#i just felt it in my bones (?) that he would come | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kkochigomi · 2 days ago

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skz reacting to a member walking in on you guys

hyung line + HH | maknae line

(this is an F U to that anon, I'm doing yet another thing other than what I started)

warnings/tags; dubcon, gn!reader, sub!reader dom!member, voyeurism & exhibitionism, penetration, jerking to your fancam, riding, missionary, doggy, ass eating, masturbation, prone bone, usage of 'hyung', this was longer than intended, some members have longer portions which just happened to happen

hard hours are officially open until further notice!

It started with you being a backup dancer for one comeback, then goofing around with the members while rehearsing, to you hanging out with them regularly. There are a lot of people in and out of there, all of the friends they've garnered over the years. You're also friends with other idols, so it never occurred to you. You know, you with them.

For the guys, it was an unspoken rule to not fuck their best friends. At least, not in a heat of the moment kind of way. Just in general, not doing impulsive shit will fare better for anyone in the long run.

However, sometimes shit happens. That shit happens to be your most recent backup dancing gig. Let's go through what happens when a certain member caves first.

⦊ bang chan ⦉

When it comes to members you were close to considering doing, Chan was at the top. But not on purpose. It's your fucking friends. His friends too. Lord knows Jake cannot help calling Chan daddy and pretend he's a horned up suitor to piss him off. The image of being fucked by Chan has been practically forced into your mind. Not that it was impossible to imagine that. You and everyone recognized him as a very manly and dependable man which is popular among people attracted to masculine people. Daddy indeed.

being walked in on

I imagine it was heat of the moment between you two. There is no doubt in my mind that he was the most dedicated to upholding the status quo of the friend group. But after seeing you in that outfit doing those dance moves... well Chan didn't even know you could move like that. That your face was capable of those expressions. And what you were doing with your tongue-

No. Chan shouldn't be thinking this way. And he definitely shouldn't be masturbating to the video. Thanks to you being popular like no:ze, there was a cheeky little fancam to make Chan's bad habits a little easier to achieve. After that, he was too far gone. You got playfully flirty one night and sat in his lap while he was at his computer. When you felt it, you couldn't lie. You liked what you felt. The minute you push your ass back to start grinding he wraps his arms around your waist. He holds you there, stilling you as his heart started to beat faster.

"Are you sure about this?"

One yes later and you were bouncing on his cock in his computer chair, Chan trying desperately to keep it from rolling away with his feet firmly planted to the ground. He takes a moment to stop his roaming hands and turn the chair so the back was against the desk. Now you grinding forward on his cock has the chair repeatedly thudding against the desk.

Loudly.

"Hyung, what the hell is that?" Jeongin's voice is momentarily muffled until he pushes the door open. The realization is instant. And so is Chan's anger.

"What the f- close the door!" he shouts, clutching you close with one arm and pointing angrily with the others. Jeongin lags for a second, before he snaps out of it and slams the door shut. Both of you feel like your adrenaline is through the roof, so it takes you a second to realize that not only is he still hard, but he's bucking into you.

walking in

Jeongin abruptly cranked up the TV thirty minutes ago and it's starting to agitate Chan. He's not normally like this. He's a very mindful roommate, and usually Chan worries the TV isn't even loud enough for Jeongin himself to hear. So Chan isn't immediately angry with him and assumes the best.

The worst in this case would be Jeongin going through a rebellious phase in his mid-twenties. Not seeing clothes strewn about the living room, and not seeing Jeongin on the couch with his bare ass clenching as he thrusted into... you?

Since Jeongin caved first in this scenario, Chan is still in the pathetic perv phase. So seeing your face drenched in ecstasy just like you simulated on stage went right to his cock. You're the first to notice, jumping up and knocking your forehead against Jeongin's. Chan apologizes profusely for intruding (even though you both chose the living room) and for the boner he's not even sure either of you noticed.

⦊ Lee Minho ⦉

Messing around with Minho never actually occurred to you. He's like a cat in all the weird ways. When he comes in your room you're more focused on what he's gonna fucking knock over. But there are glimpses, it just took a while for you to store them in your mind correctly. Recently you've been compartmentalizing each moment where Minho was surprisingly sexy. Every smirk, lidded gaze, bite of his lip. It's starting to build up.

being walked in on

With you two, it was a slow burn. Minho didn't know just how similar both your thought processes were. He also slowly noticed things about you, long before the sexy choreo. He was playful with the idea. It didn't guilt him too much and he had fun teasing you and even more fun when you started teasing him back. It went from daring one to kiss the other to jokes about sleeping with each other to playful groping that the rest of the friend group found weird.

That all culminated in you calling Minho a pussy for ignoring yet another one of your infamous dares. At one point you were actually joking. Then it turned into you not minding if he did go through with it. And now it was an actual challenge. He accepts it.

He grabs your ass and pulls you into him. He takes in your dark eyes as he leans against the kitchen island.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asks with a cocked brow.

"I dare you." you whisper, a breath away from his lips.

"Ohoho... getting real slutty now. Show me how much of a slut you are. Do that thing you did with your tongue during Crave."

His hand creeps up your body as you obey his command. You watch in real time as his pupils dilate. After a soft peck you challenge him again and he wraps the hand creeping up your body around your throat. It was curtains after that.

He had you by the back of your neck, bent over the counter as he pounded into you. Slow, languid blows you felt in your gut. It was probably the squeaks pounded out of you that drew a curious Jisung to the kitchen.

"Oh- Hooooly shit!" Jisung drops his phone in shock, hands flying to his head. You and Minho are frantically yanking your bottoms up and Minho is quick to anger.

"Why are you just standing there?!" it was unreasonable, but Minho was embarrassed. He was no longer hard and no longer in the mood to your disappointment. Jisung had long since skittered away while you watch, slightly amused, as Minho paces with bright red cheeks.

walking in

Minho was already rattling off about how he was about to order some food and reminding Jisung to include the tax when he sent the money when he heard it. A wet noise he would soon realize was Jisung lapping at your asshole. You were settled into a deep arch, blissed out atop Jisung's bed while he did the thing you always told Minho to do when he pissed you off.

"Someone finally ate your ass," Minho projects, not even getting the second word out before Jisung is flopping to the floor and looking up at him in shock as his angry red cock peeks out of his zipper. You scramble to cover yourself, sporting a similar "deer-in-the-headlights" look until it hits you. That annoyance Minho is always happy to provide.

"Carry on!" he encourages with an impish laugh, offering a gesture with his phone to each of you before leaving you to it.

⦊ Seo Changbin ⦉

You and Changbin always joked about finding each other attractive. Well, you finding him attractive. You see, the bit is that Changbin would say something braggadocious and then flex dramatically and you would squeal like a fangirl. Sometimes you would squeeze his biceps and think to yourself holy shit. He and Chan had great physiques, but something about him made you want him to... I don't know...

being walked in on

Put you in a chokehold. You asked him one day, a segue from being genuinely impressed by his arms. It's something you always ask fellow dancers or any of your friends with muscular physiques. It's a joke, but when Changbin does it, there's something else at play.

There was an unbearably submissive quality to the way you danced in that performance that made Changbin want to mount you. He hates the thought, so he buries it. Having you squirm, helpless under the conditions you subjected yourself to, his desires become unearthed.

You let out a moan unintentionally and what happens next is completely in the heat of the moment.

You're getting rug burn on your knees from the two of you frantically bumping uglies on the couch and somehow making it onto the floor. You're prone on the carpet while Changbin straddles you from behind. He has his hands around your throat, his balls grazing against the tops of your thighs.

Incoherent pleas and grunts fill the room as he rolls his hips into you. Changbin is too focused to realize Hyunjin has not only peeked his head out of his room, but fully walked out to marvel the pile of desperation on the carpet. Not until a small, inquisitive 'huh' leaves Hyunjin's mouth.

Thankfully Changbin's head is out of the way when you pop yours up in surprise.

"H-Hyunjin," you yelp, unable to move much with Changbin still on top of you. Yeah, Changbin is surprised, but he's just as intrigued as Hyunjin seems to be. His presence didn't bother him much. Oh, and he has no intention of stopping.

"Are you gonna get out or watch or what?"

walking in

Changbin could just send this tiktok to Hyunjin via DMs... or he could just walk across the hall and show him. Plus, he wants to see his reaction and make sure he's actually watching.

"I can't trust you to watch this on your own-"

Changbin stops when moans grace his ears. Then he looks way from his phone to see all the motion happening on the bed. Hyunjin's face is buried in your neck and he has red hickies all over his shoulders. His hand is cupping your hip while he thrusts into you slowly.

Oh shit, Changbin thinks. But when your eyes snap open and Hyunjin raises up to his knees, he realizes he said it out loud. He just hopes neither of you saw his cock twitch.

⦊ Hwang Hyunjin ⦉

Just like Chan, Hyunjin's looks were very popular, so it was obvious you flirted with the idea of something more. It didn't help that Hyunjin had this inherently romantic aura to him. Especially with the long hair, a paint brush held in his mouth with smears of blue and yellow making a haphazard rendition of The Starry Night on his arms and clothes. Even with the buzz cut, there's something that screams a meet cute is destined to happen. And those eyes. He's not flirty or dangerous like Minho, he's attentive and soft. The way he looks at you when you speak makes you feel like the most special person in the world.

being walked in on

Hyunjin was very intentional. He set up what could be considered dates but also weren't too explicit in their connotation. Just two friends watching a movie while sipping on wine. And one of the friends peering over at the other with the intention of locking eyes. The little wine dates were dangerous. Wine made you flirty, everyone knew this. Even if it was just a little bit.

So when Hyunjin gazing at you with his elbow propped on the back of the couch, fully ignoring the movie, you decide 'fuck it'. You lean in as well, awaiting the culmination of all this YA fiction BS. So it happens naturally, the kiss, but it doesn't escalate. So Hyunjin is always the first to "cave" technically, but you haven't had sex with him, and the choreo hadn't come out yet. As of right now, you two have a hint of a pre-established romance.

You both felt comfortable not putting a label on it or being exclusive. Just little flirty kisses and fun somewhat dates. It was fun like that... it really was... but god were you sexy in that video. Cute pecks turn into longing kisses to groping to even dry humping on the couch. Hopefully the movies you two watch suck because you never watch them. You soon ditch the movies for kissing on his bed. The slow escalation is familiar to you by now, so you're not surprised when his hand slips under your shirt. What does surprise you is how hard he's getting, but it's a pleasant surprise. He strips all your clothes off and you do the same to him, taking turns peppering kisses all over each other's body.

Even the way Hyunjin fucks is romantic. It's not 'fucking' at all. He holds you like you're precious porcelain as he pushes into you, cupping your hip. You're so entranced by him, more than you've ever been. The moment he dips lower and start kissing up your neck, you throw your head back and drown in ecstasy.

You're so focused on how his hot skin presses into you with every thrust that you don't notice Changbin. It's only when you hear an 'oh shit' that your eyes fly open.

There stood Changbin, phone in hand, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. As Hyunjin leans back, his dick pulls out of you. It is definitely still hard... and you swear you see it twitch. He looks at Changbin, very much dazed from lust and unaffected by Changbin's presence.

walking in

Hyunjin has a propensity to find art in anything. Stopping to take a picture of a duck with it's baby posed perfectly in front of it, pointing out pleasing color schemes, and seeing certain positions people are placed in as a spark of inspiration. And he finds some scenes a lot more intriguing than others. Hyunjin first hears grunts and random words from his room as soon as he pops his earphones off. He's pretty damn sure of what he's hearing, but who the hell is Changbin having sex with?

Hyunjin pops his head out and sure enough, Changbin is fucking someone from behind on the floor. When he sees you lift your head, he feels something bubble inside him. It isn't anger or jealousy. He doesn't pinpoint it until he feels heat brewing downstairs.

He walks closer, noticing little details like how your skin tone looks against Changbin's, the dynamics of the position, other artsy stuff that Hyunjin understands but I don't, and he enjoys the sight.

Huh, Hyunjin thinks, wanting to sit and watch the art unfolding on the living room carpet. Except he doesn't think it. He realizes this after your head shoots up and almost knocks Changbin's teeth out.

"H-Hyunjin!"

You're shocked, but only briefly. You're now focused on the look of utter captivation on Hyunjin's face.

"Are you gonna get out or watch or what?" Changbin asks through a laugh. Hyunjin shifts his weight to one leg as he thinks for a moment.

"If it's okay with you guys, I think I'll watch."

if you send an ask, I might even do a follow up blurb about a threesome including one of these pairings... I can't guarantee that a follow up will be gn because I suck at descriptions already and if I can't describe genitalia it'll be like cutting a limb off.

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sailornymph · 2 days ago

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beyond the fantasy; phantom troupe

synopsis — realizing your phantom troupe boyfriend is batshit crazy, but it is too late

content warning — yandere behavior, dark romance, sexual themes

a/n — i apologize for my unexpected absence. thank you for all of the support and new followers i have still received, even with my lack of presence and i hope that you all continue to enjoy the work that I put out for you all. i am working on my drafts, please do not text me inquiring about your request because i am working on it. thank you all.

♡ chrollo lucilfer

“damn it, chrollo, just…just call me back when you get the chance, okay? you have me worried sick,” you spoke in a hushed tone, leaving the millionth voicemail to your boyfriend.

ending the unanswered call, you stared at your previous calls, your face heating up. where could he have gone? hundreds of messages, texting him about your day, asking about his, but no answer, it was like he vanished. it had only been three weeks now, but to go from nearly everyday with him, to never hearing from him, it felt like you were experiencing withdrawals.

chrollo, a charismatic, yet mysterious man he was, who managed to steal your heart only six months previously. he had stopped in your bookstore, when he approached you, searching for a book. you could never forget his soft smile, as he apologized, going on about how he ruined an old book of his and he was looking for a replacement. helping him, he was the most charming man, asking if you had recently moved in the area because he would have noticed such a beautiful person.

it was only a matter of time before you were going on dates to the art museum, lunch together, while he sketched you, humming as you babbled, or your favorite, when he’d come to your shop, late in the evening before you closed — picking a book, he held your hand, leading you to a seat — sitting first, he pulled you into his lap, where he went on to read to you. god you missed him.

“excuse me?” you heard, as the doorbell jingled, making you shove your phone into your pocket.

“yes, how can i assist y-matthew?” you smiled, a gasp slipping from your lips, as you moved around the counter to hug your old friend from college.

“in the flesh, baby,” he smirked, slinging his muscular arms around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“there were talks of you finally opening your own bookstore, i knew you'd do it,” he cooed, pinching your cheek, like a mother would do their child.

matthew elsten was always someone you admired greatly. he was from a wealthy family of doctors, but he thought being in school for all of the years was uncool for him. he was good looking, charming with a great body, and so instead of following what his family wanted him to do, he chose to make a path for himself, which was beyond admirable, being that he was now very successful.

“i did, and you actually became a swimsuit model,” you nodded, smiling at his huge smile, he was still as handsome as your remembered.

“you've seen my work, y/n, i knew you would support me,” he cheered.

“i’ve seen you on many magazine covers on my way to work, i’m proud of you, matt,” you nudged him.

“thank you, it means a lot coming from you,” he pretended to tear up.

“no problem, so tell me what can i help you with, old friend?”

“oh nothing much, i happened to be in the area, when i remembered angie told me you opened up here, so i wanted to see if you would take me up on an offer from the past,” he blushed, making you smirk, his words bringing a familiar memory to you.

“refresh my memory”

“your number and maybe some dinner sometime, angie said that you had a boyfriend, but he hadn't been around in a while, so i figured why not try again,” staring into his eyes, your mind drifted to chrollo. would this be considered cheating? he never seemed like the jealous type, matt was only a friend, and lastly, he was your boyfriend, yet he didn't seem to care too much about you, how he was able to easily abandon you for the next three weeks.

“sure, but i’ll have to think about dinner, matt,” you laughed, writing your number on a card, handing it to him.

“i get it, i can respect that you are busy with your shop, but if you're ever free, and you'd like to meet up, maybe you could use me, it would be fun, but i’ll see you around, y/n,” matthew winked, leaving you flustered in the empty store.

you juggled your keys and the phone as you laughed with angie, the cold air brushing your cheeks as you approached your apartment door. thankful that you would finally have a few days of resting after being busy.

“i can't believe you sent matthew to seduce me?” you teased.

“i sent him to distract you, god knows that chrollo doesn’t deserve you. he disappeared and left you to grieve as if he died.”

“he didn’t die,” you mumbled, pausing as your key hit resistance.

“he might as well have, he ghosted with no reason, meaning he is trash. honestly, if matt makes you smile again, you should let him. also, he’s a total slut from what i've been told, you should take him up on his offer, just for fun”

you laughed. “you’re terrible.”

but your laugh soon died. your door was… unlocked.

you always locked your door, sometimes double or triple checking. there was one reason you would leave your door unlocked and that was when you were expecting someone. your stomach dropped.

“angie, let me call you back,” you whispered. you ended the call and turned the knob.

it opened.

your breath caught. the lights were off — except for the dim glow in your living room.

and then you saw him.

matthew.

slumped in your chair. bruised, bleeding from his lip. eyes barely open.

“matt?” you gasped, rushing toward him — but the lights flared to life. reaching to touch his face, he winced, barely conscious.

you stopped.

standing beside him, arms calmly crossed, was a woman you didn’t recognize — her eyes dark, her expression unreadable.

“who are you?” you questioned, backing away.

“welcome home,” a familiar voice cooed softly.

you turned.

chrollo.

leaning against your bookshelf. the same one he used to read to you from. his smile was gentle. too gentle.

“i brought a friend for you to use.”

“what is the meaning of this? who is this woman? why is matt here? and how the hell did you get into my apartment?” you questioned, the longer you stared at his handsome face, the angrier you became. here you were sad, worried, stressed about him and now he stood in front of you, dressed expensively, with a nonchalant expression on his face.

with a soft motion of his hand, the woman was leaving the apartment without sparing you a glance.

“i’ve been away for business, my love, but i’ve come to collect what is mine,” he told you, his voice unusually calm.

“what are you talking about? did you and that woman do to matt?”

you were still processing the sight of matt beaten, chrollo eerily calm, the woman who stood as if she were a guard. he walks to you like he’s returning from war, not breaking and entering.

“i have a secret to share with you, but it will not be here, we’re leaving,” he gently touches your cheek, but you jerk away.

“as for your friend, he is very lucky to be alive, when he deserves worse,” he continued, making you frown. your mind going to angie’s words about him.

“you can’t really think that i am coming with you, i’ve been worried about you and-

“you’ve been so loyal. i didn’t want to taint that by rushing”

“i was worried sick over you! i begged you to call me back! i could hardly eat, i didn’t sleep—i didn’t even look at another man for weeks, until matt and you—you think you can show up like this now?!”

“i won’t stand for it. you expect me to follow you? like nothing happened? do you think i’m that pathetic?! angie was right about you”

he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even defend himself. he just watches you — head slightly tilted, as if he were studying a painting.

“you’re right,” he says softly. “you shouldn’t follow blindly. but you will follow.”

“i don’t even recognize you right now. we’re done. i’m done, chrollo. go back to wherever you came from. i want no part of you anymore,” you mustered the strength to say, turning to go to matt, when he finally moved.

slow, but without hesitation. he grabs your wrist — not enough to bruise, but enough to make you freeze. he pulls your close, body flush against his, his hand sliding up to you jaw. holding you there. firm. possessively.

“you don’t get to leave me, not yet”

you try to pull away, but his grip only tightens.

“not until i’m through with you”

letting out shallow breaths, you searched his eyes, trying to understand what was happening, as the tear escaped.

“you’re not making sense,” you cried.

chrollo softens his expression immediately. wiping the tear with his thumb. and then he kisses your lips. slowly. almost lovingly.

“you cry so beautifully. it’s a shame i wasn’t here to see more of it”

“go pack your things,” he continued.

you wanted to scream at him, push him away, slap him before potentially hurting matt, yet you stood unable to move under his gaze. you wanted to stand up for yourself, but deep down inside you know you didn’t have much of a choice: you were going with him.

clenching your jaw, you turn to go to your room, shutting the door behind yourself. hurriedly reaching for your phone, you gasp, realizing it was missing from your pocket. gulping away the tears, you packed a few pieces of clothes and other miscellaneous items, before you went back to face chrollo.

immediately your eyes went to the empty chair matt once sat in, then the woman from earlier standing stoically by the door.

“where is matt? what did you do with him?” you yelled at chrollo.

“you should be worried about yourself angel,” he smiled, before a sack was placed over your head and you were knocked out.

jolting out of your sleep, you realized you were being carried, by chrollo. when he suddenly stopped, placing you down, before the sack was taken off by the woman. you were walking in a unfamiliar building, when you saw them.

they were hunters, but they were also criminals. they stared, making you move closer to chrollo, who had an arm loose around your shoulder, not paying them any attention.

“you sure about this, boss?” one of the men ask, but chrollo said nothing, continuing to lead you past them, until you were inside of a plain room. the various books scattered around let you know that this was in fact his room.

letting you go, he watched as you sat at the edge of the bed, as he pulled a chair up, sitting in front of you.

“you were mine the moment you smiled at me in that shop-

“who are they?” you interrupted, eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember where you seen the group of criminals.

he just smiles.

“they’re mine.”

you blink. “yours?”

he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“the phantom troupe. the spiders. i lead them.”

you laugh. this had to be one big joke.

“you’re not serious.”

he tilts his head, unbothered. calm.

“why do you think i’ve been gone so long? why do you think no one dares to touch you in this city? they know you belong to me. and i belong to the troupe.”

you freeze, unable to believe that you were hearing.

“you’re lying”

he doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t explain further.

instead, he reaches into his coat pocket — pulls out a small black book. one of the old ones he’d always read from when you first met.

he flips to the middle and turns it toward you.

inside awaited a hand-drawn spider. numbered legs. names written in a clean, elegant hand.

your heart sinks when you see one word underlined.

“lucilfer.”

he watches your expression shift. he loved watching you realize things.

“i didn’t lie to you,” he says softly. “i just showed you the part you were ready for.”

“why are you telling me this now?”

he stands, crossing the room.

“because now… you don’t get to leave.”

“what did you do with matthew?”

“matthew…that was a lapse in judgment. one i’ve corrected”

“why me, why are you doing this to me?” you whispered.

“because you waited”

“that doesn’t mean anything anymore, it doesn’t mean i still want you, after all of this”

he leaned closer. “it means you need me.”

your breath hitched as he stood, reaching for your coat, fingers brushing your shoulder with reverence. he removed it slowly, like peeling away a layer of armor.

“i watched you suffer. not out of cruelty. but to be sure you were worthy of me”

you flinched. “worthy? you left me.”

“i watched every moment,” he murmured. “i saw your tears. your prayers. your silence. that’s devotion”

“that’s pain,” you snapped, voice shaking.

watching as he stood, he reached for your hand, closing the distance between you, hand sliding under your chin, tilting your head up.

“they’re the same, sometimes,” he told you gently, before pressing his lips against your own.

his kiss wasn’t rushed. it was slow — sickeningly soft. the kind that made you feel like maybe this was still love. maybe.

your body remembered him. your mouth betraying you. he kissed your jaw. your neck. his hands held your waist like you might disappear — like he owned the shape of you.

“you’re mine,” he said quietly. “not in theory. not in memory. now.”

your knees buckled when he pushed you gently onto the bed. his eyes never left you — he didn’t look at your body. he looked at your soul.

“i missed you,” he whispered, crawling over you. “i thought of this every night. how quiet you’d be beneath me.”

you didn’t know if you were crying or sweating — his fingers found your skin like he already knew it. like he’d memorized every inch.

“this is what you wanted,” he breathed against your collarbone. “even now, you want it.”

and part of you hated that he was right.

he kissed you until your body forgot how to fight. that it was supposed to be angry at him.

his hands continued to travel — patient, reverent — until they gripped your thighs and spread them. he didn’t ask. he didn’t need to.

“say it,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “say you’re mine.”

you turned your head, gasping — shame curling in your gut as he dragged his palm over your inner thigh, deliberate and slow, resting on your clothed cunt.

“i’m not,” you choked. “i’m not yours,” you shook your head.

he didn’t say anything for a moment, pressing his palm against your pussy, feeling you repeatedly clinching your walls.

“then why are you shaking like you want to be?”

he reached to unbutton your pants, sliding them, along with your panties down your legs, tossing them aside as if they meant nothing, and pushed two fingers inside you with a low breath.

you gasped — not from pain, but from how easily your body betrayed you.

“you were waiting for this,” he murmured, curling his fingers. “you thought of me every night. praying i’d come back and ruin you.”

“chrollo—”

“you want to hate me.” he thrust deeper. “but you dreamed of this.”

you didn’t answer. couldn’t. your thighs trembled, hips instinctively rising to meet his hand.

his mouth crashed down against your collarbone, teeth scraping, biting hard enough to leave proof — his tongue softening the sting with a slow lick.

“i missed this body,” he growled, voice finally breaking that calm, silken mask. “i missed the way it sings when i touch you. let me hear it,” he said, satisfied when you began moaning at his command.

he unbuckled his belt with one hand, never stopping the rhythm of his fingers inside you. stroking himself, he finally removed his fingers, grabbing your thighs to pull you closer.

he pushed into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until you were full — stretched, trembling, barely able to breathe.

“perfect,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

“even after all this time…you still fit me like you were made for me,” he continued.

you whimpered. not just from the pressure, but the way he looked at you — like you were sacred, like this was some twisted ritual and your body was the altar.

his hands braced your hips as he started to move — slow at first, deliberate. he wanted you to feel every second. every inch.

you tried not to cry out, but your body betrayed you, back arching as pleasure pulsed up your spine.

“there it is,” he murmured. “that sound. that’s mine too.”

you clenched your teeth. “i hate you.”

he smiled, thrusting harder, stealing your breath.

“then hate me from under me”

your fingers twisted into the blanket as he picked up the pace, every stroke pushing the words from your lungs.

“you’ve already submitted,” he said lowly. “your body made that choice before your mind did”

he leaned in, biting your shoulder — not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting.

“but i’ll still wait for your mouth to catch up”

his hand slid up your chest, gripping your throat with just enough pressure to remind you of your place — of who had you pinned, who had taken you apart so easily.

“say it.”

you gasped. “w-what?”

“say you’re mine.”

you shook your head, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. but your hips were still rising to meet him. your body still pulled him deeper.

he growled, pulling nearly all the way out — then slammed back into you with one sharp, punishing thrust.

“say it, or i’ll keep going until you can’t speak.”

you choked — pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

“i’m yours… i’m yours, chrollo—please—!”

his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing the sob that slipped free. his kiss was deep, possessive, unforgiving. tongue and teeth, breath and dominance.

he angled his hips just right — hitting that spot that made you cry out again, your body convulsing around him.

“good girl,” he whispered against your lips. “i knew you’d remember who you belonged to.”

you came undone — trembling around him, nails raking down his clothed back. And he didn’t stop. not even as your vision blurred, not even as you sobbed his name into his shoulder.

he came moments later, growling against your throat, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside you, fingers digging bruises into your hips.

when he pulled out, he didn’t ask how you were.

he gathered your limp body into his arms, kissed your temple, and whispered:

“now you’ll never forget.”

you didn’t remember falling asleep.

your body was sore in places you didn’t know could ache. last night was different from the previous lovemaking the sheets still smelled like him — clean, faintly smoky, tinged with something sweet and old like worn paper or dried blood.

when you sat up, you realized, he was gone. no note. no goodbye. just empty space beside you where his body had once caged yours in heat and silence.

you moved slowly, stretching your legs out of bed, wincing slightly as you stood. every part of you remembered last night. his hands. his voice. the way he whispered, “you’re mine.”

you scanned the room and spotted a dark shirt draped across a chair — definitely his. you pulled it over your bare skin. it smelled like him. it felt like belonging.

you stepped into the hall barefoot, the cold floor shocking your skin as you padded through the dim hideout. quiet, still. like a church built for monsters.

then you heard voices — muffled, serious, rising from a door down the corridor. half-curious, half-hoping, you followed them. and walked right into it.

the dim room went silent the moment the door creaked open.

there they were — the phantom troupe. spiders in human skin. gathered but scattered in the old room. maps. weapons. bloodstained papers.

beyond them was a balcony, and there he sat like their king, like a god, chrollo.

and when he saw you — in nothing but his shirt, hair tousled, eyes still dazed from sleep — he smiled. not politely. not cruelly. but with affection.

“ah,” he murmured. “my queen has awakened.”

you froze.

a few heads turned, acknowledging your presence. one of the the members being the one woman who stood behind matthew — she blinked and tilted her head, as if trying to decide whether you were prey, a pet, or something else.

chrollo held out his hand.

“come here.”

you hesitated. just for a second.

but your feet obeyed before your fear did.

you walked toward him, heart pounding, face burning. he pulled you effortlessly into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vice.

he nuzzled your neck — right where the bruise from his bite still pulsed.

“she’s proven herself,” he said to the others. “watched. endured. stayed.” not that he had given you much of a choice.

“she’s mine. my princess.” his voice dropped lower. “no��my queen.”

you didn’t dare look at the others. his hand slid under the hem of the shirt you wore — just resting on your bare thigh.

“she belongs here now,” he said softly into your ear. “you’ve earned it, my love. you survived and that makes you divine”

a few minutes passed before the troupe members resumed talking as you rested on his lap, as if you were nothing but his doll.

“you were always meant to sit beside me. i just had to break the perfect world around you until you saw it too.”

♡ feitan portor

feitan, your boyfriend was very peculiar. he was incredibly secretive and stoic. but he was your bizarre and stoic love. he didn’t talk about his past or work. never brought friends around.

you knew he liked that you didn’t ask questions, that you held a deep trust for him. there was so much that you loved about him, that you could never bring yourself to say out loud.

the way he always knows when you’re overwhelmed — how he’ll pull you into his arms, sit you on his lap, and stay silent until your heartbeat slows. the way he watches you when you talk, like your words are the only ones worth hearing. the way he touches you like he’s memorizing your skin — not with lust, but ownership. like he wants to carve your existence into his hands.

your parents hated him, he looked even weirder to them, he was quite short, he had the face of a murderer — they went on and on when he left, after they had shown up to surprise you. but you didn’t find yourself caring.

folding your laundry, you began to put it away, feitan’s clothes folded perfectly on your bed. glancing at the dresser, your eyes moved to the door. he hadn’t officially moved in, but you had given him a few places for his things and he had been vocal about you not touching any of the places.

“i’m sorry, honey, but i’m not leaving these clothes laying around,” you huffed, opening the door to place your clothes inside. however, the sight made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

you hadn’t expected to find a folder — thick, black, unmarked. not tucked away or buried beneath anything. it sat there like it was waiting for you.

was this always here?

you shouldn’t open it, but you couldn’t contain your curiosity.

the moment you slid your fingers beneath the flap, a chill ran up your spine. it wasn’t even the first photo that shook you — it was the fact that you recognized the angle.

you — brushing your hair in front of the mirror. taken from behind. another one — you asleep in bed. another — walking home at night, head down, unaware.

your stomach turned. they weren’t new. some were printed on thin, glossy paper. others were older, aged with creases like he’d touched them too many times. you flipped faster.

you at work. you sitting on your porch. you with your friend, mika, outside a cafe last month.

your hand froze.

the photo was burned slightly on the edge. someone — no, feitan — had scrawled something underneath the image in messy, slanted handwriting:

untrustworthy.

you dropped the stack. but the folder wasn’t done with you. beneath your photos were others — not of you, but of people you’d spoken to. your coworker. your old classmate. that barista who gave you free coffee and a wink once. all labeled. some scratched through.

some with one word beneath them:

removed.

your breath hitched. what the hell is this? then, in the very back, something different.

a photo of you again — this time from far away, sitting alone on a park bench.

on the back, in the same jagged handwriting:

mine.

you didn’t hear the door open. you didn’t hear him come in. you only felt it — the chill in the air. the weight behind you.

and then the voice, quiet, low, close enough to breathe against your neck.

“you weren’t supposed to look.”

your entire body locked up. the folder still open in your lap. his handwriting still in your hands. slowly, you turned your head.

feitan stood in the doorway — half in shadow, half in the dim orange glow of the setting sun through your curtains. blood stained the edge of his sleeve. his face was unreadable.

his eyes, though— his eyes were watching you like he had already decided what came next. you opened your mouth. no sound came out.

“you broke the rule.”

his tone didn’t rise. he didn’t step closer. that stillness was worse than anything else.

“i asked for one thing. one.”

your voice finally returned, weak and shaking.

“what… what does this mean, feitan?”

he tilted his head, just slightly.

“you ask that now?”

you stood, folder dropping to the floor, photos spilling like secrets between your feet. you stumbled back a step, two. your hand reached for the table, looking for anything — keys, your phone — something to make this not real.

he stepped into the room.

“you were supposed to trust me.”

“feitan—”

“but now,” he murmured, moving closer, “i can’t trust you.”

you backed into the wall.

he didn’t rush.

just reached out, slow and precise, gloved fingers curling under your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.

“and that means you can’t leave.”

you flinched, tears slipping down your cheek. he wiped one away with his thumb, calm. deliberate.

“you looked,” he whispered. “so now you belong to me fully.”

he just watches you.

the photos are still at your feet. your hands are shaking. your lungs burn like you’ve been holding your breath for hours.

he takes another step.

you press harder into the wall, like you can melt through it, vanish. disappear from his stare.

“you weren’t supposed to find that,” he says quietly.

his voice isn’t angry. it’s almost… disappointed. but the kind of disappointment that comes before punishment — not yelling. not rage.

correction.

“i told you not to touch my things.”

“you hid pictures of me,” you say, voice thin, fragile.

“people i know—”

“people who got too close,” he cuts in.

another step.

you’re fully cornered now. wall at your back. dresser to one side. him in front. nowhere to go.

“you’re acting like i hurt you,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

his hand lifts — so slow it almost doesn’t feel real — and comes to rest against the wall beside your head. not touching you yet. just closing in.

“but i haven’t. not once.”

your voice cracks.

“you’ve killed people, that waiter, my old schoolmate, my neighbor, you hurt people”

“but not you.”

your throat tightens.

“you followed me—watched me—”

“yes.” his tone is sharp now, biting. “and no one else gets to. do you understand?”

your lips part but nothing comes out.

his other hand lifts. rests on your waist. just his palm. solid. claiming.

“if you had known back then,” he murmurs, “would you have stayed away?”

you say nothing. because the answer is yes. obviously yes. you would’ve ran and never looked back.

his hand slides around your back, pulling you against him — not violently. but with no room left to resist.

“but you didn’t,” he whispers. “you let me in. you chose me.”

you shake your head. “i didn’t know.”

“you didn’t need to know.”

he leans in. breath against your lips now.

“i’ve always known everything for you.”

you gasp. your eyes burn. tears blur your vision, but his gaze never softens.

he presses his forehead to yours.

“you can cry,” he whispers. “you can shake. you can hate me.”

his fingers curl into your shirt.

“but you’re not leaving. not now. not ever.”

you break.

your knees buckle. a sob escapes your throat, and your face collapses into his chest.

his arms wrap around you — tight, unyielding. one hand stroking your hair, the other keeping your body molded to his.

“that’s it,” he breathes. “that’s mine now too. your fear. your voice. your surrender.”

he kissed your temple.

“all of it.”

his hand moved, slow, to the side of your throat — not choking, not hurting. just resting there. measuring your pulse. you tried to move. he stepped closer, pressing his body against yours, caging you between him and the wall.

“what is this, feitan?” you croaked

his eyes flicked down to your mouth as you spoke, but not with lust. it was something darker. hungrier.

“devotion.”

you gasped.

“this isn’t devotion—this is insanity.”

his grip tightened. your head hit the wall behind you with a soft thud as he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your ear.

“do you know how many people looked at you like they wanted what was mine?”

you shook your head, whimpering, but he didn’t stop.

“i waited. i watched. i let you live your life. let you have your little friends. your little smiles.”

“but they didn’t deserve to know you.”

his other hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt — not groping, just resting on your waist. grounding you. owning you.

“i let them breathe near you,” he whispered, “and you think i’m the monster?”

your voice cracked.

“please… let me go.”

he stilled.

for one long second, you thought he might.

then he spoke and it was a death sentence.

“no.”

his lips grazed your temple. then your cheekbone. then lower, kissing away another tear.

your knees gave out, and he caught you before you hit the ground.

“i won’t let you break yourself trying to escape. you already tried that with words.”

“now you’ll learn with silence.”

he lifted you into his arms like you were weightless — no struggle. no resistance left.

you cried into his shoulder, voice gone.

and he carried you to the bed like a priest to an altar.

he doesn’t let go of you.

even as the sobs tear through your chest — even as your fists weakly push against him — he stays, still and solid, arms wrapped around you like armor forged from obsession.

he lowers you to the bed with care.

not forceful. not rushed. ritualistic.

he lays behind you, pulling you against his chest, one arm around your waist, the other tucked beneath your head like a pillow. you’re shaking. tears won’t stop. you don’t know what you’re feeling anymqore — betrayal, fear, heartbreak, or the most dangerous thing of all: comfort.

his lips graze the nape of your neck.

“you’re safest here.”

he kisses your shoulder. soft. almost reverent.

“you were always meant to be mine.”

your heart races, your mind screams, but your body — exhausted, confused — begins to settle in the curve of his hold.

“i’ll never let you go,” he whispers.

he kisses the side of your head. your temple. your jaw.

he doesn’t say “i love you.”

he never has.

but you feel it in the weight of him. in the way he traces your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch. in the way his breath syncs to yours, even as yours hitches.

you cry until the tears run dry.

and eventually…

you sleep.

you wake alone.

the light is dim — filtered through heavy curtains. the silence is strange, almost hollow, and your first instinct is to move, run, leave.

but something holds you still.

a scent — his.

a pressure — the weight of the sheets still warm.

and then, your eyes fall on it:

a note. no. not a note.

a page — torn from one of your books.

your favorite one. the one you told him you loved, months ago. the one you thought he never listened to.

a passage is underlined in red ink.

“she was his sun, his wound, his ruin — and he would love her even if it meant burning the whole world to ash.”

beneath it, scrawled in his sharp, slanted handwriting:

run if you want.

i will find you.

and what you see next will not be this kind.

your blood runs cold.

and next to the note — folded with care — is a gift.

a necklace. yours.

you lost it weeks ago.

but there it is — cleaned, gleaming — and threaded through the bullet casing of a round he clearly fired.

your name is scratched into the metal.

you stare at it, unable to breathe.

he loves you.

and you would never be free because of it.

♡ illumi zoldyck

you were always told you were intimidating.

you were tall, poised, graceful — the kind of beauty that drew second glances in every room. but it wasn’t just your looks. it was how you carried yourself. the sharpness in your voice. the confidence in your walk. years of martial arts had carved strength into your posture, but you left that world behind after college. becoming a hunter didn’t interest you. you wanted peace. control.

so you became a teacher instead.

discipline and elegance were your currency. and most men didn’t know what to do with that.

until you met illumi.

he wasn’t like other men.

you noticed him first at a coffee shop, sitting perfectly still, black eyes watching the rain like he was memorizing its pattern. he wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense — too pale, too intense — but he had something no one else did.

silence.

he didn’t approach you.

you dropped your wallet, and he picked it up.

you said thank you.

he said nothing.

just looked at you — long and hard — and then walked away.

you thought that was the end of it.

it wasn’t.

you saw him again two weeks later. same coffee shop. same table.

this time, he spoke.

“you’re predictable,” he said without greeting.

you raised a brow.

“excuse me?”

“you come here every tuesday and friday. you order the same drink. you open your book to the same chapter you never finish.”

normally, you would’ve been insulted. defensive.

but something about the way he said it — flat, quiet, without judgment — made you pause.

he wasn’t mocking you.

he was observing you.

you found yourself smiling.

“maybe i was waiting for someone to notice.”

his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“i already did.”

it started there.

dates that weren’t really dates — just him watching you eat while you talked, occasionally asking strange questions.

he never complimented you. never touched you. never smiled.

but he always paid.

he always walked you home.

he always answered your texts within ten minutes — no emojis, no punctuation, just short, cold sentences that made you weirdly giddy.

you told yourself you liked it because he was different.

because he was honest. because he didn’t play games.

but truthfully?

you liked how he took control.

he picked the restaurant. he opened your doors. he pressed a hand to your lower back when guiding you through a crowd, and you felt it for hours after.

he was awkward. unnerving. completely unreadable.

but you felt safe.

or at least…

you thought you did.

you hadn’t seen him in a week.

not unusual for illumi — he’d warned you early on that he traveled often for work. what that work was, exactly, he never said. you assumed it had to do with security, surveillance, something secretive.

he never lied. but he never told you much of anything either.

so when he showed up at your door — no call, no warning — you didn’t hesitate.

you opened the door with a smile and kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and finally his mouth. his arms didn’t move. his face didn’t change.

but something was wrong.

you pulled back slowly.

“you’re back,” you whispered. “i missed you.”

his eyes were darker than usual.

emptier.

“we’re leaving,” he said.

you blinked.

“what?”

“you’re coming with me. now.”

“can’t we go in the morning? i haven’t packed, and i made dinner—”

he didn’t move.

he just stared.

a cold weight settled in your stomach.

“illumi?” you tried again, quieter.

“we’re going to meet my parents.”

you laughed — soft, nervous.

“okay, so tomorrow we can—”

“no.”

just one word.

his tone didn’t change. but his energy did.

something cold, final, pressing in from all sides.

“we leave in ten minutes. bring only what you need.”

you tried to argue.

you asked him why.

you asked what was going on.

you told him you didn’t understand.

and he looked at you like you were speaking nonsense.

“i made a decision,” he said.

“a decision about me?” you snapped.

“yes. you’re mine.”

you froze.

he stepped closer — not threatening, not loud. but deliberate.

“you’ve always said you liked how i lead. now follow.”

you packed. your hands lightly shaking.

you didn’t know if you were more afraid of what would happen if you refused — or what would happen if you agreed, but you couldn’t recognize illumi at the moment.

you didn’t think anything could be stranger than the way illumi lived.

and then you met his family.

killua was polite enough. the grandfather said almost nothing. the butler gave you chills. and silva — massive, godlike, inhuman — sized you up with a stare that felt like he was seeing through you.

but oddly… they approved.

“she’s lovely,” his mother said. “beautiful hands. strong frame.”

“will she fight?” his brother asked. “i want to see what she can do.”

you were too stunned to speak.

but illumi placed a hand on your back and simply hummed.

“she’s worthy.”

and the matter was settled.

you were theirs now.

your presence at the table during dinner wasn’t questioned. your hand was studied by his mother like it held prophecy. one of the younger brothers asked if you’d ever killed anyone. you laughed — no, of course not — and the room just stared.

his father nodded.

“she has the spine,” his grandfather said.

when the table cleared, and the family dispersed into the massive, cold estate, his mother brushed a hand over your shoulder and said:

“i can see it now, you’ll make a fine daughter-in-law.”

you didn’t respond.

you couldn’t, bowing out of respect and then following illumi.

the room was cold. elegant. dark wood and velvet sheets. more of a shrine than a place of rest.

“what the hell is this?” you snapped, as soon as the bedroom door shut.

he didn’t answer.

“why did we come here? why didn’t you tell me about any of this? and why are they acting like we’re engaged? you never even—”

“they were going to choose someone else,” he interrupted.

you stared.

“so i chose first.”

you laughed — sharp, disbelieving. a fucking arranged marriage.

“you think that’s how this works? you chose me? we haven't discussed this as a couple, what about what i want?” he stepped forward.

“you want me.”

you stepped back.

“and what if i said no?” your voice cracked.

his head tilted slightly. he was still standing near the center of the room, fingers loose at his sides. his gaze didn’t shift.

“you won’t.”

“you’re saying you're not giving me a choice, illumi.”

“i don’t believe in choices when outcomes are obvious.”

“you think that is love, illumi? sneaking around behind my back? forcing me here? treating me like some—”

his hand caught your wrist before you could finish.

you gasped.

not at the pain — there wasn’t any — but at how fast he’d moved. how close he was now. how he was suddenly, undeniably stronger than you’d let yourself realize.

“i let you believe you had space,” he said. “so you’d feel safe.”

his hand slid to your jaw, forcing your chin up.

his touch was cold. soft. absolute.

“but you don’t.”

your breath hitched.

“not anymore.”

his lips brushed yours — not a kiss. not yet.

“you can run, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“but you’ll only get tired.”

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t gentle.

his hands knew exactly where to press — not painful, but deliberate. claiming.

he guided you back onto the bed like he’d already planned it. like he’d rehearsed it.

and when he leaned over you, he whispered:

“i won’t hurt you.”

his breath ghosted over your throat.

“but i will ruin you for anyone else.”

“illumi—wait—please, just talk to me,” you said in a hushed tone.

your voice trembles as he walks you backward toward the bed, step by deliberate step. the room is quiet, the lights low — but there’s no softness here.

his hand never leaves your wrist.

“you don’t want to do this like this. not when i’m scared. just listen to me for a second—”

“it is natural to be scared right before surrender,” he says flatly.

you pull back — he doesn’t stop you. he just waits, head tilted.

“this isn’t surrender,” you argue. “this is—this is force, illumi. this is control. i thought we were building something real.”

he steps toward you again.

you step back.

your knees hit the bedframe.

“it is real,” he says. “this is the only kind of love that’s ever been real.”

you shake your head, eyes wide.

“i don’t want this.”

“you do.”

“you’re wrong—”

his hand moves to your waist, holding you steady.

“you’ve wanted it since the first time i touched you.”

your breath catches.

he’s watching you like a hunter watches a caught animal — not with glee. not with cruelty. with certainty.

“you think you have choices. you think your words matter. they don’t anymore.”

“you’re mine.”

“and what is mine doesn’t get to leave.”

you try again — softer this time.

“please… please, illumi”

his hand slides up your back, pulling you flush against him.

“you’re pleading like i haven’t already won.”

you freeze.

he leans in, brushing your ear with his lips.

“you don’t need to pretend you’re free anymore. it doesn’t suit you.”

his hand presses lightly at the base of your neck — not choking, just grounding you.

“you’re beautiful when you give in.”

and then he kisses you.

and your knees buckle, as he let’s go of you, to allow you to fall onto the bed.

you sit on the edge of the bed, your hands instinctively are folded neatly in your lap. not because you’re calm — but because if you don’t fold them, you’ll claw at your own skin.

illumi moved across the room, silent, removing his coat with eerie grace. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t ask how you’re feeling. doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

because he already knows.

and worse — he doesn’t care.

“you’re trembling,” he says finally.

you don’t respond.

“there’s no need for that.”

you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“is that supposed to comfort me?”

he walks toward you, slow and deliberate.

you flinch — just barely.

but he sees it.

he kneels in front of you.

his fingers rest lightly on your knee — a feather-light touch that feels heavier than iron.

“i chose you.”

his voice is calm. too calm.

“you should be proud.”

you look at him. really look at him.

his face is as expressionless as ever. his eyes black and bottomless. he doesn’t blink. doesn’t shift. doesn’t breathe like a normal person.

and yet—

you remember when he used to bring you tea before bed. when he used to sit across from you at cafés and watch you talk, wordless but present.

was any of that real?

“you didn’t ask me,” you whisper. “you never asked me.”

his hand slides up your thigh, firm now.

“you didn’t need to be asked.”

“you needed to be claimed.”

you open your mouth to argue — but what’s the point?

your world has already shrunk.

your choices, your job, your old apartment — all gone. absorbed into the suffocating silence of the zoldyck estate.

and now him.

his hands.

his will.

“i don’t want this,” you say, voice cracking.

his lips brush your cheek. not with passion. with finality.

“you don’t need to want it, you just need to accept it.”

your chest tightens.

you close your eyes.

and for a moment — just one — you imagine slipping away in the night. climbing the wall. running until your lungs burn.

but you know better.

he would find you.

he already knows every exit. every trick. every weakness.

so you nod.

just once.

and his hands slide around your waist, pulling you into his lap — like you’re something he’s earned. something that was always his.

outside the bedroom, in the long stone hallways of the estate, a shadow stands quietly.

kikyo zoldyck leans against the wall, one ear tilted toward the door. her hands are clasped under her chin in a gesture of glee.

“such a good boy, illumi,” she whispers.

“and such a perfect little bride.”

♡ hisoka morrow

you should have left the first time.

the first time he made your heart race in fear and lust at the same time. the first time he whispered something that made your knees shake and your soul want to disappear.

but you didn’t.

instead…you let him press you down into the sheets. again. and again.

you weren’t his lover. not really. not in a traditional way.

you were his obsession, his distraction, his favorite trick — the one he could play with all night and still crave more.

he knew your body like it was a game board.

every scar, every tremble, every gasp.

you’d sworn him off more times than you could count — but still, every few weeks, you’d find yourself tangled in silk sheets and breathless laughter, choking on his name.

“i’ll ruin you,” he warned once, breath hot against your throat.

“but you’ll love it.”

you didn’t believe him. not really. not until the day you found the truth.

you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he was in another room, talking to someone. casual, amused, excited even.

“yes, i almost took her head off the first time she tried to leave,” he chuckled.

“but it wouldn’t be fun if she didn’t fight.”

he paused.

“besides… i already marked her. it’s just a matter of when.”

you stopped breathing. you left everything behind.

your bag. your coat. the letter you wrote to explain why.

and you ran.

you’ve been running ever since.

until now.

three cities later. new identity. new job.

and still, some nights, you wake in a sweat — your skin aching like it remembers his fingers.

you still dream of him. of the way his eyes lit up right before he kissed you like a dare. of how good he made you feel — when he wanted to.

but how could you love someone like that? how could you still ache for him?

tonight is quiet.

too quiet.

you lock your door.

check your window.

but you know before the lights flicker.

before the room chills.

before you turn and find him standing there — calm. smiling. drenched in silk and madness.

“you ran,” he says, as if it was part of the game.

you don’t scream.

you just whisper, “how?”

“darling,” he hums, stepping closer, “you should know better.”

“you don’t run from me, you circle back.”

you try to say something — anything. but your throat’s dry. your pulse pounds. his hand lifts. not to strike. to touch your cheek.

“i missed this face,” he says sweetly.

“missed the way you melt just before you beg.”

“hisoka—”

“shhh.” he leans in.

“i’ll be gentle.”

he kisses you once — slow. sinful. certain.

and you hate that your body remembers. you hate that your knees still go weak.

“you can run again,” he says against your lips.

“but i’ll just follow, so be a good girl…”

“and stop pretending you don’t love how this ends.”

“i think me disappearing meant should stop seeing each other,” the words leave your mouth slowly. cautiously. like you’re afraid they might be your last.

you stand across from him — tense, trembling, your back barely grazing the door.

he stands perfectly still, arms at his sides, lips curled into that goddamn smile.

“mm,” he hums, tilting his head.

“you think that’s how this ends?”

you swallow.

his presence fills the room like smoke — intoxicating, stifling.

“i can’t keep doing this with you, hisoka,” you whisper. “i’m not some card in your deck. i’m not—”

“not what?” he interrupts softly.

“not a player?”

he steps forward.

your breath catches.

“but darling,” he grins, “you entered the game the moment you moaned my name.”

you look away — heat floods your face, shame burning at your edges.

“it’s not a game to me,” you say, voice cracking. “it’s my life. and you— you’re dangerous.”

“mmm,” he purrs.

“so are you.”

he’s closer now — close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

his fingers ghost over your wrist.

“you’re fun when you’re afraid. but you’re delicious when you’re brave.”

you jerk away, glaring up at him.

“you can’t just… keep coming back. like you own me. like i don’t get a say.”

he blinks slowly. and then — he laughs. not loud. not manic. just amused.

like you’d just made a joke he’s been waiting his whole life to hear.

“oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, stepping around you, voice coiling like smoke.

“you don’t get a say. not yet.”

he’s behind you now — hands resting on your shoulders.

“we haven’t even had our grand finale.”

his mouth is near your ear. his breath is warm.

“you haven’t bled for me. screamed for me. begged me to stop… and meant it.”

“you haven’t even tried to kill me yet.”

you flinch — and he feels it.

his fingers trail down your arms, wrapping around your waist.

“i want to see you unhinged,” he whispers.

“want to see what you look like when you snap.”

“because that’s when people are real.”

he presses a kiss to the back of your neck — soft. slow. possessive. your knees weaken.

“you’re insane,” you murmur, voice shaking.

“mmm. but you like it.”

he turns you around, gently but firmly — like he’s handling something precious.

his hands frame your face.

“you think this is obsession,” he says, dark eyes gleaming.

“but it’s worse than that.”

his mouth meets yours before you can respond.

it’s not a kiss — it’s claiming.

his lips press hard against yours, hands sliding down your back, pulling you into him like gravity itself demands it.

your fingers curl into his shirt — not because you want to, but because letting go would mean falling.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your skin.

“go on. try.”

you open your mouth — but nothing comes out.

he grins.

“you’re mine, ma amour.”

“and i’m not done playing.”

you strike first.

not because you think it’ll stop him — but because you have to try.

your arm swings clean, aimed for his jaw — but he’s faster.

he catches your wrist midair. doesn’t even flinch.

his fingers tighten — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you how much stronger he is.

“ooh,” he grins. “so feisty.”

“do it again.”

you wrench your arm back, pivot, twisting into a kick — but he dodges like it’s a waltz.

“that’s my girl,” he purrs, circling you.

“show me what i’ve been missing.”

“you’re disgusting,” you hiss, breathless.

“and you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

your shoulder slams against the wall as he finally closes the distance — chest to chest, grin to glare.

“still running?” he asks.

“or are we done pretending you don’t like it when i catch you?”

hisoka’s palm slides to the back of your neck — holding you in place, firm and sure.

not choking. not hurting.

just reminding.

“you don’t own me,�� you snap.

“don’t i?” he tilts his head, eyes flicking to your lips.

“funny. you taste like mine.”

you try to shove him away — he doesn’t budge.

you spit a curse — he laughs, low and delighted.

“mm, there’s that bite.”

“i was afraid time would tame you.”

he presses in.

you’re pinned.

your breath stutters.

hisoka’s hand ghosts your side, slow, deliberate — like he’s checking for where your resistance lives.

“you’re trembling,” he says.

“you should be.”

your fingers tighten at your sides.

you should scream.

should fight harder.

but your heart’s hammering in that old rhythm again — the one you swore you’d never feel for him again.

desire.

dread.

inevitable surrender.

he leans close — breath hot against your ear.

“just say the word…and i’ll ruin you like the old days.”

“messy. drawn out. unforgettable.”

his lips brush your jaw.

you don’t speak.

because you’ve already lost. because maybe you wanted to.

and when hisoka finally pulls you down onto the bed — all silk and laughter and smoke — the only sound in the room is your shallow breathing…

…and the unmistakable snap of a playing card against skin.

you wake in silence.

the kind that sits heavy in the chest — thick, muffled, wrong.

the sheets are tangled. the air still smells like him. but he’s gone.

your body aches — not from pain, not quite. just the reminder of closeness. of his hands. of how he doesn’t need to be rough to ruin you.

you sit up slowly.

the room is dark, save for a dim light bleeding through the window. and on the pillow beside you — a card.

the queen of hearts.

your name is carved across it in red ink.

or maybe blood.

beneath it, a single sentence:

“until you finally draw.”

you stare at it.

your fingers trace the edge.

and something inside you — something you’ve buried for months — finally slips loose.

you miss him.

not just the thrill. not just the chase. him.

his grin.

his silence.

the way he touches you like he’s tasting a fight beneath your skin.

you hated him. you still hate him.

but your heart clenches at the idea of him being gone.

and you realize, too late, that this was never about escaping.

you didn’t run because you wanted freedom.

you ran so he’d follow.

so he’d prove it wasn’t just lust. wasn’t just a game.

and he did.

he always does.

you press the card to your chest.

your voice cracks when you whisper,

“i’m just as messed up as you are.”

the shadows don’t answer.

but somewhere — somewhere close — you know he’s smiling.

#hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hxh #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #feitan x reader #feitan portor #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck #hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow

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alienguts · 2 days ago

Text

finale

summary: bruce has something important to ask y/n

pairing: bruce wayne x female reader

warnings: none, fluff

word count: 2554 words

a/n: we're finally at the end! i've been putting off finishing this series for a while since i've been writing for my other fic blog a lot more, but i'm trying to clear out my drafts and get my to-write list completely finished before i start another one

Being Bruce Wayne’s partner was never going to be easy, but Y/N had always known that.

When it wasn’t Bruce’s nighttime crusading making life difficult for her, it was simply the fact that the world knew her as Bruce Wayne’s Partner as if it were an official title. The two of them had never made a formal statement to the press, but there was enough whispering among Gotham’s elite, along with paparazzi photos and page six puff pieces, for people to know.

At first, Y/N could handle her coworkers at the Gotham Gazette constantly badgering her about her relationship with Bruce, especially since he was the CEO of the paper. But once a couple of the gossip columnists and some jealous interns started to make comments about her ‘fucking her way to the top’, she decided to work from home instead. Bruce’s study made for the perfect work environment, even though he didn’t use it all that much himself.

“Just ignore them, Y/N,” Bruce had said to her when she’d told him about what was going on. “Don’t let them bother you.”

But she couldn’t let it bother her, not when she was the happiest she’d ever been in her life.

It had been almost two years since Y/N had moved into Wayne Manor, and although she’d initially expected to feel out of place, moving in with Bruce felt like coming home.

She’d quickly gotten used to seeing Bruce off before he set out for the night and feeling him slip back into bed with her in the small hours of the morning, but she could tell that he was making an effort to be there for her. Especially since she wasn’t going to suit up and join him on his crusade. She’d witnessed him and the boys come home with enough cuts, bruises, and broken bones to keep a hospital working nonstop.

Instead, she elected herself as Alfred’s assistant, checking in on Bruce and the boys whenever he needed her to, administering basic first aid, and making food for them when they came back. Alfred, of course, always insisted that Y/N didn’t need to worry herself by helping him out, but he couldn’t really turn her down. Alfred didn’t mind the company, and Y/N just wanted to make herself useful in any way she could.

“You know, Ms Y/N,” he’d said to her one night. “Out of all the women Master Bruce has had as a companion, you’ve always been my favourite.”

While truly feeling like part of the Wayne family was the best part of being with Bruce, things weren’t always smooth sailing for the two of them. They knew each other inside and out and had their disagreements, but thankfully, they never turned into full-scale fights.

Bruce knew that Y/N would never stop worrying about his well-being, and Y/N knew that Bruce would never give up his mission, but it was something that they were willing to compromise on. As long as Bruce came home in one piece and Y/N was able to comfortably live with him, they were both happy.

Y/N loved Bruce, and Bruce loved Y/N, and that was all that mattered to either of them.

It was a warm evening in late spring when Bruce organised for him and Y/N to have a special date in the Manor’s gardens. The boys and Alfred were all seemingly in on whatever it was Bruce had planned, since they’d drawn all of the curtains to keep her from seeing how the gardens had been decorated, and were on watch to keep her out of the kitchen.

”Sorry, Y/N but our job is to keep everything a surprise,” Dick told her when she’d tried to sneak a peek outside. “Your job is to be pretty and let us take care of everything until Bruce is ready.”

”You boys can’t even give me a little hint?” Y/N asked, trying to edge around the barricade of muscular boys to get a look at what Alfred was doing.

”Nope, we’re on strict orders,” Jason said, his arms crossed over his chest.

”You can’t do me this one little favour?” she pleaded again, giving them her best puppy eyes. “Tim, help me out here.”

Tim shook his head, a secretive smile on his face. “It’s probably for the best if you just go get ready, Y/N.”

Y/N groaned and rolled her eyes as she turned to go back upstairs. She was just about to head up the staircase when Damian came rushing after her, his hands behind his back.

”Y/N,” he called after her, making her stall on the bottom step. “Father wanted you to have this.”

He produced a flat, square box from behind his back and gave it to Y/N, who smiled gently at him. She opened the box and her eyes immediately went wide at what was inside before tearing up.

A necklace sat in the velvet box, a string of delicate pearls across the chain, surrounding a diamond heart-shaped pendant. The pearls looked vintage, as if they’d been freshly cleaned, and her heart flipped once she realised why.

"Is that...” she whispered as she lifted the necklace out of the box.

"Grandmother’s pearls,” Damian said with a nod. “Father had them repurposed for you.”

She stepped down from the stairs and gathered the boy in her arms, holding him tightly to her chest. Reluctantly, he briefly hugged her back before pulling away, still not used to being affectionate with other people.

"I love them,” she said softly as she unclasped the necklace and put it around her neck. “Tell him I said thank you.”

Damian nodded and turned on his heel to join his brothers in helping Alfred with getting everything ready.

That boy’s still got some growing to do, Y/N thought to herself as she made her way to the master bedroom to get ready for her date.

The sun was starting to set by the time Y/N stepped out into the garden, a slight chill in the air. She took in the sweet scent of the flowers surrounding her as she followed the path from the back door to the centre of the garden, a string of soft-delicate lights illuminating her way.

Her new dress was soft against her skin and her shoes crunched softly along the path until she finally saw Bruce standing next to a round table with a crisp white tablecloth draped over it; a fine china set and two lit candles sat atop the table alongside the meal that Alfred had made and served them. The scent of the food wafted into her nose and her stomach immediately rumbled, reminding her that it had been hours since she’d last eaten.

“Hey, you,” she said to Bruce as she approached him. “I see Alfred’s been busy.”

“I told him I wanted something simpler, but he insisted on making it more special for you,” he said as he took her arm in his and led her to her seat at the table.

“I don’t mind, Alfred could make anything gourmet.”

Although they’d seen each other just that morning, Y/N felt like it had been an eternity since she’d seen Bruce. Even after a lifetime of being friends and two years of being a couple, she couldn’t help but feel like a lovesick teenager when he wasn’t around. Being able to spend some time alone with him was all she could have wanted at that moment, even if it included wearing fancy clothes to eat dinner in the backyard.

As she’d expected, the dinner that Alfred had made for them was incredible. In her years of living alone, Y/N had managed to cook for herself and knew plenty of recipes, but she could hardly call herself a master chef, unlike Alfred. Everything was rich and flavourful, and she’d often find herself missing parts of the conversation she was having with Bruce just to focus on her meal.

“Y/N, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a while,” Bruce said once Y/N had taken her last bite of her dessert. “Something important.”

“Oh?” Y/N said, her eyebrows raised slightly. “What’s it about?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if he were trying to find the right words. Y/N’s heart jumped into her throat, her mind immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario. Gingerly, she put her spoon down onto her plate and watched Bruce as he stood up and pulled his chair around the table to sit directly in front of her.

“It’s about us,” he said softly, his voice wavering slightly as he took her hands in his. Y/N had never heard Bruce sound like that before, and it only made her more nervous about what he wanted to talk about.

“O-okay,” she said, signalling for him to go on.

He sighed deeply, his eyes focused on their hands joined together before raising his head to see her, a small smile crawling over his face.

“I wanted to start by apologising. For taking advantage of your friendship for so many years. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt for me to constantly ignore you when I had someone else in my life, only to come crawling to you for comfort whenever it blew up in my face.”

“Bruce, I told you years ago, it’s okay,” Y/N said as she caressed his rough knuckles with her thumbs. “That’s what friends are for.”

“I know, but every time you went through a bad breakup, I wasn’t there for you. It just wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry that I didn’t return the favour. I hadn’t been a good friend to you,” Bruce said, his eyes full of sincerity. “But that’s not the only thing I wanted to say.”

Oh no, he’s going to break up with you, Y/N thought, her mind fully in catastrophe mode. He wanted to let you down easy, to tell you he’s back with Selina.

“Y/N, I’ve been a fool,” he finally said after a long pause. “I’ve been such a damn fool for all these years. I thought I could find happiness in all those other women, with Talia and with Selina, but my true source of happiness had been in front of me the whole time. I was just too foolish and stubborn to see it.”

Y/N let out her breath, completely unaware that she’d been holding it.

“I ignored my feelings for far too long,” he continued. “I’ve loved you my whole life, and just didn’t realise it until that day we went for lunch. You’ve always been there for me, and I took you for granted and told myself that I couldn’t have you.”

“Bruce,” Y/N breathed. “I’ve always loved you, too, but I was too scared to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

He chuckled breathily and let go of one of her hands to stroke her face.

“I guess we both should have talked about this sooner, but I just wanted to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to get tangled up in the more dangerous parts of my life, but now that I know that you’re safe with me, I just need to know one more thing.”

Y/N felt her body run warm, and her face started to burn as she watched Bruce reach into his pocket and pull out a small velvet box. The world around them seemed to stop; she could no longer hear the chirp of birds or the far-off sounds of the city, only her heartbeat and her hitching breath as she watched him open the box to reveal a diamond ring.

“Y/N, you’re my best friend, my whole world,” Bruce started, his voice soft and sweet like dripping honey. “Will you marry me?”

A tear fell from Y/N’s eye as she gaped at him, unable to believe that this was happening. She took his face in both of her hands and leaned forward to kiss him sweetly, not caring that her salty tears ran into their mouths.

“Yes,” she whispered against his mouth in between kisses. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him and let him slide the ring onto her finger, admiring how it sparkled in the low light. A large diamond sat in the centre of the ring, with a chain of smaller stones following around the band. With Bruce’s ring on her finger and his mother’s pearls around her neck, she felt like she truly belonged.

“I love you,” Bruce said softly as he pulled her into his lap. “I always have and I always will.”

Y/N was just about to lean in to kiss him again when the sound of a phone camera caught her attention.

“She said yes!” she heard Dick yell to his brothers from behind the hedges. She almost fell out of Bruce’s lap at the surprise, but his strong arms around her kept her still.

The other boys cheered and whooped as they rounded the hedges and rushed over to Bruce and Y/N, gathering them into one big family hug as they wished the happy couple congratulations.

“I guess this is why you were all so secretive today,” Y/N giggled as she tried to hug each of the boys back. “You all wanted to welcome me to the family.”

“You’ve always been family, Y/N,” Tim said as he let go of her. “It’s just that Bruce was too stubborn to realise that you should have been here with us the whole time.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Bruce protested, a blush creeping over his cheeks. He looked towards Y/N for backup, but she couldn’t help but agree with Tim.

Alfred soon appeared after with celebratory drinks for them all and gave a toast to Bruce and Y/N, confident that they were going to last forever.

Just as Y/N was about to go back inside to retire for the night, she felt a tap on her shoulder blade. She turned around to find Damian behind her, his signature scowl planted firmly on his face.

“Hey, Damian,” she said with a smile. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re not going to run away from my father at the last minute, are you?” he asked. He tried to come across as cold and uncaring, but Y/N could tell that the boy was just concerned for his father.

“Of course not,” she replied as she leaned down to be face level with him. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“Good.” A ghost of a smile appeared on the boy’s face before he walked back into the Manor, not looking behind him.

“Don’t worry about Damian,” Y/N heard Bruce say as he approached her from behind. “He’s young, but he just needs time.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world to win him over,” she said as she took him in her arms again and rested her head on his chest. “Just like I won you over.”

“You already had me,” Bruce said softly as he held her tightly to his chest. “And you’ll never not have me.”

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #batman imagine #batfleck x reader #batfleck x you #batfleck imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc imagine #dceu x reader #dceu x you #dceu imagine #reader insert #self ship #*my writing

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jessesluvr · 1 day ago

Note

Can you please do a continuation of "close, not mine" where reader finally date someone else after, and when she announces she's pregnant, jesse breaks down because now he can understand part of what reader felt before? And he never stopped being mad in love with her so now that he knows she'll have a kid that won't be his he's a crying mess? And dina feels bad, feeling guilty and feeling like she was the "cause" of the end of their love?

what comes after (alternate ending) | jesse x reader

author's note : oH, you just like ripping out my heart and throwing it on the floor huh?! YOU are now my number one enemy, i swear it. this is the original fic. i hope you guys enjoy !

word count : 900

it happened on a quiet morning in jackson.

the town was starting to bloom again—modest patches of green curling around porches, flowers sprouting along the edges of the main road. spring always brought a hush before the work began. and for a moment, everything felt like it might be okay.

jesse had just finished helping tommy unload a shipment of tools when he saw her—

you.

you stood near the bulletin board, reading the patrol schedules. your hair was longer now, pulled back in a loose braid. you wore that gray sweater jesse remembered, the one with the thumb holes. but what stopped him wasn’t the sweater, or your quiet focus. it was your hand, resting over your belly.

it wasn’t subtle. not anymore.

you were glowing. not the way people always described pregnancy, like it was a perfect, golden state of being. no—you glowed like you were living in the sunlight again. your face full, relaxed. peaceful.

jesse’s breath caught in his throat.

the man beside you—the one from the greenhouse—held your other hand. he leaned down, whispered something, and you laughed. it was quiet. whole.

jesse took one step back, then another. but it was too late. you’d already turned and caught his eye.

the second your gaze met his, your smile faltered. not in guilt. not in fear. just sadness. recognition.

you nodded. just once.

and jesse broke.

he didn’t cry right away.

not in the street. not in front of anyone. he went through the motions. helped tommy carry the crates. said something short and polite when maria passed by. walked home like his bones didn’t ache.

but as soon as the door closed behind him, the weight came.

he collapsed onto the couch, hands in his hair, breath tight in his chest. it came in waves—first disbelief, then sorrow, then something sharp and splintered.

you were going to be a mother.

and he wouldn’t be part of it.

all this time, jesse thought he’d done the mature thing. letting you go. supporting dina. being steady, being good. he thought he could carry it all, that love could survive anything if you kept your shoulders square.

but now he understood.

now he saw it—the aching distance you’d once lived with. the thousand little moments where your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. the way you’d tucked away your dreams of a baby, of a future, because his life had suddenly been filled with someone else’s child.

and now, you were building what you’d once asked of him. with someone new. someone who hadn’t seen you break and cry and sleep alone in the guesthouse for weeks.

someone who hadn’t let you walk away.

he was still sitting in silence when dina knocked that night.

she found him in the dark, one lamp lit beside the window.

"you saw her," dina said softly.

he nodded.

dina stepped inside, closing the door quietly. she crossed the room and sat in the armchair. her hands were folded in her lap, still stained from cleaning brushes at the daycare.

"she looked good," dina offered. "happy."

jesse laughed, but it was hollow. "she’s pregnant."

dina winced. "yeah. i know."

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing the back of his neck like it would ground him.

"i thought i understood before," jesse said. "what i put her through. when you came back… with your news… i thought i was doing the right thing. trying to be fair. trying to do right by everyone."

dina didn’t interrupt.

"but now i get it," he said, voice cracking. "now i know what it feels like. to watch the person you love have a child with someone else."

a long silence fell.

"i still dream about her sometimes," jesse admitted. "still think she’s going to walk through that door."

dina swallowed hard.

"you loved her like hell," she said. "she loved you back. i knew that."

he looked at her then—eyes red, jaw trembling.

"then why did i let it fall apart?"

dina didn’t answer right away. she looked down at her hands.

"because i showed up. pregnant. with your past. and you tried to be good to all of us."

she blinked quickly.

"i think… i think i broke something when i asked you to stay. and i knew it, even then. but i didn’t want to be alone in it. i didn’t want to do it without you."

jesse’s heart twisted.

dina met his eyes. "i didn’t want to hurt her. but if i’m honest, i think part of me knew she wouldn’t stay. and i think part of me let her go."

the guilt in her voice was raw. deep.

"i feel like i killed what you had."

"you didn’t kill it," jesse said quietly. "it just couldn’t survive with all of us pretending we were okay."

he stood, crossing to the window. the street outside was empty. the porch light in your house flicked on.

he saw the greenhouse man close the door behind him. you were home.

and jesse? he stayed where he was, watching from the quiet, holding the ghost of what might’ve been.

he didn’t know if he would ever stop loving you.

but now he understood what it meant to grieve something that wasn’t his anymore.

and maybe that was the cruelest kind of closure there was.

#tlou jesse x reader #jesse x reader #jesse tlou #tlou jesse #jesse oneshot #jesse tlou x reader #jesse tlou imagines #tlou jesse oneshot #tlou fanfics

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brklynbxby · 3 days ago

Text

Nate went still the instant her knees hit the floor. She collapsed into him like if she let go, she’d shatter into something too broken to piece back together. But what she couldn’t possibly know was that she was the only thing keeping him together too. The only light in a storm that had begun to feel biblical. Her voice, frayed and trembling, carved through his chest with surgical precision, embedding itself in the softest, most fragile part of him. It didn’t just hurt, it devastated. His body reacted on instinct, arms tightening around her with urgency. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other curling protectively around her spine as she pressed herself into his chest. His lips found the crown of her hair, resting there like a vow he couldn’t put into words. He breathed her in like she was his only reprieve from the suffocating panic building inside him. He wanted to be a fortress but all he felt was impotent rage and crippling helplessness. There was a storm coming and for the first time in his life, he had no script, no set, no structure to fall back on. No clear antagonist to vanquish. Just chaos seeping in through the seams of their carefully constructed peace. There were no retakes here. No clever edits to disguise the fear. This was unfiltered reality—ugly, raw, and clawing at the edges of everything he loved. He inhaled sharply, his breath trembling as it left him against the place where her heart beat fast against his chest. And he realised… he would burn down the world just to give her one day of safety. One moment of peace.

“Baby, I—fuck—I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” His voice fractured under the weight of helplessness as he drew back just enough to see her face, his hands cupping her cheeks. His brow knotted, eyes wide, mouth parted like the air itself had turned too heavy to inhale. “You know them,” he said, voice raw. “You know how they think. What they want.” His jaw tightened, the muscles twitching as fury and fear warred beneath his skin. He hated this, loathed having to look at her pain and use it like a goddamn compass. But pride was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Not when her life, and the life growing inside her, hung in the balance. “So tell me,” he murmured, voice cracking as emotion surged in his chest. “Tell me what we need. What you need from me.” He blinked rapidly, trying to keep the sting in his eyes from spilling over, but his vision blurred anyway. His voice dipped into something barely audible. “Is it money? Or weapons, maybe—I can get weapons, I can fucking deliver that—” He broke off, his thoughts spiralling faster than he could keep up with. The strategist inside him—usually so sharp, so certain—was screaming for direction, clawing through contingency plans, backup routes, anything. But none of them had prepared him for this. For the slow suffocation of being powerless while the people he loved were in the crosshairs. “I’ll move us,” he breathed, frantic now. “A new house, new city, new goddamn country, I’ll make it happen.” His voice hitched, desperation fraying every word. “Hell, if you told me we needed to live on a different planet, I swear to God, I’d start building the rocket myself.”

His jaw was clenched so tightly it could’ve splintered bone, eyes simmering with a barely-contained rage that smouldered just beneath the surface. But the moment she whispered his name—Azriel—something visceral and irreparable ruptured within him. Not from fragility. From fierce loyalty. From an unshakable sense of purpose. “Ella,” he breathed, his voice low and rasped, like it had been dredged up from the deepest, most guttural part of him. “You listen to me. Now.” His fingers wove into her hair—steady, anchoring, but never rough—as though grounding her to the present was the only way to stop her from slipping into the abyss. “They took your hope. Took your future. But they don’t get to take you. And I swear on every scar on my body, I’ll kill whoever I have to if it means giving you that life. The one you dreamed about. The one you told me about the day I took those belts for you.” His voice faltered—not from uncertainty, but from the sheer weight of what he carried for her. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel real. “You’re not blood, but you’re family. You’re my spine. My reason. The only part of this broken world that still feels worth preserving. And I swear to whatever gods are listening, I will burn this entire empire to ash before I let them break you. You want quiet? I’ll build it. You want peace? I’ll carve through every ring of hell until it’s yours. But don’t you ever think you lost him because of you. You didn’t. You lost him because this place was never built to let you love something soft.” His hand curled behind her neck, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw—tender in a way no one would ever associate with a man like him. “But this isn’t where your story ends,” he said, voice quiet but resolute. “You will find that man. That love. That life. That family you’ve always clung to like a lighthouse in the storm. And when your little girls are running through the world with your fire in their veins and your light in their eyes, I’ll be there. Right beside you. Making sure no one ever lays a hand on a single hair of their perfect little heads.”

Harmony watched him with tear-soaked eyes as he abruptly stood. I’m gonna fucking kill them. Her breath caught in her throat. No. Panic twisted inside her, sharper than anything Morta Fenice had ever done to her directly. She couldn’t let him get pulled into this storm. Couldn’t let him carry her demons, couldn’t watch him bleed for sins that weren’t his. This wasn’t his fight — and if it became his, it would destroy him. “B-Babe...” she whispered, her voice breaking as she watched him pace — already lost in strategy, in defenses, in locks and guards and cameras. In every desperate way he could protect her, protect them. She hadn’t meant for this to consume him. She had only wanted him to understand — not take it on. Not become part of the nightmare that had already consumed so much of her life. But now, the weight of her fear sat heavy on his shoulders too. Because even if Nate didn’t hunt them, Niko would. And he wouldn’t need to search long. Niko would see them together — on Love Is Blind, on every screen, on every camera. The risk was already in motion. And if Niko found him… She couldn’t bear the thought. Couldn’t breathe through it. When Nate knelt in front of her again, his eyes locked onto hers — like she was fragile glass and he would shatter if he couldn’t protect her. He promised her everything — his life, his love, his strength — and it broke her. The kiss to her forehead felt like a goodbye she couldn’t accept. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the fear away, trying to steady her heartbeat. But her chest caved. She slid off the couch, sinking to her knees, and wrapped her arms around him like he was the only thing holding her together. Because he was. She had finally found him. Her home. The man she never believed she’ would be allowed to love — and yet here he was. Loving her with a fierceness that both healed and terrified her. It all felt so fragile. Like one wrong breath could make it disappear. Like she wasn’t meant to have this kind of happiness. Her voice cracked as she whispered against his chest. “Please…” Her fingers gripped him tighter. “Please don’t do anything stupid. Don’t go looking for them. Don’t try to fight them.” Her voice broke fully now, her words coming out like a prayer. “I’m begging you, Nate… I can survive losing everything — but I can’t lose you.”

Ella’s sobs were quiet, strangled — the kind that ripped from deep inside her, the kind no one had ever heard from her before. She never allowed herself to be this vulnerable. Never showed anyone how badly she could break. But now, in Azriel’s arms, she couldn’t stop. It hurt. God, it hurt. Her chest burned, like her heart was tearing itself apart from the inside out. She had lost him. The one man she thought could give her a future. A life. A way out. Azriel had warned her. Told her it wasn’t safe. Told her what kind of world they lived in. But she let herself hope. Let herself believe. She went on Love Is Blind without telling Ryder, and when he found out, his threats cut through her like knives: You’ll never leave Morta Fenice. It’s your only family. Forget him. Forget the man she loved. Forget freedom. Forget everything she wanted. “Azriel…” she whispered his name like a lifeline, like a confession that still trembled on her lips. And then his promise came — soft, dark, steady — I’ll burn whoever I have to. I’ll give you everything they told us we couldn’t have. That broke her completely. The tears came harder now, violent and raw. She sobbed against him, because she couldn’t carry it anymore — not the hope, not the guilt, not the impossible choices. Not the war raging between love and survival. And for the first time in a long time, she let herself fall apart — because in his arms, it finally felt safe to do so.

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storiesbyjes2g · 15 hours ago

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3.255 The quiet divide

We left the hospital in a daze. The kind that seeps into your bones and gives you a false sense of calm. I don’t remember the journey home, only the moment we plopped on the couch like we’d just returned from war. I sat there, numb, staring at the empty TV screen. Sophia's sighs brought me back to the present. I felt for her—for us. We discussed it. No more children, we said. Even though I still wanted a child now and then, I would have never revisited that conversation, especially given how badly she struggled with Desiree. But here we are, expecting another child in the most unconventional way possible. I'm glad it's a boy, but if I'm honest, I don't want him this way.

I tried so many times to glance in her direction and see how she was doing, but I chickened out every time. Carrying a baby as a man was hard. No one would fault me if I behaved selfishly and threw myself a little pity party. Still, I couldn't help but focus on Sophia. This might be hard for me, but she's the one having to bear it all on top of coming to terms with her feelings about starting over. I had to ask.

"Sophia..."

She exhaled, breath coated in emotional exhaustion.

"Hmm?"

"I need to know how you really feel about this. Like, for real."

She exhaled again, staring at the floor.

"No, you don't."

"Please..."

She looked at me, finally, as if to beg me not to make her dig that deep. I don't know what she found in my eyes, but after holding my gaze for several moments, she relented and gazed at the floor again.

"We fought so hard for Desi. All those stupid treatments ... All the tears ... All that time just...gone. We both wanted a big family, and I felt like I let you down. But now, you're the one expecting. And we didn't even have to try. It hurts, Luca." Tears welled up in her eyes. "It really hurts."

I couldn't help but cry, too. It wasn't anyone's fault, but I poured salt on wounds I didn't know were still open. This whole thing is such a mess! I wanted to fix it for her, despite knowing there was really nothing I could do. A thought entered my mind, one I never expected I'd entertain. I felt guilty just considering it, but if it healed my wife...

"Do you, uhh..." I couldn't even get the words out; they were so wrong. I couldn't even look her in the eye. "Should I tell Dr. McKnight I changed my mind?"

She gasped, mouth agape, surprised I said it, but clearly weighing her response. Then she shook it off.

"What? No! I'd never ask you-"

"I know you wouldn't," I said, cutting her off. "I'm opening the door."

She sank into the sofa, burdened by the weight of her decision. I felt bad for putting that on her, but I needed her to know she had a stake in this as much as I did. This baby might not be her blood, but he'll still be her child.

"I don't want you to do that," she said, finally. "I just—I don't know what I'm supposed to feel right now. I know that I'm scared, and I feel like maybe this is how-"

Whatever she was about to say took her aback. Her eyes went wide, and her body stiffened. I waited for her to continue, but she never did. I wanted to know her deep feelings, but I didn't have the energy to go there while my back throbbed and the cramps returned. She'd revisit when she felt ready to share.

"I don't remember you being in this much pain," I groaned.

She wiped tears, looking relieved for a new topic.

"Your body isn't exactly designed for this. He's just trying to make do with what he has."

"He needs to be calmer about it. You hear that, little guy? Give me a break, please."

A tiny smile warmed the space between us, giving me a brief respite from our troubles. But then it went away.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted a son?" she asked.

It was a valid, simple question, yet it still caught me off guard.

"Well ... You were very clear about not having more children. Why bring it up?"

"We could have discussed it. We could've...adopted or something. It's obvious you wanted it pretty bad. I don't want you feeling like I stole your dream or something."

"It's not like that, Sophia. I swear."

"So, what was all that back there?"

"It's just ... I was serious when I agreed to no more kids. But sometimes when I'm around my nephews, I wonder what it would be like to have my own son. It's just a fantasy I entertain sometimes. That's all. I reacted like that because I was just shocked. Kinda like when you won the lottery. I'm sure you've thought about it before, but you never thought you'd actually win. And then one random day, you did."

"Hmmm, that's a good example. So you don't resent me?"

"Sophia, come on."

"What? You know you hide things from me, so don't act like I'm crazy."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I swear the baby thing was strictly fantasy. I know IVF was rough. Even if I really wanted another baby, I'd never ask you to do that again."

"Okay."

"You know I always put your needs first."

"I understand, but I don't want you to feel like you can't have everything you want because of how I feel. We can revisit things like how you did with the money tree. I'm not a dictator, Luca!"

"I know! I'm not saying you are. And if I really want something, I'll say it, but this was not that."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"Alright. What do you feel like eating? I'll cook tonight."

Seemed like even the idea of food caused my stomach to turn again.

"I don't know. I can't even think about eating right now. Make whatever you want."

"Okay. Sit tight."

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I sat there rubbing my queasy stomach. Desi came home shortly after, full of questions. She sought to befriend someone—someone I heavily suspected was a boy. Her comment about the child's indifference confirmed my suspicion; it was definitely a boy. Men. We're such idiots. I didn't want to call her out by explaining the potholes in male brains, so I told her sometimes sims were shy and didn't know how to behave around others. Also, some sims weren't great at understanding the hints we drop. I proposed making a big friendly gesture to make it clear she's interested in friendship.

She seemed satisfied with my answer and lingered for a moment. That would have been a good time to tell her about her little brother, but I couldn't do it. I needed more time to process the news myself. Besides, this wasn't the kind of news you ambush someone with just before dinner.

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #desiree amari murillo

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darabeatha · 1 year ago

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multiple sneks

#;a.sclepius #/I FEEL LIKE; WHENEVER HIS R.IYO VERSION RUNS; HE MAKES A 'takatakatakataka' sound #ITS LIKE A LIL CRAB RUNNING; U SEE HIM SPEEDING DOWN THE HALLWAYS #u pinch him by the hood and lift him up and he's still :running in the air:#just silly lil icons i have of him #also a.sclepius using a syringe for the chocolate making is such a funny though #I DUNNO WHY BUT;; it hit me more as a surprise when i got him on the g.acha than nyarju #bc n.yarju was obviously on the banner right; BUT THEN I GENUINELY HAD NO IDEA A.SCLEPIUS COULD DROP RANDOMLY?#i swear for some reason i thought i would have to do the lb to get him but im so glad he's here #and maybe bc i was somehow prepared for kittyjuna (even tho f.go gacha is never guaranteed rip)#i just felt it in my bones (?) that he would come #it was my j.una senses (delusional)

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uramakimochi · 2 months ago

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Batboys scenario:

YOU LOOSE CONTROL OF YOUR POWERS WHILE SLEEPING.

WARNINGS: Just fluff, no use of Y/N. Inspired by this thought of mine. R can fly but it's not explicitly said whether they're a Super/Kent or an alien. This should be gender neutral enough for everyone^^

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

BRUCE

Bruce entered the room with a yawn that he tried to cover with his hand, while slowly rotating his neck and chest to make his bones crack loudly.

The only thing he wanted to do was get into bed with you, hold you close and sleep forever. But he knew that all the love and devotion he felt for you would never be enough to free him from his duties as a vigilante, so the only thing he could do was enjoy to the fullest those moments that life allowed him to spend with you. One of which was a good rest together.

Bruce loved sleeping with you. There was no better feeling for him than coming home late after a patrol and hiding under the covers, wrapping his mighty arms around you and pulling you against his sturdy body, falling asleep lulled by your body heat.

But before he could already imagine how he would spend a beautiful night next to you, he had to stop on the threshold of the door when his eyes fell on the double bed. Or rather, who was above of it.

Because yes, you were there, exactly where he expected to find you, but you were not on the bed. You were literally floating above it, like a bee on a flower.

Bruce smiled amusedly, because honestly that was nothing new. That was something that often happened when you were asleep: entering the world of dreams was as if your powers merged with them and not being able to control them of your own will, sometimes you happened to rise into the air in the middle of the night. Sometimes you slipped away from Bruce's arms, but other times you even took him up with you.

But Bruce didn't care, he was used to it. And he would never blame you because that was just who you were. And he would always love you, for every virtue and every flaw.

So he approached you silently until he was at your side. Meanwhile, you continued to float above his head as if nothing had happened, clutching the pillow under one arm and your eyelids fluttering every now and then, surely because of the dream you were living in your mind.

"Sweetheart" he murmured softly, reaching up to gently pull the blanket that covered your body and that was floating with you. "Wake up my love"

After a few seconds you squinted and then finally opened your eyes in the darkness.

"Mhh" you moaned and your eyes landed on your husband's face. "Bruce... Hi, what is it?"

Bruce smiled comfortingly, moving his hand to your arm.

"Forgive me, i didn't mean to disturb you" he replied, running his warm palm back and forth along your arm. "You're floating again"

It was at that moment that despite your tiredness you realized how low his face was compared to yours and you pressed your lips together. "Oh..."

Your body slowly returned down to rest on the soft mattress and you adjusted your position to cover yourself, finally looking at your husband from below, as it was supposed to be.

"Thank you" you gave him an embarrassed smile. "Sorry"

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and then walked around the bed to his side, sitting on the edge to take off his shoes and lie down under the covers.

"You have nothing to apologize for, i always tell you that" he reassured you as he lay down and you wasted no time in snuggling into his side. "You know i don't really care if you sleep mid air. I'd just prefer to fall sleep with you in my arms sometimes"

"I know, but i hate when it happens" you replied with a small pout.

You felt his strong arm wrap around your shoulders to hold you close and you closed your eyes, resting your head on his bicep, ready to go back to sleep. "Because i like falling asleep in your arms too"

Bruce smiled again, tilting his head to kiss your forehead one more time and watched you fall asleep again within minutes, lulled by his warmth and his sweet caresses that you had missed that night.

"I know my love"

DICK

Dick was the most affectionate of the boys and this meant that at every opportunity he would stick to you like a mussel and he wasn't afraid to show it. Whether it was for a simple nap together, when you were cooking or cleaning the house, while he was watching tv with you, in the shower, when you went out... You name it. He was always glued to you. And during the night he was no exception.

Even when the temperatures were the highest he would close his arms around your body and hold you to his chest as if you were a stuffed animal that comforted him from his nightmares. And you, somehow, always managed to fall asleep, no matter how glued he was to you.

But Dick was like that and there were just a few times that you told him to let go because that was just the way he showed his affection and you appreciated him for it.

And the fact that your boyfriend was clingy meant that whatever happened to you... Well, he was there to suffer it too.

Specifically, i'm talking about when your superpowers got out of control and while that almost never happened when you were awake, the same couldn't be said for when you were asleep. Because when you were dreaming it was like your body and mind were letting go and often it happened that without realizing it you found yourself floating in the middle of the night.

Now, Dick was used to your powers and all, but the first time he witnessed your 'sleepwalking flight' he felt a little taken aback. But he remembers it like it was yesterday.

Imagine the scene.

You and Dick were fast asleep (he was even snoring and almost drooling on your head) and of course his strong arms were around your body from behind you, holding you to his chest in a firm warm and affectionate hug even in your sleep.

At a certain point however, he had to open his eyes, awakened by that horrible feeling of a dry throat that screamed at him to get a fresh glass of water to quench his thirst. So Dick rubbed a hand over his eyes to wake up and reluctantly let go of your body to turn on the other side and get out of bed. But when he stretched his legs towards the floor...

Dick's eyes widened and he felt like his breath was taken away for a fraction of a second when he realized he wasn't lying on his soft bed but floating right above it, blanket included.

"Oh fuc- Woahh!"

And before he could react, he fell down with a cry. Luckily his fall was softened by the bed itself, but that didn't stop him from rolling onto the floor with a heavy thud. That and his scream were enough to wake you up too and after you woke up with a start, abruptly interrupting your dream, you fell too but your trajectory allowed you to land on the matress unlike your boyfriend.

Dick still sitting on the floor, groaned in pain and then he sharply turned to you.

"Baby!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What was that??"

The lamp on your nightstand turned on and then he heard you get off the bed and walk quickly to his side and then he saw you crouch down in front of him.

"Oh my god Dickie i'm so sorry!" you looked at him worriedly, placing one hand on his cheek and the other on his head, making him tilt it to see if there were any bruises. "Are you hurt??"

Dick waved a hand with a small, pained smile. "Nah, i'm fine. I've been through worse. Just... What just happened?"

You let out a small sigh and let yourself fall backwards, sitting on the floor. "My powers. It happens to me sometimes when i'm sleeping, especially when i'm having particularly weird dreams or nightmares. My parents told me i've been doing it since i was little"

He nodded in understanding. "Oh. I see"

You looked down, feeling sorry and embarrassed by what had happened.

"Forgive me, i forgot to tell you. I didn't mean for you to get hurt, honey. Are you sure you're really okay?"

Dick nodded again, forgetting the pain to give you his classic dazzling smile. "It's okay, sweetheart, really. These are things i have to get used to if i want to be with someone with superpowers"

And you giggled fondly, leaning forward to give him a couple of affectionate kisses on the temple.

"I guess that's the price you have to pay for clinging to me all the time, huh?" you murmured against his skin and he placed his hands on your waist to keep you close to him.

"I guess it is"

JASON

Jason was big and bulky but he was a light sleeper and since he was also very protective of you, he was always alert in case something happened during the night.

In fact, the slow movement of his arm that was rising against his will was enough to disturb him from his sleep. Jason opened his eyes but did not worry about being possessed by some strange demon. He sighed when he saw what was happening next to him. Or rather, above him.

"Babyyy" he moaned with a heavy yawn, but he received no response from you who were still sound asleep.

Immediately the hand of his arm that was rising and sliding from its position around your back, reached out to grab your wrist before you could rise too high for him to reach while still lying down. When you felt his warm palm touch you, you woke up too and when you opened your eyes you saw Jason dragging you down towards him, making you return to his side in the same place where you had fallen asleep a few hours ago.

"Where did you think you were going mh?" your boyfriend asked, his voice still thick with sleep, wrapping his muscular arm around your back (again) and pulling you close.

"Sorry" you muttered slightly embarrassed in the darkness of the room, snuggling against his shoulder.

It wasn't that you were new to floating during the night, but it wasn't something you were always proud of in his presence.

"'S okay" he replied, tilting his head to nuzzle yours and plant a kiss on it, while he closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep. "But if you want to go for a fly, at least let's do it together"

And you smiled, closing your eyes as well while your hand automatically went to rest on his chest.

"Sure"

TIM

Tim wasn't known for being a big sleeper. And you hated more than anything to be the one ruining the few hours of sleep he could afford, disturbing him with your powers when you started floating in the middle of the night without your control.

But Tim was a sweet soul and he always reassured you by telling you that it was not a bother for him if he slept in the air rather than on the bed. He would sleep anywhere, even on the floor and even for just five minutes, just to be with you.

"Are you really sure it's not a problem for you?" you asked again, looking at your boyfriend with uncertain eyes.

Tim lifted his head from your chest, returning your gaze with a sleepy one, already half asleep mostly thanks to the effect of your hand caressing his hair, while the other was resting on his back.

His arms dangled in the air falling on both sides of your body, while his legs remained comfortably resting on yours. Luckily Tim, even though he was well trained, didn't have a body as large as Jason or Bruce, otherwise he would have fallen to the ground.

"Babe" he replied and his exasperated look gave way to a slight smile. "For the umpteenth time, yes. It's not a problem"

"But what if you move and fall to the floor? Or what if I move and make you fall to the floor?"

"We're not that high up" Tim sighed, glancing at the bed below you and then looking back at you. "You're talking to Red Robin, if i fall i can handle it"

"But-"

Tim shushed you by leaning in to give you a small kiss on the lips and of course you returned it, letting yourself go and forgetting your worries for a few seconds, while your hand in his hair slid down to his cheek.

"No more 'buts'. I promise you nothing will happen" he continued when he pulled away. "And you know i don't sleep much anyway, so if i were to fall i'd notice"

"Hmm" you muttered still uncertain. "Okay... If you're sure"

Tim gave you a smile and settled more comfortably, resting his head back on your chest and closing his eyes. One of your hands caressed his back with your fingertips and you rested your chin on his hair.

"But please, wake me up if something happens" you added and you felt him nod slowly against you.

"Mh, will do. 'Night babe"

"Goodnight Timmy"

DAMIAN

You and Damian were sleeping peacefully in your bed, him in front of you with an arm on your shoulders pulling you against his body and your arms tightly wrapped around his slim waist, while one of your legs was trapped between his.

Damian had fallen asleep lulled by your breaths against his collarbone, but like Jason he was always alert during sleep, no matter what time it was. In fact, when he suddenly felt your bodies start to rise in the air he slowly opened his eyes but he didn't panic or get scared, knowing perfectly well what was happening. And above all who was making it happen.

Damian laid his eyes on you with a loving gaze, admiring you despite the darkness. He found it funny that despite your intertwined bodies were literally floating a couple of meters away from the bed, you continued to sleep deeply as if nothing had happened. He even saw your lips curve upwards and he also smiled tenderly in turn, wondering who knows what you were dreaming of to smile like that.

Damian then noticed that you and him were getting closer and closer to the ceiling as you floated upwards. But before your head or his could hit it, he raised an arm to rest his hand against the ceiling, stopping the movement in mid-air. The other hand that was on your shoulders instead, slid up until it reached your head, covering it with his palm in a protective way.

Oh if you had been awake to see it your heart would have fluttered with joy and Damian knew that too. He cared for you in every way, both with the little things and the more heroic ones, as he had learned in his life as Robin.

Due to the impact of his palm against the ceiling it was as if your body bounced like a balloon and went back down, continuing to drag Damian with you until you finally stopped in mid-air. He reached out to your face to stroke your forehead with his thumb.

"Beloved" he murmured.

Just hearing him call your name once, accompanied by the lovely feeling of his finger rubbing against your skin, woke you up. You squeezed your eyes and then opened them, looking at your boyfriend with the typical expression of a child just disturbed from his nap.

"Mmh, what is it Dami?"

Damian gave you a smile while continuing to caress you, while you felt your eyelids still drooping from tiredness.

"You're doing it again" he simply said.

There was silence for a few seconds. And then without saying anything both of your bodies began to descend, until you gently rested on the bed again. Damian felt you wiggle in his arms while you tried to get comfortable against him and even closer if possible, looking for his body heat.

"Sorry" you muttered, pressing your face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "I promise i won't do it again... 'Swear..."

And a few seconds later your breathing against his skin became heavier. You had fallen asleep again, without any difficulty.

Damian's emerald eyes looked at you amused while his hand found its favorite place on the back of your head, his fingers caressing you affectionately. Because that wasn't the first time you told him you wouldn't do it again and he knew it wouldn't be the last either.

"I count on it beloved"

DUKE (i added him too because i felt bad leaving him out😔)

The alarm clock on his nightstand went off and he reached out to turn it off. When Duke opened his eyes and turned to you with a sleepy smile, he thought he would find your angelic still sleeping face to greet him. But his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he noticed that you were not on your side of the bed.

"Uh... Weird" he thought.

Because he was usually the first one of you to wake up and it always took him a good few minutes to get you out of bed. Could that be the first time you had gotten up before him and had already made breakfast? Was it perhaps a special day?

Duke smiled amusedly, but then he noticed another detail. Your pillow was in its right place, but the large blanket you shared was gone.

"That's why i was cold last night..." the man muttered, after realizing that he had spent the rest of the night without a blanket. But why?

A familiar yawn from above his head caught his attention and Duke looked up. And when he saw your body floating above the bed, his heart skipped a beat.

You stirred, awakened by your boyfriend's alarm clock and the famous missing large blanket slipped from your body, falling onto the bed beneath you. You then turned to look down at him with a sweet, innocent smile.

"Good morning"

Duke let out a small, scared cry and jumped up from the bed. "L-Love! What are you doing up there!?"

You looked at him in confusion and lowered your head, finally noticing the distance from your side of the bed. "Oh... Oh crap!"

With his heart still pounding, Duke watched you calmly slide down until you were back on the ground. You then gave him an embarrassed smile.

"Um, surprise?"

Duke walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Are you okay??" he asked still scared, looking you up and down. "I thought you were... Possessed or something!"

You chuckled, waving a hand. "What are you talking about, Duke? It was just my powers"

He seemed to relax. He knew about your powers, but he never expected to see something like that.

"Oh..." then he sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. It was unexpected, you almost gave me a heart attack"

You gave him a sorry smile, taking his hand to comfort him.

"I'm sorry, i didn't mean to scare you. I completely forgot to tell you that sometimes while i sleep i lose control of my powers and start flying. It's been happening to me since i was little. Imagine what would happen if i slept in the open air"

He also finally laughed and he hugged you and you felt his body relax under your palms.

"How about i make breakfast to make up for it, mh?" you then asked and he nodded with a big smile.

"I'd really like that"

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kingkaisen · 2 years ago

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“WELL, WE SHOULD PROBABLY FUCK, RIGHT?”

♡ — SUMMARY; you & gojo are both sealed away in the prison realm. with nothing else to do, you might as well start fucking, right?

♡ — CONTENT; 18+ ONLY // MDNI — fem! reader, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), missionary, degrading nickname, best friends to friends with benefits, bickering, slightly jealous gojo, you & gojo are both the strongest sorcerers in the world.

♡ — A/N; based on this drabble (: I love this man sm, I’d do his taxes for him btw // also, pls don’t repost my gif!

♡ — WC; 3k

“This is all your fault, Satoru.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay, so I was distracted,” Gojo kicked up his feet, placing his black boots across a pile of dusty skeleton heads as if he was at home, relaxing on his plush couch, and not trapped inside of the prison realm. “If I remember correctly – and I do remember correctly because it happened thirty seconds ago – you were distracted too. Who knew that seeing your dead classmate would throw you off?”

“Throw me off?” You frowned, moving around a pile of bones to sit down somewhat comfortably. “You nearly passed out. I saw it with my own eyes, Satoru.”

“Oh,” Giving a small chuckle, Gojo tilted his head a bit as he smirked. “So you could see that, but you couldn’t see the weird guy with the two short ponytails almost obliterate you?”

“I don’t remember that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“See this?” Gojo lifted a skull pressing against his right leg, and he dangled it in front of you. “This would’ve been you if it wasn’t for me.”

“You dumbass,” you paused, rolling your eyes, “because of you, we’re both gonna end up exactly like that skeleton. You do realize we’re trapped in here, right? No way out?”

“Calm down. Someone will save us. I have faith, don’t you?”

“Hell no,” a small sigh fell from between your lips, “and you know what? I hope we don’t get saved. The fact that we let ourselves get captured like this is embarrassing. I absolutely cannot leave this stupid box and look another sorcerer in the eye after this. I’d rather die.”

“You’re pretty dramatic,” Gojo sighed. “I hear you, though. We really screwed this up. We should’ve picked different careers. I could’ve been a really nice basketball coach.”

“I would’ve been a coffee shop owner.” Distracted by your own what-if daydreams, you mistakenly leaned back on a pile of skeletons, nearly jumping out of your skin once you remembered that you were indeed lying on a pile of skeletons. “Shit! I gotta get outta here, I can’t do this.”

“Just calm down, it isn’t so bad.” As Gojo adjusted himself, he grunted. “Remember when you dressed up as a skeleton for Halloween? You manifested this.”

“I should’ve never taught you that word,” frowning, you stood up, glancing around the dark inner workings of the prison realm. “How can you relax in a place like this? Aren’t you uncomfortable? Or at least a little bit scared?”

“Hmm, no.” Gojo grinned.

“I shouldn’t have asked. You’re too stupid to know when to be scared.”

“Ouch,” Gojo said dramatically, a hint of amusement coating his words. “Ya know, I’m glad you’re not a coffee shop owner. You’d probably toss random shit in someone’s coffee, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, please shut up.”

“You shut up,” Gojo retorted childishly.

Deep breathing exercises had certainly come in handy during moments such as this one.

Although years upon years had passed since you and Gojo were kids, running around in Halloween costumes and splitting popsicles, it felt as if no time had passed at all whenever you two held a conversation.

Even so, how exactly did it come to this?

Gojo never truly had an ordinary childhood — you were the only normal thing in his life at the time — but you grew up rather unextraordinary.

A normal girl, one who went to school and did her classwork before sneaking off to a secluded lake in the late afternoons with Gojo, skipping rocks and eating sandwiches together.

It was a beautifully plain life. One that was ripped away from you by curses and sorcery.

The only silver lining that truly existed was your old classmates; the dear friends you made once you attended Jujutsu High all those years ago, and in particular, a dark-haired, mellow guy.

“Must’ve been really hard for you,” Gojo suddenly mumbled, “seeing Suguru again. You two had gotten pretty close, right? Up until he . . . left?”

“What’s up with the mumbling? Now isn’t the time for you to get jealous.”

“I’m not,” Gojo mumbled once again, turning his head away from you. “It’s not like that was the real Suguru anyway. Our Suguru is gone for good.”

“Yeah.” The sad tone of your voice is what grabbed Gojo’s attention. One thing that was stronger than his jealousy over you and Geto’s old fondness for one another was his deep concern for you.

“Hey, c’mere,” Gojo smiled softly, facing you once again.

“Huh?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I said come here.”

Hesitantly, you walked over to where Gojo was stretched out among the bones, sitting down on the ground beside him as best as you could with all the skeletons around. As you looked at him, it was rather impossible to understand how he could relax so comfortably.

“Come closer,” he held his arm out, waving you over.

“Why? What for?”

“‘Cause I wanna hold you, so just come here.” Suddenly, Gojo leaned up a bit, grabbing ahold of your wrist before pulling you on top of him.

With his other hand, he gripped the back of your thigh, moving your leg over his hips as he leaned back. He sighed with contentment once you were fully on top of him. Releasing your wrist, the white-haired man touched the side of your face, slowly guiding your head to his chest. “See? Isn’t this better than laying on those skeletons?”

“I guess so,” you mumbled against his chest.

“Why are you so tense?” Gojo guided his hand across one of your shoulders, and he started to rub it.

“Hard to relax when you’re trapped in the prison realm,” you paused. “Not to mention I’m literally laying on top of you.”

“So? We hug and stuff all the time.”

“This is more than hugging, and we’ve barely done that,” you smiled softly. “Kinda nice, though. You’re pretty warm.”

“You’re pretty warm too. And really soft.” With his other hand — the one that never left your thigh — Gojo slowly stroked you, gliding his hand up and down, but not daring to touch your ass just yet.

But he wanted to. Desperately.

Suddenly, Gojo shifted his body, squirming just a bit.

“You okay?” You questioned, lifting your head off of his chest to look at his blindfolded face. “Want me to get off?”

“No, not at all, everything’s fine,” Gojo lied.

Truth be told, his dick was starting to harden in his pants, and he could barely stand it.

“Oh, okay,” laying your head back down on Gojo’s chest, you spoke once again. “Satoru? What are we supposed to do until someone saves us? Just sit here and wait?”

“No, that’s a bad idea,” Gojo said.

“Then what should we do?”

Before he answered, Gojo placed his finger underneath his blindfold, pulling at it playfully.

“Well, we should probably fuck, right?”

It took a moment for Gojo’s sinful words to fully sink in. Upon realizing that you had heard him correctly, your head snapped up, your eyes widening with utter shock.

“What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart,” Gojo smirked. “No need to make such a big deal out of it. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but . . .” You paused, darting your eyes across the vast, skeleton-filled, dark space. “Here? Of all places?”

Gojo shifted once again. He gripped his pants, but he truthfully wanted to grip his cock instead.

“I’d fuck you anywhere,” Gojo said lowly. “I just think it’s time we finally fuck each other, don’t you?”

Suddenly, his large hand gripped the back of your head, and your best friend shoved his lips against yours.

“Hmm,” Gojo moaned softly, kissing you passionately with those sweet, feathery lips of his. Kissing you — finally, after so many years of dreaming about it — was a magical experience. Before, he never believed in soulmates or seeing fireworks when kissing someone — until now.

“Shit, you’re so . . .” His words trailed off as he pulled away, his warm breath patting against your pretty face.

“Satoru,” you mumbled against his lips, “I didn’t know you thought of me this way. I didn’t think that I’d be someone you’d wanna sleep with.”

“Really? Why’s that?” As Gojo spoke, he took off his blindfold, staring at you — then your lips — with those vibrant, ocean-blue eyes of his.

“We’ve barely even hugged,” when you frowned, just a little bit, Gojo wanted to kiss your pouty lips over and over again until his mouth was sore.

God, he wanted you in ways he couldn’t even begin to vocalize.

But he’d certainly try.

“And I thought I was being obvious this entire time,” Gojo paused. “Whenever we would fight together, side by side, do you know how hard it was to concentrate? All I could ever focus on in the middle of battle was trying not to let myself get distracted by you. Hearing you grunt and groan, just watching the way you’d move. I’ve always wanted to take you home with me once the fight ended, toss you on my bed, and find out all the noises you can make; see how loud you can get. I just gotta hear you moan for me, baby. I have to.”

Running his thumb over your soft mouth, he slightly pulled down on your bottom lip, all before he leaned in again, moving his thumb away and replacing it with his lips.

This time, when he kissed you, he didn’t hold back. That sweet tongue of his entered your mouth as if it was on a mission, and he swirled his tongue around yours, enjoying every little surprised noise you made just as much as he enjoyed tasting your delicious mouth. He’d kiss you forever if he could.

A small part of him hoped that the two of you would never get released, and he could spend eternity with his tongue sloppily flicking against yours.

A pair of large hands suddenly gripped your ass. When you gasped, pulling away from Gojo’s lips, he smiled. You were just too cute.

Who knew that the prison realm would actually turn out to be heaven?

“You’re so tense,” Gojo said with a hint of a teasing tone. “Has no one ever touched you like this before?”

“People have — I mean, I’ve done stuff before, it’s just . . .”

When you failed to finish your sentence, Gojo took it upon himself to finish it for you.

“It’s just that no one’s ever made you feel good before,” his sly grin only grew. “Right?”

“I-” you stammered, “that’s none of your business.”

“Lay down.”

“Why?” You asked, your curiosity at its peak.

“I wanna eat you out, sweet girl. Now lay down.” Gojo’s hands moved from your ass to your hips, and he lifted you off of his lap and laid you down next to him.

He then flipped over on top of you, giving you another kiss — a little, quick one — before he started to impatiently unbutton your pants.

“What kinda best friend would I be if I just let you keep living your life without having had a proper orgasm?” He said, shrugging off your bottoms. “Told you not to waste any time with all those shitty guys. You should’ve been with me from the start.”

“Yeah, yeah,” rolling your eyes, you sat up on your elbows, looking down at the sorcerer between your thighs, who slowly pulled down your underwear and held your legs open. “You’re not the first guy who has said a bunch of hot things to me, but then failed to deliver-”

You were interrupted by your own unexpected gasp, as it was elicited from your throat thanks to Gojo’s skillful tongue, which had swiped right across your clit.

He was such a tease; that tongue of his could work wonders. And it did. He flicked at your clit rapidly, and during every quick stroke, his eyes never glanced away from your face.

You started to squirm, but he held onto your thighs, convinced that absolutely nothing in this world could make him want to stop eating your pussy. Not when it tasted so undeniably good.

“Had no idea this pretty pussy was so damn delicious,” he pulled away, mumbling against your wet folds. “Should’ve done this a long time ago, baby.”

When he dived back into your pussy, he licked and sucked, sucked and licked. Good god, you tasted amazing. So, so amazing. He couldn’t help but moan as he made a mess of your pussy; your juices and his spit decorating his face.

“Oh my god, Satoru,” you moaned, “I’m close-”

Once again, your words were cut off by your own uncontrollable moans. That sweet orgasm was brewing right in the pit of your stomach.

You expected him to pull away once you warned him about your approaching orgasm, but he didn’t. Instead, he pressed his calloused fingertips into your plush thighs even harder, and he ate your pussy as messily as possible. Licked at it more rapidly. Sucked on your clit more hungrily.

“Cum in my mouth,” he moaned out in between licks. “Don’t hold back; I want it all. Cum in my mouth right now.”

“Gojo!” You called out. Last warning.

Instead of pulling away, he reached forward, grabbing ahold of your soft tits. With his fingers, he flicked at your hard nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.

And with that, you arched your back off of the hard ground, moaning his name over and over again like a sinner praying for forgiveness.

Gojo lapped up your juices as if he was dying of thirst. He’ll be damned if he missed even a single drop of it.

“Damn it,” he said as he detached his lips from your swollen clit. “I wanna eat you out over and over again, but I gotta fuck you. I just gotta know what it’s like to be inside of you.”

Gojo sat up on his knees. He unbuttoned his pants. When he pulled them down, along with his boxers, his hard dick flung out.

You couldn’t help but stare at the mesmerizing large dick. The tip of it was red and swollen, precum dripping from his aching hole. Two long, thick veins ran along his member.

“You’re so big,” you stated, darting your eyes between his hard cock and handsome face.

“It’s okay,” Positioning himself in between your legs, he said, “I’ll make it fit, baby.”

When he pressed the tip of his dick against your awaiting hole, it felt like he was stepping through the gates of heaven.

One hand was placed next to your head, holding himself up, while his other hand gripped your hip.

His dick slid inside of your soaking wet pussy as if it belonged there; pieces of a puzzle coming together. The sinful moan that fell from between his lips was beautiful.

He couldn’t help it.

Not when your pussy was so tight, wet, and warm.

“Hmm, hey baby?” Gojo whispered, his warm breath patting against your ear, soft white hair tickling the side of your face. “You called me Gojo instead of Satoru earlier when I was eating your pussy. I want you to moan it again for me, over and over again. Can you do that?”

You nodded eagerly.

“Such a sweet girl,” he gave the shell of your ear a quick little lick. “So, so sweet.”

He didn’t wait too long to start thrusting in and out of you once your pussy had adjusted to his size. He simply couldn’t. Not when you felt so utterly amazing.

With his lips still close to your ear as he fucked you, the chatty man whispered all sorts of dirty things. And it only made you moan even louder.

“I could fuck you just like this forever. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He grunted, slamming himself inside of you at a quicker pace. “Sorry if I’m being too rough. I can’t help it, baby. Your pussy’s driving me crazy, just like I knew it would. I knew my best friend would feel this good. Who else other than me would know what to do with a pussy like this? Hm?”

“Gojo,” you called out, gripping his shoulders for dear life. “Gojo, I can’t- I’m gonna cum again!”

“Already?” He smirked, pulling away from your ear, his face only a few inches away from yours. “Gonna cum all over my dick? Make a mess?”

You didn’t respond — you couldn’t respond — not when he rhythmically fucked you like a doll, the tip of his dick reaching all the right spots inside of you.

“Shit,” Gojo suddenly groaned. “Think I’m gonna cum too, baby. I can’t hold it . . . Can’t fucking hold it much longer. I’m gonna fill you up. Stuff that pretty pussy with my cum. No one else will get to.”

“Please do it,” you stammered out with a whine, struggling to speak from the way your body was being pounded into. “P-Please!”

Suddenly, Gojo felt your pussy tighten around his cock. A wave of pure bliss washed over you, making your toes curl as you moaned his name in broken syllables.

The prettiest tears started to fall from your eyes. Gojo kissed them away.

His own orgasm was approaching quickly, building up in his lower stomach, dick, balls, and even his thighs.

“I’m so close — I’m right there, baby. I’m right there. Shit — I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum right inside of you, baby — there’s so much of it. I’m cumming-”

Feeling your cum coat his cock as your pussy milked him pushed him right over the edge. He moaned so loudly, it would have been entirely unsurprising if someone could have heard it from outside of the box.

He shot ropes upon ropes of warm, thick, pearly cum inside of you. His dick throbbed with every pulse, spilling every last drop of his semen into your stuffed hole.

“Baby,” Gojo whined lowly, attempting to catch his breath. “I didn’t think I’d ever stop cumming. You drive me crazy.”

“Can we go again?” Looking into his eyes with a pleading glance, you said, “I need more, Gojo, make me cum again. Please?”

“Did I just turn my best friend into my little slut?” Smirking, Gojo leaned down, kissing your lips once again. It was his favorite thing to do. “I’ll make you cum as many times as you want, sweetheart. We might be here for a while, so why not?”

Suddenly, Gojo lifted you, switching your positions until you were sitting right on top of him, his dick still inside of you.

“The prison realm doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” you grinned.

Gripping your hips, Gojo’s eyes scanned over your beautiful body, admiring the perfect view as you started to ride him.

Perhaps, he would have to thank Kenjaku someday.

🏷: @allofffmypeaches @manjiroswifo @yourusernames @armani78 @darkphoenix3432 @komonika

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yourbleedingh3art · 1 year ago

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Men don’t think they can teach me anything so they don’t love me , I reject the presence of paternalism when it presents itself as egalitarian , balanced loving

#blog post #Am i too paternalistic in an effort to be loving ? and is it felt so similarly as thorny?#My father loves me even though he thinks im invulnerable #He can’t possibly believe that #Im flesh and bone and short and narrow #Maybe my speech is sometimes strong but i am surprised people think different things about me than I think about myself #Sometimes people see good in me I haven’t come to agree with yet #He said it seemed like I always knew what I was doing #and Maybe this is even why he loved me #but when I told my dad he said that #my dad knew just what he meant #why are these men who I love slash love me in such agreement about me #Is it true that I’ve been known #is it true that I’ve been discovered #even by men who I wish still would love me #And does my mother love me #im calling out for her now too #im calling out for all my representatives #to tell me if you live through this #How can I have a night like this and then a tomorrow morning??#and it’s every night #Last therapy session I said I loved crying #I am crying right now

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homeofthelonelywriter · 7 months ago

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Simon hated the tapping out ceremony. Ever since he first had to partake in one, he despised it. With no family and very few friends, he was usually the last on the field, waiting until one of his superiors would tap him out. But he couldn’t skip them either.

So there he was. The sun was beating down on the hundreds of soldiers lined up in neat little rows, standing at attention while they waited for their loved ones. And they came quickly. One soldier after the other was tapped out by their parents, siblings, spouse, and sometimes even children. But he stayed still, watching the happy reunions out of the corner of his eyes. Watching the tears and hugs and kisses. He envied the others; he was jealous of what they had, and he didn’t. But Simon had always been good at following orders, so he didn’t move, barely even blinked as he was surrounded by happiness, while he drowned in his own sorrow.

After an hour, there was only one other soldier left. Simon had barely interacted with him, but he knew his face. And just when Simon thought he wouldn’t be the only one without someone to tap him out this time, a crowd of eight people moved toward the soldier. At the front was an older-looking woman, her brown hair streaked with grey and lines on her face, indicating her age. Around her were people of all ages and genders.

“My son!” The woman let out a sob as she finally threw her arms around the soldier’s neck, causing the man to chuckle, as he hugged her back. “I missed you too, mama.”

One by one, he talked to the people surrounding him, hugged them, and kissed them. Simon couldn’t help but watch, bile rising in his throat as jealousy threatened to overtake him. And as he watched, he couldn’t help but imagine himself in the soldier’s stead. Surrounded by a happy, loud, and loving family. People who were happy to see him. Nowadays, the only people he could call family were the guys from the 141, and they were away on a mission. Still, in his mind, the scene played out. His mother, smiling, rushing toward him. Followed by his brother and his wife, carrying his nephew.

The daydream was interrupted by someone walking toward him. He expected it to be his superior, there to finally release him from the nightmare. But it wasn’t.

A young woman took timid steps in his direction. Her eyes, bright but filled with sadness. Not her own sadness, though, it was sadness she felt for him. He didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t blink. She came to a stop in front of him, gazing up with a frown.

“Is someone coming?” Simon hesitated before giving an almost invisible shake of his head. She gasped, it was quiet and he barely heard it, but he felt it. In every bone, he felt her sadness and the sorrow she carried for him. Slowly, as if not to startle him, she lifted her hand, until it was inches away from his chest. “Is…is this okay?” When he gave a slight nod, she gently pressed her hand against his chest, finally tapping him out.

A breath he didn’t realize he had been holding escaped him as he finally turned to properly look at the woman. She was still gazing up at him, a soft smile now replacing the frown on her face.

“Thank you.” She nodded in response before glancing back at her family. When she looked back at Simon, she looked determined. “We’re going out to eat dinner if you’d like to join us?” Simon was about to decline when someone called out to him.

“Oi! Ghost!” He looked up and saw the soldier, now facing him, an arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder. “Let’s go; my mom says dinner’s on us!” Without waiting for a response, he turned around and started walking toward the car park, his entire family in tow. Simon kept looking after him until a soft, small hand slipped into his own. He glanced down and found the woman smiling up at him.

“Come, my mom doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” And with those words, the woman gently led him to follow her family.

Part 2

A/N: This will be a two-parter. I hope you liked it!

#ghost #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #cod #cod fanfiction #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #fanfiction #angst

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no-144444 · 2 months ago

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the oscars- o.piastri

꩜ summary: you bring your own oscar to the oscar's!

꩜ pairing: married! oscar piastri x actress! fem! reader

꩜ a/n: just realised i never posted this and it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and a half ish lol

I want you to come with me.

Those words had run through his head like a fucking jack-hammer for weeks. What did that even entail? Acquiring a tux, sure. He could do that. Learn all the names of the people he could potentially meet, any celebrities or old co-stars he’d probably met but didn’t remember. Again, he could do that. Sit beside you all night and let you be your wonderful self as he got a first class seat and bragging rights about the fact that he was yours, he did that all day everyday.

So why did this feel so different? He’d been to award shows before. Not the award show, but motorsports ones. You’d come as his date. The world knew about you two. He’d gone to the BAFTAs with you one year. He should be fine. He knows he’s just there to hold your hand all night and make sure you don’t forget to eat something, but this just feels… different. This was the Oscars. The one night all of Hollywood steps out in their very best, hoping to get something back. And you were nominated in 3 categories.

“Fix your bowtie,” Hattie fussed over him as he rolled his eyes. You’d even invited his whole family. You weren’t super close with yours and they hadn’t really supported your career, but the Piastri’s had. Nicole went to every premiere you offered her, sometimes flying last minute just to be there to support you. He remembered how touched you’d been when she showed up at your Cannes debut, you called him crying that night, not even knowing what to do with yourself because you thought it was just so nice. You were 14 then, but you were 24 now, and you weren’t just his girlfriend, you were his wife. You were officially part of the family, even though you had been from the moment he’d brought you home. He started playing with his ring, a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting married.

“It is fixed,” he snapped back as she fiddled with it. “Mum said it looked fine-”

“I wasn’t looking at you when I said that!” she called from the other room. Oscar rolled his eyes again.

“Your eyes are on swivels today,” Mae teased, looking up from her phone. Oscar fought back rolling them again, and instead went for a scoff.

“I’m the only reason you guys are even coming,” he scoffed, Hattie still fixing his tie. Mae’s jaw dropped in offence.

She gasped. “Excuse you! I think Y/n would still invite us even if you guys got a divorce.”

A shiver went up his spine at that thought. Leaving you? He couldn’t do it. He knew in his bones he’d adore you until he was old and grey, and probably a while after that too.

“She definitely would,” Eddie added, walking in. “Plus, she’s dressed now, if you want to see her.”

Oscar tried to pull away from Hattie, but he just got choked by his bowtie, resulting in a fit of coughs and a gaggle of laughter from his sisters.

He heard a chuckle he knew all too well and he turned his head. You were radiant. A burgundy formal gown, your hair exactly the way you loved it, and that wonderful look in your eyes. The one he saw when he woke up next to you. The one that made him blush no matter how long you’d been together. “You alright there?” you questioned.

He chuckled and Hattie finally finished with his bowtie, so he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours as he lifted you off the ground- just slightly. You grinned against his lips and he felt the panic that had been building completely subside. You pulled back as your feet reached the ground again, and chuckled. “Do I have lipstick?” he asked, a question he asked most days. You nodded, but Mae got up to take a photo, giggling at her brother with you. It didn’t bother him. You finally just wiped it off and smiled at him.

“What do you think?” you asked, pulling back and giving him a spin. You showed off the low back and he knew he’d be ripping this dress off of you tonight. He swore the breath was knocked from his lungs every time you looked at him, but truly, you were breathtaking.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. He nodded.

“Oh yeah.”

The Red Carpet was as overwhelming as usual, but he enjoyed watching his sisters interact with the few fans of theirs that were there. He watched you with so much love and pride in his eyes, so much so that Tim had to nudge him to remember to walk on and not just stand in the back of your photos looking at you lovingly. When you finally finished up, you grabbed his hand as he led you into the auditorium.

“You still have my speeches?’ you questioned. He tapped his chest, signalling that it was in his breast pocket. You smiled. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled back. “Forever.”

As soon as your moment began, it ended, because Nicole pulled you away to go talk to people and he fucked off to the dinner table. He watched as you worked the room, animatedly speaking to people as he watched on from his seat at the table, thoroughly enjoying his food.

It was his dad who pulled him out of his daze, asking how he was feeling.

“I’m fine,” he nodded, only slightly lying.

Chris smiled. “She’s going to win ‘em, I bet you.”

“She will,” Oscar nodded. “Her work has been incredible this year.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. “I cried for three days over the Outrun.”

Oscar laughed out loud as his dad shook his head. “I know what you mean.”

Just then, Oscar caught your eye from the other side of the ballroom and you smiled at him, waving. He waved back. You were a vision in burgundy. He swore to go he was going to get heart palpitations from how beautiful you were.

“Starting soon now,” Tim clapped his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “Better be ready with those acceptance speeches.”

Chris smiled at Tim. “Took the words out of my mouth,” he chuckled. “Also have to practice your shocked face. Even though we all know she’s going to win every single one of them,” Chris tapped his leg. “Like how she pretends to be shocked when you win.”

Oscar laughed, his cheeks going red. Why was he being embarrassed by his own father and step-father at the Oscars right now? He wanted you back, you could always calm them down, make them less… whatever they were.

“Busy?” you asked, coming up to the table, your question directed at him. He stood up immediately.

“Not at all,” he shook his head, the boys behind him chuckling like schoolgirls. He took your hand and you led him to the foot of the stage, squeezing his hand.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, leaning to his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, his hand sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. He loved this. These quiet moments between all the hustle and bustle of your own lives. The room melted away behind you as you both stared at the stage you hoped you’d end up on tonight, but he knew you would. “I’ll always come.”

You chuckled. “You said cum.”

He rolled his eyes, the soft moment between the two of you, now abruptly over due to his choice of words. He looked down at you and you laughed at his unimpressed stare. “I love you?” you offered, cupping his cheek.

“I guess I love you too,” he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours gently, but quickly- as to not get lipstick all over his mouth.

“And the nominees are; Anora, written by Sean Baker. The Brutalist, written by Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold. A Real Pain, written by Jesse Eisenberg. , September 5, written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David. The Substance, written by Y/n Y/l/n,” the crowd cheered and he felt your hand squeeze his just a little tighter. “And the winner is… Anora, written by Sean Baker!”

Despite the loss, you stood and clapped for him. Oscar joined you, though he thought you should’ve probably won. You both sat back down as his speech began and he took your hand again. “You alright?”

You nodded beside him, your eyes fixed to Sean and his speech. “There’s still like 4 hours left, don’t worry.”

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hand. Ever the positive person.

“And the nominees are; Anora, Sean Baker. The Brutalist, David Jancso. Conclave, Nick Emerson. The Outrun, Y/n Y/l/n. Wicked, Myron Kerstein,” you tensed beside him. “And the winner is… Y/n Y/l/n, The Outrun!”

And the room stood for you. He felt like he was in slow motion. You both stood up at the same time, a bright smile on your face (he was sure he looked ridiculous), and you turned to him and you hugged him.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. He smiled back, nodding.

“You fucking did it,” he cheered as he pulled the speech out of his pocket. “Go accept it.”

You nodded and started your descent down the stairs. The entirety of Hollywood was on their feet for you. You’d been working in the industry since you were a kid. Everyone knew how wonderful you were. Only he got to see it everyday. He watched, pride practically spilling from every pore as you stood up on that stage, taking the award in your hand, the sheet of paper in your hand. You looked up, a teary smile on your lips. “Wow,” you breathed out, looking at the room, but your eyes immediately met Oscar’s, and you both smiled again. “Hello, and thank you,” you started. “Umm… alright, speech- yes!” you unfolded the piece of paper in your hand and took a deep breath. “Well… first of all, I’d like to thank the academy, because this-” you held up your award. “Is incredible. And next, I’d like to thank my family. Nicole, Tim, Chris, Hattie, Eddie, Mae,” Oscar was already tearing up, and he was sure his mom was at the floodgates stage of it all. “You’ve been so incredibly kind to me over the past decade. You took me in when I was just a random 14 year old your son or brother was dating, and you gave me a family, and I'll always be grateful. Next, I’d like to thank my husband-” he felt a tear fall down his cheek and he knew there were about twenty cameras on him. There were a few cheers from the crowd. “- Oscar, you’ve made me insanely happy, and you’re my everything. But you’re also the only person I’ll ever let in my editing room. I love how curious you were at the start, and now, how effortlessly you help me. Truly, this is half yours-” you chuckled, and so did he. “No matter what. Whether you were coming in from a race weekend, totally exhausted, or just come back from a run, you’ll sit beside me in silence and help me make it all work. I don’t think you understand how much that means to me, so, thank you. I love you all, thank you!” you finished off, just wiping the small tear that had fallen away, as the crowd rose for you again. Oscar was a goner, tears falling freely as he tried to wipe them away. God, you were too kind. He adored you.

The night ended at 3am, you walked away with two Oscar awards, and one Oscar. He was grinning the whole time, too. Couldn’t stop. You won Best Editing and Best Supporting Actress. His family were elated and you giggled on the way back tot he hotel as you watched videos of them react to you winning, since they weren't sitting beside you.

Both you and Oscar were exhausted, so you fell into bed, immediately tangling with each other and knocking out.

He ran a hand through your hair as he lazily closed his eyes. "Y/n?"

You hummed against his skin, sign enough that you were slightly conscious.

"I adore you," he whispered, the silence of the room seeming even quieter in the dark. You looked up at him through tired eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

"I feel it," you smiled. "And I love you too."

Best night ever.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

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whosashan · 2 months ago

Note

hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

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pseudowho · 4 months ago

Text

18+, touch-starved, 'waiting' gentleman Nanami Kento, male masturbation over the clothes

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"But...does this count?" you whispered against Nanami Kento's neck, your hand trailing down to the curved tenting at the front of his tan trousers. He jolted, grunting, involuntarily bucking against your palm.

He was a gentleman; one who waited; one who longed. Certainly not one to turn his back on due diligence, and favouring flowers over fondling. Any girlfriend whom he intended to become his wife, would only be taken by him after a societally appropriate time.

But how long would this be? With you, a day felt like a month; a month, years. With how you smiled against his throat, he knew, from every twitch of his touch-starved body, that even a gentleman may meet his resolve's end sooner than planned.

"It...it counts," Kento choked, his body betraying him to roll his hips and the straining underside of his cock up against your palm. "I...I shouldn't. You deserve-- deserve--"

"...deserve to know the face of your pleasure, before you come inside me?" Kento froze, paralysed by the honesty, the filth of your words. He felt his cock twitch beneath your palm when you spoke again, lower this time. "Yes. Yes, I do. So..."

"I-- I don't-- haaaah," Kento cried, hoarse and breathy, for a twitch almost as bone-deep as one when he spilled himself, shivered through his length. He felt the dribble of pre-cum soak through his trousers; he saw it, too, the sticky fluid staining the pale material to beige. You felt it, too; you saw it, too. Kento knew he was a goner, when you bit your lip beneath dilating pupils.

You cupped your hand around the length of his cock, moulding his boxers and trousers to his shape, and slowly, rhythmically, beginning to jack him off through his clothes. Kento humped up desperately, dishevelled and panting, and touch-starved, so touch-starved--

"Feels good?" you whispered, suckling his throat to leave rose petals on his skin. Kento only groaned; husky, shuddering, coming undone embarrassingly quickly. Touch without touch was so illicit, so debauched, for one so corseted as he.

"Feels...feels...like I'm going to come in my boxers like a boy--" Kento growled, tangling his fingers through your hair to keep your lips on his throat.

"Would that be so bad?" you murmured against his pulse point, your tongue dipping out to taste the desperation off his skin. Your hand sped up, gliding around the length of him.

Your eyes closed to imagine it was his bare cock in your hand, instead. Your eyes closed, to imagine how the shape of him would fit every plush facet of your insides. You shivered; Kento moaned. You felt him hardening even further; felt the ghost of veins, standing proud, winding around his cock like desire paths.

The gentleman was gone, now; the needy remained.

"Don't stop," panted Kento, fucking up into your palm with every smooth masturbatory motion that your hand made around him, "--just--just like that-- don't stop-- I...I'll..."

Trailing your lips from his jaw to his mouth, you pressed a chaste little peck to his lips; but it was when your tongue swiped over his lower lip, that he met his undoing.

Your hand pumped only two more fabric-frictioned long pumps...before Kento held his breath. His jaw dropped in a silent gasp. His hand tightened in your hair, the other pressing dimples into the divot of your waist. And you felt him spill.

Kento moaned with every twitch of his cock, leaping and spurting beneath tan confines. You watched, fascinated, to see him come apart with each bucking spill, each deepening stain that spread beneath his clothes. His face, twisted in divine agony, would be seated into your mind until he took you, pinned and begging his name, for the first time.

"--f-fuck...o-ooohhh f-fuck...p-pathetic...so pathetic--"

"--hot, actually--"

A rough, gravelly cough; a mirthless laugh, with his final weak spatters of cum.

"...you...will be the end of me...I swear on my life..."

Kento opened one slim, brown eye, regarding your gleeful lip-biting with a huff. He had almost pulled himself together...until you dipped down to the cum-stain on his crotch, and fixed your mouth around it, sucking through the saturated fabric and dipping out your tongue to taste him.

Kento whimpered, bucking weakly against your lips, for you had broken him once, and twice, and now thrice, and he wondered how he would ever survive--

"...taste amazing, Kento."

Four times. Kento flipped you beneath him, pinning you to the sofa with sadistic satisfaction at the look of shock on your face.

He blew upwards, wisping commas of blond off his sweaty forehead. He curled one long finger into his tie, loosening it with one violent tug.

"I've had enough of you, madam. If you won't treat me like a gentleman, then I shan't be."

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p1psqueaks · 1 month ago

Text

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — “YOU CAME?” “YOU CALLED.”

ZAYNE

The city hums like a living thing outside the window, its lights too bright, too indifferent. Rain claws down the glass in erratic streaks, turning the night into a blur of neon smears and muted sirens.

You don’t look at the door. You just sit on the edge of the hotel bed, fingers twisting into the hem of your coat like they’re trying to tear through fabric, skin, bone.

And then—you hear it. The knock.

One.

Two.

Three.

Measured. Controlled. So Zayne.

You shouldn’t have called. You knew he’d come.

But knowing something doesn’t make it hurt less.

You cross the room slowly, like the ground itself might open if you move too fast. Your hand lingers on the doorknob. You inhale like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

When the door opens, it’s like a punch to the chest. He’s soaked. Dark hair plastered to his face, jacket clinging to him like second skin. He doesn't speak. His eyes just search you like he's memorizing the lines of someone he's trying not to forget.

"You came?" you whisper. It’s barely a question. It’s a wound.

He exhales, jaw tight. “You called.”

There’s something dangerous in his voice. Not anger. Something heavier. Quieter.

You step aside and he walks in like a shadow—silent, consuming.

The door clicks shut behind him and the space between you becomes suffocating.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say, but your voice is shaking, like you don’t mean it. Like you never did.

"I know." His eyes don’t leave yours. "But you said you needed me."

"I didn’t think you’d still come."

He doesn’t answer that. Just shrugs off his wet jacket and tosses it on the chair like it doesn't still carry the scent of his cologne—sharp, electric, him.

You hate that it makes your throat burn.

"You left," you say. It spills out, broken glass from a shattered bottle. "You disappeared without a word, and now you’re just—"

"You called." His voice cuts through yours like frost. “You needed me.”

"And if I hadn’t?" you ask, eyes wet now, voice cracking. “Would you have stayed gone?”

He doesn’t answer.

And in that silence is everything he can't say.

You turn away before he can see the tears fall. Or maybe you just don’t want to see the way his face would twist when they do.

He moves closer. Close enough that you feel the heat of him, even through the cold.

"I never stopped watching," he says quietly. "Even when I shouldn’t have. Even when it hurt."

"Then why—"

"Because I loved you." His voice is raw now, stripped down. "Love you."

You spin, eyes wide. “Then why did you leave?”

He looks at you like you already know. Like he doesn't want to admit the truth out loud.

“Because everything I touch ends up broken,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t bear to see that happen to you.”

You're quiet for a moment. Just breathing in the pieces of each other, jagged and unfinished.

"You don’t get to decide what breaks me," you say finally. “You don’t get to run and then pretend it was for my sake.”

He flinches like the words hit him physically. And maybe they do.

But he steps closer again. And this time, when he cups your face, his hand is shaking.

"I came because you called," he says. "But I stayed because I never stopped wanting to."

You don't kiss him.

You just let your forehead fall against his chest and listen to his heartbeat echo all the things neither of you are brave enough to say.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

If he doesn’t run again.

If you don’t.

XAVIER

The air in the abandoned warehouse is still, like it’s holding its breath. Like it knows what’s coming.

It smells like dust and old memories. The place hasn’t changed. You have.

You shouldn’t be here. But something about the silence felt safer than your apartment. Than your bed. Than being alone with the echo of a voice you told yourself you were done missing.

You didn’t expect him to actually come.

But then again, he always does the impossible.

The door creaks open behind you, soft but sure.

You don’t turn.

“You came?” Your voice cracks on the second word.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You called.”

You laugh. Bitter. Small. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You finally turn, and there he is—Xavier, in that same black coat, like night has wrapped itself around him. His face is unreadable, but his eyes give him away. They always do. They burn like a star that forgot how to die.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you say, swallowing the ache.

“I know.” He takes a step closer. “But I couldn’t not.”

"That’s a bad habit of yours."

"So is needing someone who disappears the moment it gets hard."

You flinch. Fair shot.

Neither of you speak for a moment. There's just that heavy stillness. The kind that settles in right before something breaks.

You look at him—really look. He looks tired. More than usual. Like the universe took something from him and didn’t bother saying sorry.

"You left without telling me why," you say, voice low. "I thought I meant something to you."

"You did." A beat. "You do."

"Then why the hell did you run?"

He hesitates. That alone says everything.

“I didn’t run,” he says slowly. “I withdrew. There’s a difference.”

Your laugh this time is sharp, bitter. “Yeah, the difference is whether or not I get a goddamn explanation.”

“I was trying to protect you.” He says it like it should make everything better.

"It didn’t work."

"I know."

You walk past him, pacing, running a hand through your hair, furious at how much you still care. "I waited, Xavier. I waited every damn night, thinking maybe you’d explain, maybe you’d just say something. And you never did."

“I thought staying away would make it easier.”

"For who?" you snap. “You?”

He doesn't deny it. Of course he doesn't.

He looks out the tall window, to the stars you used to point out together. The ones he taught you to read like a language only the two of you knew.

“I didn’t want to pull you into the dark with me,” he murmurs. “You shine too bright.”

You almost laugh again, but it’s too cruel. Too hollow.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” you say, voice quieter now. “You don’t get to disappear and act like it was noble.”

He finally looks at you again. “Then why call me tonight?”

You pause.

"Because I didn’t know who else would understand the kind of lonely that feels like being lost in orbit."

He moves toward you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

“I’m still me,” he says, “even if I’m... not the version of me you deserve.”

You close the distance between you, until you’re standing chest-to-chest, eyes searching his like they might find the truth he never says out loud.

“I never asked you to be perfect,” you whisper. “I just wanted you to stay.”

“I’m here now.”

You shake your head, tears clinging to your lashes. “But for how long, Xavier? Until you get scared again?”

He doesn’t promise anything. He just reaches up, hesitant fingers brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he admits.

You press your hand over his.

“Then don’t be good,” you say. “Just be here.”

RAFAYEL

The door slides open with that soft mechanical sigh — too smooth, too easy for something that feels this heavy.

You step into his studio, unsure if you’re intruding or answering a summons. Maybe both.

Rafayel doesn’t look up immediately. He’s lounging in his chair like he’s been expecting you for hours, like your arrival is only mildly more interesting than the orbit decay he's monitoring. One leg crossed over the other, arm draped lazily across the back of the seat. Completely unfazed.

But you know him. You see the tension in the way his fingers twitch once before stilling. The quiet inhale he doesn’t think you’ll notice.

He finally glances over his shoulder.

“You came?” he drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How uncharacteristically obedient of you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You called.”

He hums, spinning lazily to face you. “I did. It’s nice to know I still have that kind of pull.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Not yet.

Instead, you cross your arms, leaning against the wall like you’re not unraveling just from being in the same room again. “Was there a reason, or were you just bored and craving emotional devastation?”

He grins at that. “Tempting. But no, I had a moment of weakness. I thought, ‘What if I said something sincere and emotionally available for once?’ Then I panicked and called you.”

You stare at him. “That explains the abrupt message with no context.”

“Ah. So you did miss me.”

You laugh. Sharp. Bitter. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There’s a beat. The banter falters — just for a breath. You see it then: the exhaustion under the charm, the way his shoulders drop just slightly. Something is off tonight. Even for him.

“You look like hell,” you say, softer now.

He shrugs. “Sleep is for the emotionally stable.”

You take a few steps forward, slow. “Rafayel… why did you call me?”

He looks at you for a long moment. The smirk fades, bit by bit, until all that’s left is the truth he’s too proud to say out loud.

“Because the silence was louder than I expected,” he says finally. “And apparently, I hate the sound of my own thoughts.”

You exhale. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“I know. Terrifying, isn’t it?”

You reach him. He’s still in his chair, but now he’s watching you like you’re something he can’t bear to touch, but can’t look away from either.

“I was angry,” you say. “When you left. When you shut down. I didn’t know where I stood.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor,” he says, voice quieter now. “Sparing you from the mess. From me.”

“Well, it didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like abandonment.”

He winces like the word physically lands. “Ouch. You’ve been practicing.”

You don’t blink. “Just telling the truth. You do that too, sometimes. Usually when it hurts.”

His lips twitch. “Fair.”

You kneel a little, meeting his eye level. “If you didn’t want me to come, you shouldn’t have called.”

“If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve locked the door.”

“Would’ve stopped me?”

“No. But I would’ve felt better about it.”

A beat of silence.

Then, quietly:

“I missed you.” He says it like it’s dangerous. Like it’s a confession he’s not used to giving, and hates that he means.

“I know,” you whisper. “So did I.”

He exhales. His hand lifts, tentative, hovering for a second before brushing your arm like he’s asking permission with his fingertips.

You let him.

Just this once.

“You’re really here,” he murmurs.

You nod. “For now.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with something unreadable. “Is this the part where we pretend to fix things? Or the part where we ruin them more beautifully?”

You manage a tired smile. “I don’t know yet.”

He leans in, eyes gleaming.

“Good,” he whispers. “I love a little uncertainty.”

And for once, you both sit with the ambiguity — no promises, no apologies. Just space. Shared, uneasy, electric.

Because sometimes, you came is all the answer there is.

SYLUS

The rooftop is quiet this time of night.

Above you, the sky hangs heavy with stars you’ve never really learned to name. Below, the city breathes in artificial light and distant hums — busy, blind, uncaring.

You shift on the cold ledge, arms tucked into your coat, trying to feel something other than the tight ache in your chest.

You shouldn’t have called him.

You barely know him — not really. Not enough to ask for this. For company. For anything that feels like comfort.

But you called anyway.

And now... he’s here.

The door creaks behind you.

You don't look back. Not right away.

His footsteps are soft. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to startle you.

“You came?” Your voice is low. Fragile, despite your best efforts.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just moves closer, the warmth of his presence cutting through the rooftop chill like something solid. Real.

“You called,” Sylus says, voice quiet. No judgment. Just fact.

You turn, finally meeting his eyes — that impossible shade of red, too vivid in the dark.

He’s still wearing his usual layers — all black, as if the world’s weight might be easier to carry if he looks like he’s already braced for it. But his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. Guarded, but open in a way you didn’t expect.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” you say, already retreating.

“You didn’t.” He steps closer. “Well. You interrupted sleep. But I wasn’t really doing that anyway.”

You offer a tired half-smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He says it like he means it. “I’d rather be here.”

That quiets you.

You look away, out at the city. “I wasn’t even sure you’d come.”

“I was already halfway here before I realized I hadn’t even asked why you wanted me to.”

“And now that you’re here?”

He shrugs lightly. “Still don’t need a reason.”

Your breath catches. There’s too much in that answer. Too much for someone you’ve only known for a few weeks. Someone who still deflects most questions and hides behind smirks like they’re bulletproof.

But he’s here.

“Rough day?” he asks gently.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t push. Just waits. You’re starting to realize that’s who he is. He gives you silence, not as avoidance — but as space. Like he knows you’ll talk if you need to. Or not.

And right now, you need to.

“I thought I was okay,” you admit. “But then everything just... started to close in. Like I couldn’t breathe. And I didn’t know who to call.”

His brow furrows slightly. “So you called me.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Why me?”

The question isn’t accusatory. He sounds curious. Maybe even surprised.

You meet his gaze, forcing the words out past the knot in your throat.

“Because you’re the only one who looks like they’d understand what it feels like to want to disappear sometimes.”

The silence that follows is heavier. Realer.

And then, softly:

“I do,” Sylus says. “Understand, I mean.”

You nod. “I thought you might.”

He exhales slowly, something easing in his posture. He sits beside you — not too close, but close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

“I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” he murmurs.

“What? Comforting people?”

“No. Letting people see the part of me that needs comfort.”

You glance at him. “Is that what this is?”

“Maybe.” He hesitates. “Or maybe I just didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”

You smile, small and real. “That’s kind of the same thing.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe I’m worse at this than I thought.”

“You’re not,” you say. “You’re just honest. It’s rare.”

He nods like that’s something he doesn’t hear often.

After a moment, you shift slightly toward him.

“You can go, if you want.”

He doesn’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sylus says quietly. “Not if you still want me here.”

You don’t say anything. Just let the silence settle over the two of you — warm now, not empty. You can feel him next to you, steady and real.

And for the first time in hours, the world doesn’t feel like it’s closing in.

Not when he’s here.

CALEB

You should’ve let the message sit unanswered.

The city outside Caleb’s apartment still glows the way it always does — neon gold and soft blue, glittering like it's trying to convince you everything is beautiful and under control.

It’s not.

Not in here.

The air still feels bruised from the fight earlier. Words that shouldn’t have been said, thrown like sharp glass between the two of you. There’s a bitter silence now, the kind that doesn’t just linger — it punishes.

You don’t know why you came back.

Well — you do.

Because he called.

The lock disengages before you can knock again. The door opens just slightly, and there he is — Caleb. Towering, broad-shouldered, and suddenly so very… small in the way he looks at you. Like he expected you not to come.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

Until, finally:

“You came?” His voice is hoarse, low. Like he’s trying not to hope.

You answer without thinking. “You called.”

He looks away for a second, like your answer hurt more than he expected it to.

You cross the threshold, slowly, cautiously — like the apartment itself might bite. Everything’s just as you left it earlier: the couch cushions slightly skewed from when you stormed off, one of the mugs from your argument still on the table, untouched.

The air smells like ozone and tension.

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer,” Caleb says quietly, shutting the door behind you.

You still can’t meet his eyes. “I wasn’t sure I should.”

He swallows hard. “And yet... here you are.”

You shrug, feeling like your voice could crack at any moment. “Guess that makes both of us idiots.”

A soft, humorless laugh escapes him. “Speak for yourself, pipsqueak. I’ve always been an idiot. Took you longer to join the club.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, the pain in your chest softens — just a bit.

But it’s not enough.

“What are we doing, Caleb?” you ask, turning to face him fully. “Because I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine between us when it isn’t.”

His jaw tightens. “You think I’m pretending?”

“I think you’re avoiding. There’s a difference.”

He moves past you, pacing to the window, hands on his hips like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, voice taut. “At… relationships. Talking. Not making everything worse.”

You follow slowly. “Then why push me away whenever I try to talk?”

“Because the more I care about you, the more it scares the hell out of me,” he snaps — and then stops, breathing hard.

It hangs there, naked and jagged.

You take a slow step toward him. “You don’t get to use love as a reason to hurt me.”

His head bows, shoulders tense. “I know.”

“I don’t want perfection, Caleb. I want honesty. Even if it’s messy.”

He turns back toward you. There’s something in his eyes now — something cracked and real.

“I called you,” he says quietly, “because I didn’t know how to sit in this apartment and not be able to take it back.”

You step closer.

“I came,” you whisper, “because I didn’t want to go to sleep angry. Not with you.”

For a moment, you’re both silent. Then:

“I’m sorry,” he says. And it sounds like it costs him.

You nod. “Me too.”

He lifts a hand, hesitant, fingers brushing yours — tentative, unsure, but desperate to anchor.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Caleb says. “But I don’t want to lose you trying to figure it out.”

You take his hand. Grip it like it’s the only steady thing in the world.

“Then don’t let go.”

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