#he's my get through a bad breakup dog

[im-jace-osborn]

I agree with Min-Jun

Koda is my ride or die, and we ride or die for him

[ham1lton]

GOOD LUCK, BABE!

pairings: charles leclerc x reader (romantic/platonic).

summary: friendships don’t always survive, you and charles would know.

warnings: cheating towards the end. no smut but a makeout session. sorry alex 💔

author’s note: the brocedes au that me and anon wanted. i’m trying something new btw. let me know how u feel about it.

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you never imagined yourself in the same room as charles. not willingly anyways. yet, when you received the invitation with his handwritten note asking you to come. you knew you couldn’t say no. you had spent so much of your childhood discussing the future. he wanted a family. three kids, a dog and a gorgeous wife that loved him. you wanted a career. the glory, the accolades and the fans that loved you.

he made you promise one day that you’d be at his wedding. you were fifteen at the ice cream shop that he’d always drag you too. you had snuck out without arthur in order to have an extra scoop after charles’ dad had paid for the ice cream you’d had earlier. he looked over at you, eyes serious and asked you to be his best man — (“best woman, best girl. it doesn’t matter. i just want you next to me. i’m serious yn.” he took a lick of his ice cream and the seriousness melted away when he left a smudge on his nose.)

you didn’t break promises easily.

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however, when arthur came running up to you, asking you to follow him. when your relationship with charles disintegrated, you never lost touch with arthur. he was like a little brother to you. you would very rarely meet him for brunch in whatever city you happened to both be in. so when he asked you to follow him, you did willingly.

“where are we going?” you ask, as he pulls you along by your right hand. “usually, whenever you don’t give me context it means you’re doing something bad. is this something bad leclerc?”

“when am i ever doing something bad?” he looks over his shoulder and gives you a wink. you roll your eyes. he plants you in front of a room and nods at it. you stare at him blankly.

“okay? i’m not a mind reader arthur.”

“i need you to help me look for something.” he nods at the room. “in there.”

“you can do it yourself.” you turn to leave before he runs in front of you and stops you.

“listen. i don’t care if you had that weird breakup with my brother,” you start to protest that it wasn’t a breakup but he stops you. “but you didn’t need to cut me off too. you were a part of my life too. you abandoned me too.”

“i don’t ask you for anything yn but i need your help. i’m looking for my silver cufflinks. i need them.” he raised his cuffs to show you the distinct lack of cufflinks. “please. i’m begging you. i wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

you didn’t expect to come here to be blackmailed and guilt tripped but it was working. you avoided everything leclerc. even his family, especially his family if you were being honest. they went from being your second family to nothing at all.

“okay.” you nod. “i’ll get your cufflinks.”

arthur smiles and opens the door for you to walk in. it’s someone’s hotel room. either arthur’s or a friend’s. it’s messy and you sigh. it’ll be hard finding them in this mess but you start carding through clothes.

“yn?”

you know that voice anywhere. you turn around and it’s charles. he’s half dressed in his wedding suit, his crisp white shirt half unbuttoned. his hair is still messy as if he’s ran his hand through nervously multiple times. you smile with no teeth and move to open the door. it’s locked.

“arthur leclerc! open this fucking door!” you seethe. you bang against the door and hear his voice through the material.

“not until you fucking talk! i’ll be back in half an hour.” you hear his footsteps walk away. you turn to charles who smiles sheepishly at you.

“tea?”

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liked by messyass1, messyass2 and 1,737,883 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: it seems all the rumours are true. sworn enemies f1 drivers charles leclerc and yn yln have seemed to call a truce to celebrate his wedding to art historian alexandra saint mleux. she was seen wearing a dark green vivienne westwood gown as she celebrated the couple’s nuptials.

what do we think about the rekindling of this flame, ham1ltons?

view all 679,498 comments

user1: CHARLESYN IN THE SAME ROOM NO ARGUING NO FIGHTS WE CHEERED!!

user2: i wish we had pictures of her. she always eats her outfits.

-> user3: wtf how does she digest them?

-> user2: figure of speech babe <3

user4: did she have a date??

-> user5: her longtime boyfriend!!

user6: they worked it out on the remix

-> user7: so FERRARI ❤️

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charles makes you the tea. he doesn’t finish buttoning his shirt as he pours it into a mug for you. he remembered how you liked it - two sugars and a splash of milk. you stay silent but nod gratefully.

it’s been so long since you’ve been alone with him. you’re not the same wide eyed kid but neither is he. he’s getting married and you’re giving him the silent treatment. he sits on the edge of his bed awkwardly. tapping his thigh with a single finger.

“thank you for coming,” he says. “i didn’t think you would.”

“the handwritten invitation was a nice choice,” you sip your tea. “personal. did everyone else like it?”

“only yours was,” he coughs into his elbow. “handwritten. i mean. only yours.”

that’s news to you but you don’t have time to ponder what that means before he speaks again.

“i’ve thought for the longest time on what i’d say to you if i got the chance. everything. how sorry i was, how sorry i am, how much i hated you and how much you meant to me. you were my best friend yn. my best friend. no one has even come close to what you were for me.” he chuckles as he presses his palms into his eyes. “who else could i talk to besides you?”

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(insert a tiktok edit of the two of you throughout your careers. the song playing over it is the song ‘chemtrails over the country club’ by lana del ray specifically the lyrics ‘nobody’s son/nobody’s daughter’. it gets 167k likes.)

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“do you still hate me?” charles looks at you under his lashes.

“of course i do. you hurt me.”

“you hurt me. but i don’t hate you.” charles fidgets in his seat. he stretches his hands to place them on his knees. you sip your tea. “do you remember when i asked you to be my best woman?”

you nod.

“i didn’t mean that. i wanted you to be my wife.”

you would choke on your tea if you didn’t know that information but charles wasn’t subtle. yet it was a case of missed opportunities. you didn’t like him then and he didn’t like you now.

“i couldn’t hate you yn. god knows i tried. it hurts me knowing that you hate me as i could never hate you. i said all that shit because i was hurt and angry. you said i was a shitty driver. that is wouldn’t have won without ferrari’s strategies which we both know are shit-“

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know you still cared about my opinion.” you interrupt. your voice still has a defensive edge to it. he just shrugs.

“i’ll always care about your opinion.”

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CHARLESYNNIES TWITTER GC (est.2017)

user1: editing yn to l’amour de ma vie by billie eilish (extended version) rn 😋

user2: what part?

user1: listen from 2:15 till 2:56!!

user3: THATS GONNA EATT OMGGGG

user4: wish we could edit the wedding appearance of the two of them omggg.

user5: when i get off my lazy ass and finish my edit of them to ‘the girl so confusing’ remix

user6: do y’all think they’re talking at the wedding?

user7: babe do you know yn? she’s probably at the very corner of the reception right now. she’ll take a pic with every other leclerc besides charles and probably leave before dinner is served.

user8: you’re so real. yn would NEVER talk to charles let alone be alone with him. i hate it but it’s the truth.

user9: plus charles is probably busy with the wedding.

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you never considered yourself to be a bad person but making out with your ex best friend/teammate literally a few hours before he’s about to get married? that’s a bitch move.

you try to think about his fiancée. she’s probably getting ready excitedly with her family and friends. thinking about being the future mrs leclerc while you’re two minutes away from committing adultery on both of your partners.

you pull apart from charles. he looks at you with wide eyes.

“we can’t fucking do this. we’re awful people,” you sit up. “my fucking lipgloss is all over your mouth.”

“i look good in pink. it’ll be fine.” he wipes it off.

“you have a fiancée. you’re getting married.”

“tell me the word and i’ll call it off. just for you.” he looks at you. “i’m quitting f1 after this year anyways. i’m not attempting to go for the second championship. i don’t want it.”

“how do you not want it?”

“we have different priorities but i won’t be a f1 driver anymore. you always said you couldn’t date a driver. i’ve grown now. i’m fine being in your shadow. i love it. i want it.”

he looks at you as serious as he did when he asked you to be his best woman all those years ago.

“what do you want yn?”

you bite your lip, and think.

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CHARLESYNNIES TWITTER GC (est.2017)

user7: i’m hoping we get at least a picture. just one.

user4: i would DIE!!! imagine!!!

user3: charlesynnies suffer every day and everyone else wins.

user2: i think yn is right there with charles. maybe dancing.

user1: he always said she’d be at his wedding. he was right. i think there is still love there.

user5: FINISHED MY FUCK ASS EDIT PLEASE LIKE AND COMMENT ON TIKTOK BESTIES

user6: okay i wrote a little fic for ao3. it’s called ‘wait until you like me again’!! it’s domestic charlesyn as they are forced to work everything out. kinda angsty but really smutty.

user1: spamming u both charlesynnies are the best idc <3

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liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, landonorris and 1,827,983 others.

charles_leclerc: say hello to mr and mrs leclerc 💍

tagged: alexandrasaintmleux

view all 287,929 comments

yourusername: happy for you 💕

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INTERVIEW WITH CHARLES LECLERC

interviewer — so is it true? you’re renewing your ferrari contract?

charles (laughing) — it is true. racing is my life. this is it for me. it’d take something big to take me away from it.

interviewer: you all heard it here first!

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @lennnooshh @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @marshmummy @23victoria @ourlifeforchaos @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @tsireyasgf @landososcar @yongi-lee @maxlarens @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr (charles specific tags will be added to the comments!)

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[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of violence, mention of putting down / death, etc. words -> 4.2K

abstract -> “I hope we can get along” 

y/n’s perspective

“I’ve missed this place,” Wooyoung said as he got out of the elevator first. 

“You know, Taeyong is angry with you” I heard as I saw Yuta and I smiled. “He should’ve expected this,” I said and he chuckled. “Yes… but he needs to bring some sense to Kun” he said and I nodded.

“I can at least text him you're okay and you've made it back safely. Johnny also told me you needed a lot of rest, and to change the bandages once a day at least and clean them. He said that if you feel weak or tired, slow down and let your body rest you just got out of a coma” he scolded and I chuckled. 

“I can clean your wounds, '' Seonghwa asked and I smiled. “Thank you,” I said and I chose to ignore Yeosang’s glare at him. “Please take care of her… and y/n this place is clean but Johnny said avoid your room in case it triggers a bad memory,” he said and I nodded sadly. 

“Sleep early tonight, by the morning everyone's gonna know you're awake,” he said and I nodded as he left. “Come on, let's get ready for bed first,” Yeosang said and I nodded. Preening… or grooming a dog's version of taking care of their mate. I smiled softly at the thought. 

“I’ll make you some tea!” Wooyoung said as he went to the kitchen looking through the cupboard. “I’ll get the first aid kit ready,” Seonghwa said and I was happy to feel relieved around them again. 

I woke up to Seonghwa’s voice saying breakfast was made. Yeosang and Wooyoung tightened their grip on me. “A few more minutes,” Yeosnag said, still sleepy… “yeah a few more– WHY ARE YOU MAKING BREAKFAST THAT'S MY JOB!” Wooyoung yelled and I laughed. 

“It's already noon, and you were in a deep sleep. It's technically lunchtime already” Seonghwa said and I chuckled. “Thank you, Seonghwa,” I said and he smiled. 

“I did what I could with what was in the fridge. There was a lot of old food so I cleaned it out” he said and I nodded. “Oh. Seonghwa, that's your job now” Wooyoung said and I laughed. Wooyoung did hate to clean the fridge and after he cooked. 

We ate our food while I looked at my messages… Everyone was texting me to feel better and that they were glad I was okay. Kun still hasn’t texted me…

“Are we going back?” Wooyoung asks and I smile softly. “I can go alone, if you’d like?” I asked and he looked sad about that. “I’ll go with you” Yeosang and Seonghwa said at the same time. 

“I think it's best if I go alone… I need to talk to San and maybe see how bad it is” I said and they nodded. At the end of the day… San was my first hybrid I promised to him. I wasn’t gonna let him down now. 

“Are you gonna see Hongjoong?” Seonghwa asks and I sigh. “I… should’ve been more professional about handling Hongjoong. I got too into my head and I forgot the tell signs of a hybrid. I’m licensed in handling red code hybrids… so I feel like I owe him a try” I explained and they looked nervous for me. 

“I’ll have to talk to Kun first, however”

“You’re… okay,” he said speechless. He came up and hugged me tight… There was a time when my parents didn’t care what I did, they just made sure I had enough money to take care of myself. 

Kun was one of my friends who became like an older brother to me… he was protective and overall cared a lot about my well-being even after my breakup with Hendery. Even when my parents found out I studied writing and not business or a respectable white-collar degree. 

“I saw… your heart stops, I thought you weren’t gonna make it” he cried out and I sighed. “Well, here I am,” I said and he only tightened his grip. 

“When Doyoung said you were here yesterday I didn't believe him… and then Johnny and Taeyong confirmed and– I’m just happy you’re okay” he said and I smiled as he let me go. 

“Wooyoung was really bad. He’s never experienced a depressive episode that bad, he’d at least eat and go outside but not once did he move. He’d stare at the door constantly to see if you’d appear” he said and it broke my heart. “Yeosang’s owner was trying to bribe our shareholders to be given Yeosang but my family wouldn’t give in” he explained. 

“Thank you for trying your best even when you assumed I was dying” I said and he sighed. “Why did you take that tiger with you?” he asked and I sighed. 

“I… I didn’t tell you but Hongjoong got to me when I interviewed him. He mentioned a hybrid would do anything to survive and compared it to them” I said and he looked at me disappointed. 

“You should’ve known better. Those hybrids… has anyone told you about San?” he trailed off and I shook my head. “They said he was a code purple and his mind is scattered, can't tell time, aggressive?” I said and he nodded. 

“San… we originally had them all together when they were first here but he turned violent wanting to hurt Hongjoong. When we isolated him the next day he kept muttering to himself ‘any second now’ as if you’d pick him up. Hours after he attacked you… you came for him only hours after and he thinks that’ll happen again. No matter if we remind him three times a day he'll forget… I'm worried about how he’ll behave when he’s with you again” he said and I sighed. 

“I need to see him. '' I said and he sighed “Let us… make sure he’s okay first” he said and I nodded. “In the meantime then… what happened to Hongjoong?” I asked and he shook his head. 

“He's not going with you–” “He’s already my hybrid… I didn’t give him a chance or anything to prove him wrong. I let him get to me and in return only proved him right” I said and he scoffed. 

“Those bandages on your neck are because of him. Your hybrids suffered because of him and I still want to help him?” he asked me angrily. 

“Kun… when we were kids, you saved a hybrid and he’s still with you today but remember Sicheng with Yuta and how he was just as aggressive. Abused and neglected, his parents wanted Sicheng dead but you made a promise to Yuta and now he’s in a sanctuary in China at your family’s estate. You told me you’d help any hybrid you could and that's why you have this job… please do me this favor” I begged and he sighed. 

“You owe me” 

It was like it was almost a month ago. 

Preparing to interview him… the difference is I'm not here for business nor do I have Seonghwa’s protection. I took a deep breath and entered the red code area. It had hybrids locked behind impenetrable glass and a metal covering in front of it instead of the curtains the other hybrids had. 

I made it to his kennel when I saw his report… it had a determined sign. He was gonna be sent to a different center… in China?

I noticed the metal covering was now being lifted. They must've noticed on the cameras I was there already. He was in a corner… his tail twitching and his constraints were clearly uncomfortable. 

“Hello,” I said and his ears lifted up… he looked over his shoulder to see me. He shook his head… “You're not real” he muttered as his head faced the corner again 

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I'm here to haunt you” I joked and his ears twitched… “Why did you do that?” I asked curious if he’d answer. “I didn’t… want to kill you. I-I want… just want to be free” he said his voice only getting more vulnerable. 

“Seonghwa hates me now… I have no one, I'm alone and I'm going somewhere I don’t even recognize. I have your blood on my hands… it won’t go away” he muttered.

“I… never killed anyone. I didn’t… I wanted… I don’t know anymore. I’m sorry” he said and I could see how his back shook. Was he crying?

“Did you know… I went to your show when I was a kid” I confessed and he froze. “My parents were busy… they couldn't take care of me. So they had a hybrid take care of me. She was a bear hybrid, and they made her take me to the Circus… I had a front-row seat, I remember seeing you” I said and he now turned to look at me. His eyes are glassy and red.

“You looked like you liked to perform. I may have been naive to what they did to hybrids… but you were a part of the main show with Seonghwa” I confessed and he shook his head. “You’re not real” he kept muttering to assure himself. 

“I remember a different ringleader than the one I interviewed… he approached me and asked where my parents were. When my babysitter tried to explain, he yelled at her to be quiet. That a lowly hybrid shouldn’t talk to him that way–” he furrowed his eyebrows. He stood up and tried getting as close to the glass as the chains let him. 

“–I told him my parents were busy and she was taking care of me. He laughed and said that bear hybrids belong to the circus not taking care of kids like me–” he now sat down and looked at me confused and probably questioning if I was really here “–she cried on the drive home. The ringleader gave me a phone number and told me to tell my parents he offered a ton of money for her. I know… that she didn’t trust me. So when we came home my parents were already there… They asked if I liked the show. It's when I remember looking at her and she smiled a sad smile at me with glassy eyes…” he looked at me curious and maybe interested in what I was saying?

“I started to cry. I hugged my mom saying the ringleader yelled at me and her, demanding to see them. They were… angry to say the least, and he was fired, but that didn’t mean the place was shut down” I said sadly. 

“What happened to the hybrid?” he asked and I sighed. “She… stayed with me until I had to go to college. That night she tucked me in and she muttered a thank you. I loved her like I did my mother… but one day when I returned from college to visit her they told me she was no longer needed, and so they sent her away” I said and he nodded.

“I remember that night…  men in suits came and said they were gonna sue. The next ringleader was a co-owner of his so nothing changed… are you real?” he asked and I smiled. 

“Am I?” I asked and he sighed. 

“I’d like to believe you are… even if I'd be lying to myself. Can I ask… where's Seonghwa?” he asked and I debated on telling him. “Happy,” I said and he smiled softly. 

“I hope he is. I hope he gets adopted… he loved seeing the amazed kids when he did a trick and even the hybrids. He always would say to me, he wants to be as oblivious as them… where he doesn’t know what abuse is any more” he said as he cried again. 

“I would always tell him… that it would be impossible. He’d have to be human, it's when I learned you could buy citizenship and a species change” he said… the illegal black market in Korea was dangerous. However, the surgeries they offered were hybrids… it was nearly impossible to achieve but an even smaller percentage rate of survival… 

“It’s stupid… that was my plan and now I don’t even want it. Seonghwa spoke highly of you–” he was now lying down facing his back to me “–he got along the best with Wooyoung and he’d explain to him how you saved all three of them. I never understood what you did” he said and I sighed.

“It wasn’t until they told us… San was a part of the illegal fighting rings for hybrids. No one survived over a month and yet he was a survivor of all his life. Wooyoung abandoned and Yeosang prostituted… and now us, circus captivated tigers…” he said as his whole body shook as he cried. 

“Wooyoung he said how… you wrote about hybrid rights, but I thought it was an act” he confessed and I sighed. “What would you do if you were ever given a second chance–” “I don’t deserve it. I’ll suffer the rest of my life like I was born to,” he said and it made me freeze.  Did he really believe that?

“I’m sorry, y/n. I wish you never met me” 

I walked out and I immediately hugged Kun. 

“Does he really believe that?” I asked and he sighed. “Maybe I judged him a little harshly. Maybe I was a bit biased that he almost killed you in particular,” he said and I nodded. “Do you want to see San now?” he asked and I nodded… I was worried about how he’d react. I was led to an area where the hybrids had no privacy. They were allowed to do the danger to themselves. We stopped at a kennel… San. 

“San, you have a visitor,” Kun said and he looked up and saw me. “y/n!!” he yelled with a big grin on his face. “Hi, Sannie,” I said and he smiled… until his eyes wandered to my jaw. “I’m okay, how have you been?” I said, trying to get his attention. 

“I did that to you…” he said, confusing me. “What?” I asked. “I didn’t mean to hurt you… I love you, you're the only one who cares about me” he said as he put his head down almost in shame.

“San… this wasn't you” I explained and he looked at me confused. “Do you remember Hongjoong?” I asked and his eyes darkened “He hurt you!” he yelled now angry. 

He lost any recollection of time…

“San… who am I?” I asked him and he looked at me shocked. “What do you mean? Why would I forget you? You're… my mate” he said, unsure of himself. 

“San… please get better”

“Please stop crying,” Kun said as I cried in his office. He wasn’t sure of anything… What does he even think of me? Of Wooyoung… of Yeosang?

“You should get back home… you need rest” he said and I shook my head. “But San… what if he forgets I was here–” “He hasn’t… he’s pacing his room muttering your name. Give him time to finally think for himself,” he said and I was satisfied with that answer. 

“I… I was never meant to own hybrids, was I?” I asked and he shook his head. “You're an amazing owner… you’ve rescued them at their worst and given them a second chance. Give him time” he said and I didn’t know if I believed him. 

“How’s… Hongjoong?” I asked and he sighed. “Are you sure you want to take him with you? He needs to be tested and analyzed first… I need to see if he can go down to at least an orange” he asked and I nodded. “Can I see him before I leave?” I asked and he nodded, leading me out of his office and to Hongjoong again. 

I entered again with the button and went in front of his kennel. I waited for the metal curtain to open and he was right where I last saw him.

“You’re… back? You are real… you’re alive” he said and I smiled. “Hello, Hongjoong,” I said and he looked at me confused and… scared. 

“Improve… you're still my responsibility. So when you go down to an orange, you can live a life like Seonghwa. Or… I can pay for your freedom”

I went back home. 

I cried to Wooyoung all night. Seonghwa and Yeosang were worried but I wanted to be with Wooyoung. He has been here since the beginning. 

He… somehow convinced San to trust me and now it was gone. It felt empty with San.

“Why won’t you tell me what's got you like this?” Wooyoung asked me and I could only tighten my grip on his body. I didn’t want him to leave… 

“I made breakfast… I’m sorry Wooyoung but–” “She needs to eat, thanks hyung” 

I was suddenly lifted up to my bed. “You need to eat… then you can get dressed and see him again. That's what you need right now” he said and I couldn’t stop the tears spilling.

“Angels aren’t supposed to cry…” I heard as I saw Yeosang. “Eat, please for me,” Wooyoung asked and I listened. I didn’t know what to do…

“What happened yesterday?” he asked and I sighed as I picked at the food on the plate in front of me. “San… his memory is all over the place. He thinks he attacked me… then I reminded him it was Hongjoong and he turned angry… and he could barely tell me who I was” I confessed and they sighed.

“I also gave Hongjoong the option of living here again–” “No!” Yeosang said and I smiled. “Trust me… he doesn’t seem bad. Besides… I also gave him the option for his freedom” I said and they looked at me confused. 

“I… can get in contact with a surgeon to make him look human. I can find him an identity and give him enough for a fresh start” I said and they looked at me shocked. 

“Those surgeries are low survival–” “That's mainly because they don’t have enough money… I would have to ask a hefty favor to Taeyong but I can get in contact with a good surgeon, and pay them enough to make sure he was okay” I said and they looked at me… concerned. 

“Seonghwa, if you wanna go with him–” “No… I don't want to be human. I’d rather live here if you'd let me,” he said and I smiled. “The offer will always stand… for any of you,” I said and Yeosang and Wooyoung shook their heads. 

“We’re happy with you” 

I was back here… 

I was in front of Hongjoong’s kennel. The curtains raised up and he was pacing almost like he was waiting. “Hi, Hongjoong!” I said trying to offer a grin despite how drained I felt. 

“No offense but it looks like you haven't slept,” he said and I chuckled. “I haven’t… have you decided or need more time?” I asked and he sighed. 

“Seonghwa… is he happy?” he asked and I didn’t know. “I gave him the option to be free like I could do for you… but he declined '' I said and he smiled. “Why are you offering me so much? Thank you for helping Seonghwa… you can give him everything but why are you doing this for me?” he asked and I shrugged. 

“You deserve a chance…” I said and he shook his head. “I don’t,” he said and I tried to offer him a smile. “I could’ve killed you” he cried out. “San… he hates humans you know?” I said and he looked at me confused. 

“He… hated me. Said I only adopted him to abuse him… I admit my reason for adopting him wasn’t too great. When I first saw him I was captivated… but I learned that he couldn’t be adopted because of his past and his code. So I took my chance and did what I could… but he never did trust me. So he yelled… and he taunted me. He hurt me a little bit but he accidentally knocked over a vase I had to push him out of the way so he didn't get hurt. I… got better and went to make sure he was okay but he didn’t want me to be his owner” I explained and he looked at me painfully confused. 

“He loves you… I may have tormented you and planted lies but the way he looks at you… he really does love you” he confessed and I smiled softly. 

“Overtime… he trusted me. He made me his mate… he's important to me” I said, trying not to cry. “Is he okay?” he asked and I couldn’t answer. “Hongjoong, I gave him a second chance too. So… what do you wish for? Freedom or… live with me?” I asked and he sighed. 

“Does… Seonghwa hates me?” he asked and I knew he valued his companion a lot. “He doesn’t… I gave him the option too, you know?” I asked and he chuckled. “He chose to stay with you, I know that for sure,” he said and I smiled softly. 

“I… want to give you a second chance too, and I want to redeem myself” 

While Hongjoong was getting checked out, I was led to San. 

He was staring at me once I came to view… his tail swishing behind him. He was still so pretty… and I loved him so much. 

“You're… y/n. I hated you… then I trusted you… then I loved you” he said and I felt my eyes widen. “I hurt you… then I met, Yeosang?” he asked me and I shook my head. “Wooyoung,” I said and he nodded. “The fox… he had a pathetic crush on you,” he said, making me laugh softly. Kun was beside me… he also looked confused. 

“Yeosang… his owner abused him? He’s… friends with Wooyoung. Doberman and Fox” he said… he was concentrating on facts. “You… adopted two dogs?” he asked while looking at me and I shook my head. “Uhm… cats?” he asked and I shook my head again. “They're from the circus– Tigers!” he yelled and I smiled. “One of them… hurt you,” he said and I nodded. 

“How long… have you left us here?” he asked me with a sad tone. 

“San… I came back for you as soon as I could.” I said and he nodded. “What happened to you? Why do you have those big bandages on your face?” he asked and I slid. “I was in a coma for a long time,” I said and he let out a breathy sigh. 

“Hongjoong’s claws cut a bit too deep into my skin… so I have bandages on. I woke up the day before yesterday” I explained and he nodded. “I trust you… I know you're my mate and I know I love you my head just hurts” he explained and I nodded. He was gonna be like this for a while… 

“But I… just wanna go with you. Please don’t leave me here again”

“San!” Wooyoung yelled as he tackled the panther who tensed up. “This is Wooyoung… the fox you met,” I said as I pulled Wooyoung away from him. San nodded and I could see their confused faces of what was happening.

“He’s mated to you too,” San muttered as he pulled me to him.

“Do you not remember us?” Wooyoung asks and San shakes his head. “Dissociative amnesia is what they're calling it… in his case it's because of an event that causes his brain to go into shock. Kun says in his case he should be able to regain memory with everyday activities but… we should also be prepared if he doesn’t” I said and I could see the worry on Wooyoung and Yeosang’s faces as well as the guilt in Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

“I hope we can get along” 

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Sukuna comforting you after a breakup

Pairing: Sukuna x reader

Word Count: 627

Notes: I don't know who needs to read this but somehow I needed to write it inspired by that edit I saw on Instagram a few days ago

Imagine Sukuna laying his eyes on your puny figure sitting on the completely destroyed sidewalk while you cry your heart out in the middle of Shibuya.

“Why the hell are you sitting there crying like a baby?”

“Leave me alone”, you mutter into your hands.

He furrows his eyebrows, body drawing closer to you. Did those words really leave your mouth? Nobody ever dares to talk to him like that. Especially not when you're all alone out here with Gojo being sealed.

“Don’t you know who I am, stupid girl?”

“I don’t give a damn about who you are. Just leave”, you bark at him.

Why? Why on earth did it end like this? You really thought you could make it, that your relationship can be saved if you put the work in it, that you’ll be able to change yourself. But then this call came in, only minutes before you arrived in Shibuya.

“It’s over, (y/n).”

It’s over. How is it supposed to be over when it didn’t even start yet? How is it supposed to be over when your heart still aches for the tender touch of your love, for the smile that haunts you in your dreams, for this one person alone? A new wave of tears swells up your puffy eyes and takes your sight, body still numb in agony. This can’t be true. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

Your heart sinks through your shaky fingertips onto the floor, bleeds out when reality hits you like a wall.

But it definitely is over.

“You’re lucky I’m having a good day.”

His voice is suddenly next to you, forces your eyes to dart up. This is Yuji. No…Just one look into his blank eyes is enough for you to realize that Sukuna himself is sitting next to you, nipping on a coke as if he isn’t the king of curses.

You should be scared. Fuck, you should scream in horror and try to run away. But instead, you just stare at him blankly. Does it even matter what happens to you anymore?

“What is it?”

“What is what?”, you try to avoid his question.

Oh god, as if it isn’t bad enough that you’re sitting here like an idiot while crying your heart out.

“What is all of this about?”

You swallow hard. There is no way out of this, no chance to escape the piercing gaze of his. You will have to tell him the truth.

“I’ve got dumped today”, you mutter.

“Dumped”, he repeats dryly.

“Dumped.”

“And that’s what you’re crying about? Some random guy?”

“It wasn’t just a random guy”, you bite back in a desperate attempt to defend yourself.

No, more like the one you imagined your future with, the one you wanted to adopt a dog or cat with, the one who was supposed to stay. But now all of this is gone in the wind. Your past, your present, your future. Everything went black.

“You know what makes me so damn strong?”

What? You blink away your tears, confusion written on your face. What on earth is he talking about?

“Because you killed countless people, are older than dinosaurs…-“

“Because I never let a love story distract me from my own strength.”

“What are you talking about?”, you huff in response, shaking your head in sheer disbelief.

What is that supposed to mean? You’re not Ryomen Sukuna, you aren’t a special grade sorcerer, you are…A no one, not even able to keep your relationship up. Fuck, you should have worked on yourself like you've promised over and over, shouldn't have started fights over things that wouldn't have changed anyway. You...You are the problem.

“Shouldn’t you be strong on your own as well?”

You have to blink a few times, mind trying to process the meaning of his words. Sukuna throws away the empty cup of coke and gets up, casually straightening his clothes before yanking your chin upwards, forcing you to stare straight into his red eyes.

“You don’t need anyone. Now get your puny self up and stop giving other people that power over you. If I see you crying over that relationship again, I’ll kill you right on the spot. Got it?”

Your heart flutters uncontrollably in your chest, hands shaking by the sheer force of his words. Why does he have to be so damn right? Why…why do you suddenly feel better?

“Got it”, you breathe out, clenching your trembling fingers into a tight fist.

Yeah, you got it.

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazini @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr@kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @luwumii @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299@busyreader17 @4pgletter @okay-it-is-ivy @iluvtoru

[mv1simp]

I’m so in love with your writing style and I think for a suggestion max and the reader being toxic asf exes but can’t get over eachother yk and try make eachother jealous but just end up in eachothers bed always 😭 sorry i suck at explaining but id die if i seen u write something like that 🥰

PLS I ALWAYS LOVE THIS CONCEPT nothing more juicy than some toxic tension with exes 🤭

Wicked Games ♥️

Max Verstappen x Toxic Ex!Reader

but baby let’s face it, I’m not into dating, all these hearts I’ve been breaking (come through, I'm not living like i did before)

no matter how hard you try, you just can’t stay away from your toxic situationship with playboy millionaire Max Verstappen after he breaks it off to be “just friends”. At least you can expect him to have more discipline than you, given his skillset as a 3 time F1 champion, right? Too bad he can’t seem to stay away from you either…

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, jealousy, toxic playboy! Max, smut, cheating, hate sex, just the usual classicsTM

You’d heard about Max Verstappen well before you first met him. Having recently moved to Monaco to start your new job working for a software company, you had quickly become familiar with the world of F1 - including its’ current top driver who was known for his aggressive style on the track and his lavish, playboy lifestyle off it. You hadn’t paid much heed to it until you were at a friend of a friend’s house party one night, after being peerpressured by the threat your coworker Bianca delivered that you were apparently “doomed to die alone as an old dog lady who sat in front of her 4 wide screen computers all day.” Bit dramatic, but it did the trick and soon you were walking through the doors of a raging party that night.

You had been warned that Monaco was a small place, filled with many of the rich and elite, and you were bound to run into some politician, actress or influencer sooner or later. You just hadn’t expected the first celebrity you met to be Max Verstappen, three time world champion, freshly out of a highly publicised breakup with a Russian supermodel! Bianca snarked next to you, yet he was laughing loudly in the middle of the living room, surrounded by his friends without a care in the world.

You shrugged, honestly quite disinterested in the celebrity thing, and had forgotten completely about the F1 driver until a few hours later when you found yourself alone on the outdoor balcony wanting some fresh air, tipsy from a bottle of white wine. Hearing the balcony door open and close again behind you, you started talking, assumed your friend had followed you out - I am never letting you convince me to drink that wine again Bianca, oh my god -

Only to turn around and come face to face with the infamous Max Verstappen himself. You hadn’t realised you had squeaked his full name out loud until he smiled bemusedly, saying just Max is fine, sweetheart. You blushed profusely, apologising and didn’t notice the way he looked you up and down in your cute, conservative outfit of light jeans and a fitted pastel cardigan. Instead of going back inside like you had expected, he struck up a conversation about how that white wine was truly deadly, which then led to a debate about the potency of red vs white vs rose, and before you knew it you two had been talking for hours about anything and everything, including your pets (you were very strongly pro-dogs while he preferred cats, which was just diabolical since they ignored humans half the time. He laughed and said that was the whole point). When he found out you worked in software - specifically, for one that specialised in developing e-sim racing tracks, his blue eyes lit up in genuine excitement as he animatedly began discussing specifics with you, an attractive pink flush on his cheeks from his drinking. He was insanely good looking, with his tall broad build and soft smile, and you were pleasantly surprised he was so down to earth. When it was time to go he had easily asked for your number, Bianca gawking at the scene as you typed your details into his phone, your caramel skin all flushed from the attention of a handsome man like Max. She dragged you off after, hissing at you to be careful, he’s way too much of a player for you, don’t expect much from him, okay? After a couple days went by and you had indeed, not heard anything from Max, you accepted that was that and promptly forgot about it.

But then, 3 weeks later in the middle of your Thursday afternoon Pilates session, your phone dinged with a text. Monza track is down in the system wtf. You guys gonna sort this out? You had panicked initially thinking the unknown number was your boss before your phone dinged again. This is Max btw. Wanna come over and fix the glitch here? Just this once plz 🙏

“Here” turned out to be Max’s insane penthouse apartment overlooking the Monaco marina, and just this once became a monthly occurrence whenever Max was home between races and on his rig with you beside him, sharing your technical knowledge about the online track to help him set new records. Monthly became weekly when Max realized you had never actually driven the rig yourself and you found yourself in his lap - for teaching purposes, of course Max stated unconvincingly - and weekly became almost daily when you started to become a little too good on the track and his hands moved down your body, into your cute short shorts and he expertly slid his fingers into you until you fell apart for the first time, still sitting right there on his lap. Think you need some more practise, schatje, Max had smirked. You crashed into the barriers barely 100 metres in. And the rest had been history.

10 months later, this - situationship? relationship? friends with benefits? gaming buddies who fucked on the side? - had you confused. Sometimes he acted like your boyfriend, having homecooked meals together and watching movies on the couch, his head on your thighs asking you to rub his hair in the way he liked. Other times he acted indifferent, giving you the cold shoulder at parties or the rare times you would join your friends at a race. And when you would be stressed about work he would appear as the caring friend on behalf of your now shared group, rubbing your shoulder and offering you comfort and advice. But the worst would be when he would disappear for weeks, obviously busy with work but would cut off all communication and you would be forced to stalk his fan pages to get updates and read rumours of all the models he would be seen with overseas - only for him to turn up at your doorstep randomly wanting to be let in. You tried to be mad each time, yelling at him to explain himself, knowing this wasn’t healthy, really you did - but it was hard to resist his oh so talented tongue when he would lay you back and whisper sweet apologies in between your legs, making you come over and over again on his fingers, then with his mouth and finally on his thick cock that you had ended up losing your virginity too. You hadn’t realized how attached you had become to the champion driver until you were on a group trip to Amalfi coast and were caught making out on a moonlit beach by a stray papparazzi, making Max freak out.

He had been the one to very clearly insist on keeping things secret - for both your sakes, he said - given his very public status and you had been happy to agree, being a private person yourself. But as time has passed and Max became the only guy you wanted to be with, you had started to assumed he had been feeling the same - judging by the expensive diamond jewellery he would turn up with to pair with his wicked apologies, when he would always be the one you called to pick you up when you were too drunk to taxi home, and in the quiet, domestic moments when you were curled up together he murmured you understand me in a way no one else does, liefje.

Apparently though, Max has not been on the same page at all, which he made very clear when he publically dismissed the multiple viral pictures of you two - which now circulated the internet as finally some juicy gossip about the unusually single F1 driver had emerged. All your friends had sent the interview clip to you, with Max’s clear dismissal of I don’t know really know her, just an acquaintance from my friend group. My priority is my career, not entertaining the fangirls, he had said without an ounce of guilt on his handsome face.

You’d been desperate to give him a chance to explain himself, thinking it was a PR tactic, but Max had been ignoring your calls for days and you ended up knocking at his door. He’d let you in with a sigh, watching your eyes fill with tears as he said it had never been that serious, c’mon baby, when had I ever said it was exclusive, just a bit of fun for you too wasn’t it? Got a good fucking from me and a bunch of Cartier jewellery. Let’s just stay friends from now on, yeah?

God. What a fucking prick. You made sure he knew it too as you screamed it at him before storming off. You still hadn’t fully accepted it, checking your phone afterwards and expecting him to call and grovel for your forgiveness, until your friend group’s Sunday brunch a couple weeks later, where Max had made a rare appearance - and this time, with a pretty girl you vaguely recognised from a magazine cover right by his side. You had met his eyes across the table briefly, looking for any hint of remorse but finding none, as he quickly looked away, laughing at the girl next to him. You fled straight to Bianca’s after, into her arms and sympathetic gaze as she rubbed you through your sobs. It took you weeks to get out of your depressive slump, your heart completely broken and humiliated publically. You promised yourself, you were never going to shed a tear over Max Verstappen again.

You were a young, hot, and very talented woman living in Monaco - and now that you were no longer hung up on Max, you were free to monopolise on your single status. Althought he has left you with a broken heart, he’d undeniably made you a lot more experienced and confident when it came to navigating guys - without become too emotionally invested, of course. You only needed to get your heart broken once to learn never to do it again. You traded in your cute conservative outfits for more trendy, fitted pieces that show off your body just right as you started going on dates with different guys every weekend.

After a lunch date earlier that day, you were walking into a friend’s house for a group potluck one evening, still dressed in an off shoulder summery minidress and kitten heels, with matching makeup done to complete the look. You’re absentmindedly replying to a text from the guy who had said he’d love to see you again when you catch sight of Max for the first time in weeks, along with a new girl you hadn’t seen next to him. Before, this would have sent you into a spiral, but now you just push down on any unwanted feeling and greet everyone warmly. Conversation is flowing, wine poured and everyone digs into dinner, and when the topic of dating came up your friends were curious to hear about all the dates you’d been spotted on recently. You start telling some of them one of the funnier first date stories where the guy’s ex had been bartending and he had been paranoid the whole night about being poisoned. At some point you notice Max has been glancing in your direction. You look back, raising an eyebrow to say What? and this time he doesn’t break eye contact, staring at you before slowly drifting his gaze up and down your body. You flush and turn around, ignoring him the rest of the night and also ignoring the butterflies that swirled in your stomach from seeing him. Fucking asshole, checking you out while his girlfriend is right next to him on the couch.

Max’s heated stares across the room continue at the next gathering and the one after that and you continued to purposely avoid him. And if anyone noticed that you were dressed in cuter and tighter outfits each time, in the pastel colours that you knew he liked with matching heels, revealing more of your tantalising tan skin for Max’s gaze, they wisely chose not to comment. It all came to a head at a party on Max’s yacht one weekend. You greeted him politely as you stepped on, having come to terms that you two ran in the same circle and had to act like civil adults. He greeted you back easily, arm around a different eye candy model this time. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his usual playboy ways and went to go fix yourself a drink.

After you had all gone swimming and eaten dinner and were now relaxing watching the sunset, your phone dinged with a text to signal the arrival of Anton, who was the latest hire at your workplace and had recently been coming to a few events with your friends. He was also your newest hookups in your recent string of casual relationships - most of which had been average in bed at best, and you had your fingers crossed that Anton was going to deliver. Your group greeted him warmly as he came upto the deck, coming straight to your side and you leaned in to rest on his lap, all relaxed from your cocktails. You didn’t miss Max’s glances at Anton’s hands that lay on your thighs. The night went on and more drinks were drunk and people wandered off, yet Max’s agitated gaze was now firmly fixed on Anton’s fingers moving up your legs, lifting your skimpy sundress and rubbing your thighs. His own latest fling was completely ignored as she sat next to him, clinging onto his biceps. Smirking with satisfaction at having riled Max up for once, you excused yourself to head to the toilet downstairs.

You had barely entered the hallway when you were yanked into a side room and slammed against the door as it closed. Max?! you gasped, looking up to find his stormy blue eyes staring at you heatedly. You push him back with full force, What the fuck do you think you’re doing-

He cuts you off with a scoff, Oh, what I’m doing? You’re the one practically getting fingered by that fuckwit in front of everyone! He steps forward, now even closer into your space, and you can’t deny how turned on seeing him get all hot and bothered has made you. What, jealous Verstappen? Missed me that much? you tease. Too bad, you already fucked it up with me. Otherwise that could have been your hands on me instead.

Max looks positively murderous at your jab before a predatory glint emerges in his eye. Schatje, he says, making you bristle and demand stop calling me that but he ignores you. Schatje, you’re the one who wants my hands on her, hmm? I heard you, you know. Earlier when you were talking to Bianca about how none of the guys you’ve been fucking have been able to do it for you. Making you cum was never a problem for me, remember? don’t you miss it? Shall I fix that problem for you?

Oh, you do remember. For all his arrogance Max was an absolute god in the bedroom and you missed the sex dearly - and it seems Max had been missing it too. He easily lifts you up against the wall, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as trails his hands up your dress and you’re rolling your eyes and denying his words, telling him he was a cocky asshole and you hated him but not stopping him as his fingers slid into you, finding you already dripping. He smirks, all ego, but you quickly wipe it off his face by telling him it’s probably still wet from when Anton went down on me earlier. A complete lie but Max didn’t need to know that, did he?

And no one else needed to know that Max angrily swore at your lie as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, grabbing a hold of your tiny dress and whispering how you were such a dirty girl for wearing these slutty outfits and teasing him.

No one needed to know when he yanked his raging erection out his trunks and began thrusting into you, moaning in your ear about how you were just as tight as the first time he had fucked you, right here on the same yacht, and just like that night he’s going to make you come again now-

And no one needed to know that when you both emerged hastily upto the deck a while later, sitting down next to your respective latest partners but your eyes still fixed on each other, it was his cum that was now covering the inside of your thighs.

Once you had started you both couldn’t stop. Everytime you saw each other things got more and more out of control. A new influencer at Max’s side who was left alone when he fingered you to completion in the dark gardenshed outside a friend’s house party, his other fingers shoved inside your mouth for you to suck on and keep your moans quiet. An ex client of yours left wandering trying to find you, his date at his own charity gala, while you were upstairs riding Max on a plush chaise in the office up, heels still on and silk dress pulled up, making him swear in a way only you could get out of him as you took him in deep. You’d tell him you hated him, that you were only using him to relieve your sexual tension and he meant nothing and he would laugh, whispering in your ear Don’t lie, baby, I know you love this, your sweet pussy just needs my cock inside it, huh?

This went on and on for weeks, a twisted competition where whoever would concede first and drag the other one away was the loser - and you and Max both despised losing. It wasn’t until you were almost caught on camera by paparazzi yet again, this time in the back of his Aston Martin Valkyrie with your head between his legs, deepthroating him messily, using your tongue just the way he liked it- that Max freaked out again and demanded you two break it off at once. You’d rolled your eyes at his melodrama, thinking he was bluffing, but true to his word Max hightailed it out of a room the next few times he saw you, despite your best efforts at picking an outfit you were sure would make him crumble.

Time for you to up the ante, you mused. You weren’t going to stop until you walked away as the winner of this wicked game. You licked his cum off your lips as you devilishly thought up you next plan.

Maybe this time you’d go flirt with one of his handsome driver friends and really piss him off?

—————————————————————————

A/N: love seeing requests you guys send, pls send as many as you want I need inspo!!! Hope you enjoyed this anon lmk what u think, will write Part 2 soon if u keen 🫶 soz I made it too long ahahah had to split it up

[population9973]

colour me blue - luke danes

luke danes x fem!reader

warnings: drinking, age gap maybe (no ages given but luke is around 35 in season 1)

summary: you help luke paint the diner after he gets stood up

word count: 1.9k

you were in a particularly good mood this evening as you walked through town, even with the chill in the air nipping at you through your jacket. you had the day off work since luke, your boss, had closed the diner to do some work inside. despite his gruff exterior, you and luke had been friends for almost as long as you’d lived in stars hollow. you moved to the small town a year ago after a bad breakup and it took some time, but you had become quite close with luke. when you needed a job, he offered to let you help out at the diner for a few hours a week, and after a while he just got used to having you around.

as you approached the diner on your way through town, you were surprised to see luke standing outside the door, looking just about as cold as you were; or worse.

“luke?” you asked as you walked up to him.

“hey,” he replied, his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, and a vest overtop of one of his many flannel shirts.

“what are you doing out here? shouldn’t you be painting?” you asked, peering inside at the cans of paint he’d brought in earlier.

“uh, yeah just - getting some fresh air, you know…. the fumes and all,” he gestured to the air in front of his face, and you gave him a look.

“luke, you haven’t started - all the paint is exactly where it was this morning and all the walls are the same colour,” you pointed out, not sure why he was being dishonest.

“i started!” he argued. “i took everything off the walls.”

“you did that earlier,” you reminded him.

“i didn’t say when i started,” he shrugged, looking at his shoes.

“luke, what’s going on? i thought you said lorelai was coming to help you paint tonight.”

“she is. was. she’s uh… not feeling good.”

“luke, you don’t have to lie to me. i thought you guys had a date?,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“she ditched me, there, happy?” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “and it wasn’t a date,” he insisted.

“no, i wouldn’t say happy,” you replied. something big must have come up for lorelai to stand him up. they were best friends, and you were pretty convinced they might be into eachother. you could see why she’d like him; despite the grumpy personality. he was tall, handsome, and kind. you’d kill to have someone look at you they way he looked at her. “come on, let’s go inside, it’s cold.”

“nah, just go home. it’s okay,” he tried to brush it off, but i was obvious that he was hurt by her not showing up. you couldn’t imagine standing up a guy like him, whether it had been a date or not.

“luke come on. hey, i’ll help you paint,” you offered, pushing his tall frame towards the door.

“no, you don’t want to -“

“i do, now come on, before i lose my toes please?” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. he caved instantly; everytime.

“alright fine, let’s go,” he put his hand on your lower back, ushering you inside and away from the frigid air.

•

“okay, now i think the fumes are actually getting to me, let’s take a break,” luke suggested, pinching the bridge of his nose. it had been about two hours of painting, and you were indeed ready to rest for a minute or two.

“my arms are tired,” you sighed, and sat down on the floor, your back against the front of the bar counter; all the chairs had been stacked to make room for painting. luke took a seat on the floor next to you, and you bumped his shoulder with yours.

“what?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed but failing.

“it’s gonna look really nice when it’s done luke.”

“you think so?” he asked, and you nodded, turning your head to face him.

“if you want i can help you put all the stuff back on the walls after.”

“you’ve done enough to help me, you don’t have to-“

“luke, i know i don’t have to. i want to,” you assured him, and he smiled. “why are too looking at me like that?”

“you have-“ he reached his hand towards you, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone softly. “-paint on you face.”

“really? well-“ you reached over to the paint tray on the floor near you and swiped your finger through the green paint, before wiping it on luke’s nose. “now so do you,” you smiled.

luke shook his head, but a soft grin remained plastered on his face, his gaze soft as he looked at you.

forget the way he looked at lorelai, the way he looked at you sure was something special; not that you’d noticed.

“you’re in for it now,” he reached for his paintbrush on the table, giving you time to stand up to attempt and escape, but he was faster than you, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“luke, wait i’m sorry!” you laughed, but it was too late. he swiped the paintbrush across the front of your t shirt; it was one of his his he’d given you to wear so you didn’t get paint on your clothes, coincidentally.

“okay, now we’re even,” he smiled. “told ya you shouldn’t wear that nice shirt of yours. it’s your favourite i would hate for something to happen to it.”

“how did you know it’s my favourite?” you asked, and he flushed slightly, a panicked look crossing his face.

“i don’t know, you wear it a lot and it looks nice on you, so i figured it must be your favourite.”

“it looks nice on me?” you teased, and his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

“yeah - nice.”

“thanks,” you said genuinely. it was your favourite shirt, you just hadn’t expected him to know that.

“you’re welcome,” he replied.

“here, hang on,” you giggled softly, and his eyes watched you as you weaved through the plastic sheets and furniture until you were behind the counter. you rummaged around until you found a paper towel and gestured for luke to lean over the countertop.

“what are you-“ he asked, as you grabbed his chin in her hand, before wiping the paint on his nose. “thanks,” he mumbled, missing your touch on his face as soon as it was gone.

“we better get back to work. we’ll be here forever at this rate,” you sighed.

“yeah,” he said softly. “hey careful,” he said in a worried tone as you stood on a chair to reach the top of the wall. his large hands landed on your hips, holding you steady, and you realized you liked his hands being there.

“thanks,” you breathed, the chair leg wobbling slightly under you.

“yeah well, if you fall and break your neck it’ll be an insurance nightmare-“

“luke?”

“what?”

“thanks,” you repeated, and he stopped rambling. “help me down?” you asked, and he held you steady as you stepped down onto the floor. when both feet were firmly planted on solid ground, you expected him to let go, but his fingertips lingered on your waist.

“you can let go now,” you smiled, but he didn’t, he took a step closer to you instead, leaving only a few inches between your bodies. “luke..”

“thank you, for… helping me,” he said softly, like he found it difficult to say the words.

“you’re welcome,” you smiled. “besides, you never know, maybe it was all just an elaborate plan to get you to hang out with me,” you teased.

“you could’ve asked,” he replied.

“asked what?”

“asked me to hang out with you. if that’s what you wanted.”

“yeah?” you asked nervously, reaching up to fiddle with one of the buttons on his shirt.

“yeah,” he said, barely above a whisper as he stared down at you with that look in his eyes again. a look that said i’m crazy about you.

“what would you have said?” you asked, and he smiled.

“you know i can’t say no to you,” luke replied.

“are you sure? because i swear you’ve-“ he interrupted you with a soft kiss, his lips brushing against yours gently before he pulled back. there was a brief silence after, both of you just looking at eachother.

“you should do that again,” you whispered, and he did, deeper this time as he held you close, his arms around your back as you held the front of his shirt. you separated again, and luke rested his forehead on yours, a smile on both of your faces.

“we really should get back to painting…”

“you’re probably right,” he agreed, letting you go reluctantly. “you know when i’ve thought about asking you on a date, painting this place was not what i had in mind.”

“you’ve thought about asking me on a date?” you asked, your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so much.

“every damn day.”

•

the two of you painted for nearly three more hours before you realized the time, and luke insisted you call it a night.

“alright, i think i’ll actually go crazy if i smell paint for another minute. do you want a drink?” he asked, and you nodded, throwing in the metaphorical towel as well.

luke returned with two beers, popping the cap of one before handing it to you and then opening his.

“thanks,” you tapped the bottle against his with a clink, and he smiled. you walked outside to sit on the front step, and luke noticed you shivering almost immediately.

“come here,” he mumbled, putting his arm out for you to lean into his side. you rested your head on his shoulder, warmer already with his body against yours.

“thanks. i had a lot of fun tonight.”

“yeah? well we’ve probably got a few more days of painting left if you want to come back tomorrow…” he offered. “only if you want to though.”

“i’d like that,” you smiled. “what about lorelai? i thought she wanted to help?” you asked, still not sure exactly how the other woman felt about him.

“what about her?” he asked innocently. “it doesn’t seem like it was all that important to her considering she never showed up.”

“luke…” you could tell he was still a bit upset about her ditching their plans.

“i’m sure something important came up or she would’ve came,” he said genuinely.

“yeah you’re right. and you two are…”

“just friends,” he finished your sentence, a slight smile on his face.

“okay. i believe you,” you said, and you did. luke kissed the side of your head reassuringly, and you leaned closer to him.

“so i’ll see you here at seven am then? bright and early so we can get more work done?” he said, and for a second you thought he was serious. the smile on his face told you otherwise.

“can we push it to nine? my boss works me like a dog so i never get to sleep in-“ you teased him.

“hey,” he warned playfully. “it’s weird to think of me as your boss if we’re…. well,” he trailed off.

“you don’t have to be my boss - we could just work together but you’re in charge?” you suggested teasingly.

“so like a boss?”

“yeah,” you smiled, kissing his lips softly. “so nine am?” you asked, and he smiled, his eyes admiring your face again.

“it’s a date.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 2 | PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem!reader

A/N: thank you for all the love on the first chapter you little horn-dogs, particularly to all my queens I gave love to in the first chapter <3 you modern!aeomond girlies are smth else

Series Masterlist

cheers to @ewanmitchellcrumbs as per, for reading beforehead. luvu

warnings:  EVENTUAL SMUT, 18+, sexual tension, binge eating, mentions of breakup, cursing, dickhead Aemond, reader is horny af, English slang (soz), warnings will be added when needed

As much as you’d hate to admit it. Baela was once again right. Working out did make you feel a bit better. Getting your arse out of bed, with the constant ache of your legs and arms and forcing yourself out of the flat was a nice change of pace. Even more so when you thought about the fact you were doing something good for yourself.

 The two workouts you did after meeting Aemond for the first time were admittedly difficult. He’d sent you some workouts to do, each alternating depending on the day you would go to the gym. Legs, arms, mid-section. His sense of organisation was almost impressive, if it weren’t for the one word answers he would give he might actually be tolerable.

 You pull on your black sports bra. It’s Friday, exactly one week after you’d met up with him for the first time and to your distaste, you’d have to see him again. You’re about to pull it over your head, watching Baela fanny about gathering her stuff so she can stay with her sister for the weekend. It’s funny to watch her when she’s flustered like this, it makes her irritable, which is rare for her.

 “How is it…that my armpits ache?” you ask as you pull it over your chest.

 Baela white curls peer around the door, pursing her lips at the gym outfit.

 “What day is it today?” she asks, packing her makeup bag, a mess of dirty brushes and probably stuff she’s had for going on four years.

 Huffing, you check the schedule on your phone, “Some legs I think, maybe some core if I don’t kick him in the face”

 Baela shoots you a look, “Oh come on, he can’t be that bad”

 You sit on the bed, unlacing your trainers to pull them on, “It’s just his face when he said it to me. Genuinely he makes me just wanna-” your hands clasp together in a strangling motion, imagining his dumb face between your hands, “Ugh!”

 Once you’re laced up, you run your hands through your hair, “I hate men”

 “Same girlie” Baela says from the kitchen, “speaking of which I think your ex is back in town”

 You raise your eyebrows, “remind me, why I should care?” sneaking up behind you she squeezes your thigh playfully, right where the muscle is so tender, “Ah-ah, ow! You bitch”

 “Because you might run into him and I know what you’re like, ice queen” she says, packing every little thing into her overnight bag she can, even going as far as to sit on it, “if you do run into him just don’t give him the time of day”

 She jumps on the bag, trying to zip it up.

 Sigh, “Move, let me” you say, shooing her away.

 You lean your body over the bag, using your chest to sandwich the two parts together and zip the bag up, raising your arms in victory.

 “God that’s so hot” Baela says biting her lip to which you give her a playful swat, “Aemond’ll have you in that position later”

 Gag.

 “Baela! That’s your cousin!”

 She shrugs playfully, “Doesn’t mean you can’t fuck him”

 “I’m not fucking Aemond, Bae” you say sternly

 She scans you, silently judging, “You need a good dicking. I’m not saying it has to my cousin, but something please. You’re annoying when you’re horny”

 You put your hands on your hips, pretending to be offended as she drags her overnight bag to the door.

 “Oh please. I see how often you have to charge your vibrator”

 “Don’t you judge me”

 “I’m not judging, I’m just saying having a human dick might be due at some point” she half-shouts down the hallway, “Off to Rhaena’s, have fun!”

 The door slams shut after that.

 “Oh boy I will” you mutter under your breath, grabbing your car keys.

 Ping.

 And as if right on cue, the annoyance in question has sent you an Instagram DM. You read it already half-annoyed and tap off a reply as soon as you’ve typed it.

As much as you mean for the response to be sarcastic, you have a feeling he won’t get that vibe. And if he does, he won’t care.

 Besides, why doesn’t he use capital letters? Where’s the ‘sorry i’ll be late’? And who the hell signs off every message with their initials?

 This guy.

 He’s going to be the death of your patience for sure.

 Secretly, you appreciate coming to the gym in the middle of the day when it’s not as busy. It at least eases a tiny bit of that anxiety you feel. And you know it’s not true, but when it’s busy you feel like everyone is watching you, knowing that you’re not as fit as them or as good as them. It feels a bit like you’re on show.

 Once locking up your bag and coat, you pull your wireless earphone out and stick one in, pulling yourself onto the stairmaster. Start on Level 5 for 5 minutes and then the rest on 10, he had instructed. At first your legs felt like they were on fire, but it had gotten a bit easier as the week went on.

 As you step again and again, you put on a random playlist. Seeing as you and Baela share a Spotify, you get recommended some right tat and so you distastefully scroll past her music and land on a random one. Some 80’s tunes would have to do. You didn’t have any energy to care anyway.

 As boring as the stairmaster is, it gives you a good view for people-watching and generally being nosy. So as a-ha Take on Me plays in your left ear, you watch the various other gym-goers. Some putting very little effort into their workouts and slinking into the background. Some making way too much effort, banging the weights, grunting and generally acting like they’re cock of the walk.

 You’re so engrossed with people-watching, you almost jump out your fucking skin when someone yanks the airpod out your left ear, almost sending you arse over tit on the machine.

 “Shit” you mutter, hands grappling the handles.

 With a sour expression, Aemond pulls the airpod to his ear, frowning at the music.

 “80’s music. Really?”

 Your expression turns bitter pretty much as this dickhead opens his mouth. Briefly scanning him, he appears to be wearing the same kind of outfit. What fucking cartoon character behaviour is this?

 Yanking the airpod out his hand, you put it back in its case quickly, trying to hide the way your face heats up when you see how his hair is now and around his shoulders. Doubly so when his arms raise above his head to pull it into a bun in the middle of his head to get it off his neck.

 Bonk. Stop it. This guy’s a dick. If I‘m thirsting over my personal trainer, maybe Baela is right and it’s time to get out there and get laid.

 He gets onto the other stairmaster next to you and you try your best to ignore him. That is until he reaches over and adjusts the level on yours to go up to 10, as if you can’t do it yourself. A flash of annoyance passes your face and you swat his hand away.

 “I can do it myself, you know”

 He raises his eyebrows, victorious as if he’d wanted a reaction from you the moment he stepped in.

 “Tetchy” he muses.

 As he starts the same warmup, annoyingly faring better than you and barely out of breath, he doesn’t make another attempt to speak.

 “Busy day then” you say, startling him by speaking.

 He looks at you like he was just expecting you to be weirdly quiet the entire time.

 “What”

 “You were late”

 He raises his eyebrows, taken aback by the sudden conversation. But as swiftly as he looked over he turns away, “Family emergency”

 You furrow your brows, “Should you even be here if it’s a family emergency?”

 Aemond sighs, as if resigned from the conversation already.

 Well fuck me then I guess.

 The silence falls between you for a while and once your time is up, you hit ‘stop’ on the machine and go to the water fountain to fill up your water bottle. God it’s so difficult to even make small talk with the guy. As frustratingly attractive as he is, he’s not making it easy to get on with him.

 You screw the lid on the water bottle, adjusting the sports bra slightly and take a long sip, briefly looking behind you to see if he is still on the stairmaster. And he is. Staring right at you with that indifferent, stoic look. But as soon as your eyes meet, he looks down at his feet, stopping the machine.

 Was he staring at me?

 You can feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment the closer he gets, on the basis of filling up his own water bottle, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious in just your black sports bra and leggings.

 Stretches, first. If you can get through this it’ll be fine.

 They go relatively smoothly.

 You say relatively…

 …you’re staring at him the entire time, stealing glances where you know you shouldn’t. A few times he nearly catches you, so you internally scold yourself for staring too much. But you can’t really help it, especially with the big fuck off mirror in front of you.

 “60 second plank, go” he orders flatly.

 You get into position on your elbows, ignoring the way he’s looking over your form. If you think about it too much you really might have to bonk yourself.

 As he kneels there watching, you freeze, feeling his large hand softly on your lower back, pushing slightly.

 “Don’t arch your back too much”

 He pushes more on your lower back, dangerously close to your ass, which only makes your upper arms shudder even more than they already are.

 His hand smoothes up your spine to your shoulders, resting in between them.

 “Relax your shoulders for me”

 Fucking helllll…

 It’s weirdly intimate and sinful, lustful thoughts are beginning to sneak into your brain.

 Stop, stop, stop.

 Be professional.

 But his hands are so big. Slender long fingers running up your spine which makes you swallow thickly. And the way he said ‘for me’ is not helping at all in the slightest.

 The last thirty seconds feel like fucking years, and even once he’s taken his hand away, pleased at your corrected form, you feel it. The way his hand felt. How it burns hot even now he’s taken it away. You can practically memorise where they were, and wondered how they would feel between your th-

 STOP IT.

 The timer goes off and you’ve never been more relieved that it’s over.

 “Squats next”

 Oh Jesus.

 They’re not much better. You already feel dumb doing squats with someone watching, but he’s watching so intensely, hands on hips that it’s just distracting.

 “Deeper”

 You meet his eyes in the mirror, face betraying the sinful thoughts you’re having.

 “Excuse me?”

 He raises an eyebrow, his eyes flitting over your flushed expression.

 “You need to squat deeper”

 Oh…

 You’re halfway through them when he approaches from behind, extending one foot out between yours to kick your legs further apart. His knee grazes your thigh and you think you might actually die. Because even though he’s just correcting your stance, it felt so intimate the way he just kicked them apart like that without saying anything.

 You look at him in the mirror but he’s still observing your body as you squat and you find your line of sight has diverged to below his waistline (for some reason) searching for something underneath his black sweatpants. That is until his eye flicks up to meet yours in the mirror in front of you, and feeling cornered, you flit your gaze away.

 Is it hot in here?

 “3 more”

 And there it is. The sour way he speaks. It’s amazing how just a few words can dull the spark so quickly.

 His phone buzzes in his pocket and he seems to somehow go even more sour when he sees who’s calling.

“Sorry, just need to take this” he mumbles, already with the phone to his ear as he rounds the corner.

 Once out of sight, you adjust the straps of your sports bra, visibly flustered. What the fuck is wrong with me, get it together. That’s it, as soon as I get home I’m downloading that stupid dating app again.

 You absolutely cannot think of him this way. You’re paying him as your personal trainer, it’s wrong to think of him this way. And on top of that, he’s an all round dick. One word answers, being generally rude and condescending. God, how can a man with looks like that be such an unbelievable twat and manage to keep clients?

 He’s gone for a bit longer than you imagined, so instead you go to the leg press, sitting down and pulling out your phone. Opening your browser was a dangerous one, the last tab you had open was a sex toy website. Luckily nobody is behind you, but it still piques your interest. Maybe you should buy more, for the horny, out of control woman you seem to have become.

 “Looking good, sweetheart”

 Oh lord. You recognise that voice.

 Dread pools in your gut as you look up and click off your phone. Your fucking ex is right there, leaning against the machine with that smug look on his face. You pull the most hateful expression you can muster.

 “What do you want”

 He has the audacity to shrug, “Can’t I say hello?”

 “No”

 “Oh, come on baby”

 “Do not call me that” you warn him, eyes blazing with hatred, “Save it for your girlfriend, whatever her fucking name is”

 “Girlfriend?”

 “Yeah, the one plastered all over my feed” you say sarcastically, pretending to fiddle around with the weights, knowing full well you can only leg press 18kg.

 He smirks victoriously, revelling in the fact you’ve not blocked him yet.

 “We’re not together”

 “Oh, that didn’t take long” you put on a sickly sweet voice, dripping with sarcasm, “so what, you think you can just come crawling back to me?”

 He doesn't answer that, he simply lets his eyes rake over you in the outfit you have one and says, “you look really good”

 “Thanks, now piss off”

 “You won’t even get a drink with me, baby?” he asks, trying to seem sweet.

 “If you call me baby one more ti-”

 “Can I help you?”

 Aemond’s stern voice makes the man jump and he looks behind him, smiling nervously. Aemond stands, hands in pockets, looking down at him like he’s shit at the bottom of his shoe. Briefly, his gaze flits over to you, seeing how annoyed and uncomfortable you are with his presence.

 Your ex gives him a once over and brushes past him, but not before sending you a, “See you around” before disappearing into the furthest side of the gym.

 Gag.

 Aemond looks behind him, making sure he’s out of sight before looking back.

 “Was he bothering you” he asks flatly.

 You scoff, “It was that obvious?” you reply sarcastically.

 Aemond asks no further questions than that, allowing him to surmise the situation for himself. He looks off into the direction your ex went, his tongue poking at his cheek in what looks like annoyance. Tearing your eyes away from his gorgeous profile once again, you adjust the weight to 18kg and get your legs in position. The horizontal leg press was a lot more beginner friendly, so you pull your legs in front of you against the plate.

 Aemond watches for a second, squatting beside you while you adjust in the seat, eyes rolling over your form. If he was being handsy before, that’s nothing compared to what he does now. He clasps his large hands around your leg, pulling them apart slowly so that your feet are shoulder width apart on the plate. But he keeps his hand there for longer than you anticipated, which makes you swallow thickly, face quickly heating up again.

 He looks up at you, “You need to spread your legs a bit more” he instructs lowly, his eyes trained on yours as he says it.

 You feel like you’re staring at his mouth, really analysing what he’s said. The connotations aren’t lost on you, and a familiar flutter blossoms in your belly. Clearing your throat, you start the set, trying your best to not look at him and just focus. Your clothes feel too tight and the air feels too hot. Electrified, as if a current could be passed between you both. Hands grip tightly onto the handles.

 He scoffs, reaching right over you to adjust the weights, “You can do better than that”. Even his voice seems to have changed and he’s so close you can smell whatever detergent he must use for his clothes, it makes you stay frozen in your spot. Now being able to see every little detail of his face, his arm so close to brushing against your sports-bra clad chest. Your brain feels like it’s made of cotton as your breathing shallows.

 He changes the weight to 30kg and watches you as you carry on with the set quietly. The weight isn’t bad in itself, you’re just not used to it, so your legs start to shake and your chest starts to flush with a soft sheen of sweat. Feeling a bit embarrassed about the shaky legs and the fact that he’s so insistently watching you makes you want to disappear into a hole in the ground.

 “Struggling?” he smirks.

 He smirks. The bastard smirks.

 You give him a look, but as much as you try, it’s not as icy as before, betraying how you’re really feeling right now. But if he sees it behind your eyes, he doesn’t let it show on his face.

 The bastard’s doing this on purpose.

 It’s not even the fact he’s doing it that makes you mad. It’s how easy it seems to be.

 He takes his hand away, obviously very pleased at what he’s done.

 You try to work through the last 3 reps.

 “Such a good girl for me”

 Your cheeks burn scarlet, your whole body is hot as you look over at him in shock. But he’s looking at you so casually.

 “What”

 He smirks again, raising his eyebrows, “I said just one more for me’”

 You just do the last one as quickly as possible, brushing past him with lightning speed to gather your belongings. The weights land back with a loud clunk. You are certain you’re going mad, feeling the sweat cool on your skin as you stuff your things in your bag.

 “You ok?” he asks with mirth in his tone. You don’t look back and nod your head quickly, just knowing that he’s right behind you with his stupidly large frame, stupid toned legs, stupid sexy arms, stupid long fingers, stupid stupid smile.

 “Yep, fine” you blabber it out quicker than you can think and try and change the subject, “Hope the family emergency is…okay”

 It comes out more awkwardly than you intended. Aemond only huffs a laugh through his nose. He’s not been this…weirdly friendly since the first time you both met.

 “My Dad’s dead but yeah”

 Your heart freezes instantly, and you break whatever promise you’d made and look at him. He looks very casual about it, hands in pockets, as if it’s just a minor inconvenience. Trying to keep your expression neutral.

 “Oh”

 There’s a bit of a quiet moment between you both as he raises his eyebrows.

 “Impressive” he says, making you send him a quizzical look.

 “What is?”

 He licks his lips, smirking at your confusion, “You didn’t default to ‘Oh, I’m so sorry’”

 He says it jokingly, but you can tell there’s some tension in his voice.

 “Should I?”

 You get the sense that this guy isn’t so often taken off guard, but the question you pose him now seems to and the smirk is wiped off his face, replaced with an unsympathetic expression.

 “No” he answers simply.

 Clearing your throat and throwing your coat on now that the heat of the situation has somewhat dissipated, you inhale deeply, “see you next week”

 His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek again, jaw twitching as his eyes search your face, before scanning you again. That smirk tugs at one side of his lips, making your eyes flit there for a brief moment, admiring their shape as he speaks.

 “See you then”

 You’ve never been more sexually confused in your life you think. So even when the session is over, you just sit in your car, processing it all. Even scrolling through your phone doesn't take your mind off it, reminded by your past search history.

Your flat is weirdly quiet without Baela there, lonely even. For a few hours it makes itself quite useful, as you lay in bed with your current favourite sex toy trying to get these horny thoughts out of your head. But every time you’re close he pops into your head. Jolting you back into the real world.

 He’s a personal trainer, he’s supposed to be hands on. You’re just touch-starved.

 He’s a dick!

 Maybe he’s just cold at first.

 He thinks you’re a weak as fuck, stupid and brainless. Who are you kidding?

 Your brain attempts to make sense of it all.

 After (unintentionally) edging yourself for what feels like hours, your brain and thoughts betray you severely and you orgasm washes over you with a pained and shuddering cry, all while thinking about all the ways he touched you today and what it felt like to have his burning skin on yours for just a moment.

 “Fuck…” you sigh out loud..

 You want to fuck your personal trainer.

 Buzz buzz.

 ‘Hay-Baela’ appears on your phone and you pick up quickly.

 Baela: Evening hoe, how’s things?

Y/n: Fine, just devoured a takeaway.

Baela: Anything nice?

Y/n: Just some Indian food which I’m sure will come back to haunt me.

Baela: Be a shame if it didn’t. How was your session?

Y/n: *sigh* yeah fine, my legs were shaking a bit during leg press though. Had me on 30kg.

Baela: Yeah, Aemond said you did well.

 Wait…what?!

 Y/N: Eh?

Baela: Aemond texted me earlier, said you did good and you were toning up well?

Y/N: Right…

Baela: Anyway, have a good weekend, don’t burn the flat down. Oh, and I’ve got a parcel arriving tomorrow.

Y/N: Wait, Bael-

Baela: Bye!

 The bitch hangs up on you, leaving you in a post-nut haze, confused and somehow more horny than when you started.

The fucker must be doing this on purpose.

“Fuck!”

Taglist (bold couldn’t tag): @mrsgrwy @lovelykhaleesiii @urmomsgirlfriend1 @iiamthehybrid @namelesslosers @chainsawsangel @warmfieldofgrass @mynameisbaby9 @afro-hispwriter​ @tempo-rary-fix @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans​ @svtansdaddyx​ @tssf-imagines​ @darkenchantress​ @vrtualfairy​ @fan-goddess​ @skikikikiikhhjuuh​ @helaenaluvr​ @sarahkimtae​ @blackxisxmyxcolour​ @castellomargot​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @julczimozart​ @amazingdisneyfansblog​ @slutforaemond

[awarmcupofmilk]

Gojo x reader "Broken Mirror"

afab!reader

summary: you knew gojo was the one. gojo wasn't so sure.

content warnings: breakup/sad, angst, deviations from gojo’s past arc

word count: 1,226

note: hi lovelies, I'm back! I'm thinking of turning this into a series, thoughts?

© 2022 awarmcupofmilk

please don’t repost, edit, translate, use, or copy my works on any platforms (if you’d really like to please reach out – reblogs are welcome)

You’d known for a while Satoru was the one.

When he’d thoroughly humiliated the elders through cheeky comebacks and downright threats because Gakuganji made a remark about your way of dress off-duty.

When he called off classes for the day to host a hot dog eating contest, just because you were having a hard time with your sister getting engaged---fresh out of high school.

When he literally saved your life on that mission.

But what sealed the deal was this adorably clueless look on his face, set so vividly apart from his usual smirks and sneers, when he got daifuku on his cheek.

You were in love. And in it bad.

At first, you knew you were alone in your convictions. Satoru hadn’t ever prioritized love and you didn’t think you’d convince him otherwise. You told yourself it was fine, that you’d date for a few months, maybe a year and then move on for the better.

But you don’t move on from the strongest.

You couldn’t taste anything else once you’d had him. Nothing else held appeal.

You kept telling yourself it was fine. You were still young, you still had time to date without a future. But the smell of his aftershave, the way his hair curled behind his ear, his distaste for alcohol. It all drew you in, too deeply, and you wanted it too badly.

Satoru would stiffen when you brought up the future.

He was happy to make plans for Friday date night, but anything about revisiting the clan or moving in or god forbid, marriage had him giving non-answers and changing the subject at the first opportunity.

It was a stabbing pain, seeing the look on his face, and a few times after a particularly sobering conversation you’d almost considered ending it. But he was so sweet. By all other accounts he was a wonderful boyfriend. Chivalrous---opening the door for you, insisting on paying the bill, unfolding the napkin at restaurants to cover your lap. He genuinely listened. And yes, he had a slight habit of being a little too friendly with no doubt interested women, but he’d always own up and do better when you called him out. And you just clicked. So effortlessly, so seamlessly. So, you told yourself it was fine.

You had your whole life ahead of you at twenty-three. And you knew, any third party would tell you that you were being unreasonable. But you loved him. You were sure about him. Surer than you were about most things. Maybe anything. You used to be so cynical about marriage. You didn’t buy anything about soulmates or true love or the one. But Satoru was it for you. You just knew.

But the more you wanted him, the more anxious you were to hold on, to not lose him. You found yourself asking, “Are you going to break up with me?” As a joke from the outside but in truth a deep fear, seeking opposition or confirmation, you didn’t know.

And Satoru would always respond easily, with that trademark suaveness, “Not planning on it.”

You asked more and more often, and whether or not Satoru noticed, more and more anxiously.

And each “I don’t see that happening,” each “No” followed by a soft kiss sold it to you more. You stopped telling yourself it was fine. You’d be together forever. You were sure of it.

Things weren’t perfect. You two had your rough patches and fair share of fights. But you wanted each other enough to make it through anything. If the you from a few years ago could hear yourself, this madness probably would have been put to an end. But you loved him. You loved him in that cliché, film way that looks manufactured in hindsight. But it felt so raw, so pure, so real. You’d be together forever.

Soon, despite yourself, you began hinting. Rings. Nice houses. And even, though you were now appalled at the memory, babies. Not to be had then, of course, just for the far-off future. You could be patient if commitment was promised.

And for whatever reason, Satoru played along. He started engaging in talks about the future, even though he used to say he didn’t want to make these promises, didn’t want to plan so far. You had reminded yourself of what he used to say, that look on his face when you brought up plans. But for some reason hidden to him and you, he bought into it too. He started fantasizing with you. Of course, to you it didn’t feel like fantasizing. But he seemed to want it, almost as badly. You thought his face lit up picturing your lives together in the next few years. You thought he smiled a little wider, laughed a little louder.

He wants this too. You told yourself. We’ll be together forever. You said.

You told this to yourself like a mantra, and soon it became indisputable truth.

✧

“Hey,” you started, leaning on Satoru’s shoulder. You snuggled closer to him on the couch and pulled the blanket over your shoulder. “Does it ever bother you that I ask about the future?” You said.

Satoru stiffened, and your heart dropped.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“You know, like do you not like talking about plans long-term?”

You were fishing for an easy answer, some artificial reassurance, a “No, I like it fine.”

But he paused. You couldn’t breathe.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to make promises.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. It sounded like you had let out a breath. A small cough.

“I mean, it’s kind of fun to fantasize,” he said.

You hadn’t realized how much the word “fantasize” bothered you. How seriously you took your “plans”.

“But I mean, I can’t promise what will happen in a few years,” Gojo continued.

You felt dizzy. “You don’t see us together in a few years?” You asked. It sounded like a whimper and you hated yourself for it.

“I just mean I don’t know what my life looks like in a few years.”

“Oh,” you said again.

There was silence. You’d stopped resting on his shoulder and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You pulled the blanket off and fidgeted, eyes glued to your lap.

“…where do you see this going?” You finally asked. Quietly.

He let out a breath. “Look, I’m going to be honest, I’m twenty-four, I can’t make any commitments right now.”

“Oh.”

You felt oddly calm. “Um, thanks for being honest with me,” (finally, you thought).

“Sure,” Gojo said.

“So we have an expiration date, huh?” You asked.

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this is going to end at some point.”

“I mean, I’m not making a decision right now about the future,” Gojo said, you thought he shrugged. “I still want to be with you now,”

But he didn’t understand. That was the point. You’d decided on forever without a second thought, and he just let you. But sooner or later, when he decided it was time to experience life without you, he’d leave you behind. You didn’t want now if you couldn’t have the future.

You didn’t meet his eye. “Gojo, I think we should end things.”

It’s funny how the things you love the most can shatter in an instant.

✧ Masterlist ✧

[orphicdreamers-wp]

3am Calls — Trevor Zegras

Summary: In which following your hurtful breakup, you find yourself calling Trevor with your unanswered questions.

Summary; Angst without happy ending, cheating(trevor), body insecurities, low self esteem, depression, Jamie Drysdale kind of being a douche, heartbreak, Mid/plus size reader, Dixie Damelio slander(sorry)

Pairing: Trevor Zegras & Reader

You’d met Trevor through his teammate Jamie, you’d gone to high school with him and had tutored him his sophomore year, which was your senior year. You hadn’t seen him since you graduated, until you moved to Anaheim. You had gone to Cornell Veterinary School and moved to Anaheim and opened a vet clinic. You were introduced to Trevor when Jamie brought Trevor’s dog, Louie in because he wasn’t eating and was vomiting blood. You had been administering medication when Trevor hurried in the room, “Jamie what the hell happened?” Jamie turner to his roommate , “Trevor this is Y/N the vet. Y/N this is Trevor, Louie’s his dog.”

You felt the wind leave your throat, “It seems he just had an allergic reaction to something he’s eaten. His breathing was a little shallow so I gave him some medication and I’m gonna prescribe some of it as I’m worried about his breathing.” Trevor’s eyes met you and a small smile on his face, “Thank you so much.” You smiled, “Just doing my job, hi baby.” You smiled lightly as Louie stirred on the table and rubbed his face against your hands. Trevor smiled at the scene in front of him, “I’m suprised, Lou doesn’t usually like new people.” Jamie grinned, “Oh she’s the master of animals loving her. She was my tutor in high school.” Trevor grinned widely as your cheeks flushed, “Maybe I should get your number in case something else happens to Louie.”

You grinned as you pulled out a business card from your scrub pocket, “Feel free to call me with any questions you may have.” You ran a hand through Louie’s fur, “I feel bad running out but I have twenty minutes for my lunch and I have to go all the way back to my place because I was in a rush this morning. It was great seeing you again Jamie, nice meeting you Trevor.” You hurried out of the exam room and had your vet tech go in and help them get the paperwork done.

You and Trevor quickly began dating after that. Your relationship was perfect, Trevor was kind, funny and attentive to you at all times. But you couldn’t help but find yourself wondering if you and Trevor were really meant to be. Trevor was a stereotypical attractive athlete who had women throwing themselves at him. You were a plus sized woman who had no interest in the spotlight. So when rumors of Trevor dating a effortlessly beautiful and thin social media influencer, it was no surprise you let it get the best of you.

Trevor had reassured you that he was not involved with the influencer, you didn’t believe him but that was expected when a photo of them standing next to each other in an amusement park. But that wasn’t even the worst of it, you’d had by far the worst day at work, you had to euthanize 3 dogs and 2 cats. All you wanted to do when you arrived to your shared apartment with Trevor was take a scorching shower and lay in bed. You opened the door to the apartment yawning as you slipped off your shoes and entered the living room. You dropped your tote bag on the coffee table as you made your way to the bathroom to start the shower.

You had started the water and made your way to the bedroom to grab clothes. You felt your throat tighten and your stomach churn as you pushed the door open. A small squeak came from beside the bed. You blinked rapidly as your eyes met a pair of bright brown doe eyes. You felt your voice come out as a whisper, “I can’t believe him.” You slammed your dresser drawer shut as you walked into the bathroom and shut off the water and made your way into the living room. Trevor was leaning against the counter sipping water as his sweatpants hung lowly on his hips, “Hi hon, I didn’t realize you were home yet.”

You bit your tongue, “I’m sure you didn’t. How was your day? Do anything fun?” Trevor felt a sense of panic in his chest, “Nope, just practice and grabbed drinks with the guys. How was work?” You picked up your tote bag and slipped on your shoes, “I’m out of here, I can’t do this anymore. I trusted you and you lied to me. You said there was nothing going on with her. I can’t do this Trev, I won’t.” Trevor felt his heart stop, “Baby, you can’t just give up on this. Please? Jamie said that I would be able to fix this, please.” You shook your head, “I don’t have to. You already did.” You walked out of the apartment and slammed the door behind you.

You found yourself at your clinic, you didn’t have anywhere to go. You hadn’t really connected with any of the girlfriends of Trevor’s teammates. You knew Jamie would side with Trevor because they’d been friends for years especially when Trevor said Jamie had encouraged him. And your hectic work hours didn’t allow you to make friends easily. So you went to the one place that was truly yours, your work. You sat on the floor in your office staring at the wall.

Your phone was blowing up with texts from Trevor. You ignored them until the last one, ‘I’m sorry for this. I asked them not to post it.’ You furrowed an eyebrow as a new notification from Entertainment Weekly on Twitter. You clicked the notification and were met with an article saying that Trevor and Dixie Damelio confirmed their relationship. You felt bile form in your stomach as you locked your phone.

Six months had passed since then and you still found yourself staring intently at yourself whenever you walked past a mirror. You always found something wrong in the reflection, whether the shirt you wore was too tight on your breasts, the pants you wore were too tight on your legs, your thighs were too large, your arms jiggled as you walked, no matter what you found yourself picking yourself apart. Granted you did it occasionally while you were with Trevor and before you two started dating. But it was different after being cheated on.

Before you didn’t pay mind to the harsh comments people made as you walked past them on the street, or from behind you in a restaurant line. But now you found yourself shrinking smaller whenever a negative comment was made. That’s what led you to your current predicament. You were sitting on the floor of your new apartment’s bedroom. A full body length mirror in front of you. Your cheeks were stained with tears as you reached for your cell phone.

You knew you shouldn’t do it, he was happy, he’d moved on. You found yourself checking his girlfriends instagram account and overanalyzing your body compared to hers. You clicked his contact and let it ring. You took in a deep breath as his raspy voice filled your ears, “Y/N what’s up?” You sniffled as you realized that you had probably woken him, it was 3 in the morning. You shook your head, “Nothing, I shouldn’t have called. Forget it.”

Trevor’s voice filled your ears, “I can tell your crying. It’s not nothing if your crying. What’s wrong?” You sniffled, “I guess I was just trying to figure out what I did wrong. I mean why wasn’t I enough Trev?” Trevor felt his heart split wide open, “Baby you were enough. It was me who wasn’t.” You shook your head, “Don’t give me that bullshit Trev, what can I fix for the next person? I mean is it my body, I can change that. I just don’t want to ever feel like this again.” If Trevor thought his heart couldn’t break any further, your words made a fool of him.

“No, you were perfect. I was too immature for someone like you. Your the most perfect person I know, I wasn’t ready for someone to expect that of me. Especially you. I should have communicated with you but I was drunk and Jamie was encouraging me to flirt with Dixie, I was lonely, we’d been fighting and I shouldn’t have done it. It’s not you.” You shook your head as you sniffled, “I really loved you. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I just I have to move on from that.” With that you hung up the phone.

[mybl--dyvalentine]

Love You Twice જ⁀➴ Wonwoo

✮ non idol au! wonwoo x gn! reader

✮ Summary: After the breakup, you and Wonwoo left things off on a bad note. It's been years since you've seen him last but you run into him at a park.

✮ Genre: Slight Angst / Redemption?

✮ Word Count: 647

✮ Author's Note: guys coming home by beabadoobee is so good.

You walk out of your house for the last time. The building holds many memories, some bad and some good. It's been 5 years since the breakup and you've finally decided to pack up your things for good and leave everything behind.

Your ex, Wonwoo, left the day he told you that he was moving out. At the time, Wonwoo was in his own head thinking that you were too good for him. That you deserved better. So, he told you he was breaking up with you for your own good. As much as you tried to get him to stay, he still left.

--

"It's better for you, Y/n. We can't stay together." He looks at you with somber eyes.

"Please! We...we can work something out. There must be something we can do." You grab his hand.

He looks at you for a minute and sighs. His mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. He slowly slips out of your grip and leaves you sitting there in shock. The sight of his figure leaving the door as you sit there helpless is something you will never forget.

--

Since then, neither of you broke no contact. Although, you've gotten really close but ultimately decided not to.

After you settled in your new apartment, you decided to take a walk to the nearest park. The walk was quite tiring so you sat down at a bench to cool off. There aren't that many people at the park, especially since it's noon. Some runners, some having a picnic, and some walking their dogs. While observing people, you recognize someone. Is that... Wonwoo? He was all alone, walking around with his hands in his pockets while observing the scenery. Emotions start to become mixed around in your head and your first instinct was to run and hide. That isn't what you did though. You stayed sat on the bench and just stared off into the distance, consumed by your thoughts. All sounds became muffled as you continued to think. There was one in particular that broke through your concentration.

"y/n. Y/n. Y/N!" You felt your body shake and you look towards the source.

It's him. Wonwoo.

"Hi..." He smiles and examines your face, "Thought I lost you there" He chuckles.

"What are you doing here?" You ask baffled.

"I was just uh.. walking around. To clear my head. Didn't think I'd see you here either." He puts his hand on the back of his head and smiles sheepishly.

"A-anyway. Do you have a minute? I want to talk. About us."

"Uh.. sure." You respond.

"Alright! Let's talk over a drink." He waves you over as he walks backwards.

---

"Seeing you after all this time really brings back memories. All I can think of are good ones." He smiles.

"It really makes me realize that I messed up. Badly."

"I'm glad you know." You chuckle.

"Looking at you reminds me of all the pain I experienced after our breakup although I can't say I'm not glad you're acknowledging your mistakes."

You take a sip of your coffee and stare at him waiting for him to say something.

"Look, I genuinely cannot imagine my life without you anymore. The past 5 years have been hell. Please, just give me one more chance to show you how important you are to me." He's staring at you with extreme determination.

Overwhelmed with emotions you say, "I... don't know what to say. I need more time to think about this."

He looks at you understandingly, "Okay, just let me know if you'll give me another chance. I can wait. Here's my number."

You type in his number into your phone and get up to leave.

"See you around, Wonwoo." You wave him goodbye.

As you walk out of the cafe you think to yourself, can you really love him for a second time?

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | December 4th-10th 2023

Can you believe it's only been about six months and I'm on my second 9-1-1 rewatch? 😅

Complete

the trouble with family by adorkable_buddie/ @butraura (Post-S6, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): In which, after Natalia breaks up with Buck, he goes to bar and hits it off with some woman. The next morning and a one night stand later, Buck learns that the woman is Eddie's sister.

'tis the damn season by spaceprincessem / @spaceprincessem (Post-S5, Christmas, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Eddie asks Buck to the Holiday Fireman's Ball. It goes so much better than he could ever imagine

when your world is on fire by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Established Buddie, Angst | 6K | Teen): The 118 responds to what should be a normal house fire only to find out that one of their own is stuck inside and believed to be dead.

caught up in your curls by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Getting Together | 6K | Explicit): After having been in El Paso for awhile, taking care of his Abuela, Eddie can finally go home to Los Angeles. He fully expected his son to have changed over the past few weeks because he's a teenager, they change every day. What he didn't prepare for was Buck, who suddenly has grown out his curls. Curls Eddie has a weakness for. It causes for some... interesting situations, until Eddie reaches his breaking point.

Don't Listen When I Scream by devirnis/ @devirnis (Bad Things Happen Bingo: Forced to Watch, Kidnapping, Angst | 11K | Mature): The man shoves Buck into the chair. Picking a hunting knife up from the tray, he points it at Eddie. “If you fight back or try to escape, I will slit his throat before you can even blink. Understand?”

there you are, sweetheart by oklahoma / @malewifediaz (Christmas, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Over Christmas hot chocolate and silly banter in the kitchen, Eddie tells Buck he loves him.

Why Not Take All of Me? by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Madney Wedding | 13K | Mature): When a small disaster strikes the morning of Maddie and Chimney's wedding, Buck, Hen, and Chim find themselves unwittingly caught up in an emergency across town, while Maddie and Eddie get stuck in an elevator.

even when the heat breaks I’m still yours by thewolvesof1998/ @thewolvesof1998 (PWP, Post-S6 | 6K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie get stuck in a cabin during a heatwave, they finally take the next step and fuck nasty on the floor.

You Ring, I Drool by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Christmas, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): 5+1 times Buck reminds Eddie of a dog // alternatively; the one in which Eddie accidentally conditions Buck to beg for treats

reach my hand through time (hold your hand so tight) by renecdote/ @renecdote (Exes to Lovers | 6K | Teen): In which Buck and Eddie breakup, get back together, and adopt a cat. In exactly that order.

bury my heart at the rodeo by lecornergirl / @clusterbuck (Getting Together | 1,2K | General): OR: eddie rides a horse and it makes buck a little reckless

let me take you (apart) by renecdote / @renecdote (PWP, Getting Together | 2K | Explicit): Buck is pinning Eddie’s arms over his head with one hand, the other low on his best friend’s hip, his weight pressing forward so that they’re chest to chest, mouths inches apart. Buck feels that exhalation against his skin, tickling, exhilarating, ghost-like in the way that it makes his hair stand on end. “Told you I could take you.”

the things that torment most by renecdote/ @renecdote (S3, Getting together | 5K | General): In which Buck reads a lot and all roads lead to him figuring out he's in love with his best friend.

this surprise ending i’m depending on (could be the story of another us) by Iover_of_mine (I_almost_do)/ @lover-of-mine (Post 6x15, Pining | 3K | Teen): Buck is on a date and Eddie pines.

for everything we are (everything we’ve been) by Iover_of_mine (I_almost_do)/ @lover-of-mine (Post-S6, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): “So here's what we're gonna do, the shit we've been through that you keep telling yourself didn't happen to you so you have no right to feel anything about it? You're gonna tell me how you felt about it anyway," Eddie says, turning on his chair so he's facing Buck fully and watching as Buck mirrors his movement, places his beer on the counter, and rubs his thighs before speaking.

swinging for the fences by inbetweenthestacks/ @organizedstardust (Getting Together | 6K | Teen): Buck takes Eddie to a baseball game.

🔥 reachin for me (makin love to someone else) by inbetweenthestacks/ @organizedstardust (Post-S6, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): Buck says Eddie’s name while having sex with Natalia.

boiling point by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Evan Buckley's extremely extended metaphor for loving Eddie Diaz.

it's like everything you say is a sweet revelation by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Friends to Fiances, Post-S6 | 5K | Mature): “Marry me,” Eddie said. It wasn’t a question, it was a sentence. He said it like he was commenting on the weather or last night's Dodgers game. Buck slowly lowered his coffee cup, eyes wide. Eddie lifted his drink and took a sip, a satisfied hum escaped him as he did. “Come again?” “Marry me,” Eddie took another sip of his coffee. “Please?”

If we’re both still single… by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Getting Together | 3K | Teen): “I’m sorry, you’re gonna have to repeat that for me?” Eddie had a beer halfway to his lips, his arm slung lazily on the back of the couch. “If we’re both still single when we’re 35, we should just get married,” Buck repeated, as casually as if he was saying they should order pizza or change the channel from the basketball game to hockey. 

🔥 it hurts to hope for more by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 15K | Mature): “I’m never - I’m never going to be a dad,” Buck sobs into Eddie’s shoulder. “She didn’t want kids. Why do I keep dating people who don’t want the same things as me? Is- is the universe telling me that I don’t deserve it?” “Hey, no,” Eddie pulls back from the hug and Buck lets out a pitiful sound at the loss of contact. “The universe doesn’t do that. The universe doesn’t scream and it definitely doesn’t get to tell you what you deserve, because you deserve everything Buck. Everything.”

don't wanna snooze and miss the moment by inbetweenthestacks/ @organizedstardust (Getting Together | 2K | General): Eddie gets caught on the edges of sleep and is a little too honest.

let me find some warmth inside this little love of mine by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (NYE, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): Buck and Eddie find themselves outside of the 118’s yearly New Year’s Eve party. And wish making occurs.

WIP

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 10/? | 7K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 100/? | 266K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Fractals from the Lightning Bolt by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (One Shots Collection | 41/54 | 78K | Not Rated): A collection of oneshots, some originally posted on tumblr. Each chapter is individually rated.

Chapter 41: Melt: written around the time of the shooting, when I thought we'd get to see more of Eddie's physical recovery in one way or another.

[chigirisprincess]

⠀ ︶︶ 　 ˚ ᡴꪫ Is it Casual Now?

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, unhealthy relationship with your ex, slightly toxic and ooc kazuha, ex sex, jealousy, miscommunication, reader and kazuha are bad for each other, dubious consent due to alcohol consumption, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, all hurt no comfort, ill time loved confessions. ⊹ Run time. 6.6k ⊹ Note. This has been rotting in my drafts since january so enjoy! <3

The frigid evening air prickles your skin as you push through the throngs of sweat dabbled bodies toward the backdoor. Beneath your boot clad feet, the worn wood of the porch groans in agony as you shuffle onto it. You vaguely register the frantic call of your name before the door slips shut behind you. It must have been one of your friends, the ones who dragged you away from your laptop and insisted that you spend some time outside your bedroom. 

A gust of cold air ripples through your blouse, leaving a trail of raised flesh in its wake but you don’t have it in you to shiver in response.

The weight which presses down upon your chest dulls any other sensations, numbing you to the chill and  wet drizzle that seeps through the stagnant air. A sigh passes your lips as you plop down to sit on the stairs that lead out to the backyard. The slick layer of days past rain soaks into your jeans from the porch wood.

Slipping your phone out from your back pocket, you slide your thumb upward until the blank screen lights up. Two smiling faces look back at you in mockery, reminding you that while you sat alone, submerged in the dark of night, he was inside with his arm wrapped around someone else. Scoffing at your phone, the thought to toss it into the abyss that was a stranger's backyard crosses your mind. Tucking it between your thighs, you squash the urge before your ill conceived judgement gets the better and you condemn yourself to an evening of searching fruitlessly in the dark.

Jealousy bubbles in your stomach, uncomfortably stirring inside you the longer you sit in silence. 

Your phone vibrates and with a wet sniff, you have half a mind to check it. 

It’s him.

You don’t have to look to know that it’s him, texting you in earnest after your disappearing act. Guilt makes its home alongside the jealousy. You’re lucky you don’t keel over and die with the weight of discomfort that crushes your windpipe. It was supposed to be easy, casual even. There was nothing casual about the tinge of red that coated your vision as your gaze swept across the living room and landed onto your very comfortably perched ex boyfriend. You supposed this was your punishment for believing that the two of you could remain friends after your very amicable breakup.

Though, you never considered that one day, Kazuha Kaedehara would no longer be yours. It was a rather startling realisation that being broken up meant the tether which bound the two of you together would eventually fray. It was inevitable. The visits with your family would end, he’d stop coming over late at night to join you as you walked your dog, Tofu, and the amount of hour-long phone calls would dwindle to a text once a year on your birthday. It’d be weird otherwise to be tethered to another yet so entangled with a past lover. Most of your friends already considered it strange, how close you and he remained, it would just be bizarre if he moved on whilst you remained stranded at an impasse of whether or not you still loved him. Of course, you did. You loved him the way you loved your very best friends. That would never change, it couldn’t. Kazuha was far too endearing a man to ever be incapable of loving, but, did you love him the same way you did before?

You think you might.

You might have still been in love with him.

But, that was unfair.

The breakup was as amicable as breakups can be. You were in different places in life– Kazuha was too much of a free spirit, and you were too firmly rooted in the garden you planted your dreams in. Things shouldn’t have worked for as long as they did, you were both grateful that they did but you both knew you were better off as friends. So why, did you feel as though your guts were to spill across the back porch the longer you thought of him and her. 

Casual, your friendship was supposed to be casual. 

That was the promise you and he made to one another. It was rather laughable to think either you or he could do casual. Even without the mountain of history between you, there was nothing you despised more than casual. You wanted all or nothing. And Kazuha liked devotion. He was hopelessly devoted to you and only you. Casual was not a word in either of your vocabularies. But he told you that he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it, so you promised. No attachments, no emotions, no romance, none of the things that made a relationship complicated.

And those rare nights where you and he caved into your carnal desires? Well, by morning you’d wipe the memories of skin rubbing against skin in the blanket of night where it belonged. Sex with your ex wasn’t casual. Kissing your ex like your very existence depended on the passage of air between you and he, surely wasn’t either.

Tossing your head back, you release a curse towards the sky. The moon in its omnipotent glory mockingly gleams back at you in silence. Reminding you that this web which twisted around your heart was of your own design. 

“Stupid,” you murmur, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, “I am so stupid.”

“And just what makes you say that?”

Stifling the urge to turn around, your shoulders slump at the voice you know all too well.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t allowed to talk down to yourself,” Kazuha says, slipping into the space next to you. His knees knock against yours as he settles on the staircase,“So what’s going on? Why’d you disappear, did something happen?”

The concern that laces his voice makes you nauseous. You didn’t feel like you deserved it.

Your finger nails dig into the splintering wood of the porch, “I just needed some air, it was getting stuffy in there,” you shrug your shoulders in nonchalance as if it would banish the rigidity that forced your body stiff, “I’m fine, seriously, you should go back inside. Wouldn’t want anyone to miss you.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Kazuha laughs a bit to disguise his confusion.

“You hate the cold,” he states, turning to look at you, “You hate it even more than you hate the dark, so why should I believe that you’d willingly come sit out here alone in the cold, dark, night.”

Between his nimble fingers sits a clear plastic cup. It’s filled to the brim with ice and something pink coloured. If you had to guess it was strawberry lemonade, your favourite. Kazuha nudges your elbow with his, offering the cup to you. Wordlessly you take it, swirling it around before taking a small sip and offering him a smile of thanks.

The juice is tangy on your tongue, a bit too bitter than you typically preferred but it's easier to gulp down the lemonade than to explain your irrationality. The frosty condensation numbs your fingers but if you put the cup down you’d forget it later. Staring into the remaining drops of lemonade and melting ice cubes you will your demeanour to be as cool as your beverage. It’s quite the lame attempt. You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, even if Kazuha didn’t know you at all, he’d still be able to read each delicate emotion that crossed your face.

Shrugging your shoulders, you steel your gaze on the sway branches of the tree across the yard, “Yoimiya, Hu Tao, and Xinyan forced me to come out tonight,” you say, allowing yourself a frown, “I’m tired and don’t want to be here, okay?”

You look over your shoulder, peering at Kazuha through your lashes. He remains unconvinced though he knows all too well of the moods you occasionally slipped into. Somehow able to deduce the root of your evasiveness by the way your lip quivers in shame, Kazuha releases a sigh. You don’t have to see his expression to know he’s disappointed. Sometimes you wish he didn’t care as much, that he could be the awful, evil, ex-boyfriend who treated you like garbage so that you could move on or maybe even hate him. Then, maybe lying to him didn’t have to feel like twisting a knife between your rib cage. 

“Grab your coat, I’ll drive you home,” he says, his voice soft and barely above a whisper, “I’ll tell your friends that I convinced you to leave so we could talk.”

His hand slips from his lap to rest on your knee, his fingers slipping into the small hole in your jeans to touch your bare skin with his. Giving your flesh a squeeze, Kazuha offers you a small smile.

“No thanks.”

Your fingers twitch against the porch, itching to move away his hand. You enjoy the warmth of his touch far more than you should. If you didn’t peel away from him soon, you’d lean in and accept his out, ignoring the stinging bile that lined your throat.

“You’ll be missed,” You stutter out, turning your body away from him, “ And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you and your date.”

Kazuha cocks his head to the side, “Date? What are you talking about?” He questions, his face marred by confusion, “I came here with- Are you talking about Beidou?”

“If that's the name of the girl you were cosying up with on the sofa, then yes that’s who I’m talking about.”

Your elbow digs into the tender flesh of your thigh as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand, pouting like a petulant child. Kazuha laughs a bit, smacking his hand over his mouth with a guilty expression when your head whips around to stare at him. You blink in shock as he giggles behind his palm.

“Oh, so you think it’s funny?” You probe with a roll of your eyes, “Haha, I’m jealous!”

Pushing his hand away from your leg, you release a watery huff, “No, no …” he murmurs, shifting closer so he could cup your cheeks, “Don’t cry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just …”

The sincerity in his vermillion eyes makes you feel worse. You feel the tears that quickly pooled in your eyes drip down your waterline and wet your cheeks. Kazuha’s calloused thumb is quick to brush them away. His hands warm the frigid skin of your face that’s nearly gone numb.

“Just what?” You whine, exasperated.

Kazuha chews on his bottom lip, appearing hesitant, “It’s just that … Not only is Beidou just a friend but … she’s a lesbian,” he winces, waiting for the groan of embarrassment that tears through your chest, “She gets extra affectionate when drunk and her girlfriend was in the bathroom so we cuddled a bit, platonically of course!”

Burrowing your face into your arms, you let out a garbled noise of distress.

“Gods, I’m so stupid!”

You feel his hand press against the small of your back, rubbing a smoothing circle into your skin, “You’re not stupid,” he says, shifting close enough for you to feel his breath blow across your lips, “Honestly, I think it was kinda cute how worked up you got.”

“Kazuha,” you say his name in warning.

He doesn’t retreat to offer you space or remove his hand. Wispy strands that have fallen from his ponytail tickle your face as he rests his chin atop your head. Being held in his embrace worsen the self loathing that churns in your gut but, what’s worse is the contentment that stirs within you the longer you allow Kazuha to comfort you.

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” he says in reassurance but there’s something laced between his words that tell you he isn’t being entirely truthful.

“It’s fine,” you huff, leaning into him, “Who wouldn’t relish knowing their ex was jealous while they moved on.”

Kazuha’s fingers snake under the fabric of your shirt, gently stroking your bare skin. You rest your hand on his thigh, your nails press into the seams as you use him to ground yourself. Casual, things with Kazuha were supposed to be casual. His lips brush the crown of your head in a quick kiss. Was this casual? Was seeking comfort and reassurance that you were still his one and only as inconsequential as you told yourself it was?  

“I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, you know this.”

The way he tenderly says your name makes your heart pang painfully. You’re awash with shame as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Goosebumps erupt across his skin when you press your frost bitten nose to the underside of his jaw.

“Let me take you home,” he pleads, his nails digging into your spine as if to support the urgency in his voice.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, “Okay,” you whisper, clamping your lips shut to keep anything more from spilling out between them.

Kazuha keeps his hand firmly planted on the small of your back as the two of you stand. The plastic solo cup falls from your lap into the dark abyss of the unlit backyard. He reaches down to grab your phone from the step you abandoned it on, sliding it into your back pocket– where you always keep it. Brushing your bangs away from your eyes, you suck in a shaky breath and allow yourself to be led around the house. The sickly fluorescent yellow streetlights cast ghoulish shadows that mock you with each staggered step you take.

His 2007 cherry red Honda Civic sits across the street, the metal gleaming beneath the light. You haven’t been in his car since he drove you home after you broke up with him. It was the one strange boundary you’d managed to uphold. You and he spent far too much time in that rust bucket. From late night trips to the beach, to hour long drives into the country for an afternoon picnic, his car held as much memory as your hair did. That’s why you chopped it off in an effort to feel better after you spiralled into a tizzy of regret– after a year it was just starting to grow back.  

The longer you stare, frozen in place with your feet glued to the sidewalk, you could almost see the image of you and him in the back seat. The glass foggy with a few hand prints here and there to further allude to what tangled the image of two bodies together. Turning your head to the side, you caught a glimpse into the house. The curtains were thrown open, the windows were cracked open to allow a sliver of crisp evening air inside. Beidou was still on the sofa, this time with a pretty blonde girl on her lap. Humiliation lapped at your heels, forcing you to turn back to the car.

“Ah, here we go!” Kazuha exclaimed, triumphantly holding up his car keys for you to see. It still sported the Pompurin keychain you gifted after your first month of dating. His car came to life with two clicks.

Forcing a tight smile to your lips, the two of you hurried across the street. 

Kazuha’s touch slipped from you as he rounded to the passenger to open the door for you. Tears sting the corner of your eyes and discomfort curls around you like a second skin. He held every door open for you and pulled out every seat, he said it was the gentlemanly thing to do. His grandfather always held the door for his grandmother, his father did the same for his mother. In his eyes, it was the little things that kept love alive. Though, a grand gesture here and there didn’t hurt. That’s why he was always writing poetry with you at the centre of it. 

Sliding into the seat, you quickly buckle yourself in. Your phone vibrates but you can’t bring yourself to check. It’d be far too mortifying to admit to your friends that you were going home with Kazuha, but you hated lying to them. They always wormed the truth out of you anyway. The car jostles as Kazuha shuts the door on his side, wasting no time in starting it up and fiddling with the controls. He opens your window less than a centimetre and turns the heat up high, just the way you like it. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, resting your head against the glass of the window.

Kazuha rests his right hand on your thigh, it’s second nature at this point despite how long it’s been since you’ve last shared this space. You say nothing, instead you wait quietly for him to grip the gear stick. It’s a relief when his attention is placed upon pulling out from the curb. He’s wedged between two cars and has to grip the back of your seat to get a good look at the car behind him. Your eyes trail up the length of his forearm without your permission. They drink in the swirling verdant ink that disappears beneath his rolled up sleeve and pensively peer at the flexing tendons beneath his skin.

Forcing your gaze to your lap, you pick at the loose threads that gather at the rips in your jeans. Idle hands and idle minds never lead to anything good. They were what led to you on his living room floor, your clothing scattered, and your skin flushed with the remnants of the empty bottle of pink whitney that lay discarded on the coffee table. Your face grows hot and even the gust of cool air can’t stop you from squeezing your thighs together to alleviate the growing need that festered in your belly. 

“How’s Tofu doing?” Kazuha asks, his eyes flickering to you as he pulls up to a stop sign, “He’s not missing his daddy too much is he?”

You hate the smile that tugs at your lips, “I’ve explained that you’re busy with work and you’re art, so I don’t think he’s missing you too much,” you remark, catching the slight roll of his eyes, “Samoyed’s are a smart breed, I’m certain he understood what I said!”

“And yet he still tries to chew on my shoes every time I come over.”

Kazuha laughs dryly with a shake of his head.

“I think he does that because you call yourself his daddy,” it feels easy to joke with him, too easy, to slip into a banter and forget the bundle of nerves that ate away at you. This was Kazuha, your Kazuha, even after all this time, he’d never hurt you, “You and I both know that Tofu’s favourite person is me!”

“Yeah, Yeah. I know.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of yet another sign. It lingers too long. You will yourself to take another peek at Kazuha. His head is lolled against the headrest. You think there’s a sense of longing in his eyes, a certain fondness reserved only for you. 

“You’re my favourite person too, I guess Tofu and I have that in common.”

You swallow thickly, forcing your gaze away from him. It’s too much to bear. The tender lilt of his that weaves between his words makes your heart flutter like the betrayer it is. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, “Just, stop it. Stop looking at me like that.”

His arm brushes against yours, he leans further over the centre consul. A few strands of his hair tickle your shoulder, when he sits this close you can smell the lingering scent of laundry detergent that clings to his clothes. It’s the one you bought for him. He even wears the cologne you like, the one he gave to you to keep for whenever you missed him.

The quick flash of high beams reflecting in the mirrors singeing your irises snaps you out of it. A car honks, urging Kazuha to keep driving. He offers an apologetic gesture to the other driver before lifting his foot from the brakes and slowly brambles away. The final stretch to your house is only a few minutes, soon your neighbour blurs into focus and you force yourself to figure out where your keys were. Patting your jeans, you search your shallow pockets. Your fingers curl around the My Melody keychain you attached to it. It matched Kazuha’s Pompurin, it was from the same blind bag series.

Your body careens forward as the car pulls to a stop in front of your house.

“Sorry!” Kazuha whispers, his skin pulled taunt over his tightened knuckles.

Flashing him a quick smile, you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, too intent on unbuckling yourself. Your feet haven’t quite caught up to your brain. Though you envision yourself quickly scurrying inside to drown your sorrows, your legs are as stiff and heavy as cement bricks. Kazuha taps his fingers along the steering wheel, his cheeks puffed out in discomfort. 

“Do you wanna come inside for a drink?” You blurt, your eyes focused ahead on the cluster of trees gathered near the end of the street, “It’s the least I can do to thank you for getting me home safely.”

“No thanks needed.”

Your name dribbles off his tongue like mulled wine; warm and rich with all the emotion he keeps loosely concealed.

“Still, you should come in.”

You’re unsure why you offer again, or why you even offered the first time.

“Okay,” he agrees, quickly patting your knee.

The two of you slowly shuffle out of his car, it beeps twice when he locks it. You front door looms menacingly in the distance, “I left Tofu with my parents,” you note, your keys jingle loudly as they dangle between your trembling finger tips, “I was thinking of staying at Yoimiya’s, didn’t want him to be home alone for that long.”

Kazuha presses his hand to the small of your back as he falls into step with you, ushering you closer to your porch.

“I’ll have to stop by another time to see him then.”

You nod in agreement.

Causal.

This was casual.

And good manners. It was only polite to invite someone over to offer your thanks after they’ve done you a favour, that’s what your parents taught you.

A shiver trails down your spine at how utterly routine this display of domestic normalcy is. You toe off your shoes near the door, so does he. When you hang your keys on the hooks near your coat rack, he does the same as if he was coming home rather than visiting. It used to be his home too but it was easy to forget that you once shared space with him.

“I have a new bottle of sake,” you suggest as your sock covered feet carry you over to your kitchen.

The sage green cabinets you fling open was your first ever DIY project that you and Kazuha spent a month perfecting. The gold sun and moon knobs were beginning to tarnish. The image felt oddly apt as you pluck the set of sake cups Kazuha gifted you. They were a matching, hand painted set. He preferred the prussian blue while you favoured the ochre yellow. 

Kazuha pilfers through the fridge the moment you pluck out cups and present them to him with a flourish. You leave him to his own devices in favour of settling down in your living room. Flicking on your faux fireplace, you anxiously sink into the carpeted floor. The warm burst of air that comes from the heater settles your nerves. 

“Daiginjo?” Kazuha questions, you can see his head falling to the side in a tilt as he examines the bottle, “Haven’t had this in a while.”

You can’t remember why you bought it. The past few weeks have blurred together, you’re not sure when you had visited the liquor store. You must have been subconsciously missing Kazuha. Searching him out wherever you could, even if it meant buying his favourite kind of wine knowing you had no reason to drink it.

“You can take the rest home with you,” Kazuha’s knees brush against yours as he settles onto the floor next to you, “Consider it my thanks.”

Though he doesn’t chide you, Kazuha sends you a pointed look as he cracks open the bottle. Digging your nails into your carpet, you unabashedly stare as he takes his first sip. It’s slow– to savour the taste. His throat bobs when he swallows. You swallow too. Kazuha has always been good at savouring the taste and taking his time. His tongue darts out to lap up any wine that dibbled past the flat lip of the cup. A guttural groan sticks to the back of your throat, covering it with a cough, you down your cup of sake as if it were a shot of cheap tequila hastily poured into a plastic shot glass at a house party. You don’t wince as it burns. The sharp edge wakes you right up before the comforting warmth pulls you deeper into fantasy. 

Kazuha pinches his brows together, “Have you already forgotten? Sake is supposed to be sipped.”

He speaks slowly and with the same stern lilt that he uses with his kindergarteners. Taking his cup, he presses it against your bottom lip. Slowly, he tilts the cup until a small dribble of wine hits your tongue. You wordlessly swallow it, blinking a bit as you search for something to say. Nothing in your rolodex of conversation starters seems suitable. Not with how your heart races like a gazelles after a close encounter with a much larger beast. Smoothing his thumb over the corner of your mouth, Kazuha cleans up whatever you didn’t swallow. You feel some of your lipstick smudging as he does so. You can see it on his thumb before he wraps his lips around the appendage.

“Kazuha …”

Tangling your fingers into your carpet, you try to focus on the pain of your nails awkwardly bending out of shape.

“Yes?”

“I-”

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,” Kazuha smoothly cuts you off as if senses your lose for words, “Even penned a couple new poems about you.” 

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s sliding his phone from his pocket to open up his notes app. Forcing your gaze over to your fireplace, you sigh, “This was a bad idea.”

Kazuha blinks in a pretty display of confusion. His long, thick lashes brush the tops of his cheeks as he peers at you from beneath his messy fringe. He tilts his phone screen towards you in a display of faux discretion, there's about a dozen poems with your name attached to him on his screen.

“Having another drink?” He asks though he knows exactly what you meant, “I’m inclined to agree with you but, I’ll sober up soon enough. So will you.”

“That’s not … That’s not what I meant,” you whisper, “You know what I meant, Kazuha.”

“I don’t get what you mean?”

Resting his cup on the coffee table, Kazuha watches you with an intensity that makes you squirm.

“We broke up for a reason, Kazuha,” you mutter, fixing your gaze on the mantle. There's a photo of you and Kazuha, your stomach rolls in discomfort, “We really should stop meeting like this.”

Resting his elbow on the coffee table behind him, Kazuha purses his lips, “So, do you want us to stop being friends?” He questions, his voice giving away how absurd he seemed to think you were being, “Or, do you want us to stop having sex?”

Both.

It was both.

Even if you stopped having sex, you’d still feel tethered to him. You still felt like his heart belonged between the palms of your hands, gently cradled and possessed– away from itching, nimble fingers that would shred it to bits. But, he wasn’t yours. Not your lover, not your play thing, and certainly not some possession for you to hoard like the greedy dragon you were. He was free to do whatever he pleased. The sooner you both realised it, the better it would be. 

“I don’t know.”

You turn to him, your nerves set ablaze beneath your skin, popping like livewire as you sink your fingers into the flesh of his thighs. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, gnawing away at the skin as you peer at Kazuha. He regards you with little apprehension. Rather, preening under your attention. His ruby colour eyes burn holes into your skin as he stares at you unabashedly, the flesh of his cheeks warmed by the sake. The urge to look away tugs at the sides of your skull as you remain firmly pinned beneath his gaze. A moan of discomfort flies past your lips. Your guilt’s begun to claw at your oesophagus and wishes to spill forth onto your carpet.

“We should get back together then,” he says, with a sly smile, “If you can’t decide what it is that you want.”

You find yourself nodding. The tension that lives in your jaw falls slack and your shoulders slump. It’s not the comforting warmth of sake or even the maroon light spilling onto your skin from your fireplace that answers for you. It was that selfish, pesky little string that kept you and him bound to one another.

“Okay,” you say, leaning closer until your breath begins to linger with his.

This is how it always went.

Your cold feet scared you. The thought of losing him in totality was frightening, far more than the bubble of jealousy that threatened to pop every now and then.

Slipping your hand around the slope of his neck, you brushed your lips against his. Kazuha chuckles beneath his breath, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as he captures your mouth in a kiss. Sake and whatever devilish concoction he’d been sipping on throughout the night lingers on his tongue. It’s sharp and biting. It opposes the inviting embrace you find yourself stumbling into. Kazuha’s hands are laid flat against your sternum, his fingers delicately pressing into your neck.

“So, you’ll be mine?” he asks, between open mouthed pecks to your lips, “Can you tell me you’re mine? I missed hearing you say it.”

Wanting rolls through your stomach, “I’m yours,” you croak, “All yours, only yours.”

“I’ve missed you, baby.”

He nips your bottom lip, tugging on the chapped flesh before planting a quick peck.

“I’m all yours too, you’re the only one for me.”

Kazuha places a lingering kiss on the apples of your cheek, slowly moving from right to left. His hair tickles your face from where it hangs in his eyes. His nose bumps against yours before Kazuha decides to nuzzle it against you. The affection makes your stomach flutter. It wants more, your skin craves more. It practically screams for Kazuha to give you more, to kiss you everywhere. His breath heaves as he giggles, he all but pinches your cheeks.

“You really are so cute,” Kazuha pronounces, his mouth brushing against yours, greedily invading your space, “You know that?”

Slipping your hands beneath the hem of his shirt with a whine, you bury your face in his neck, “Shut up,” you moan, pressing your frigid fingers into his balmy skin, “Just, stop talking and kiss me.”

He kisses the crown of your head and then your forehead before drifting down to your ear. His teeth graze against the flesh as he nips at the lobe. You shiver against his sturdy frame, burrowing further into his arms in need. 

“Here?”

Kazuha whispers against the shell of your ear.

A small noise of discomfort sticks to your lips. He dips his head down, his mouth hot against your neck.

“Here?”

You shake your head. Taking his hand in yours, you slide it down your body and settle it between your legs. You can hardly feel him through the thick material of your jeans. Kazuha presses his thumb along the seam until it’s pulled taut against your cunt. Rocking your hips into his touch, you fumble around with your jeans until the top button flicks open. 

“You’re closer,” you pant, guiding his hand to your waist band, “Touch me here.”

Kazuha grins, his nose nudging against the underside of your jaw. You tremble in anticipation, biting your lip to hold back the harried noise of want that gurgles up your throat and threatens to spill your guts all over your carpet. Skin sliding against skin makes your head spin pathetically. It enraptures your pitiful heart that silently cries for more. His fingertips slip beneath the band of your underwear and carefully graze the unruly thatch of curls that lead down to your cunt.

“Like this?” He asks, though he knows the answer.

He knows your body as well as he knows his. He knows what makes you tick and what makes you keen for more. He doesn’t have to ask if it feels good or how you want it but he does it anyway. You’d never call him smug but you think it lives inside him, burrowed deep down behind his sweet, docile, vermillion eyes, a smugness that enjoys watching you struggle to answer him.

Dipping down to collect some of your arousal, Kazuha uses it to help guide his fingers around your throbbing clit. His fingers are pushed firmly against the bud, drawing tight circles that have you whimpering into his neck. Pleasure thrums through you as he strums your strings with ease. 

“Yes,” you moan, clutching the back of his neck. Most of his hair has escaped his ponytail and is entangled in your grasp. You nails bite into the back of his neck and tug on the root of his ashy blond hair as you grit out a quick, curse.

The throaty groans Kazuha lets reverberates against your ear lobe, “You’re so pretty,” he croons, adoration bleeding into his drawn out syllables, “So pretty, just for me.”

“Only for you.”

It’s been a month since you last hooked up with him. A month since the last time you came. Toys were a bleak substitute for the warm brush of desire between two people and the sweet sounds Kazuha made. You were left high and dry between the months you caved in to him and the months you kept yourself burrowed away. It builds quickly, embarrassingly so. But, he’s struck all the right chords to make you sing for him. Softly, as you cling to his shoulders and neck, your nails biting into his soft flesh. 

You come undone with a startling quickness that fills you with a shy flush. Your chest heaving as a shudder wracks through your feeble body, “Kazuha,” you whine, your jaw nearly locking from how tightly it’s clenched.

Kazuha makes a show of peeling his hand out from your soiled underwear and slipping his fingers into his mouth with a moan.

“Always tastes so good,” he hums, his pink tongue lolling around his digits, “I want more, can I eat you out, honey?”

His forehead knocks against yours as he leans into you, “Yes,” you breathe with a shudder.

You lay flat against the carpeted floor without his asking. The fluid motion of your bodies moving in time with one another is yet another reminder of how much history occupies the space between you. Kazuha’s ravenous grasp swiftly peels your jeans and underwear from your body before you’ve blinked. His touch is searing hot along the length of your thighs and hips, his finger prints imprinted all over your skin as he works your legs open and slots between them. You bunch the fabric of your shirt up between your hands, your tendons nervously flexing beneath your skin. You rest between wanting to touch him, to feel the thrum of his heartbeat that swam along his veins, and keeping yourself curled inward like a pillbug.

“Pretty baby,” Kazuha hums, smoothing his lips along the length of your inner thigh.

Your belly stirs with an unnameable emotion. It’s something close to dread but it’s shrouded with the cloyingly sweet aroma of pleasure; easy to forget and even easier to drown oneself in.

“Please,” you whine, lifting your hips upward, “Touch me, Kazuha.”

His name is like lead on your tongue, your moans are light as a feather.

He blots an open mouthed kiss to your wet slit, his tongue lolling out to lap up your arousal. He too moans, finding some form of bliss in the way you squirm beneath him. Your nails prickle the sensitive skin of your stomach as you grasp at your shirt. Hissing out a curse, you press your eyes closed.

“Please,” you plead again.

Though, you’re unsure what it is you’re asking for.

Kazuha’s fingers pinch the fat of your hips between his hands, pinning you in place as he lavishes you with his tongue and mouth. His hot, heady pants of breath and salvia make a myriad of obscene sounds in his garish display. You wonder briefly if this is his way of conveying how much he misses you, misses this. Pouring all he can into your well and sucking it dry. How apt.

Still sensitive from earlier, your orgasm builds quickly from how he suckles on your puffy clit. Your spend is swallowed whole by Kazuha with a happily, content hum who rocks his crotch against the carpet for some semblance of stimulation.

He pulls off you with a wet pop. His lips and chin glistens in your essence. Kazuha looks too much like a smug kitten as he plops a sloppy kiss to your cheek, his hair tickling your neck.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask, snaking a hand down his torso.

“You want to?”

You nod, fumbling around with his belt until it comes undone with a soft clink. Kazuha is all over you. His cologne fills your senses as he nuzzles into you, you struggle not to choke on it. His skin tastes like all the stupid decisions you’ve ever made. But, you drag your tongue along his sternum, where his shirt falls open to expose his chest, and work your hand along the length of his stiff cock. His weepy head dribbles precum onto your hand and throbs as you firmly tug him.

“Do you want me to get a-”

You cut him off with a quick shake of your head, “It’s fine,” you whisper, pressing his cock closer to your cunt.

“You’re the only one I’ll ever love,” he confesses as he sinks into you, his mouth agape with pleasure as he stretches out your walls.

Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes but hopefully, Kazuha mistakes it for something else and not the weight that cracks open your chest. Pressing your face into his shoulder, you roughly dig your fingers into his torso.

His hips languidly rock into yours, he takes his pleasure in drawing out hiccupy whines from you.

Though, you don’t say it, you think you might feel the same. Kazuha might be the only one you ever love even if you didn’t admit to yourself or him.

It didn’t matter if you did, by morning, Kazuha Kaedehara would be as free as the breeze itself. The next time your loneliness and self loathing peeked, you’d be his once more. The cycle would continue on and on until one or both of you found someone else to fill the void.

Until then, it wasn’t so bad to be split open and meld into Kazuha, playing pretend at a relationship that no longer exists.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks: @enchantedforest-network @houseofsolisoccasum

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being upset at how my former friends treated me?

tw: suicide and animal death

So for some context this was a very close knit friendgroup, for several years, of about 10 people, including me and my then partner. Also, everyone here is an adult.

Basically, one day I was in a really really bad place mentally. A beloved family pet was going to be put down soon, this dog had been a part of my life for almost half my life, and I was inconsolable and struggling to cope with this. During a discussion about some random interest I got too mean/harsh about it and it turned into an argument.

I know this was not justified and my grief wasn't an excuse, and I knew it then too and apologized to the people involved, and was met with overwhelming support, I was told "it's ok, we understand you're going through a rough thing right now, we're here to support you and you'll always have a place in this group"

Then my partner messaged me. They had not been part of the discussion at all, but they told me they felt hurt and wanted us to take a break. However, I misinterpreted that as a break up (combination of language barrier and me already being in shambles. This miscommunication is not something my ex can be blamed for)

This was an extremely serious relationship, we had been together for 2 years at that point and had a lot of future plans and such, so that on top of already grieving made me have a mental breakdown.

So, I vented on my personal tumblr. My vents did not mention/vague/allude to the situation at all, they amounted to "I feel terrible I can't do this anymore" and could very well have been only about my dog, or just about my depression in general. I also should point out that my ex doesn't use tumblr at all, so I didn't think he'd ever see those vents, and I certainly didn't want him to. And I also would not have reacted like that if I had known it was a temporary break. I know I still shouldn't have vented on a public blog, and it was hurtful no matter what. I wasn't thinking clearly at the time.

The next day, after our dog was put down, I sought support from my friends, but was suddenly met with "we're not impressed with how you've acted, get therapy, bye" and was kicked from the group. Several of them blocked me everywhere instantly.

Unbeknownst to me, someone had sent my vents to my ex and they had shown them to the others, and they'd drawn the conclusion that I was upset about a temporary break and was venting to try to guilt my ex into getting back with me. And not a single one of them brought this up to me. Again, we'd all been friends for several years at that point and this was literally the day after telling me I'd always be a part of the group and they were here for me. I couldn't even defend myself because no one would tell me anything, I asked many times but was told "you know what you did" even though I clearly didn't. I thought they'd all changed their minds about the previous day out of nowhere, or that this was because of (what I thought was) the breakup. I only learned what they actually thought much later. Oh, and my ex told me I needed therapy and he never wanted anything to do with me again (which is when I learned I'd been wrong about the breakup).

Again, I know me venting was harmful no matter what, so in that regard I am the asshole, but I still feel like there's a difference between what I did and deliberate manipulation, and surely people I'd been friends with for years could have spoken to me before assuming things?

So at that point I'd lost a beloved pet, my partner, and most of my close friends, within a day. So at that point I tried but failed to commit suicide, and was hospitalized.

While in the hospital, I didn't get a single word from any of my friends, except for one person. Supposedly, everyone had been "worried out of their minds" when they saw my suicide note. But not worried enough for a single word.

Even the one person who talked to me got extremely defensive and angry if I so much as implied I felt hurt by the group's actions. They even tried to hold it over my head how "despite everything you did X and Y were super worried about you" as if being worried about someone comitting suicide is some kind of heroic saint.

I asked to be allowed to talk things out with them, but was told "the others aren't comfortable associating with you", so I had to write a fucking google doc letter. I explained the situation from my perspective, apologized for my actions etc, but also made it clear that I felt hurt and didn't think their reaction was justified and that they should have at least talked to me first, and that I was very open to talking things out in person if any of them wanted to get back to me.

None of them did. Apparently they were writing a formal collective response letter to me. At which point I had enough of the silent treatment and said that if any of them had anything to say to me they could do so in person. Which made the group extremely angry because I was "silencing" them.

About three people got back to me, and all of their responses amounted to "we don't owe you an apology, our actions were justified because we thought you'd done something bad and we were just trying to protect [my ex] and the fact that you're upset about it proves you are bad" one of them compared me to their abuser.

They also said they'd been "having issues with my behavior for a long time now", I wish I could elaborate here in case it'd impact judgement, but I can't because none of them specified, and NOTHING of the sort had been brought up to me previously.

So. Again, I know I am the asshole to some extent, because regardless of my mindset me venting on my tumblr was still harmful, but I also feel like I was treated unfairly and cruelly by my former friends. AITA here?

What are these acronyms?

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest [3] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: While Kylian lets jealousy get the best of him on the pitch, you find that a tequila-filled night might be the answer to healing your broken heart... even if it's just for one night.

Warnings: Still just absolute angst. Missing your ex, Kylian being overprotective and jealous, Erling Haaland being a dick (i'm sorry it's purely for plot purposes), heavy drinking, self destructive behavior, cussing, bad cheese puns, let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

The breakup was bound to go public sooner or later. It was surprising you made it almost seven weeks before the media got the hold of the story. You both were spotted alone on separate sides of town too many times, you’d missed all of his matches, and E!News got a source that told them you live alone now. You have a strong hunch it’s your next door neighbor that’s always lingering by the stairs. She asks entirely too many questions.

While you were still with Kylian, your relationship was kept mostly private and you rarely found yourself in any headlines. But, lord knows, if there’s anything the press loves more than a celebrity engagement is a celebrity breakup. When you saw a graphic of your face and Kylians face photoshopped onto a broken heart on Snapchat, a clickbait title asking, “did our fav football couple call it quits?”, you knew you’d be getting some unwanted attention. Fuck you, Daily Mail. Mind your business.

You clearly remember agreeing with him to wait for you to text first, but he’s a damn liar. He didn’t let a day go by before sending you a sweet good morning text. For the past three weeks, he’s been sending little messages here and there. Nothing too risqué or anything that made you feel pressure… they were actually nice. You’d been pretty good at not responding, being occupied doing absolutely anything else to stop yourself from thinking about him.

Kylian knew this. Being with you for such a long time, he understood how you got when you didn’t want to think about something. When your family dog passed, you claimed you were fine over and over again, and he just had to let you hyper fixate on new random hobbies until your feelings eventually exploded out. You taught yourself claymation, knitting, refurbishing old creepy dolls… that was definitely his least favorite. He needed to make sure you didn’t force yourself to forget about him, he wanted to be there for you when you were ready. He’s patience is usually very thin, but he’s impressed with himself for staying (mostly) zen about you not responding. He had to. He couldn’t fuck this up again and come swinging with the ‘I love you’s that he types out and erases promptly.

It’s finally Friday and you just finished a late lunch at your favorite café near your office, just listening to music on your headphones and reading through a document you were about to send to your colleagues. Your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian and, of course, you clicked the notification. You always did.

He’d sent you a picture of a decorative board at some market with a cheese-remix of the song Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. You immediately laughed out loud, having seen this exact sign before with Kylian years ago. For weeks after, you two sang the lyrics randomly around the house, in the car, pretty much anywhere until all of your friends were begging for you two to just shut the fuck up.

Sweet dreams are made of cheese, who am I to dissa-brie, I’ve travelled the world and the feta cheese, everybody’s lookin’ for stilton.

Your fingers began to respond before you even had a chance to really think about it.

(Y/N): Not this shit again

Kylian smiled widely upon seeing that you sent something back, typing back in record speeds.

Kylian: I think it’s…….. grate

You actually smiled at his horrible pun, twirling your hair against your own will.

(Y/N): very cheesy

Kylian was so quick to look up more cheese puns, not wanting to let his roll come to an end. Any communication, even about cheese, worked for him.

Kylian: it’s very gouda to hear from you again :)

“Oh, man.” You mumbled to yourself, noticing how your heart rate increased with just a couple of his really really bad jokes.

God, you missed him so much.

You stood up, leaving the conversation there, gathering your things and turning up the music. Yet, the whole walk back it was impossible to focus on whatever was playing in your ears because of the louder song playing inside your head. Sweet dreams are made of cheese…

Kylians thumb was lodged between his teeth in anticipation, but soon realized you weren’t going to respond again. Lowly cursing to himself, he threw his phone back in his locker. Everyone was prepared for todays game against Manchester City, especially Kylian. He wanted to win so bad, it almost felt like the World Cup.

He knew who he was going to play against — Erling Haaland. If he wasn’t too fond of him before, finding out he hit on you on you brewed a different kind of determination to win inside of him. You said nothing happened that night and he believed you — but he knew that Haaland had more in mind than just a nice conversation. He noticed last week that he followed you on instagram and liked all of your recent pictures, not including the ones with him. As of last night, you still didn't follow him back. Those late night stalking sessions have to stop soon. His nutritionists is really getting on his ass for finishing entire jars of peanut butter every other day.

He wondered if you were going to watch the game or if you had been since you left. He really hoped you hadn’t been. He’s been playing horribly these past weeks. Once the news of your breakup went public, every commentator made a point of mentioning it and saying stupid shit like, “life goes on, and that’s something Kylian Mbappé is going to have to figure out sooner or later.”

He let his angry thoughts fuel him as he walked into the tunnel. He tried to get his head in the game, but couldn’t help looking back every so often to the opposing team next to them, eyes always landing on the tall blonde man.

He stood in his place, but his neck twisted back against his will, not really caring if he was being too obvious. Right before the teams were meant to walk out together, Haaland caught his death glares. Kylian doubled down, making sure he wouldn’t be the one to lose this immature staring contest. Holland cracked a shit-eating grin and winked at Mbappé.

Oh, the rage… keep it in, Kylian.

He looked away with an unbothered “pft.” It wasn’t very convincing, not even to himself.

After the usual opening ceremony, the whistle blew indicating that the match had begun, sending Kylian sprinting in every direction as the game progressed. ManCity was good, but he knew PSG was better. He kept telling himself this, but his teammates continued to mess up, even allowing the light-blue motherfuckers to score the opening goal not even twenty minutes into the first half. And, of course, it was Haaland that buried the ball deep in the back of the net. He watched him celebrate on his pitch, listening to the crowd cheer their chant, feeling tortured and helpless.

His eye was fixed on the Norwegian as he moved back into the starting position, hating that he was laughing, still on a high from scoring. Hakimi walked next to Kylian, feeling that his friend is on the brink of doing something very dumb. His hand patted his shoulder, but Kylian didn’t even notice it, his entire body twitching with jealously.

When Kylian was in earshot, Haaland nodded up at him. “Kylian.” The young player called, but Kylian just side eyed him. Hakimi grabbed his shoulders tighter just in case he tried anything. “(Y/N) is up for grabs now, no?”

Kylians ears rung as he felt himself launch at Erling who just laughed. Hakimi had gotten in front of him without missing a beat, roughly shoving him in the opposite direction to keep him from beating up the 22 year old. Other PSG players joined, guiding Kylian to his position.

He didn’t even know words were coming out of his mouth at this point, pointing his finger threateningly at Erling. “Don’t fucking talk about her. I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” He was well aware that this was all to get in his head but, shit. It’s working. Kylian didn’t even notice that the referee was being talked down by Neymar and Messi, eventually the confrontation getting waved off with a warning at the start of a new play.

Halftime rolled around and no one scored again. In the locker room, Glatier yelled and waved his arms, demanding that the defense get their shit together. He zoned out, too deep in thought about what an asshole that guy is and how he wants to score and rub it in his face. He was brought back when he heard his name grumbling out of his coaches mouth, having no idea what the topic even was.

“Sorry?” He embarrassingly piped up, seeing all of his teammates had their eyes on him.

Glatier grunted, stomping closer to him. “I said, get your shit together!”

“Yes, coach.”

“Don’t worry about what they say. Just go out there and play like I know you can. You want to win, don’t you?”

“I do, coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win.”

Glatier was right and he knew it. Whatever that stupid hulk-boy had to say about you was only getting under his skin. He couldn’t play at his best like that.

So, when the second half started and he heard him say some bullshit again, he did his best to let it roll off his back. “You think she’ll respond if I DM her?” Erling asked nonchalantly to Álvarez, but Kylian was determined to let it slide. Let it fucking slide.

But, he didn’t stop there. When walking by him, Haaland asked him, “What’s a good spot to take her? Nothing too far, my hotel room is around here.” Kylians fists were balled in rage, biting his cheek and blowing air out of his flared nostrils.

“You better shut your goddamn mouth.” He snapped back, but continued walking away, knowing he can’t let him win. Hearing Haalands taunting chuckles behind him almost made him whip back around, but Neymar wrapped his arm securely around his shoulder, forcing him to look forward.

“It’s just talk, Kylian. Come on.” He rubbed his head roughly as if to beg him to not let it get to him before running back into position.

The game progressed, only ten minutes left of the second half before overtime. Neymar was at the left side of the field, preparing himself for a corner kick. Kylian searched for an opening that could potentially bring a scoring opportunity, but a brooding shadow seemed to follow him everywhere. Haaland was aggressively playing defense against him, his height advantage making it impossible for Kylian to move somewhere better.

“I hope she wears something nice and tight.” Erling chortled through his tired breathing. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess things up with her. I’ve had my eye on her for months… She’s so hot.”

His mind went blank, completely blank. It must have, because he didn’t remember shoving Haaland down onto the pitch, fists pulling back. He was seeing red, but his teammates dragged him off before his punch could land right on his cheek. Before he knew it, the ManCity players were charging at PSG. The whistle blew about a dozen times as the crowd got louder.

Kylian couldn’t stop trying to shake off his friends, screaming past the wall of light blue toward the blonde man on the ground pretending to be seriously injured, clutching his arm.

“Say that again! I fucking dare you!” Kylian threatened, Ramos clinging onto his shoulders, walking backwards.

He was pushed away far from the scene as his whole team began to fight with the other players in solidarity, the referee preoccupied with calming down the situation.

He was for sure already getting a red card, so his mindset was fuck it. He sprinted around the fighting crowd who immediately recognized his intentions, getting back in front of him before he could reach Haaland to really do some damage.

“Stay the hell away from her. I’ll end you, you son of a bitch. Off this pitch, I swear to god you’re dead.” Kylian talked out of his ass, already walking himself off the pitch when the referee held up a red card. He waved him off, spiting on the grass as he made his way back through the tunnel, ignoring the coaching team screaming at him altogether.

ManCity ended up winning 2-0 and Kylians suspension was decided to extend for two matches. He didn’t watch the remainder of it, but when he found out Erling Fucking Haaland scored the other goal, it felt like the knife was twisted. Fuck that guy. The press conference after was hell, having to claim that he deeply regretted his actions and that this doesn’t reflect his character or whatever his PR team wrote up for him.

He truly did feel like a dumbass. He absolutely hated how much he let those comments affect him. He knew he should’ve just blocked it out but how was he going to let him say that stuff about you? The way he talked about you like you weren’t even a person, like you weren’t the love of his life. Sure, he felt like a dumbass, but he would defend you to the ends of the earth.

He got home to his empty house, throwing himself on his sofa, flipping on ESPN to watch basketball highlights. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep. Usually, he’s opposed to naps as they throw off his sleeping schedule, but recently he’d found them comforting; an easy escape from everything going on. Besides, his sleep schedule was already bonkers from the breakup.

He swears his eyes were only shut for five minutes, but he woke up to complete darkness. His TV even timed out, neck sore from the stiff throw pillows supporting his head, groaning so loudly that it echoed inside the vacant home. It was only when he picked up his phone to check the time that he realized you were even calling. The faint buzzing was probably what woke him up.

“Shit.” He shot up, wiping the sleep from his face as he answered quickly.

He cleared his groggy throat. “Hello?”

He faintly heard you saying his name, but the music in the back was pounding. “Kyyyyks!”

He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his nickname for the first time since your breakup. “Hello? (Y/N)? Are you drunk?”

“Hold on.” He heard you yell from the other line as the music got softer in the background. “Hellooo.” You giggled.

“Hi.” He giggled back.

“I woke you up.” He could hear the pout in your voice, having to bite his lip to keep his smile from getting ridiculous.

“No, no I don’t mind. Call me anytime.” Kylian began twirling his hoodie string on his forefinger. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but he can’t hear you. Your drunk brain didn’t catch up. “I think so.”

“You think so? Where are you?” Concerned, he looked at the time. A little past 3:30 am. Damn, long ass nap.

“Umm…” You paused to look around you, seeing no signs anywhere and finding it kind of funny. “I dunno. I lost them ages ago.”

“Them?”

“Yeah, my friends.”

He stood up. “Wait, wait. Are you by yourself?”

“Mhm!” You chirped, now walking away from the club, alone. Your skin-tight tights gave you no warmth at all, but the tequila that flushed your system had you covered. “Kyks…”

“Yeah?” He waited for you to say something, his concern for you growing, wishing he still had your location so he could go look for you.

You paused, looking around the dark streets. “I mi…” your sentence drifted off and you laughed off what you were about to say. “… I’m so drunk.” You stumbled further down the street, a loud club with red lights oozing from the entrance peaking your interest.

He knew what you were about to say, but wasn’t going to push it. “I can hear that. Do you need a ride? I can come get you right now, just send me your current location.”

“No, I’m fine! Look, I found somewhere safe!” You point, even though he couldn’t see. “Oh, my god. You’ll never believe who’s here. Oh, shit.”

“Who?” Kylian asked over the phone.

You giggled. “I don’t wanna tell you, Kyks. You’ll be mad. I saw what happened today during the match.”

He was tempted to quirk a smile hearing that you have been watching, but then it dawned on him. It couldn’t be… “Haaland?”

What are the odds? Erling Haaland stood outside the packed nightclub with a few of his teammates, surrounded by women and men, all trying to get his attention. He hadn’t seen you yet.

“Oh my god, you’re such a good guesser.” You clapped. “God, I forgot how tall he was.”

He grabbed his keys, putting his shoes on, holding the phone up to his ear by his shoulder as he rushed around his home. “Please just let me come pick you up. I’m worried about you, where are you? I’ll take you home.”

You got closer to the LED sign. “It’s called… uh… la petite robe noire… oh my god! That’s what I’m wearing!” You cheered.

He put you on speaker and looked it up. Jesus, you were so far, he wondered if you’d started out around there or if you’d ventured out alone. He revved up his engine, backing out of his driveway. “Stay there, I’m coming. Okay?”

You didn’t respond, your phone now by your side as Erling spotted you, jogging over to where you were standing.

“Hey!” You waved, letting him come to you because your heels hurt too badly. You couldn’t hear Kylian on the other line trying to get your attention.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leaned in and hugged you. You kind of hugged back, too drunk to balance yourself upwards that way without falling into him.

As soon as he heard that fucking accent over the phone, he pressed his foot down on the pedal, hoping he hits every green light in Paris. You, on the other hand, forgot you were still on the line with your ex fiancé, but hung up when you realized it with a giggly “oops!”.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you, how are you, (Y/N)?” Haaland asks, placing a steady hand on your waist to keep your wobbling frame from tipping over.

“So good!” That was a lie. You were out tonight drinking away the pit in your stomach since the match. You’d watched sneakily from your desk, fingers tugging at your roots when you saw the little incident during the first half. During those last ten minutes, you felt like you were going to throw up.

Why did you have to tell Kylian about Erling? What happened today definitely opened him up to a lot of criticism from his coaches, the team, the media… You couldn’t help but feel a little responsible because you knew he could behave himself if he never knew about that night on the balcony. On the other hand, it was kind of… very hot. Jealous Kylian was never your favorite, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling something spark in you. Or maybe you were just horny. Who’s to say? It's been so long...

“You’re good?” Erling accent repeats, grinning down at you. “Sorry to hear about your breakup."

"Pffft." You laugh. "Yeah right, you two were never exactly friends."

He shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I'm not sorry." He smirks, looking you up and down. If your head wasn’t filled with liquor you’d feel kind of gross, but his flirty stares didn’t mean anything to the drunken body you found yourself in tonight. It all went right over your head. He nods his head toward the club. "Come on, let's get you a drink, yeah?"

You followed him in, the lights were blurry and the ground wasn't very stable. The vibrations came up from the ground, making you feel like someone was shaking your brain around. You were absolutely not thinking straight, and it only got worse when a bottle girl came over to the section with Don Julio. It was all so fast, like the lights flashed and you were suddenly with someone else, or in a different part of the club, or dancing, drinking, stumbling.

Fuck, you had to get out of there.

Kylian arrived at the club and he definitely did not fit the dress code. But, despite his grey joggers and Nike hoodie, he was still Kylian Mbappé, so he got in without any issue. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted at a nightclub that Erling Haaland was at, but he did it for you. He politely smiled at his fans but weaved past people begging for a selfie. He called you plenty of times from the car, but you never picked up.

Once inside the club, he lifted his hood and put on some sunglasses, hoping this wouldn't cause a riot without his security to lead him through the crowds. People were too focused on grinding and not spilling their drinks to notice the international superstar frantically searching for one single woman in a sea of them.

He looked up at the sections on the second floor, finally spotting that tall blonde bastard, wasting not a single second before making his way up, security letting him through once he flashed them his famous smile.

"Haaland!" He cups his hands around his mouth, hoping that he knows where you are. "Haaland!"

He finally turns around, knitting his eyebrows at the sight. "Kylian." He steps around the models to stand close to him, the loud music making it impossible to communicate from even a few feet away. "What? You didn't get enough of me on the pitch today?"

Kylian rolls his eyes. "No, man. I'm just looking for (Y/N). I know she was here."

"Yeah, she was." Erling laughed. "She's wild, for sure. Don't know where she went, though."

"What? She's not here?"

Haaland shrugged. "She went to the bathroom and never came back. Why do you even care? Like I said, she's up for grabs. She's not yours anymore."

If he wasn't so worried about your current wellbeing, he would have grabbed his stupid little ponytail and gone full Fight Club on him. But he didn't, instead he shook his head at him and made his way down from the section before he regretted not throwing a punch or two.

His concern grew. He never thought he would wish you were with Erling Haaland at a nightclub, but at least he could find you then.

Kylian stood on a ledge hoping to see your hair or face anywhere from a birds-eye view, but had to leave promptly when the partygoers caught onto his less than great disguise. A security guard from the club lead him to the back exit, warding off flashing cameras in every direction.

Thanking the man when he was safely outside with a fist bump, he walked himself down the dirty metal steps, sighing. "Putain." He walked to is parked car, leaning on it to try and think a little, wondering how he’s going to find you. He really isn’t familiar with this part of town, but he'll stay out all night if he has to.

He wished you’d just pick up the phone, ease his jittery nerves. Just as he was about to click on your contact, he heard some slurred singing further down the alleyway he was in. The faint tune sounded familiar, but the voice definitely was. It was you.

He followed like a siren sound, turning the corner to see you sitting on a small cement step, head resting on your curled up knees, giggling to yourself as you continued the song.

"Sweet cheese are made of cheese, who am I to *hiccup* disa-cheese..."

"I think you've messed up the lyrics there, love." He smiled, letting out a breath he’d been holding now knowing you're okay.

You gaze up, smiling widely, gasping and jolting up, wrapping your loose arms around his neck and letting your legs go limp.

"Woah, hey..." He exclaimed with a laugh, grabbing your torso tightly to keep you upright.

"You're here!" You gaze up, grin wide as he peered down at you, smiling as well. "Whadda coincidence!"

It was like he didn't just spend hours worried sick, now feeling somewhat at ease. Your presence is all he needed for every weight to be lifted off his shoulders. He only cares about making sure you get back home with a glass of water on your nightstand and a trashcan at your side.

"You okay? Why are you out here by yourself?" He guides you to stand properly on your own, but you didn't let your grip go, so he didn't either. He let his hand stay on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip.

You shrug, scratching your fingernails against the nape of his neck. He shivered, goosebumps running down his body, letting a flustered giggle escape his lips. You stared deep into his eyes. Your funny demeanor simmered down, finding the familiar warmth of the man in front of you to be more intoxicating than anything you've drank tonight. "You always loved when I did that..."

Kylian's heart got caught in his throat, gulping it down along with the urge to hold you so tightly. He'd been craving your touch, spending many sleepless nights wondering if he'd ever get to feel you again.

"Let's get you home, okay?" He mumbled, running his hands down your arms to unwrap them from his neck. He held one of your arms as he bent down to grab your phone and purse from the dirty floor.

He started guiding you to his passengers seat, but getting you there wasn’t an easy task. Your heels kept getting caught in the cobblestones so he had to keep a steady hand around you in case you fell. He buckled you up like a toddler, doing his best to ignore the googly eyes that you made at him.

When he got in drivers seat, he looked over at you, a rush of memories making his heart flutter.

All of the times he would turn his gaze away from the road for just a second to see you. The way you smiled when you rode with the windows down, sticking your arm out to feel the rushing wind outside the car. The way he used to be able to put a comforting hand on your thigh while he drove and you'd draw circles on his knuckles mindlessly, rambling about anything that came to your mind. The way you would always unwrap a piece of gum for him because you didn't want him distracted, even though he would never not get distracted by you.

He shook the thoughts out of his head, clearing his throat. "So, what's your address?"

You laughed, taking your heels off. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Geez, Ky. I've only lived there for like..." you counted in your head, but numbers barely made sense sober, "...not that long."

"Do you have it on your phone?" He pried, handing you your cell.

"Yes!" You cheered, snatching it only to see that it was out of battery when the screen reflected back at you. "Ah, man. It's dead!" You pouted, throwing it in the backseat, crossing your arms.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, turning on the heat higher when he noticed the chills running down your arms. "I can take you back to... uh..." he stuttered, having to stop himself from saying our place, still getting used to living there alone, "—back to my place."

You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow dramatically. "Nice try, Casanova." You chuckled.

He laughed too, rubbing his eyes. "No, come on, (Y/N). There's like five beds. I wouldn't take advantage of you like that."

You bite your lip and stare at him through your lashes. "I'd let you."

God, that stare. That tone. He's internally cussing himself out for all those times he told you he wasn't in the mood or too tired. He wished he could go back in time and slap himself.

He quickly shook it off, laughing dryly and having to look away from you. “You are so drunk.”

With that, he put the car in reverse, beginning the half hour journey back to the home that still has pictures of you on the walls. The home that still feels like it’s yours, the one that Kylian prays he’ll see you wake up in again… at a time when you’re not absolutely plastered, of course. For now, he’s content looking over to your sleeping figure in his car, slowly breathing and shifting every so often.

Once he pulled into the garage, he got out and made his way to open the passenger door. “Hey,” he gently put a hand on your cold shoulder, “we’re here, bébé.”

He didn’t mean for the nickname to slip out of his mouth, but it did. It actually woke you up, your heart thumping at the four letters that used to be so familiar to you, so intimate.

“I’m tired.” You grumble, putting your hands out toward him, slightly less drunk, yet nowhere near sober. “I forgot how comfy your car is.”

“Wait ‘till we get you into a real bed. You’re gonna sleep like a rock.” You grabbed his forearms and stumbled out of the car, Kylian quickly grabbing your heels, phone, and purse.

For a drunk, you moved surprisingly fast, beelining to the kitchen. He followed you in, attentive to your wonky steps. He set your belongings down on one of the barstools, turning to see you leaned inside of his fridge, grasping the handles for balance.

“You hungry?” He grins, walking around the kitchen island and leans against it.

“Mm… you got rid of all my snacks…”

“Uh, not true.” He quipped, opening the cupboard and pulling back a red box, the sight bringing a big smile to your face.

“Pancakes?!”

He opens the cabinet bellow him and pulls out a sleek black press, confident smirk spreading to his cheeks. “Waffles.”

You cover your mouth in excitement, stumbling backward a bit but catch yourself on the island. “No way.”

He nods, eyes twinkling at your enthusiasm. You look so pretty in this kitchen. It’s nostalgic. It feels warmer now that you’re back here, even if he’s just pretending to forget that you’ll have to leave in the morning.

“Go sit. They won’t take long.” You do as he says, hopping into a stool as you watch him begin to mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Your mind drifted to the last time you saw him. The way his chin quivered when he cried over you, how much it hurt to tell him you weren't ready and that you may never be. It was still true. In a more clearheaded scenario, you probably wouldn't be here with him right now. If alcohol didn't seem like such an inviting bandaid to your aching mind and heart, the feelings you'd been suppressing would likely have stayed suppressed... where you honestly wanted them to stay. Opening yourself back up to be loved by the same man that made you question yourself was still incredibly scary.

"Bon appétit." He placed the plate in front of you.

The waffle was dusted in powdered sugar, a small butter square in the middle was surrounded by sliced strawberries. "Oh... my... god..." You salivated, picking up the fork and knife he handed you and devoured the first bite, moaning in gratitude. "Oh my god." You had no other words.

Kylian laughed, picking up his own fork to dig into his less pretty waffle, standing across from you. "Yeah?"

He didn't get a verbal response back, but knew you meant it upon seeing the manner in which you inhaled every crumb on your plate. Your late night snack was gone too soon and you wanted more, but your drooping eyes and full bladder convinced you that sleep was better.

Kylian took his last bite, grabbing your plates and setting them in the sink. "I think it's bedtime."

You agreed without saying so, hopping off the stool and took the route to the master bedroom. You could walk there with your eyes closed and you might as well have. The sleep deprivation mixed with your drunkenness lead you straight to the dresser, opening up the top chest on your side to grab a t-shirt.

When your crossed eyes looked down at the empty drawer, it was sobering. You let out a shakey breath, clasping your hands in front of you. "Right..."

Kylain stood by the door, frowning at your stillness. The small window of bliss he had with you just seconds earlier shattered upon seeing your sorrowful face looking down at the drawer that used to contain your things, now containing nothing but memories of what used to be.

Silently, he walked over to you, gently shutting it for you. He opened up his side, handing you one of the shirts you left folded for him. One of your favorites. "Here."

You give him an attempt of a smile but don't actually look at him. "Thanks."

He goes to leave the room but you stop him. "Wait. Where are you going? I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms. I'm not taking your bed."

"No, please. You just get some rest, okay?" He almost whispers, taking in the sight of you standing in this room again before he went to close the door.

"Ky?" You breathe, locking your eyes on his. There was something you wanted to say, some words your throat closed up on, leaving you with nothing else but silence. He stayed still, his adoration for you threatening to spill out of him the longer he stared at you. You draw a subtle breath upon feeling your emotions pooling in your eyes. "Thank you."

Kylian felt the weight of your otherwise simple words, taking context from the way you were looking at him. "I'll always be here for you."

With that, he reluctantly closed the door behind him, trudging to the bedroom closest to you.

The room spun as you laid down on your favorite pillow, beyond comfortable under the duvet you picked out yourself. You wished you never went drinking tonight. If you'd just stayed home and pigged out on ice cream you wouldn't have to face the truth that's been slowly crawling to the surface.

Your eyes shut much too quickly to really explore the sentiments you've uncovered tonight, but that's probably for the best.

Kylian's mind was racing and he only hoped you couldn't hear how loud his brain was from the next room. Under the guilt and self-pity he's been swimming in for weeks, he finally felt a sliver of optimism beginning to grow inside of him. It was such a tender feeling, a feeling he let lull him to sleep, content knowing you were just on the other side of that wall.

A/N: The amount of times this deleted..... I was going crazy. Thank god that I started saving every draft on Google Drive or else I probably would have stopped writing out of frustration. Big things coming for (Y/N) and Kylain! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry about having to make Haaland an asshole bc I really do love him. It was just to move the plot along <3. Also I didn't know all of the soccer terms in english so forgive me if I messed any of that up. Love all of you and thanks for reading!

[romanoffsbish]

Meet the Fockers Bishop-Belova’s

Natasha Romanoff x (Dr.Doolittle)F!R

Bishova 🥰

Liho to the Rescue (Part 1)

Natasha has a mission, entrusting you and Liho with Yelena, Kate, and their dogs that couldn’t be more different, and you (un)fortunately get to spend a week getting to know all of them intimately.

"Lucky Bishop, you are embarrassing us in front of the guest, sit still."

"But Fanny! Look! No matter how fast I go, my tail never gets closer, it's crazy isn't it?!"

"They're so uncultured, this is why cats are the better option. Imagine being a dog person."

To the women before you exchanging familiar friendly greetings it is a normal occurrence, the dogs barking while the cat lazily meows atop of Natasha's shoulder. To you though, it's an interesting engagement that you almost feel bad for intruding on, but not enough to not laugh out loud, instantly drawing the attention of all the humans, and animals before you.

——

"Oh, let me introduce you all to my girlfriend," Natasha beams, gently tugging you forward and right into her side for a comforting hug, "This is Y/N." Yelena immediately gasps and steps forward, "The animal whisperer right?"

"Yes she is, I can no longer have my thoughts to myself," Liho groans, and you lean forward to glare at the feline, and he tilts his head back in challenge, "Yes, that's me, and if you're curious I offer interrogation services, it's how I found out that Liho ate Nat's hoop earrings."

"You promised!" Liho shimmies onto Nat's other shoulder and swats at you, "Yeah, and you just dissed me, served you right, jerk!"

"This is so cool! Tell me, what's Fanny thinking right now?" Yelena jumps in place, clapping her hands together in obvious excitement.

"Well, I don't invade their thoughts, so why don't you ask her, and I'll respond for her."

"Fanny, my truest love, what's on your mind?"

Your girlfriend and you bite back a laugh when seeing Kate's face scrunch up in offense as her aloof girlfriend drops to her knees and cups her pooches face, "Tell my new friend baby."

"Well, for starters, I wish for Lucky to stop breathing down my neck, it is bothersome," she barked curtly, "Then, I would like to go to the barn and chase the chickens to decompress."

"She's very, um, well," you paused, looking to your lover for help she simply couldn't offer you, "She'd like some personal space, and she wishes to chase the chickens to get it."

"Mention Lucky, she's too clingy!" she barked shortly in your direction, and you smiled sympathetically at the whimpering retriever, "She'd also like for me to mention that dear, sweet Lucky's a bit too clingy at times."

"Kate Bishop! I told you that Lucky was crowding her, didn't I?" she scolded, then gasped, "Oh my god, I'm a dog whisperer too!"

"Go ahead, chase the chickens moya lyubov'," she pecked the pooches wet nose, then rose back up to face all of your stunned faces, "What? You expected me to say no to her?"

Natasha turned to you with an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry detka," she nuzzled her nose with yours and softly pressed her lips to yours, "I'll only be be gone for a week."

"Don't worry Natasha! She will be fine!" Yelena boasted, then your girlfriend shook her head as you were torn from her, "Now, we have fun!!"

Natasha blew your shocked form a kiss from the car, then she sent up a prayer to whatever higher power listening that you don't breakup with her at the end of this sure to be long week.

—

"How's it going moya lyubov'?" Natasha asked through the phone, and you shot her a smile, but it didn't reach your eyes, "I miss you Nat. It's so cold without you to snuggle up to."

"Aww baby," she cooed as she lifted the phone closer to her face, as if that equated to comfort, and in a way it did as you giggled softly at the sight of her nostrils, "You can cuddle Liho."

"No, she can't!"

You rolled your eyes, and Natasha smirked in understanding as she heard the cat plop onto the ground after you gently nudged it with your foot, "Can't you two just get along, for once?"

"We once did, then she betrayed me, and never gave me my can of tuna after doing so!"

"Blame Natasha! I tried to, but she said no tuna for naughty cats, and you just keep acting up!"

"He broke my limited edition nunchucks!" Natasha shouted, reaffirming your stance, and it seemed to soften the black cat a smidge.

"Hmph," Liho meowed angrily while plopping onto your chest, giving Natasha a view of his butt instead of you, "I want my damn tuna."

Natasha gasped, "Did he just swear?"

"Uh, I'm not even going to ask how you know."

"Easy, when you bicker he meows like that."

You chuckled softly, "Goodnight Natty, be safe please," you smiled at your awkwardly tilted phone before blowing her a kiss that she caught, "Always am, I can't leave you two behind, you'll likely kill each other if I did."

After you set your phone down on the bedside table you whispered softly, "I love you Nat."

"Why don't you say it to her instead of the air?"

"Because, I don't think she's there yet Liho, and the last thing I want is to scare her away."

"You're being dumb then, she's totally in love."

"Be nice, or you can sleep with the dogs."

Liho's defiance instantly faded, he nuzzled into your chest, and began to purr so loudly you couldn't hear your insecure thoughts, making your trip into the realm of unconscious fast.

Natasha stared down at her phone with a sad smile, she'd accidentally pressed mute over end, and in turn she heard your confession.

It felt wrong, she knew she didn't mean to do it, but she has yet to hang up so she also didn't do the right thing. At this point you were snoring, an adorable sound she's grown used to. Honestly, it brought her comfort, and that was good because she was in a state of shock.

Natasha knew she loved you, it wasn't hard for her to breakdown the emotion, but she's never been on the receiving end of such a feeling. Romance hadn't even interested her until she first saw you, it was like everything she ever knew went right out the door the second your sweet voice broke through her steel walls.

With how easily she fell though, it was as if her walls were only made of paper for you. You cracked the code, and your reward was her battered heart, and you accepted it wholly. That much apparent now that you'd confessed in presumed secret that you loved her too.

Natasha whispered softly with a smile, "I love you too," before the line finally went dead.

"I knew it," Liho meowed tiredly atop of you, but fortunately you were too gone to hear.

—

The following morning you awoke when the sun peaked through the blinds, making Liho purr in thanks for the newfound warmth. It was a moment of total bliss, then the sounds of dogs excitedly barking led to you wincing once sharp claws penetrated through your thick sleep shirt and then the skin of your breasts.

"Stupid canines, do they not know how to keep their volume at a maximum of total silence?"

"Jesus, Liho are you sure you're three? You act like an elderly man with kids on his lawn."

"I do not get your inference, but I will say kids are annoying too, so I understand the man."

With a gentle touch you removed the cat from your chest, then you entered the bathroom to get your morning hygiene done, and while doing so you saw Natasha had texted you.

*Good morning krasivaya, I miss you, and I'm counting down the days until you're back in my arms. Have fun (if you can—again, I'm sorry), I will try to call you later, but I might end up being forced to go no contact.*

You frowned, but you understood that she had a job to do, but it wasn't long before you were smiling as she'd also sent you some photos. There was a selfie of her smiling, then you got to see the reason for her excitement as the next photo was of her with a stray calico kitten that you have an inkling you'll be meeting soon.

There was a final photo, and you audibly awed at the shot of you two on the couch, you were giggling and Natasha was holding onto you tightly from behind, with a par-visible grin as she pressed her face into your neck.

*Don't forget about me as you snuggle Liho*

—

When you finally ventured out of your room you made your way to the kitchen to find Kate alone while studying for some math course.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to find the x would you?" The raven haired girl asked you tiredly, and you chuckled softly, "Not really, I've always found it's best not to question them, but to instead leave them in the past."

Kate rolled her eyes playfully, then went to refocus on her paper but then her dog barked, catching her off guard, "What is it honey?"

"Well mama, you needs to get all like minded variables to the same side, then you'll get what she needs. Which would make x = 10 here."

Kate's eyes widened as you regurgitated Lucky's tip, she stared down at her dog in bewilderment, "Oh my gosh, my dogs a genius. We should call all the local news stations!"

"Kate, you guys live in the far away woods."

Kate deflated slightly, "You have a point."

After you collected your psyche, you moved about to get breakfast as well, then just as you were about to leave Kate stopped you with a hand in your face, "Wait! I just want you to know I knew how to do it, I'm smart too!"

“Don’t worry darling, I figured as much.”

——

A few days into your stay and you were feeling as if your only purpose was to service Yelena and her need to be in constant communication with Fanny, who was growing irritated by it.

"Ask her," you quietly groaned along with the poor dog who's head now burrowed beneath the pillow in her dog bed, a sign you'd think a well trained spy would catch, but she didn't.

"Tell her that she is worse than Lucky."

"You know, I think Fanny's tired."

"Y/N Y/L/N, I know my dog, she is not tired. We've not even taken our morning walk yet."

"I just want to know, does she prefer to take selfies with me or to live more in the moment."

"Tell her I'd actually like to live alone."

"She's very much all for living in the moment, now, if you'll excuse me I need to go pee."

As you passed the kitchen you saw Kate wearing a smile, "What did she really say?"

"Nothing the blonde’s heart can handle."

Kate nodded, "I figured as such, now go, hide in the study, Yelena hates books, she says they are just tiny, evil distractions, but actually, and don't tell her I told you, but she read Marley and Me and never went back in there again."

“That’s understandable… Welp, I’ll be going now, you’ll know exactly where to find me.”

——

The week you spent at the Bishop-Belova's was interesting to say the least, and unpleasant if you’re being honest. Finding yourself in the middle of an all out war sealed that in for you.

“Kate Bishop! Take your hand off of Y/N, she is mine!” Yelena yanked you away from her lover with all her might, and in doing so she nearly dislocated your shoulder, “My sisters girlfriend makes her mine before it makes her yours!”

“Yelena! She is her own person first, and you are making her miserable, it’s always: Fanny this, Fanny that, oh, what does Fanny think?” Kate shouted back, arms waving around like crazy, and you knew this was reaching way beyond yours and Fanny’s overall discomfort.

“What about me? What about my thoughts?”

Yelena’s brow’s scrunched, “I don’t need to hear them, I can read them on your face.”

“Oh, can you really now?” Kate arched a brow, and you watched as Yelena visibly froze up, and though this wasn’t your business you hated watching the poor girl struggle to understand.

“If I may,” Kate reluctantly nodded, so you gently touched Yelena’s arm, then leaned in to whisper, “She is feeling unappreciated, maybe you could take her out to a nice dinner.”

“Unappreciated? I appreciate her always!” Yelena shrieked in offense, “Who cleans her bow and arrows?” Kate frowned, “I do.”

“Yeah, the wrong way, so I go back and fix it,” Yelena boasted, and you saw a lightbulb of sort flicker behind the archers now widened eyes.

“Yelena, please tell me you’re not the reason I almost took Clint out on a mission last week.”

Yelena smirked, “I can neither confirm nor deny, but I can say it wasn’t my intention, more so a happy little accident in favor of my glee.”

“What did you use? Grease?” Kate shrieked in wonder and the blonde tentatively nodded.

“Welp, I’m going to chase the chickens again,” Fanny barked out of nowhere, you watched as the fluffy Akita stretched its entire body before making the great escape. Lucky whimpered as his ‘friend’ left, “I’m going to chase Fanny.”

“When is Natasha returning for us?” Liho questioned stoically while jumping atop the table before you out of nowhere, “I’m not sure I can handle their bickering for much longer.”

“Oh, because we’re so much better?”

Liho tilted his head, the cat’s equivalent of a shoulder shrug, “At least with those I win.”

“You do not!”

“Do too!”

Natasha watched from the doorway as the pairs of you were readily going at it, she found the sight rather amusing really. That was until Liho pounced onto your back when you tried to walk away, meanwhile Yelena was in a chokehold because she didn’t know when best to do that.

Natasha suddenly cleared her throat, spurring Liho to dart down the hallway as a tactic of self preservation, and for the couple hosting you to straighten up, and run away upon seeing the unamused glare of the one who trusted them.

Once they were all gone you ran into your lover, but pulled back from her embrace just as a soft hissing came from beneath her hoodie.

“Natty?” she smiled bashfully, “Don’t get mad.”

With a gentle movement the redhead pulled her hoodie forward, allowing the kitten you recognized from the photos to peak its little head out so that it could silently observe you.

“Ugroza,” Natasha smiles widely as she tells you the newest additions name, “It fits her, it means menace; we’ll call her Roza for short.”

“Liho isn’t going to appreciate this,” you teased while moving to hug your lover much slower this time, with the now sleeping cat snuggled between your bodies, “He’ll get over it,” she shrugged her shoulders playfully, then she leaned in to kiss you with total tenderness.

“I missed you so much Natty,” you whispered as you nuzzled into the side of her neck that the cat wasn’t perched upon, “Don’t leave again.”

Natasha sighed, “I wish I never had to love, but the world needs saving, and you protecting.”

“I’m sorry you have to worry about me, I wish I wasn’t so helpless,” you lamented, and the redhead immediately moved to hug you tighter, “Helpless or not I’ll always worry Y/N, I never stop worrying about those that I love.”

Natasha smiled as you choked on air, the small breath released hitting her skin causing her to shiver lightly, “You love me?” you looked up at her with untrusting eyes, it hurt her, but she couldn’t blame you for being scared, because she herself was terrified, but you were worth it.

Worth facing the unfamiliar feelings, and for her to express them openly, “Of course I do.”

“I-I love you too,” you squealed, bringing her in for a kiss that hardly worked since the two of you couldn’t stop smiling long enough for your lips to really touch. “Like, I love you so much!”

“Yeah?” she chuckled softly as you nodded with a glee to rival her own, “I love you so much too detka, more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

“That’s rude! I’m so much better than her,” you harshly rolled your eyes, “Welcome back Liho.”

Liho climbed up your back, disregarding your many grunts of pain, and as he settled on your shoulder he zeroed in on the new feline.

“Who is this, and why is she cuddling with my mother?” he tensed on your shoulder, and you held back a giggle to avoid obtaining his wrath.

“Liho, meet Ugroza,” Natasha lifted her up, and the black cat lifted his nose upwards, “Fitting.”

Natasha looked to you for clarity, you simply shook your head with a smile and she mirrored your action before leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Since when do you understand Russian?” You mused while following your lover out to the car, “It is a common word mother uses, so I don’t know what it is, just that it’s not good.”

“At least you’re aware that you’re a menace.”

Natasha scooped Liho up from your chest to nuzzle him gently, “Don’t worry, mama loves you both, and you’re gonna love Roza too.”

After ensuring both felines were buckled in tight Natasha rounded the car to ensure the same for you. She tugged to test the belt’s security, causing a warmth to flood through you, it was such a simple thing, but the way she cared for your safety above all was telling. It worked wonders erasing any remaining doubt you had that she didn’t really love you.

“I love you Natty,” she smiled over at you from the drivers seat, her hand fell atop of yours on the gear shift, “I will never tire of hearing it,” she put the car in drive, then brought your now conjoined hands to her lips to lay a gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I love you most detka.”

“Thank you for kidnapping me a year ago,” you genuinely relayed, but you were also wearing a silly smirk that made Natasha cackle rather loudly, “Thank you for letting me darling.”

——

3,061 Words

I don’t normally ask, but someone somewhere mentioned a part to this R where she and Nat get trapped in a Jurassic Park crossover, and I’m curious if anyone would want that 👀

❤️ Kaitlyn 😂