them.

Hipswitch was storming toward them now, fury written all over his face. His gaze snapped to Colt, and then to Karmor, before finally narrowing in on the grin that was still plastered on Colt’s face.

“You have a death wish, don’t you, Colt?” Hipswitch snarled, stepping closer, his voice low and dangerous.

Colt just chuckled, wiping his brow dramatically as if the explosion had been no big deal. “Not at all. Just saving your friend from blowing up. Though, I’m sure you would’ve preferred to be the one to rescue him, huh?”

Hipswitch’s jaw clenched, but Karmor, finally regaining his composure, stepped in before things could escalate.

“I’m fine, Switch,” Karmor said, his tone calm but cutting through the tension. “Colt… saved me.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Hipswitch let out a frustrated growl, but Colt didn’t let up.

“You’re welcome, Cowboy,” Colt said, tossing a mock salute to Hipswitch. “But hey, no hard feelings, yeah? You can get him next time.”

Karmor rolled his eyes as Hipswitch shot Colt one last glare, the momentary calm between them shattered by Colt’s persistent taunting. But as Colt turned to walk away, his tail flicking behind him, the playful glint in his eyes never faded.

And for the rest of the mission, Hipswitch could do nothing but seethe at the fact that Colt had saved Karmor—and done it all while making damn sure he knew Hipswitch was watching.

· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·

Title: “The Trauma Club”

Somewhere on the dusty edge of SpringRock, in a bar that never bothered with a name, two bastards sat nursing a bottle of something strong and probably illegal.

Colt leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the table, swirling amber liquor in a chipped glass. Across from him, Albus slouched like a crumbling statue, face half-lit by neon, shadows carving out the permanent exhaustion under his eyes.

“So,” Colt said, cocky grin already forming. “How’s your favorite soap opera couple?”

Albus snorted, took a swig. “Still dancin’ ‘round each other like it’s a fuckin’ landmine tango.”

Colt laughed loud, tail flicking behind him like punctuation. “You’d think they’d at least kissed by now. I’ve already got my name carved in the ‘First Kiss’ trophy.”

Albus gave him a flat look. “You stole that kiss.”

“I earned it,” Colt corrected, smug. “You seen the way Karmor blushes? It’s adorable. He’s like an awkward crime puppy.”

Albus rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky Switch didn’t shoot you. He came back to the ship pacing holes in the floor. Looked like someone took a piss on his memory drive.”

“Aw,” Colt grinned. “He cares.”

“Yeah, too damn much. That’s the problem.” Albus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They talk around it. Always ‘you okay?’ and ‘you didn’t have to do that’ and then run off in opposite directions like middle schoolers.”

Colt raised his glass. “To repressed feelings.”

“To emotional constipation,” Albus muttered, clinking.

There was a silence. Familiar. Heavy. But not unfriendly.

They were the same, after all—two hard-edged men held together by rage, guilt, and the occasional terrible decision. Trauma buddies. The kind of friends who didn’t need to ask how you were doing because they already knew it was bad.

Colt finally broke it, glancing sideways. “Still not eating?”

Albus shook his head. “Load pills.”

Colt didn’t press. They never did. But he nodded, understanding tucked behind the glib grin.

“You ever think we’re just the broken preview version of those two?” he asked casually. “Like, if they don’t figure their shit out, they turn into us?”

Albus gave him a side-eye. “Nah. They’ve got a shot. We didn’t.”

Colt laughed, short and sharp. “Speak for yourself. I still got charm.”

“Charm don’t fix shattered.”

“Neither does Load pills.”

They drank in silence for a moment longer.

Then Albus added, “But they’re good for each other. If one of ‘em ever grows a spine.”

“And if not,” Colt said, stretching with a lazy yawn, “well, I’ll just keep flirting with Karmor until one of them explodes.”

Albus smirked. “Just make sure it ain’t literally an explosion next time.”

“No promises,” Colt grinned.

And they clinked glasses again, two ghosts of war watching from the sidelines while two idiots fumbled their way toward maybe, possibly, something real.

· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·

Title: “Read Between the Lines”

Mahatma’s clinic wasn’t much—half a storage container bolted to the back of an old generator—but it was clean, warm, and smelled like antiseptic and dried flowers. The doctor muttered to himself while organizing scalpels and gel packs, making soft sounds as he checked the newly delivered medical equipment stacked beside the door.

“Payment delivered,” Colt announced, stretching as he stepped in. “Top-grade dermal gel and fresh synth-thread. Stolen from only the second-most corrupt supply ship I’ve robbed this month.”

Mahatma didn’t look up. “You bled all over my floor three days ago. This covers maybe half the mess.”

“Aw, Doc.” Colt grinned. “You always know how to make a guy feel appreciated.”

Karmor sat in the corner, legs crossed, a book open on his lap. He looked up briefly, eyes scanning Colt’s cocky entrance before returning to the pages. The book was upside-down. Then righted. Then he stared at it again, brows furrowing.

Colt zeroed in like a predator spotting easy prey.

He slid into the seat next to Karmor, arm resting on the back of the bench, voice low and syrup-smooth. “Reading The Covenant of Stillwater? That’s a dense one. Especially if you’re not fluent in Galectraic.”

Karmor blinked. “I am… learning.”

“Looks like you’re wrestling it to the ground,” Colt said, peeking over his shoulder at the alien script. “Upside-down chapter four. Bold move.”

Karmor flushed faintly, turning the page to distract from his embarrassment. “I’m practicing. Mahatma says if I’m gonna be stuck in this galaxy, I should understand it.”

“Smart. But brutal,” Colt said, reaching over and gently flipping the page right-side-up for him. “This dialect uses sentence stacking. Top block is the action, bottom’s the time and mood. Here.” He tapped a line. “That says, ‘The stars waited,’ not ‘The stars wept.’ Easy mix-up.”

Karmor studied the page, then him. “You know this language?”

“Enough to flirt and run,” Colt said with a wink. “And read old rebel war poetry. Some of it’s pretty.”

There was a pause, the kind that lingered just on the edge of comfort. Karmor didn’t pull away, just looked at him for a long beat. “Why are you helping?”

Colt shrugged, tail flicking lazily. “Can’t a guy be charming and educational?”

From the other room, Mahatma called out, “He’s being annoying again, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Karmor replied dryly.

Colt chuckled, rising from the bench. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave the scholars to their learning.”

He turned to go, then added over his shoulder, “But hey… next time you wanna practice? Pick something easier. Like love letters. I got a few in Galectraic I could let you decode.”

Karmor groaned.

Colt winked as he vanished out the door, boots thudding cheerfully on the metal floor.

And though Karmor rolled his eyes again, he didn’t stop smiling for a while.

· ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·

Title: “Practice Makes Pitiful”

The practice yard behind Mahatma’s safehouse was a wreck—scorch marks in the dirt, shredded targets hanging from rusted poles, and half a dummy still smoldering from Albus’s last temper tantrum.

Today’s unlucky “shoot dummies”? Colt and Hipswitch. Suited up in worn-down armor plates with painted targets on their chests.

Karmor stood twenty feet away, concentrating, hands glowing faintly with his strange, stuttering energy. Mahatma monitored from a bench with a data pad.

“You sure he’s not just gonna obliterate us by accident?” Colt asked, shifting on his feet. “That last shot nearly shorted my tail.”

“You volunteered,” Hipswitch muttered, arms crossed.

Colt grinned, elbowing him. “You didn’t say no either. Hoping he’ll touch your metal plating again?”

Hipswitch stiffened. “Shut up.”

Colt’s eyes glinted. “You really think no one notices? The way you watch him like he’s gonna disappear if you blink too long?”

Hipswitch didn’t respond.

Colt tilted his head. “He’s not mute anymore. He’s getting stronger. Learning fast. Still barely knows anything about himself, but he’s trying. And you’re standing there pretending you don’t want to be the one he leans on.”

Hipswitch’s jaw clicked.

“He deserves better,” he said flatly. “I’m an Obscuran. Synthetic chassis, cold code. Half my feelings are regulated by hardware and the other half are errors I can’t debug. Karmor probably wants someone with a heartbeat.”

Colt snorted. “You think I’m bio-material? I’ve got more replacement parts than an old war mech. And you know what? People don’t fall in love with your processor model, Switch—they fall in love with the way you look at them when you think no one’s watching.”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

Hipswitch didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked back toward Karmor, who was adjusting his stance and wiping his brow, looking like he didn’t quite belong in his own skin.

“He’s not afraid of you,” Colt added quietly. “He’s afraid for you. Think about what that means.”

Just then, Karmor raised his hand and fired. A pulse of energy shot toward them—and veered sharply left, blowing apart a poor, unoffending barrel.

“Missed,” Karmor mumbled.

Attila cackled. “He’s aiming for your heart, moron!”

Colt raised a hand. “Gonna take a while. Pretty sure it’s behind all that titanium self-loathing.”

Hipswitch ignored them.

But his eyes never left Karmor.

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧ ⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧ ⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

Title: “The Tail End”

Colt dreamed in static.

Not color, not sound—static. The sterile white of lab walls, the hum of cold light, the echo of boots too heavy for mercy. His body felt small again. Too small. Nine years old. Bones brittle, skin stretched over muscle that hadn’t been allowed to grow right. His number—5580—burned on the back of his neck like it always did in dreams.

He was strapped to the table.

Not a table—that table. The one with restraints so tight they bruised before they even cut. He’d grown used to the metal, but he would never get used to the smell. Blood. Coolant. Burned flesh.

Voices filtered in—filtered through—as if they came from inside his own skull. No faces. Just the silhouettes in long coats, faceless behind black visors, scribbling notes while he screamed.

“He’s stabilized.”

“Begin the tail integration.”

“Hold him still.”

The panic came first—then the sting. The slice down his back was methodical. Too clean to be anything but practiced. But pain is pain, no matter how sterile. He felt them peel him open like a puzzle box, tearing apart muscle, threading cold metal into his spine.

He screamed.

Of course he screamed. At nine years old, rage and fear were the only weapons he had—and they were pitiful.

One of the scientists leaned close to his ear. She had a voice like sugar poured over razors.

“You’re not a person, 5580. You’re a part now. Be grateful you’re useful.”

The mechanical tail—still slick with blood and cooling fluid—was heavy. Too heavy. It anchored him to the table like a curse. And when they bolted it in, pain didn’t stop. It echoed. Through every nerve. Every thought. Until he didn’t know where he stopped and it began.

He looked up.

There was a reflection in the surgical light. His own face. But older. Present-day Colt, watching with wide, frozen eyes. A grown man, staring down at the boy version of himself.

“You let them make me this,” the child whispered.

Colt tried to speak—but no sound came.

The child’s eyes filled with betrayal. “You killed them. But you never fixed me.”

Then the table started to melt. The light bent. The lab pulled itself inside out like a collapsing lung—

And Colt woke up.

Sweat soaked his sheets, tail twitching uncontrollably like it remembered before he did. His back ached. His lungs were full of ghosts.

He didn’t scream.

He never screamed anymore.

Instead, he sat on the edge of his cot in the dark, elbows on knees, head in hands.

And whispered the same thing he always did, voice cracking:

“I’m not 5580. I’m not. I’m Colt.”

But some nights, the tail twitched just right—and he wasn’t so sure.

⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧ ⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧ ⛧°. ⋆༺♱༻⋆. °⛧

Title: “Porchlight Confessions”

The moon over SpringRock was too pale to be real. Like a flashlight behind thin paper. The desert wind whispered through the metal eaves of Mahatma’s clinic, soft and constant—carrying grit, silence, and old thoughts.

Karmor stepped out onto the porch barefoot, book tucked under one arm, intending to sit for a while and breathe. The hallway had been too quiet. His mind was loud.

Then he saw Colt.

Slouched in one of the rusted deck chairs, bottle dangling from two fingers, tail limp and coiled near his feet like a dead thing. No smirk. No quip. Just a vacant look on his face, as if he’d been watching something long gone.

Karmor paused. Colt didn’t notice him at first.

Then—

“Couldn’t sleep?” Colt muttered without looking.

“Didn’t try.”

Karmor sat beside him, cross-legged on the porch floor.

Colt raised the bottle halfway toward his mouth, paused, and let it drop again. He looked at Karmor finally, and there was something hollow in his eyes. Like the bottom of a pit he’d never finished falling down.

“Had the lab dream again,” he said, tone too casual to be natural.

Karmor blinked. “…The one with the tail?”

Colt let out a short, humorless laugh. “You get one mechanical graft and suddenly people think you’re lucky. ‘Built to survive.’ ‘Enhanced.’” He tapped the bottle against his temple. “Nobody ever asks how it got there.”

Karmor waited. Quiet was something he was good at. Something that didn’t ask for more than someone’s presence.

Colt breathed in deep. “I was nine. Strapped down. Wide awake. No sedatives. Just cold, and hands, and the sound of my own spine cracking open.”

The wind picked up. Neither moved.

“They said I should be grateful,” Colt added, voice cracking at the edges now. “That I was chosen. That I was useful.”

“You weren’t a weapon,” Karmor said softly. “You were a child.”

Colt looked away. Swallowed. The metal segments of his tail trembled slightly, unbidden. “Doesn’t feel like it. Still doesn’t.”

They sat there a while. Nothing but the wind between them.

Then Karmor reached up and gently took the bottle from Colt’s hand. Set it aside.

Colt blinked at him.

“You’re more than that tail,” Karmor said. “More than what they made you.”

A pause.

Colt looked down at his hands. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” Karmor said.

And it wasn’t said like a comfort. It was said like a fact.

Colt didn’t smile. But he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. And when Karmor leaned his shoulder gently against his, neither pulled away.

The porch light above flickered, but didn’t die.

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

Title: “Pocket Lessons”

SpringRock’s marketplace was a cacophony of sound and smell—grease, sweat, sizzling meat, half-functioning tech, and the shouts of people who made a living off lies. Karmor moved through the crowd like a wandering question mark, hood up, boots quiet, eyes sharp. He watched everything. Understood half.

Colt leaned against a fruit stand like he owned the dirt beneath it, tail swaying lazily behind him. One of his boots rested against a broken crate. The vendor hadn’t noticed the missing credit chip yet.

“Alright, space prince,” Colt said, waving Karmor over. “Today’s lesson: swindling. Or as I like to call it—economical justice.”

Karmor frowned. “Isn’t that stealing?”

“It’s selective redistribution. And in SpringRock? It’s just survival with style.”

Karmor raised an eyebrow.

Colt turned toward a nearby food stall with a long line of angry workers and tourists. The seller, a two-eyed Nikku woman, was arguing loudly with a vendor next door. Her attention, for now, was divided.

“Watch,” Colt whispered.

He picked up a bruised citrus pod from a stacked bin and made a show of inspecting it—tossed it, caught it, spun it in one hand—then “accidentally” knocked over another. As the Nikku turned to yell, Colt slipped three more pods into his coat and dropped a small, useless chip onto the counter with a dramatic “Oops.”

Then he winked at Karmor and strolled away without breaking stride.

Karmor followed, silent for a moment.

“You paid with a transit chip that expired three years ago.”

“Details,” Colt said, biting into the fruit. “If she checks it, she’ll just think it glitched. Besides, she’s overcharging by 40% for outworlders.”

“And you made it look like a mistake,” Karmor murmured, thinking. “So no scene. No chase.”

“Exactly. Rule one: the best thief is the one no one suspects. Rule two: confidence is currency. Rule three…” He stopped walking, turning to face Karmor fully.

“Pick one person in this market who looks rich, distracted, and way too confident.”

Karmor scanned the crowd. A well-dressed man was laughing near the gambling tent, swiping away holographic alerts on his tablet without looking. Rings on every finger. Coat too clean.

“That one.”

Colt grinned. “Smart. Now, want to try the slip?”

Karmor hesitated. Then nodded.

He didn’t quite swindle like Colt did—he brushed past the man, fumbled like he’d tripped, and murmured an apology. But by the time he reached Colt again, there was a cred bracelet in his hand.

Colt whistled low. “Kid learns quick.”

Karmor smirked. “You say that like you’re not proud.”

“Oh, I’m very proud.” Colt clapped him on the back. “You’re turning into a proper delinquent.”

Karmor raised the bracelet. “Still gonna give this to Mahatma. He needs new med supplies.”

Colt grinned, tossing him another fruit. “That’s the spirit. Steal for good. Confuse the hell out of the universe.”

And for the first time that day, Karmor laughed—sharp, short, and real.

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺 🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

Title: “Morals & Malfunctions”

The sun had just dipped below the jagged skyline of SpringRock, casting the town in warm rust and sharp shadow. Inside the hangar, Hipswitch paced like a buzzsaw barely restrained, boots heavy against the metal floor.

Colt sat on a crate, leisurely cleaning the barrel of his sidearm, like he hadn’t just committed a minor act of social corruption.

“Let me get this straight,” Hipswitch said, voice low and dangerously calm. “You taught Karmor how to steal?”

“Swindle,” Colt corrected without looking up. “It’s different. It’s charming.”

Hipswitch stopped pacing and turned, eyes glowing slightly under his visor. “He’s barely adjusted to this planet. He still says ‘thank you’ to vending machines.”

“Exactly why he needed the lesson,” Colt said, smirking. “SpringRock eats nice boys. I’m helping him grow fangs.”

“You’re corrupting him.”

Colt finally looked up, lazy grin still in place. “He’s not a vase, Switch. He’s not gonna break because I taught him how to palm a credit chip.”

Hipswitch stalked closer, voice sharp. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s practical.” Colt stood up now, not mocking—just matter-of-fact. “You want him alive or perfect?”

A beat of silence.

Then Hipswitch’s hands curled into fists. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t think. You just did it.”

Colt shrugged. “I trust him more than you do, apparently.”

That was the snap.

Hipswitch shoved Colt back a step. “I do trust him. I trust him not to become like us.”

Colt’s smile faltered. Just a flicker.

“We’re not monsters,” he said quietly.

“No,” Hipswitch growled. “But we’re used to being broken. He’s still whole. You don’t get to chip at that just because you’re afraid he’ll end up soft.”

Colt stared at him.

Then—without venom, without bravado—he said, “You think the world’s gonna let him stay whole?”

They stood there, static between them.

Footsteps padded from the hall.

Karmor leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow lifted. “I am right here, you know.”

Hipswitch stiffened. “He—”

“I know,” Karmor interrupted. “And for what it’s worth… I don’t regret learning it.”

Colt gave him a wink. “See? Practical.”

Karmor turned back into the hall. “Still giving the bracelet to Mahatma, though.”

When he was gone, Hipswitch exhaled hard and turned to Colt again. “Just… next time? Let him decide what kind of person he wants to be.”

Colt’s grin returned—but it was softer now. Almost tired. “Sure, Cowboy. I’ll teach him the tricks. You teach him the heart.”

And with that, the two men stood in the silence of the hangar, mismatched as ever—but for once, not at war.

[the-cerene-rewritten-railway-au]

The Thing About Today...

14 February 1970

Word Count: +3,890

Valentine’s Day is supposed to be one of the most joyous holidays of the year, even if the engines don’t fully understand it! James certainly does! Everything’s red, like him, and it’s nice to be appreciated for once. But when he comes across Edward, he’s shocked to learn that he isn’t enjoying it. Compared to last year, it’s a complete turnaround for the blue engine, so what changed?

fanfiction.net | my site

a/n: happy 5/2 (or 2/5) !!!

~

"Bonjour, pa'! Joyeux Saint Valentin!" piped Jacqueline.

"Bonjour, Jackie!" chuckled James as he backed into his goods train. "Joyeux Saint Valentin! Feelin' bubbly?"

Both engines were taking loads of aluminum from the works up north the Shen Valley Branch Line. James would take his load to Tidmouth while Jacqueline would take hers to Vicarstown. It was originally meant to be the other way around but Jacqueline had been insistent in swapping loads last night.

"I have a friend there!" "I haven't seen her in a while, pa'!" James quickly gave in, knowing how it felt to not see a close friend in a while. Apart from the weekly gatherings at Tidmouth, he hadn't seen Edward, one of his closest friends, in a few weeks. They didn't meet up as often as they used to years ago. Sometimes, they'd go one or two days without seeing each other and other times, they'd go weeks instead, simply because their schedules didn't line up with one another.

Besides, it was Valentine's Day. He could at least greet his friends on such a wonderful day on any chance he could get.

"Oui, pa'!" Jacqueline's cheeks burned, but the red engine thought nothing of it, laughing as he was coupled up to his goods train. Her guard's whistle shrilled. "I'm off, pa'! Au revoir!" With her boiler full of energy and steam, she headed off for Vicarstown.

"Au revoir!" He lurched forward, slightly straining as he was pulled back by his flatbeds. Right then, it didn't bother him-.

"Watch out, you silly engine!" His driver, Demian, popped his head out, shaking his fist.

Now it did, to which James snapped right back, "Shove off, will ya!"

Ever since Demian and Richard, his new driver and fireman respectively, took over from his previous crew, there was nothing but constant bickering between them. James didn't see them fit enough to understand him. They weren't the same as Mr. Quill and Mr. Turner.

They weren't them.

But, they were better than sitting in the shed, waiting to come out because no one else could take him out. Mr. Quill and Mr. Turner were well past their youth, having a hard time keeping up with the workloads. It was hard for James to admit it but they needed to retire. They deserved it after having spent so many years by James' side, tolerating him at best.

He knew that, and it was the very least he could do to thank for everything.

...

Right as James neared Knapford Station, he spotted Thomas waiting with Annie and Clarabel. From a distance, he noticed the lack impatience or cheeriness within his expression.

Curious, the red engine hollered as he slowed down, “Wonderful day, innit, Thomas?"

Nothing.

He slowed down some more, leaning to his right. “Thomas~! I know you can hear me~!”

Again. Nothing.

“Thomas-?”

“What?” grunted the engine in question.

“He speaks!” snickered James, coming to a stop. “What's up with you today? It's only morning of a wonderful day!”

“Don’t say it-”

“Joyeux Valentine's Day!”

“To Lady, you're insufferable-”

That's it. Today was no day to be in a sour mood. It had to be the worst day to be so. Determined to not let his day go wrong, at least not so soon, James figured that getting to the bottom of... whatever was going on might help. “Ok. Seriously, what's got you all puffed up?” The splendid red engine looked over the stumpy blue engine, trying to spot any injuries that could imply something.

He found nothing. But still. “Did you-?”

“I'm not like you!” jabbed Thomas. “Getting into trouble every single day!”

“Hey!” he scoffed, thrown off by the sudden anger. “I was just asking!”

“I'm still waiting!" the blue iron horse snapped once more.

Confused, James stayed quiet.

“Go on! Make fun of me.”

What is up with him? “...what?”

Thomas was ready to snap again but suddenly stopped in his tracks, frowning. “Wait... were you on the island last year? On Valentine’s Day?”

James huffed. “'Course I was! I got stuck up in Peel Godred, remember?”

“...so you didn't hear about any rumor that happened that day?”

“I heard that something happened—" James leaned further to the right. "Not sure what it was."

"Forget what I said then!"

"Oh no, you don't!" Thomas wouldn't be allowed to leave anyways, James knew that. His guard hadn't blown the whistle, and Thomas didn't want a repeat of what happened years ago. "What spills has spilled. Fess up!"

Thomas' cheeks burned, glaring at James. "Mind your own beeswax!"

The last bit was sneered, taunting James for something that happened years ago. It set off the red iron horse, sending him into a flustered rage, gritting his teeth. "You-!"

Thomas' guard blew his whistle. The moment it did, Thomas fled, startling his crew and successfully avoiding confrontation.

"Thomas!" James could holler all he wanted but he knew Thomas wouldn't come back. "Damn it!"

"James, language!" Demian popped his head out, shaking his fist.

James fumed but held on. Just long enough for when his signal turned green, he jerked forward, just to show, once again, how little respect he had for the young men. Ignoring their chides once more, the red iron horse headed toward Tidmouth to finish up his job.

...

Tidmouth Yard was busy as usual, with shunters scuttling about the tracks, switching points left, right, and center. As James arrived, he surveyed the area for Stanley or any of the other shunters when he spotted Edward, who appeared to have just arrived. Odd, as James didn't recall seeing or hearing Edward on his way here.

Just as James approached his friend, he had an idea.

Maybe he knows what happened. Often seen as wise and kind, others would forget that Edward, somehow, knew every little thing that happened on the island and was responsible for any rumors spread. Partially.

As he drew near Edward, the latter piped, "Good mornin', Stanley!"

Behind the row of cars to Edward's left, Stanley replied, "Good morning, Edward!"

And like that, the older engine sat there idly, waiting to be uncoupled from his train.

But James took note of how Edward's smile slowly diminished, his face losing the soft warmth, matching the late winter cold. It wasn't a frown but it wasn't anything pleasant to signify that the smaller engine was at peace. Something must be bothering him.

"Good morning, Edward~!" James piped, startling Edward. "How's it going?"

While James was all cheery, bright as the morning sun, Edward's day began with a foggy mind, like yesterday's cloudy skies. It was full of thoughts about today, Valentine's Day. Ones that led to thinking about the red engine.

In the past, like other engines, Valentine’s Day was something that Edward didn't care much for. It wasn't something he hated but it wasn't something he was interested in either. It was one of those nice holidays the passengers would celebrate, hoping on trains to visit their loved ones. Seeing them so cheery made Edward bubbly, leaving him in a pleasant mood for the day.

But, oh dear... That morning, he was bubbly for a different reason, and that reason was here. A part of him hoped to not come across the splendidly red engine today. The fear of possibly making his friend uncomfortable with his odd behavior had nagged him since December, and it chose to be his biggest concern that day.

Ever since that December, Edward's mind would return to the subject. He thought about it over and over again, thinking he had come to terms about his feelings the first night at the works. "I have plenty of time." Too much time, if anything. He wanted to understand how and why he felt this strongly for James. He didn't intend to think about the possible outcomes if he told James. Or how other engines would take it. Or how Sir Topham Hatt II would take it.

As his thoughts spiraled, Edward fell into panic and, as normal as a reaction he could have, he boxed them up and shunted them to the back of his mind.

It didn't resolve anything as, unfortunately, the back of his mind spoke the loudest.

Since then, whenever he came across James, his boiler bubbled and those thoughts screamed at him. Is this really what love is all about? People enjoy this feeling, of being on edge about someone they care about? It wasn't fear. Edward knew what it truly felt like, and this... surge of complex emotions wasn't it.

James was a dear friend that he deeply cared about. That he knew for certain. A dear friend whom he had a complicated history with. A roller coaster, if you would. When they met, he hoped to befriend him but with the way Sir Topham Hatt spoke about James...

Edward couldn't help but be envious and scared, thinking that James would replace him. In response, the little blue engine worked, grinding his wheels, close to the point of flattening them until the controller confronted him. Once those thoughts were dispelled, he focused on befriending the newcomer once more.

And yet, everything went south because, of course, what he thought would be helpful, what he believed to be for the best, wasn't.

From mistrust on Edward's end to selfishness on James', it was a relationship that others deemed to be a waste of time. It's not worth saving, he was told. You're both too different! They've heard their fair share of advice.

But with time, the pieces found themselves and they were able to rebuild from there. It was a beautiful way to think of their bond when another engine would remind him of how James could be.

Could. A keyword perfectly describing the splendid red engine in his books.

James could be vain. He could be selfish. He could be rude.

But James could also be kind. He could be selfless at times. He could admit that he was wrong and work to make up for his mistakes. He could very well be confident and, at times, be correct to be so. Edward's seen it. Others have definitely seen it, yet some see past it and focus on what screams the loudest. They didn't care about James' good traits.

He did. He admired the way James was, confident in his strides and willing to do what it takes to make up for any wrongdoing of his. He accepted James the way he was, and he didn't want him any other way.

Noticing how seconds of silence were about to turn into minutes, Edward shook away his thoughts, shunting them away once again. The cerulean engine looked over to his side and piped, "Mornin', James!"

"Another clay delivery?" James eyed the clay trucks trailing behind the other as he approached him, stopping so his buffer beam lined up with Edward's. It meant that their smokeboxes didn't line up as James' was further pushed back than Edward's. He wouldn't see his face, and it worked well in Edward's favor as he was sure that his face was still burning. "Is there a project going on?"

"Ah think sae?" He wasn't exactly sure but he had noticed the sudden rise of materials being delivered to Tidmouth. "Most o' the supplies ah bring thae days ur bein' taken up th' Little Western. I huvnae been able tae ask Duck or Oliver aboot it, though."

"You usually know everything," noted James. From an outsider perspective, it was an insult, but he knew Edward would catch on to what he was laying down.

He did, proven by the sudden quirk of his eyebrows. "Curious aboot somethin'?"

James stayed quiet, meticulously choosing his words. Yes, Edward loved to "chit-chat" but he had some restraints. Some. "Thomas was acting weird this morning. I don't think he likes Valentine's Day. Do you know why?"

Again, quickly falling into their personal routine, his skeptical expression sharpened. "'N' whit wid ye dae, if ah told ye?"

"Nothing, nothing!" reassured the red engine. It was a strict expression Edward bore. This was his son they were speaking about, afterall. How the small tender engine could intimidate in an instant, James couldn't figure out. And he probably never will. "Just curious."

"Mmm, alricht then... Ye say he diz'nae like Valentine's Day?"

"Yes! From the sounds of it."

There was hesitation then. "Ah-" Guilt bubbled within him. "It has somethin' tae dae wit' what happened last year. Ah'm... surprised ye ne'er found oot, seein' how oot o' hand it got-"

"Ok!" His interest very much piqued. I knew something happened! That little rascal! "I'm not leaving until you tell me everything."

Ah- "...everythin'?"

"Everything!" he smirked.

It was enough to lighten up his mood, but he wouldn't look directly at James. "Well, th' twins started teasin' him 'n' Rosie that mornin' aboot thaim possibly bein' together. Frae thare, it got oot o' hand. Thomas wasn't tae happy aboot it. Wit' how he reacted, he hurt Rosie in th' process. They reconciled by th' end of th' day but other engines continued tae tease aboot it." It was when he looked back at James, who simply stared at him with interest and confusion. "Again, ah'm surprised ye didnae hear aboot it."

"That makes two of us," he huffed. "But I don't get it-"

"Whit dinnae ye get?" He wished it wasn't what he thought it was.

"What's so bad about Thomas and Rosie being together? They're friends, aren't they?"

Oh dear... "No, James. Ah-"

But, alas, his persistence naturally flowed, letting his logic spill. "We're friends," he emphasized, unaware of the way Edward's freckled cheeks furiously burned. "We're together-!"

"James!" he squawked before quickly shutting his mouth, face burning. Everyone else in the yard stopped and stared at the two, including their crews. They'd gotten into their own conversation but his outburst caught their attention and concern.

"Is everything alright?" Edward's driver peered out of the cab windows.

Equally concerned and confused, James inched closer, his smokebox lining up with the other's. He saw how pitch black his freckled cheeks became, and how those bronze eyes refused to look right him. "W-We're fine!" he hollered, refusing to look away. "We're fine."

He noticed how a smile, a grateful one, peaked out, only to quickly disappear. I'm in the clear. Maybe.

"...Is it wrong?"

The small cerulean engine shook as gently as he could on his chassis and cleared his pipes. "That's not-" This conversation needed to end. Now. "Ah meant in a romantic wey. Th' wey th' controller 'n' his wife ur!"

"Oh!" His eyes widened, finally understanding the situation. "That makes a lot more sense," he hummed. "...Are they?"

Edward's eyebrows quirked.

"I'll take that as a no." James heard Edward sigh, one that wasn't meant to be heard. "...Did that bother you?"

The smaller tender engine didn't answer, his eyebrows pinched and appearing bothered.

"...so would it be bad for us to be together that way?"

There wasn't any indication of hope in his tone. Only curiosity.

I'm a fool.

Closing his eyes and sighing once more, Edward replied, "Na, it's nae that." Lies. "I just... Ah still feel awful for whit ah did." Not a complete lie...

"What did you do?" Didn't sound like he believed him, his words carried by a playful tone.

"Ah didnae ken whit wis goin' oan either, 'n' it started oan ma line." Lip line crumpling into a frown, the memory came back to him. "Ah didnae mean tae add fuel tae the fire but ma comment upset Rosie. We came across each other at Wellsworth, 'n' she told me that Thomas wis actin' rather rude that day. She thought 'twas because he didnae like her. Ye remember how those twa were whin thay met, dinnae ye?"

James hummed, and Edward continued. "Ah thought somethin' similar happened but ah knew Thomas wasn't lik' that anymair. Ah told her that 'twas strange 'n' that ah thought Thomas really liked her." His nose scrunched up as he frowned. "Ah didnae mean it romantically."

"Is that what you were so upset about then?"

Wait- "Ye clocked?"

James scoffed, insulted. "Course I did." You're my close friend. "If you're upset, I can tell, even without your nose scrunching."

His interest was piqued. "...How exactly kin ye tell?" He looked over, gaze locking with James and paying close attention to how the larger engine responded.

The prideful engine carefully picked his words. "Well, you have this..." he muttered some gibberish, "-presence to yourself. That's as best as I can explain it."

"Ah think ah git it." He wanted to know a little more. He didn't expect an observation from James. It just doesn't happen often. "What kind o' presence?"

The large red engine's pride started to lift up. The small blue engine noticed how James looked around, his eyes calming down from being on high alert. Everyone else must've gotten busy once again. Edward didn't know as he couldn't pull his gaze away from the other engine, carefully observing him. "It's..." his face, in turn, started burning, "-welcoming. It's nice to be around... That day, it didn't feel the same. You were putting up that front but I- it was easy to tell that you were upset about something."

The smaller engine didn't miss the switch up, but he decided to not address it. "Ah didnae mean tae worry a'body." He saw James' smile. A rare one. One that was soft, appreciative, and genuine.

Once Edward realized where his mind was going, he cleared his throat, returning to the original conversation. "Ah said sorry tae Rosie afterwards. She forgave me but ever since then, ah still feel guilty for whit happened. Tis silly, ah ken that, but wi' how Thomas has been actin'-"

"Well, that's on him!" he exclaimed, earning them looks once again. This time, Edward ignored them. "He's not that young engine who constantly followed you around the yard once upon a time!"

"That ah ken-"

"So what gives? You didn't start the rumor, did you?"

"Na, but it did oan ma branch line."

"But did you start it?" he insisted.

Edward hesitated but relented. "No." His partial lie was starting to fall apart. This conversation should've ended a while ago.

"See? Problem solved. So what gives?"

"...I didnae really look forward tae today."

"What? Why not? You didn't mind it before? Was it really because of that?"

"Aye," he quickly replied. "It hud me thinkin' 'n'- well- ah rather nae think too much aboot it." Finally, a decent truth. Not the complete truth but it was still true nonetheless.

"So you don't like the roses all over the place neither?"

"Ah mean... th' roses ur beautiful oan thair own..." he hummed, hesitating to continue. "I like th' white ones."

James smirked. Gotcha! "But Valentine's Day is about the beautiful things! You've said so yourself that it's to appreciate them!"

The urge to just smile started to bubble up, but he opted to roll his eyes playfully. "Ah meant relationships-"

"And your smile's one of them!"

A squeak was hummed and his steam pressure rose as he tried to suppress the silly smile showing up. The smile James just complimented.

He failed, letting himself grin, his crooked lip line curling up and his overbite showing. His soft chuckles quickly became squawks, and he was blushing quite furiously. James turned him into a giddy, flustered mess, and for the moment, he did not mind. The same went for how proud James was becoming capable of making him smile. It was happening more often as they grew closer...

"...so is it bad for us to be together that way?" To Edward, no. He would be perfectly happy if they were.

But what about you? He continued to smile and chuckle as he gazed at James, thinking, Do you feel the same, dear? He just wanted to ask how he felt about such an idea.

But I can't. James had just grasped at the idea of how love worked, beyond platonic relationships. It wasn't fair. It would be cruel and selfish to just ask and tell him, expecting an answer from someone who, just moments ago, didn't think about the mere idea of romance between engines happening.

"We're friends." "We're together-!" "Well, is it wrong?" To be friends, no. Yet in the early age of steam engines, it was considered taboo by railway boards and engines themselves, being seen as a distraction from work. Would engines being together be a problem?

It would. Here he was experiencing the pinning, and he could tell it would become a problem.

So maybe it would be. Maybe it is best to keep it down, his gaze behind fluttering eyes intensified as he laughed, It's best for you, dear.

He wasn't about to drag James right along, possibly into something that could ruin their friendship or him.

Keep it down.

"Ye think tis beautiful?" asked Edward, once his laughter died down. He felt his crew start to work with his gauges, readying him for the return trip to his branch line. "Is it really?" he asked again, timidness and disbelief peaking through.

"You don't believe me?" James mocked, yet blushing furiously. "I don't just go around complimenting everything, you know?"

"Och, ah know," he teased. A small pleased smirk formed, passing off as his typical soft smile. "I ken."

Ready to tease back, James opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by his crew. "Let's get going!" yelled Demian.

The red iron horse loudly groaned and rolled his eyes. Normally, Edward would say something but he let him have it this time. He'd seen the way James' new crew were and understood why James reacted so poorly. He just hoped they could get along sooner rather than later.

"Ah shuid git goin', too," chuckled Edward. "Heaven's kens whit Bill 'n' Ben ur up tae, 'n' ah cannae be leavin' Ryan oan his own wi' thaim." Not after last time, the poor dear.

The bit of humor was enough to cheer James up. "I'll see you around then! Bye, Edward!"

"Bye, James!" With two whistles and a wheesh from releasing his brakes, Edward was off. A part of him was sad to leave, but another was glad. The giddiness bubbling within his boiler persisted throughout their chat, gradually raising his steam pressure. A sensation once unpleasant was now welcome. Very welcome, indeed.

He was curious as to why his crew had made no mention of it. They were suspiciously quiet.

As he got back on the Main Line, he began to wonder, Is this what a fluttering heart feels like? Is this what they call ‘butterflies’? He heard that expression many times these days. The feeling was soothing yet uneasy, the latter of which becoming infrequent.

“Lovesick, ah truly am,” he whispered as he puffed away, shocked at how loud James and his crew's bickering was but unaware of how his own crew whispered to one another.

Back in the yard, James and Demian bickered about, the latter ready to use stronger language. Richard stayed in the engine's cab, watching with disinterest. His mind was busy with another thought. Unlike the clueless red engine, he wasn't convinced of Edward's reasoning. I'll make a note to tell James, he decided as he poked out of the cab, ready to separate the two. But first, work.

~

important note: so in terms of when "Rosie is Red," "The Fastest Red Engine on Sodor," and this fic happen, "Rosie is Red" happens first, one year before thie fic and Rosie is yet to be repainted red. "The Fastest Red Engine on Sodor" happens after this fic, which is when Rosie is repainted, including "An Engine of Many Colors."

Happy 5/2, everyone! :3

story threw me in whirlwind when i thought it was done 😞 Kept going back and forth on some plot points. Its not even close to the original idea anymore but im happy with how it turned out! :DD

expect an upload on my site at some point. i'll reblog the post once i do 👍

so instead of my normal rambling, have this! <3 (a repost from last year hehe)

oh and the cover art too! :3 glad i got this done in time, enough for me to edit the story. as of posting and reblogging, im going back to sleep or smth. idk.

i hope you enjoyed this short story! :D comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! <3

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT //C.S [11]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

warnings: Argument, crying, angst.

wc: 6262

Chapter 11: I See Where We Stand Now

Thomas Devereaux stood in my office like he owned the place—perfectly tailored suit, polished shoes, and a face that never cracked unless he needed something. I didn’t offer him a seat. He took one anyway.

He cut to the chase. He always did.

“I assume everything with Aurora is…manageable?”

I kept my eyes on the report in front of me a second longer before closing it. “She’s not a crisis, Thomas. You don’t have to check in like she’s a quarterly risk.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just making sure things stay on track. We can’t afford distractions.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just making sure everything stays on track. We can’t afford distractions.”

“Distractions,” I echoed, leaning back in my chair. “Right.”

Thomas glanced around my office like he had a stake in it. “I assume you're busy.”

I closed the file in front of me with a quiet snap. “Trying to figure out how my uncle’s still stealing from me.”

Thomas’s face stayed composed, but I caught it—just a flicker of something in his eyes. “So Michael’s still out there.”

“He is,” I said, watching him. “And when I find him, he’s done. I’ll make sure of it.”

Thomas tilted his head slightly, tone measured. “You think it’s that simple?”

“I think it’ll be over once I get my hands on him,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Unless someone’s helping him, and I just haven’t found them yet.”

“Or he’s smarter than you give him credit for,” Thomas offered with that same unreadable smile.

“Michael?” I gave a humorless laugh. “The man’s a coward who couldn’t run a corner store without screwing it up. He’s not doing this alone.”

Thomas shifted, but he didn’t respond.

I leaned forward. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “Just speculating.”

Silence pressed in for a moment.

Then he asked, casually, “If you do find him, what happens to the engagement?”

I looked up. “What about it?”

“Are you planning to break it off?”

The question hung, a little too precise. My jaw tightened.

“I haven’t decided.”

Thomas nodded slowly, but his eyes were hard. “I’d think carefully before doing that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

He took a step toward the door, then paused, turned halfway back to me. His voice was cool, even, but final.

“Because not everything in this arrangement is about what you get out of it.”

I held his stare. That wasn’t a concern for Aurora—that was something else. Something colder. I didn’t respond.

He left without another word.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just suspicious—I was pissed.

I pushed back from my desk, jaw clenched, and made my way over to the lounge. The soft clink of glass was the only sound as I poured myself a cup of whiskey. I didn’t usually drink during the day, but something about Thomas always made my blood pressure spike.

He was getting under my skin—and not in the way a business partner should. Every conversation with him lately was the same. Always circling back to the engagement. Always pressing like I’d lose something by letting Aurora go.

But this entire thing? This marriage arrangement? That had been his idea.

I took a slow sip and stared out the window, watching the city blur beneath the clouds.

Aurora.

The name alone made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t fucking like. I tried to hate her when we first met. Wanted to. It would’ve made things easier if she were cold or calculating—like him. But she wasn’t. She was soft-spoken, stubborn when it mattered, and so goddamn kind it disarmed me.

I didn’t do relationships. That wasn’t new. I didn’t like handing over pieces of myself, didn’t trust what people did with them. I liked control, distance, and clarity. And feelings—real ones—they blurred the lines I worked too hard to keep clean.

I wasn’t supposed to care about her. She wasn’t supposed to be more than a name on a contract. But now, things were shifting. Slowly. Quietly. I could feel it, like a wire pulling tighter every time she looked at me, like she saw something good beneath the surface. 

Aurora was supposed to be business—clean, contained, untouchable. I’d spent my entire life keeping business far away from anything personal. However, lately…When I saw her curled up on the couch with a book, moving around the kitchen like she belonged there, or simply existing quietly in the same room as me—something in me shifted. I hated to admit it, but I couldn’t shake the urge to be close to her. To touch her. Like being near her settled something I didn’t know was restless.

That wasn’t part of the deal. I didn’t sign up for wanting someone. Especially not her. Getting attached—catching feelings—that’s how people lose control, and I don’t lose control. I can’t lose control. 

But no matter how many times I remind myself that this is temporary, that she’s Thomas’s daughter, that this arrangement is just leverage—I still find myself looking for her in the apartment. Still find myself remembering the way she occupies space. The smell of roses is everywhere. 

That's where the problem lies. She's starting to matter. The second she starts to matter, she becomes a threat. 

That didn’t seem to keep me away, though.

When I got home that evening, I found myself heading toward Aurora’s room. I paused just outside her door, hearing her voice through the crack—light, relaxed. She was on the phone with Jen, laughing about how Jen had no clue what to get her for Christmas.

Christmas.

The realization hit me then—it was next week. The year had blurred by so fast, tangled in meetings, contracts, and... her.

I left her to her conversation and headed to my room, peeling off the day with a long, hot shower. The steam did little to clear my head.

Later, I made my way down to the kitchen, where Ana had already set the table. She insisted I sit, even though I told her I could manage. She waved me off, muttering something about me needing to “eat properly for once.” I didn’t argue.

Not long after, Aurora walked in.

She was barefoot, wearing a soft beige sweater and flannel pants, her hair loosely tied back. She took the seat across from me, her gaze gentle but steady.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice still carrying the echo of laughter from her call.

“Hey,” I replied, nodding as I picked up my fork.

For a while, we ate in silence. Forks clinking. The kind of quiet that doesn’t demand to be filled—but you feel it pressing anyway.

Then she spoke. “So… Christmas is going to be at our house this year.”

I looked up slowly. “What?”

“Christmas Day,” she clarified. “Eve will be at my parents’. But the next day… here.”

I set my fork down, jaw tightening. “Since when?”

“I talked to my mom earlier—”

“You talked to your mom,” I interrupted, heat rising. “And decided that Christmas would be hosted here without even asking me?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her voice even. “I didn’t decide anything, Chris. She suggested it, and I couldn’t exactly say no.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how things work with them.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “You of all people should understand that.”

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. “This is supposed to be a business arrangement, Aurora. Not some holiday Hallmark movie.”

She flinched at that, just barely. “I know.”

“Then don’t invite the entire goddamn world into our house like we’re playing house.”

“I didn’t invite the world,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t want to argue with my parents. I thought you’d prefer that.”

I stared at her across the table. She wasn’t backing down. There was a quiet strength in her tone that I hadn’t heard before.

“And I thought…” she added, voice softening, “I thought maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have your mom and brothers here, too."

I was getting angrier, and deep down, I knew my anger wasn't at this Christmas party or Aurora.

“I don’t like surprises,” I muttered finally, pushing my plate back. “Especially not ones that involve pretending like we’re something we’re not.” 

Aurora seemed to have got taken about by that comment, “what do you mean?”

I looked up at her, jaw tight. “I’m talking about how we’re not actually together, but somehow I’m supposed to sit around the tree with your parents like I’m already their son-in-law.”

She sat back a little, her face falling. “They just wanted to include us—”

“No, they wanted the illusion,” I cut in. “And you gave it to them without asking me.”

Her voice was soft now. “I didn’t think you’d care this much…”

“Well, I do.” I raked a hand through my hair. “Because this—” I gestured between us, “—was never supposed to feel real. And now you’ve got your mom planning dinners and your dad checking in on our ‘progress’ like this isn’t just an arrangement.”

Aurora’s expression darkened, hurt flickering in her eyes. “You think I’m doing this on purpose? That I want to pretend like we’re something we’re not?”

She stared at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you didn’t stop me either.”

I don’t know what came over me in that moment—maybe it was the conversation with Thomas earlier, or the unsettling realization that I was getting too comfortable with the girl sitting across from me.

The silence in the dining room stretched on, thick and heavy. Aurora barely touched her food now, and I could see the way her appetite had vanished. I regretted ruining her dinner, but I couldn’t shake the defensive wall rising in me, the one that protected my heart from her, even though every part of me wanted to let it down.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke up. “Chris,” she started, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

I looked up at her, my eyes meeting hers. 

She drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before finally asking, “What are we?”

“Because we live in the same house,” she continued, voice softer now, cracking ever so slightly, “we sleep under the same roof, I see you every single day, and still, I don’t know what we are. Not business partners. Not friends. Not strangers. Not lovers.”

Her gaze dropped, like she couldn’t hold mine anymore.

“You sometimes hug me,” she said quietly. “Kiss me. Compliment me like I mean something to you…and then you pull away just as fast—like you have to remind me you don’t do relationships.”

Her voice broke a little on that last word, and I felt it—like something twisting in my chest.

I was realizing the impression I had made on her, I should have known that she was going to start feeling something. 

“I don’t know how to feel around you anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s just part of the arrangement.”

Her face twisted into something between disappointment and disbelief. “Say something.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Aurora,” I muttered, the coldness creeping back into my voice. “I never promised you anything.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything,” she said, voice small, broken. “But you can stop making me feel like I’m nothing more than a convenience to you.”

That hit harder than I expected, and my breath caught in my throat. Every word she said felt like a slap, each one more painful than the last. But I couldn't stop now. I had to finish what I started, even though the words were starting to choke me.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I said, though it sounded like a lie, even to me. “But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t pretend like I feel things I don’t.”

My last words hit her like a blow, and I instantly regretted saying them. I wanted to take it all back, to tell her I didn’t mean it. The truth was, I was lying to myself, pretending like I wasn’t starting to care about her. Pretending like these words weren’t eating me alive from the inside out. Because they were.

Looking at her now, her face a mixture of confusion and hurt, made me feel like I was choking on every breath. I wanted to pull her into my arms and apologize—tell her everything was going to be okay—but I couldn't. I was trapped in my own mess of emotions, and I hated myself for it.

After a long silence, she finally spoke, and her voice was small, barely audible.

“I see where we stand now,” she said, her words soft but with an edge that made it clear she was trying to hold it together. “Sorry for thinking this arrangement was becoming something more.”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond right away. The words were already out, and now, it was too late. She continued without waiting for me to say anything. 

“I guess I just wanted to believe it could be something else.” Aurora gave a bitter laugh, but it didn’t sound like amusement. 

She took a long, shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as she turned away from me. “But it’s fine. You were right. We’ve got this arrangement, and that’s all it is. No need to make it more than that.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t act like I’m some victim here. If you don’t feel anything for me, then let’s go back to how it was at the beginning. You stay in your room, I stay in mine, and we pretend like we don’t even know each other.” Her words came out in a rush, like a final declaration, before she stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.

The anger in her voice hit me like a punch, but I didn’t move, didn’t react.

Aurora wiped her face quickly, then turned to walk away, her steps heavy as she made her way to the door.

"Just leave me alone, Chris," she whispered, her back to me. "Please."

I wanted to say something, but the words were caught in my throat. Instead, I just sat there, the room feeling emptier than ever, as she disappeared down the hallway.

My stomach twisted with something unfamiliar—guilt, maybe. I hated the feeling.

It was starting to hit me that she might actually pull away for good—that I wouldn’t get to touch her, be near her, not like before.

The weight of what I’d done was finally settling in.

If keeping my distance was the plan all along, I never should’ve let it get this far.

Aurora

I didn’t sleep much that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. That look he gave me—blank, unreadable, like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks slowly weaving himself into the quiet corners of my life. Like I’d imagined all of it.

I stayed curled up on the floor longer than I cared to admit. At some point, I dragged myself into bed, but it didn’t help. The sheets smelled like him. A faint trace of his cologne still lingered from the time he sat at the edge of the mattress, asking me if I was sleeping okay. I’d wanted to believe he cared then.

Now I just felt naïve.

For two weeks, Chris had let his guard down, bit by bit. He brought me coffee when I worked late in my studio. Sat at the edge of the bed and asked about my sketches, even when he clearly didn’t care about fashion. He kissed my forehead once when I nearly fell asleep on the couch. And for a moment, I let myself believe he was trying.

I thought I was past the point of hoping for more. But his presence had started to grow on me—quietly, dangerously. I liked when he was around. I noticed when he wasn’t.

I hated that.

I hated that I was the one left feeling small and stupid, while he got to retreat behind that cold, unreadable exterior like none of it ever touched him. Like I was just imagining everything we’d built—no matter how small it was.

So when I heard Ana in the hallway, moving through the quiet house with her usual rhythm, I didn’t go out to greet her. I couldn’t. I didn’t want anyone to look at me and see the cracks.

Then came the soft knock on my door.

My chest tightened.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Go away, Chris.”

A pause. Then a gentle voice replied, “Miss Aurora, it’s just me. Ana.”

I blinked, my shoulders sagging. Of course it wasn’t him.

I stood slowly and opened the door. Ana stood there with that same quiet, maternal concern in her eyes. The kind you didn’t have to earn—it was just there.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.

I nodded, even though the lump in my throat said otherwise. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Ana glanced over my shoulder at the mess of sketches and the barely touched cup of tea on the desk.

“Tired doesn’t look like that,” she said softly.

I stepped aside and let her in. The warmth of her presence made something in me ache.

She walked in, sat on the edge of my bed, and patted the spot beside her.

I sat.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I didn’t need to say it—and she didn’t need to ask. She always knew when something was off.

Ana didn’t rush me. She just sat there, holding my hand, thumb brushing against my knuckles like a silent reassurance. The air in the room was heavy, and I hated how small I felt in that moment—like everything I had been holding in for weeks was finally starting to slip out.

“It’s okay to cry, love,” she said softly. “You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

That was all it took. My throat tightened, and I leaned forward, burying my face into her shoulder as the tears came—slow at first, then full, aching sobs that I couldn’t contain.

She rubbed my back gently, letting me cry, not saying anything until my breath slowed.

“I’ve known Chris nearly his whole life,” she murmured. “And he’s always been this way—guarded, distant. He’s been through things that taught him how to shut everyone out. It’s not you, Aurora.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” I asked, voice breaking again. “Why does it feel like I made it all up in my head?”

“You didn’t,” she said gently. “I see the way he looks at you. He’s scared. That’s all. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

I shook my head and whispered, “I just wanted someone to choose me. Not because of who my father is or what this arrangement means. Just me.”

Ana’s eyes filled with sympathy. “You deserve that, and so much more. And I promise you, one day, someone will. Maybe even him… if he figures it out in time.”

My voice cracked again. “He kissed me like he wanted me. He stayed up talking to me at night. He made me laugh. I thought—I thought maybe I was more than just a fiancée in name.”

More tears streamed down my cheeks, and I leaned into her again. “And now I just feel so small. So invisible. Like I made it all up in my head.”

Ana rested her chin on top of my head. “He does care, even if he doesn’t know how to show it. I’ve seen it. But I know that doesn’t make it hurt less right now.”

I sniffled, gripping the fabric of her blouse. “I don’t think it’s just about him. I feel like I’m drowning. I don’t have control over anything. Not this house. Not my future. Not even who I’m supposed to love.”

Her hand stilled on my back, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes. “I know, sweetheart. Your life has never truly been yours, has it?”

I shook my head slowly. “It feels like everyone else is deciding who I’m supposed to be, what I want, and every time I try to push back, I feel guilty. I feel like I’m letting my family down.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “You are allowed to want something different. You are allowed to feel angry. And you are absolutely allowed to cry. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“I just wanted one part of my life to feel like mine,” I whispered, voice breaking again. “And for a second, I thought maybe he could be that. Maybe we could be that.”

Ana’s arms came around me again, tighter this time. “Then he needs to figure it out, and if he doesn’t, that’s his failure, not yours.”

I closed my eyes and let myself cry again, quieter now, but still raw. There was something comforting about being held like this, by someone who didn’t expect anything from me. Who just let me be. Eventually, the tears slowed, and my head started to ache.

“I think I just need to lie down,” I murmured.

Ana nodded and helped me to my feet, brushing the hair out of my face. “I’ll leave a glass of water on the nightstand. You try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

“Anytime, love.”

As she turned off the light and quietly left the room, I crawled under the covers and stared at the ceiling, the ache in my chest still heavy.

Christopher

When Aurora said she wanted things to go back to how they were before—like we’d never talked—she meant it. It’s been almost a week since the fight, and she hasn’t said a single word to me. Not even in passing.

She left for school early every morning without a sound. Came home, went straight to her room, or disappeared into the studio with the door locked. Meals were taken in silence, alone in her room. And if I ever passed her in the hallway, she wouldn’t even look at me.

It was starting to gnaw at me. There was a whole woman living under my roof, and I barely knew what she was doing, how she was feeling, if she was even okay.

And it shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

I caught myself listening for the soft creak of the floorboards when she moved. I waited for the sound of her studio door closing, for the hum of her playlist through the walls.

It was pathetic—how much space she suddenly took up just by not being there.

She was gone without ever leaving and I couldn’t fucking stand it.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to keep things simple. Distant. Professional, which was what we were technically doing right now.  She wasn’t supposed to get under my skin.

I came out of my office, running a hand through my hair, the weight of my thoughts still pressing on me. I was still fuming about the tension between me and Aurora. The silence had been suffocating, and the house felt more like a prison than ever before.

I saw her. Aurora, stepping out of her studio, her focus fixed ahead, determined not to look at me. Her posture was stiff, as if she was preparing to glide by me like a ghost, pretending I wasn’t there.

I almost let her. Almost.

Something in me snapped though.  Maybe it was the way she was avoiding me, or maybe it was the fact that I was sick of pretending like I wasn’t affected.

I moved before I could think, reaching out to grab her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

Her head snapped towards me, her eyes wide, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The tension in the air was thick enough.

I held her wrist firmly but didn’t pull her toward me, just enough to stop her from walking away. “You think we can just keep doing this?” My voice was low, almost controlled, but underneath, there was something raw. Something that I wanted to break through. “Ignoring each other like we're strangers?” 

She looked at me, her expression hard to read, her eyes not quite meeting mine but still holding my gaze. “Yes,” she said finally, her tone flat. “That was the plan.”

I studied her for a moment, taking in the way she was clearly holding herself back, as if trying to make herself as distant as possible. I couldn’t help but notice it—it was like she was trying to shut me out, to pretend I wasn’t there.

“What about tomorrow?” I asked, my mind still tangled in the mess of everything that had just happened.She furrowed her brows, looking slightly confused. 

“What about tomorrow?” she asked confused. 

"Are we still doing Christmas Eve at your parents’ house?” i asked still holding her wrist. 

She sighed softly, as if she had expected this question. “Well, yeah," she replied, her voice clipped, almost mechanical.

I stepped a little closer to her, not letting the distance between us grow. “And what about before that?” I asked, my voice softening just enough for her to hear the quiet frustration in my tone. “Were you planning on talking to me before tomorrow night, or should I just assume we’re still not doing that?”

She met my eyes then, her chin tilting up in defiance. “You’re a grown man, Chris. I assumed you’d be ready by 7:30 without me having to tell you.”

I stared at her for a long moment, the sharpness of her words stinging more than they should’ve. There was an edge to her voice that I couldn’t ignore, and it made me feel more confused than I already was. Very different from when we first met. 

Without another word, she yanked her wrist harshly from my grip and hurried toward her end of the house, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I didn’t chase after her, but I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. I wanted to hold her, to tell her that I was sorry for everything. But I stayed rooted to the spot, frozen in the mess I had created.

I stared at the empty space where she had just been, my mind racing. Slowly, I came to the bitter realization: I was fond of her. I hated admitting it, especially to myself, but it was there, undeniable. Every time she was near, every time she spoke, I felt something shift inside me—a pull I couldn’t explain.

Even though the truth settled into me, I convinced myself that it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t love. No, I couldn’t love her. I didn’t even know how to love anyone. My entire life had been about control, about keeping people at arm’s length so I wouldn’t have to feel the weight of something real. I didn’t want to open myself up to that kind of vulnerability, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be the kind of person who got attached.

So, I pushed the feelings down, buried them where they couldn’t get in the way of everything I had built for myself. It was easier that way. But the more I tried to bury it, the harder it became to ignore the way she affected me. The way her presence lingered, even when she wasn’t around.

I didn’t love her. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

At exactly 7:30 PM, I stood by the car, leaning against the door, checking the time every few seconds.

At 7:41 PM, she finally appeared.

Her burgundy dress clung to her frame perfectly, elegant but simple. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement with each step. Her hair, usually up in a slick or messy bun, was down tonight, falling past her shoulders in soft waves. She didn’t glance at me. Didn’t say a word.

I opened the back door without saying anything, and she slid in like I wasn’t even there. Not a thank you. Not even a look. She could play cold all she wanted. I didn’t care. At least, that’s what I told myself.

The drive was quiet. Tense. I kept my eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, pretending I didn’t feel the weight of her silence pressing against me like a brick.

When we pulled up to her parents' estate, the place was already glowing—twinkling lights strung across the balconies, wreaths on the doors, and cars filling the driveway. Classic Devereaux perfection.

I stepped out and rounded the car without a word. She didn’t wait for me. By the time I opened her door, she was already reaching for the handle herself.

We walked toward the entrance in silence. From the outside, anyone watching would think we were the perfect couple. 

As we stepped into the house, the warmth of the Devereaux estate immediately hit me—golden lights, the scent of cinnamon and something rich baking in the kitchen. A soft piano played somewhere in the background. Staff moved around quietly, guests already scattered through the foyer with champagne flutes in hand. The usual.

Thomas was the first to greet us. Of course.

“There you are,” he said with a wide smile, already walking toward us. “Fashionably late, as always, Aurora.”

Aurora gave him a quick hug, mumbling a polite, “Hi, Dad.”

When he smiled and complimented his daughter, I could still see it—the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, the subtle hint of disapproval behind every word. It made my blood boil.

Then his eyes shifted to me. “Chris.”

I gave a nod. “Thomas.”

He clapped me on the shoulder like we were old friends. “Glad you made it. Come in, come in. Everyone’s dying to see the two of you together.”

Aurora didn’t flinch, but I caught the subtle way her shoulders tensed.

Her mother appeared next, air-kissing Aurora’s cheek before pulling her in for a longer embrace. “You look stunning, darling,” she beamed, before glancing at me. “Chris, welcome, sweetheart. Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Merry Christmas,” I returned stiffly.

We were ushered in, champagne glasses quickly placed in my hand. Aurora didn’t look at me. Not once. She stood by her mother, answering questions and smiling when necessary, but there was a wall up. A clean, cold barrier that even I couldn’t break.

The thing was, I had no one to blame for that but myself.

She wasn’t mine to be jealous over. But damn, seeing her smile politely at all these people, looking like she belonged everywhere but near me, made me hate how much I missed the version of her that used to quietly knock on my door just to say goodnight.

Aurora had been swept into a conversation with a group of girls I recognized from the engagement party—her cousins, I assumed. She offered them a smile, one of those carefully practiced ones she wore at events like this. The kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

My gaze lingered on her a little too long.

It was only broken when a few older men came up to me, launching into questions about business, investments, and what it was like to be a CEO in my twenties. I nodded along, gave the usual answers, but my mind wasn’t there. It kept drifting back to her.

We were in the living room now—the same one where I saw her for the second time. The day she came back from class, shocked to learn she’d be moving in with me. She hadn’t taken it well, and later that night, I found her crying in her room. I hadn’t meant to see her like that, but I never forgot the way she tried to hide her pain behind quietness.

Later, when we were all seated in the dining room, surrounded by silver cutlery and glistening wine glasses, I found myself distracted again.

She was sitting two seats down from her father, and in front of me. 

The dining table and room were filled with every seat occupied today, unlike when it was just me, Aurora, and her parents. 

I kept looking at her—at the way she politely smiled, the way she carried herself like she belonged here. But all I could think about was the first night I met her. The night she walked into that hotel lounge in a brown satin dress, quiet and composed, her eyes wide but unreadable. 

The girl from that night... she hadn’t left my head since.

Now, she was sitting close enough to touch—but farther from me than ever. ​​

Thomas handed me a glass of brandy as I sank into one of the leather armchairs beside him. The men around us chuckled about a joke I hadn’t caught, and the air smelled of expensive cigars and old money.

“So,” Thomas began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass without looking at me, “how’s everything holding up at the house?” His tone was casual, but I caught the edge beneath it. “Fine,” I said simply, keeping my voice even.

He finally looked over at me, the corner of his mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Aurora hasn’t caused you too much trouble, I hope?”

I clenched my jaw for half a second before answering. “No. She’s been fine.”

“But I’m glad it’s working out,” he continued, voice smooth, condescending in a practiced way. “I knew it was the right decision to put the two of you under one roof. Structure is good for her and for you, too, I think.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You think I need structure?”

Thomas gave a short laugh, leaning back in his chair with that ever-knowing smirk. “We all do, Chris. Especially at your age. So much success, so young—it can be hard to stay grounded. I’ve seen men crumble under half the pressure you’re carrying.”

There it was again. The subtle reminder that no matter how much I built, how much I proved, he still saw me as a kid playing dress-up in a grown man’s world. Someone not quite worthy of standing beside his daughter.

“I’m not crumbling, Thomas—” I started, but didn’t get the chance to finish.

“Mr. Sturniolo,” a voice interrupted. I turned to see a man in a crisp black shirt, camera hanging from his neck. “Mrs. Devereaux requested a photo of you and your fiancée. She wants one... now.”

Thomas let out a hearty chuckle, clearly enjoying the interruption. “Well then, don’t keep her waiting.” He turned to me, lifting his glass once more. “Go on, son. Go take a picture with my daughter.”

Every part of me wanted to decline. To say no, not now, not after everything. But too many people were watching. Guests mingled just outside the sitting room. The weight of expectation hung in the air like perfume.

So I gave a short nod, forcing myself to rise to my feet.

As I stepped out into the grand hallway, I saw Aurora stood near the staircase, her hands clasped in front of her, shifting her weight nervously between her heels. She wasn’t smiling—her expression was tight, guarded, like she wasn’t sure whether she should breathe or brace for impact.

She looked stunning. The burgundy of her dress caught the glow from the chandelier above, casting warm light over her shoulders. 

Aurora’s gaze lifted when she saw me approaching.

Our eyes met—and for a split second, it was like we were alone in the hallway again. No guests, no photographers, no pressure. Just her…and me. But whatever flickered between us disappeared just as fast. She quickly looked away, smoothing down the front of her dress, a nervous habit I’d seen before.

“Alright, you two,” the photographer said brightly. “Let’s get one nice shot for the family. Stand a little closer… yes, perfect.”

I stepped beside her. She didn’t speak, and I could feel the wall she’d built between us.

“Mr. Sturniolo, hand on her waist?” the photographer prompted, oblivious to the quiet tension.

My jaw clenched, but I placed my hand gently on her waist. She flinched—barely—but enough for me to notice. She didn’t pull away, though. She just stood there, like this wasn’t the first time she had to pretend.

“Aurora, hand on his chest. Chin up a bit.”

She obeyed. Her fingers grazed my chest like I was fragile glass. I didn’t breathe.

“Now, just one more—maybe something a bit more candid. Chris, why don’t you give her a quick kiss on the cheek? Something soft—natural.”

Aurora stiffened beside me.

I should’ve said no. Should’ve shrugged it off and walked away. But instead, I leaned in.

She didn’t move.

My lips brushed her cheek, just for a second. That smell of Roses fills my nose

When I pulled back, I didn’t look her in the eye.

The flash went off.

“Beautiful,” the photographer said with a satisfied grin. “You two photograph like a dream.”

But it didn’t feel like a dream, and I needed to find my uncle and get out of this.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: Ok, guys, here comes the problems. To be fair, the major plot is in a few chapters, because bro...obviously Chris isn't actually staying away from her common now. Thomas thought...he's gonna cause problems. Like and reblog! mwahh] – ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @cherryystemm @mattsfrenchtoast

(I want to add a lot of people to this tag list, so comment! Don't be shy. kisses <3)