#i’m going to be thinking about this for the next year

[velaenam]

𝟏𝟎-𝟒

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. t minus 36 hours before captain caleb would be stationed overseas for war. he wanted to make his couple hours matter. with you. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW!! (18+) NASTY.. DIRTY..SMUT!!! . wartime setting/era, swearing, overstimulation, cunnilingus, blow jobs, missionary, lots of touching, creampie, groping, penetration, fingering, clit stimulation, fluff (i guess....LOL) notes – not proofread. haha.. idk im loving this. was gonna make it a one off, buut... i have plans.. if u want to be on taglist lmk! likes n reblogs are greatly appreciated! 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of ? | next chapter

you smack your lips together, your red velvety lips kissing the mirror. it was friday night, and even more so, it was ‘thank you troops!’ night . you were excited. more customers, more tips, more sexy men in uniforms. your favorite part of the job. you were almost done with the last year of your college, then it was off your own country of choosing to continue your studies! you were so excited. spring break was right around the corner– and by right around, it started today because it was friday freaking night, and the bar was going to be crazy!

as you walk out of the employee room the bell in the middle of the bar rings. it indicates that a unlucky someone had to pay the round for everybody in there. there were screams and cheering as an unlucky pilot shook his head, laughing in disbelief.

“ha! captain caleb got the bell!” 

“yeah yeah enjoy the drink.” he laughs, as you approach the men, getting behind the bar, you watch as darts flew, and listen to glasses clink. you pick up the sound of someone grumbling over a lost bet. but most importantly your eyes land on him. he’s sitting there, leaning over the counter, quiet in the middle of all the noise, fingers grasping his drink like it was the only thing tethering him here. 

you dip towards him, cleaning the counter with your rag as you lean towards him, a grin on your face. “is this your brooding war hero face, captain caleb?” he snaps from his thoughts,  caleb looks you over, “you think i’m a war hero?”  you nod, like a child in awe, “ya got the jawline for it.” he gives you a silent stare, before a chuckle escapes his lips, dragging his glass towards you. “is that why you’re talking to me? for the jawline?” you pick his cup up, and raise in an angle towards the spout, meticulously watching as the ale fills up, making sure there were no bubbles– or as best as you could, “well..for one, i work the bar… for two..” you slide the beverage towards him, placing a towel below it, “i had a feeling you were about to leave without giving me your name.” 

“seems like you already had it.” he states matter-o-factly, as he tips the glass onto his lips, you chuckle, leaning into his view. he sets the drink down, elbows on the bar, and his smile playing somewhere between charm and challenge. “well..” your slender fingers go to tap the name on his jacket, “captain caleb… wasn’t that hard, huh.” 

“what makes you think i wasn’t waiting for you to ask hm?” you rolled your eyes, cheeks puffed up, sliding a drink to a patron near him, “ that sounds like something a pilot would say.” you say smartly, turning your attention to him. his eyebrow raises, very clearly entertained, “oh? and what do pilots sound like to you?” 

you lean in, giggles escaping your lips, as you take your pinky finger and thumb, fixed as a phone, pulling it towards your lips and ear. you make a static sound as if you were mimicking a walkie talkie, “this is captain caleb, over.” you burst into fits of laughter afterwards. caleb couldn’t figure if it was the alcoholic warmth or your infections beauty, and laugh.. he’d chalk it up to being both. he clears his throat, and mimicking your fingers, and placing it upon his lips and ear as well before going, “it’s actually: 10-4, captain caleb out.” you bit your lip smiling as he continued to talk to you in his pilot voice. you stare at him, deadpan, then burst into a fit, “yknow, i don’t even know what that means. but it sounds good. you sound good.” you flirt, obnoxiously so. you were young, naive, probably not gonna see this sexy man for a year or whatever, you only live once, right?

“you are so funny. if i’m being honest, i’m kind of sad you’re leaving so soon. you seem sweet.” you mutter, as you touch his shoulder. the bar was quiet now, the liveliness was dead– everyone was gone for the night, and you were the designated closer. caleb offered to keep you company as you finished cleaning the bar, restocking and getting everything ready for the next shift.

he went ahead to tell you about his mission. he was a pilot being deployed with the men that he had taken to the bar with him tonight. you listen, as he explained what he did, without giving you the nitty gritty, nor exposing any confidential information. he figured, you probably weren’t going to remember this shit by the next couple months. 

to him, you were a young, beautiful woman. a vixen, with a sharp tongue, but you laughed so soft– so sweet, tender, like an apple pie– his favorite. if he could just jump ships– literally, and ask you out on a date, he would. but unfortunately, his life lives harshly, and he couldn’t do it.

you finish locking the front door as you turn to see him waiting for you. the moonlight played into this man. his features luminated. kept brown hair, purple eyes tinted as it stares into you, and his white service uniform, brightening him, as if he was an angel sent down from heaven. 

you walk towards him, and he places his hat in his non-dominant hand, and the other raises to meet your manicured ones. he lifts them, placing a soft kiss on your knuckle as he takes the lead, walking you towards the parking lot.  you felt serene, but you also felt gut wrenched. why did the one man you were actually interested in, had to leave so soon already? fate is such a cruel mistress.

you both stop at your vehicle, and he chuckles, his hands gliding up to your door, and opening it for you. the bar wasn’t low, but you loved a man who was chivalrous. you gave him such a bittersweet smile, “you’re leaving tomorrow?” you ask once again, and he gives you a pained smile, before nodding. 

as you think of what to say next, calebs eye twinkle, he leans down, lips near your ear as he speaks low, “our night doesn’t have to end right now.” he mutters, just barely above a whisper. your knees buckle, feeling the knot in your stomach burst into butterflies. as he pulls away, you stare up at him, biting your lip.

without saying much he leads you to his own car, his hands never leaving yours, as he opens the passenger side for you. you quickly get in, and he leans in, gripping the seatbelt, and connecting it across your body, and a kiss on your cheek. you didn’t even have time to react, you were just awestruck by his sweetness.  

you quietly listen to the tap of his credit card as you stand next to him, his hands intertwined with yours. the soft spoken woman behind the counter slides the keycard in front of you both, “your room is 304. please enjoy, and call us if you need anything!” he nods for you to take the keycard, as his other hand was preoccupied with a bag of stuff you and him had bought spontaneously. 

you felt like a stupid giddy girl as you both rush to the elevator. he wanted you bad, but he had to restrain himself. public stunts were not his forte, and well– you were worth the wait, to him. he guides you, and lets go of your hand. his finger swipes the card from you–gently, as he tugs the door knob down and opening the door. 

the room is soft, warm, a lamp already turned on, and he walks in first, gently dropping the bag on the mini kitchen counter. he turns back to you, silhouetted by the light, “you coming in, or were you just here for the walk?” he mutters, as he starts to tug on his suit. you nod quietly practically flying in, and locking the door. 

he undoes his tie, followed by his shirt. you ogle like an idiot, as you slowly made your way towards him. you stare at how absolutely divine his body was. 6 pack? check. you could do some laundry on that thang. his chiseled muscular godly body? check. he was a stocky man. you were in physical love. his gorgeous eyes? check check. a smile to die for? abso-fucking-lutely. 

“might wanna close your mouth, sweetheart.” caleb laughs as he places his finger tips on your chin, craning your head upwards to stare at him. you close your mouth, muffling an apology as he leans down and shakes his head, giving your forehead a kiss. it surprised you how tender of a pace he was going. you tilt your head as your lips brush against each other, “why are you being so… sweet?” you say breathlessly, fingers trailing his torso. he hums, taking your other hand into his, intertwining, his eyes closing as he took in your scent, “hmm.. i’m attracted to you.. i want to take my time….” he mumbles, planting slow and soft kisses on your temple. 

caleb was a lover boy. he knew how to be sweet, tender, and gentle. he didn’t want you to feel like a one off, even if his case isn’t really helping him. 

his hands snake to your waist, not daring to let you go. you felt like a cloud in the air as he easily lifted you up, planting kisses on your neck. he tugged the top of your shirt your breasts filling over your shirt. he leans away to stare at you, as you turn your head in embarrassment. he kisses your cheek where your blush crept, “you’re so gorgeous when you blush, sweetheart.. you are..beautiful..” he mumbles, as he dipped down, kissing the valley of your breast. he lays you down softly, treating you as if you were a dainty porcelain doll, not to be messed with. 

“mm.. caleb..” you mumble, hands tangled in his brown locks. he relished you, kissed every inch of your chest, his hands pinning both your wrists above your head. with a free hand he explores your exposed skin– as if you were a map to be charted. pressure soft, just enough to press into your skin, but not heavy. the clash of warmth traces and the cold air leave your nipples hard. caleb watches as your nipple harden with ever hot and cold you feel, and he laughs, his voice going thick, “i love turning you on, sweetheart.” he drags his tongue on one of your nipples, pressing both lips on it, and softly tugging. this elicits a moan from your lips, arching your back as you felt his teeth bite down– just enough to cause a reaction.

his thumbs brush the sides of your thigh, the slow of your back, and eventually to the hem of your shorts. he looks up at you, disheveled and undone. he was tipsy, with alcohol and lust. you were his drink to be consumed. “you are the most gorgeous woman i have ever laid my eyes on.” caleb says, like it’s the first and last truth he’s ever known. 

you couldn’t take it anymore. you tap on his shoulder, and in one swift motion, you’re on top. you give him that sweet giggle that he loved to hear, as you climbed off of him. he was on the edge of the bed, still laying down but staring at you from below. you tease him, your hands creeping to the belt of his pants. as he watches you slowly, you tug it off, and with quite an alarming strength, you pull his pants off him, only leaving him with his boxers.  his eyes widen at your random display of strength. servicemen work hard, and horny women work harder. 

you drape the pants on the chair nearby, and your gaze lands back on him. you start to undress, slipping your bra and shirt off, then as you place your hands on the button of your shorts, caleb’s large hands drag over your hands, his nose on your sternum, as he lazily tugs your shorts down with ease. he kisses your chest once more, mumbling words you couldn’t make out. you stand between his knees, as his hands find your hips, thumbs pressing onto your pelvic region. he stares at your pretty red panties, frilly, cute. imaginative. “permission to take this as a souvenir?” he plays with the band, slowly tugging it down as he stares into your eyes, a haphazard smile taking form on his face. 

you don’t give him an answer, you just nod, feeling ethereal. as if you were on a different plane. he took this opportunity to tease you. his eyes scan the room and find a mirror behind you, and he turns you to face the mirror, with his massive hands and legs on the side of your frame. one arm wraps around your waist, as the other go down to your inner thighs, caressing you. you start to crane your head to another location, but by gods will, caleb moves his hand to your chin, kindly, but forcefully turning your head to look back at the mirror. he plants a kiss on your side as his fingers make contact with your clit, “don’t look away baby.. i want to watch your face when you come for me.” he’d mumble as he started to rub soft, circular, circles on your clit. you felt a jolt from how delicious it felt. you cry out– pussy aching in pleasure. your lips form an ‘o’ as he takes in your messy appearance. your beautiful lips smeared by your lipstick, your eyes half closed, and your body quivering, almost as if you were becking him. caleb couldn’t get enough of you. his fingers would slip further, feeling your slick wet cunt. “oh sweetheart you’re so wet for me.” he coos softly fingers pushing past your sweet folds and inserting them inside you. you whimpered eyes lazily closing and opening as you felt him pump you slowly. “mmmgggg— caleb…mmmm b-baby p-please..” you mewl, saliva threatening to slip down the corners of your lips.

calebs arm latch comfortably around your waist as his hand grasp your breast. his lips linger on your side, as his free finger pinch your nipples, his other fingers thrusting a little faster this time. your knees buckle as his fingers work, slowly giving out, and he catches you on his lap. you were a panting mess, catching your breath as best as you can. caleb kisses the crook of your neck lifting your legs onto each of his. he spreads your legs apart, so he has an even better view of you in the mirror. your head leaned back onto his shoulder as your eyes roll back to heaven. he watches as you writhe in his arms, pussy squelching in his hand, your juices dripping down on the floor. 

“so gorgeous” kiss “you’re such a lovely woman” kiss "i cant get enough of you." kiss “you drive me crazy” kiss

“c…calebbb— fuck it feels so…good” you mutter as coherent as you possibly fan. you felt that itch hit you so suddenly, like a truck. your eyes widen, head snapping to the mirror. his fingers intensify as you shake your head, pleading, “please baby please please please calebcalebcaleb im going to cum pleaseee baby mmmmhhhgh—“ you squeal, twitching forward your body convulsing as your head limps backwards. you unravel in his fingers, “such a good girl.” he’d coo into your ears.

you mumble lowly, as you slide down on the floor. you get on your knees as you slowly pull his dick out of his boxers. to say he was large was an understatement. you gaze lovingly at his cock, eyes full of lust, mouth full of drool. before he could get a word out your lips touch the tip. his eyes flutter closed, head falling backwards as his hands make their way to your hair, fingertips curling on your crown. as you swirl your tongue around the bottom of his shaft he stifles a moan, holding this moment as his own— burning it into his memory. you attune to each hitched breath. quicken when his chest slowed down, slobbering on it. your saliva travels down to his balls, and each inch you pull into your throat, your eyes water. his hands are gentle, but commanding, not forcing you down but begging— pleading, for you to take all of it. his tip hits the back of your throat, and you gag. calebs jaw tightens, as he closes his eyes- almost cumming. this was so goddamn dangerous. you were milking him like your life depended on it. there were tears running down your eyes, your pretty eyeliner smudged. your lipstick smeared. you look like a perfect woman. taking his cock so generously whilst your make up ran. a beautiful sight to behold. if only he could take a photo of you slurping his dick so obediently.

you continuously ram his tip into the back of your throat, and he fought every time not to cum, until he had enough. he pulls his dick out of your throat, and you cough profusely. he didn’t want to cum in your throat, he wanted to cum inside of you. 

his face littered in sweat as he pulls you up, your lips connecting. he leads you up on the bed and lays you on your back, his face burying in the crook of your neck. he whines, almost pathetically, “please sweetheart… let me fuck you” you wrap your arms around his shoulder, nodding, as if he could see you. he couldn’t but he could feel the repeated tug. he was already aligning his tip to your entrance. he pulls his face away from your neck and plants another kiss on your lips, “im going to make you remember me.” he thrusts in, tightness almost overtaking him. both facial expressions twist into pure bliss. pure divinity. you let out a slutty sultry moan. caleb closes his eyes as he burns that audio in his head, his hand framed on your hips as the other place their spot on your cheek. he thrusts slow— but hard.. intensely.. passionate. you were locking eyes with him, eyes brimming with tears at how well he was tearing you. he was clouded with constant thoughts of cumming. you felt so goddamn good around him. “fuck, baby.. you’re milking my dick.” he cries out, arm moving to your legs as he forces you to wrap them around him. you can only give a nod as he pounds you into the soft bedsheets, your fingers tangling themselves into his hair and the pillow beneath you. 

“so good..” 

“you’re taking my cock so well baby, just like that.. just like that, baby. keep taking my dick like a… mm- good fucking girl..” 

“ohh baby—-nnmm.. you’re so goddamn beautiful.. fuck im— ahh- in love..” he slurs out, head lightheaded from just how fucked you were making him. he’d already cum twice now, but didn’t wanna tell you due to him enjoying this moment. your pussy was full of his cum, and you couldn’t get enough. 

you were so fucked out of your mind— your pussy clenched with each thrust, his tip hitting your spot over and over until you collapse around him, cumming harder and harder with each orgasm. neither of you talked much in this exchange. the evident love and affection between you two was enough words. 

he was rubbing your cheeks as he thrusted harder, and you were taking it, slack jaw, tongue out, a messy messy slut for him, and he worshipped you, like a devout of his goddess. 

he was overstimulating himself— he could feel it. he was losing feelings from his dick. it had been the 5th nut he’d experienced— if he could even count how many goddamn times he’d pump you full of his load, and you were gone. he kept going, crying out “i can’t stop baby.. im sorry you—just— mm— feel so fuckinggg good.” he kept going, until his body started to feel light. 

“baby- im going to cum—“ you couldnt react. he twitched once more, drilling you full of his kids one more time before he takes your face, planting a passionate and hard kiss. you wrap your arms and pull his head in closer, as best as you possibly could, wrapping your legs around him and pulling his body deep inside you as he shot inside. 

needless to say, you both passed the fuck out— there was no after care. neither of you had the fucking capacity.

..

..

..

..

it was time. the carrier sits on the dock, ready to receive its troops. caleb held your hand as he drove you two to the marina. among you were wives, girlfriends and families crying and holding their loved ones one last time for a while. you took comfort from having to not be the only one dealing with this pain. caleb held you the entire way, only ever breaking contact when he went to open your door for you.

you bite your lip, trying your damnedest to not cry. his fingers trail your lower lip, pushing it down at the slightest, “don’t do that. makes it harder for me to leave.” your lips quiver, hands intertwining with his, as your foreheads connect. his eyes bore into yours, as he lifts you up, making sure your skirt wasn’t hiked up. he pulls away from you and flags down a photographer.

“sir! can you please get two pictures for us?” he’d scream towards the man, amongst the screaming loved ones. he nods, preparing his camera. caleb grabs the back of your head and in a swift motion, kisses you— with so much passion— so much invigorating love, it made your head spin. 

click! 

he pulls away, unwillingly— and the next pose, his cheeks collide with yours softly, as he gives you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen from him. you sniffle and smile as best as you possibly could. 

click! 

he smooches you before gently setting you down. he goes over to the photographer and takes the polaroids, handing him some money and walking over to you. 

“here baby, which one do you want?” you point to the photo of you kissing each other and he grins as he takes the other one. “ill put this in my helmet— and everywhere i go.” 

you both relish the little time you had until you hear the bell from the deck. you were in fucking tears by now, and caleb was fighting his. he turns to you before he walks, 

“i promise ill be back for you. i owe you that date, remember?” he winks at you before he puts the photo in the fold of his hat, then putting it on, adjusting it, and waving at you before he made his way to the entrance. 

your tears flow freely, as you waved at him. 

..

it was the last time you saw him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @leannathespacewerewolf , @rcvcgers

[monstas1ut]

Characters when they’re breeding you :)

SASUKE UCHIHA, SATORU GOJO, EREN YEAGER

Contains

__ +18 black coded reader, female reader, Squirting ,creaming, the word slut, impreg, breeding, size diff, teasing, pussy eating, talk of getting reader pregnant, unprotected sex

___brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

a/n

__ I’m so sorry I didn’t post in a year I think lmao. Idk what happened. Forgive me :(

Sasuke Uchiha

It’s not unknown, everyone has heard his preaching about his clan and he wants to restore it. However, most people are more of speaking behind his back. How can he restore a clan when he is the only one left and yet he’s cold, frosted and lonesome? Where is the woman of his dreams? It’s merely the fact of his life, and frankly, even he knew it. Appearing to everyone in Konoha, he’s lonely, an outcast, forlorn.

That truly wasn’t it. The male simply didn’t want to settle for a woman that wasn’t worth his while. This man came from a family filled with talent and ruthless power. Indeed, he could’ve easily rushed into a relationship, however he would like more of a stable relationship. Now, justified, he is fucking a woman that bared no ring on her finger yet, but she was still his.

How could anyone not tell? The second she decided to move into the village, Sasuke found himself staying longer rather than going out on ventures. Everyone figured he’d just gotten tired, and that’s when women of all different shapes and sizes would line up. Unfortunately, they just didn’t understand… They didn’t get it.

“How come you’re so strong, but you can’t give me more..” Those words were like a black feather running down your back. All you could feel were your knees giving out, your body seeping into the bed. But Sasuke wasn’t having that… no.. he needs you to cum again. He needs you at your most neediest, he needs to warp your mind. Maybe it was manipulation, but you enjoyed his dick so much.. how come you weren’t trying to give him a baby already?

Okay.

“Sasukeee, shit~! Stop- gonna make me squirt..” Your words fell on deaf ears. Truly, the Uchiha couldn’t care or give a damn. Besides, you didn't taste bad at all. The male’s tongue was not afraid to slip into regions nobody has ever been before. Your pretty, glistening, brown lips were dripping in juices and saliva. It was a mess, and Sasuke purely enjoyed you in such a state. He’s not known to be with many women but he knew what he was doing. Seeing how you were slipping right through his fingers from pure ecstasy, seeing your pussy gush from just a bit of sucking on that clit… It was easy… But Sasuke would’ve been curse you if you weren’t so damn beautiful.

“There it is.. Don’t make it difficult next time.”

This man couldn’t hide it. He was entranced, he was deeply in love. If you could see him right now, your pussy juices dripping from his face, his right eye was now a deep red that showed the uchiha’s purpose. Red, menacing and ruthless.. while the other stayed that pretty purple. His senses, they were all on you. His eyes half lidded and his lips almost parted from each other as his fair colored cock slipped right back into you. Right after slurping on that pussy like a good smoothie.

It turned your world quick. He slid in like a key, it was perfect. Those veiny hands touched your shoulders, causing you to shiver as he ran down your shimmery brown arms, right to your wrists. Your pretty, fucked out face was pushed firm into the bed as you had no leverage to keep yourself up. Drool seeped out of your mouth onto the sheets as your eyes yelled with hearts.

You loved this man. Should you give him children? No… yes? Your mind was all over the place, but it stayed stuck in the gutter.

Sasuke kept both your wrists, pulling them back as he watched you give in. He could physically see it happen to you. It actually made his eyes widen just a smidge as the blood continued to run to his cock. Fuck. Were you really giving up? He noticed your tone, how your moans were more like chirps, whines. He didn’t stop. His thrusts were rough yet so slow and dangerously addictive. Each thrust gave a flutter to your insides, the ripples of your ass got more intense with each one. Sasuke damn sure didn’t take his eyes off of that, he loved the way that brown mound of an ass slapped against him. It was so far from ugly.

“What are you going to do for me…” His voice was grazing your skin, his breathing only getting louder as he held back each moan… The mattress was poor, all of the convincing, the pleas.. the mattress was just as broken down as you. Your walls were so nicely abused by this man that you had to thank him. You truly did! And as your next orgasm began to fall, you did too.

“Oh-oh-.. fuck! M-Imma’ give you a baby.. my- fuck Sasuke! Imma have your baby-..” it was so hard for you to speak, and yet you spit it out. Oh, you got to hear the pathetic groan of Sasuke.. just continuously diving deep into you as he let go of your wrists unwillingly. It’s like his hands got weak. You noticed this and practically gasped before lifting your upper body and he just knew his time was done.

Sasuke uchiha took pride in himself, but this? You were such a little sex demon.

“Yeah.. imma give you all your fuckin babies.. get me pregnant.” Now sass revealed, and Sasuke was trying to bite back his words and imagination. It was going wild while he noticed you bouncing back on his cock. It was disappearing every second, your pussy just swallowed it up with each bounce. He couldn’t even keep up… no, he kept thinking about that round belly.

His fingers were digging so hard in your hips they may leave marks. That’s how you knew he was so close.. he was right there. It was true, Sasuke’s breathing was getting heavier, quicker.. and his grip on you was tight.. but not as tight as your pussy.

“Too fucking tight.. take it… take it all then.” Although his voice was deep, he couldn’t hide that sharp, whistle of a moan that slipped by when he pushed forward, just balls deep in your brown pretty pussy. You couldn’t breathe, but you felt the warmth and splash of cum in your pussy. It was so much, it happened so quickly..

And all you had to say was that you’d have his babies…?

“All that cum…” You whispered as his head was resting on your upper back. You could feel his breathing all hot on your back as he was actually rubbing his thumbs gently on your hips. He was such a meanie but sometimes he just knew when to be nice. He was going to have to be nicer when you’re plump with his kids…

Satoru Gojo

You merely believe he’s joking. Literally, you didn’t blink an eye. Perhaps that sent a terrible message to the jokester. Fanning your hand at him, watching a shitty little documentary about something boring. The clocks in your head just weren’t turning correctly. But seriously, how could they when this grown man was pouting?

“Y/n… I want a baby. I wanna dress him up in identical clothes.” He said, you remember it clearly when he said this. He was not serious, couldn’t be. That little laugh that came from him, his animated expressions of demonstrating having a child. “Yeah okay Gojo” you spit out, only to turn back to your phone without having another thought about it.

You literally signed your name on the dotted line.

“You promiseeeee?”

“Yeah yeah..”

That’s what you said, and Satoru nodded. Now why did you believe that was the end of it? Probably because your boyfriend is a jokester and he plays too many games. You could tell when he was joking or being serious right? Or maybe you just weren’t looking at him and taking him seriously? It was the latter.

The whole day was filled with normalcy , nothing said of a baby nor a child. It was supposed to be a joke.

“Na ah ah… Keep them just~ like~ this~… Makes ya’ look even prettier this way” The male was piercing you with his words, they dug right in you just like his cock. He was just simply admiring his work, watching you fold your legs in a pretzel by his command. He really took a liking to this position, especially since he could hold onto your ankles.

All you did was shakily breathe out, your eyes filled with gloss and regret. Why didn’t you believe him? Now your pussy was getting all ruined and messy. And he was chuckling about it!

“Atta girl..” he spoke, the steam of his words burning right through you as you squeezed your eyes shut. Embarrassed by your gushy noises coming from your needy cunt, you decided not looking at Satoru would suffice. However, he just wasn’t having that.. first you don’t believe him, now you didn’t want to look at him? You were going to be teased today, you deserved it.

“Look at me, pretty. Watch me put a baby in you, since you thought I was jokin’..” Satoru didn’t miss a beat, his cock going in and out and in and out. You were forced to stare at him now, but you got butterflies looking into his deep, light blue eyes. They glowed with intent on getting you full with babies. But you couldn’t look at his cock going in and out. If you did, you’d see your lower stomach just bulging out ever so slightly. He was so juicy and big. His cock was as pale colored as him, veiny and had an ever so slight curve that would tease at your g-spot. And the tip of it was so pink, just as pink as your insides.

“S-Sat-…”

“That’s not my name.. Say it full out for me” His smirk was laced throughout his words as he watched your eyes roll back. Those pretty russet colored breasts were bouncing so much he could internally laugh at your predicament… Sure, you looked beautiful but sometimes it’s funny when you’re wrong. And you were wrong about it all. “Satoru… Satoru baby..” you choked out, your legs slipping from the pretzel position as you became tired.. but he just gave a little shrug.

It was alright, because he pressed his lanky fingers and his palm against the underside of your thighs and he pushed forward. You were folded up again, yet in an entirely different position as you watched him concentrate. He couldn’t stop, not for a second. Those burly arms of his were flexing as his pretty blue eyes watched your pussy eat his cock up. He was enjoying the show… and he enjoyed it even more when your eyebrows were all furrowed. He only looked up at your face once to experience heaven.

“Satoru-… O-Okay~… J-Just dump a baby in me- fuck.” You finally said it, and you threw your head back as he sped up his thrusts. His white locks of hair looked like the sun up above as he had a daring smirk on his face before he got serious. That pussy was talking to him, and he’d be dumb not to respond.

The bed was making noise with each thrust, and Satoru gripped your thighs tight. He tightened his core and gave it all he had, turns out that was just a bit too much for you because you were already creaming on his pretty dick. It was an artistic expression.. just coating his cock in your cum, it made him chuckle.. a moan following it.

“Messy…” Satoru muttered before the thrusts ceased and he slid out of your pretty little gaping hole before gently slipping two lanky fingers into you. It made you jolt with pleasure and overstimulation. It made you look at him with confusion, but you were too late. His cock slid right back into you, and his fingers slipped into his mouth.. just tasting every bit of your naughty substances.

“Oh my god-..” you moaned loudly, feeling like you were going to cry from the deepest sex you’ve ever experienced. But you weren’t the only one. Tasting your sweet cum while digging in your pussy with his tip was the best feeling ever. And Satoru was not one to keep his moans to himself. He made sure you knew your pussy was the best.

“Gonna have my baby right?”

“Yess-.. all of them…” you cried out, gripping the bedsheets and damn near tearing them.. that’s before you heard the prettiest, deepest moan. His blue eyes were filled with intense energy and warmth, that’s before you were filled with the same things… warmth and his energy.

“Damn right”

Eren Yeager

“You think I’d look cute pregnant or would I look ugly?”

Eren looked at you while you had stuffed clothes under your shirt. You shaped it so it looked like a belly, and to be fair.. you looked cute. Not saying that because you were his girlfriend, but just in general. He kind of rolled his eyes though. “Cute. Why would you look ugly” his tone sounds like he’s uninterested, but his heart thumped in ways he couldn’t explain. He never really thought of you pregnant.. and why the hell not?

“Dunno. I just can’t see it.” You added as you removed the clothes, only adding fire to the already burning house that was laying on the bed as it watched you in the bathroom mirror.

That’s when said house stood up and with a sigh he and his tall form was now behind you. His long, brown hair tickled your head while his hands grazed against your ass before stopping at your hips. He was bare at the top… scars and battles from the war on his chest that showed his strength.. truth be told, it made you wet.

“Can’t see it? Well maybe cuz’ it’s not real. See.. women get a glow from pregnancy.. not sayin you ain’t already got that.. but it’s a different glow.” Eren explained gently as you felt the cold touch of his chain behind you.. just whispering against the back of your neck. You stared at him in the mirror as he smirked with those pretty white teeth. “And how do you know all that..” you purred, almost teasing him.

“It’s a real thing.. some women get it. But you’re so gorgeous, I just know you’d turn even more heads than you do already, baby” He stopped to look at you, but not in the mirror.. from the side of your face before he kissed your jawline. “Eren… you don’t know that though-..” “wanna bet?”

The little sex fairy put an arrow right through the both of you. Had you not looked at him in a sultry manner, Eren would’ve probably let it go. He hasn’t thought about babies.. but the second you say something about pregnancy and he’s all over it like white on rice. To be fair, it was quite pathetic in a way, and he’ll admit it.. but he got weak thinking about you just all chunky with his kid.

Eren’s imagination was bright and sunny, and his determination was just that much bigger.

“R-Right there….” You sharply breathed in as you watched the man in the mirror. His veiny, scruff hand around your throat with ease. He was treating you like a puppet, making sure you stayed in the same position, and moved to his heart's content. “I know baby.. I know..” he practically cooed, his other hand caressing your thigh that was up on the sink counter. It was jiggling just as much as your ass was as he gave slow and soft strokes inside of you. This was one of Eren’s soft days.. Free from anger, free from frustration.. he has been like this for awhile now.. maybe after being discharged he’s calmed down.

Sex with him now is like a sweet sensual melody… and as of right now, he needed it to be.

“What am I doin right now, baby..”

“Y-You m-makin love to me..” you slurred out, eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head as you choked back a moan.

“Thats right… and why am I going so deep..”

“So I can give y-fuck… so I can give you a baby..” you moaned out sharply as the once cold, marble counter was now filled with the warmth of your body heat and the warm sex you two were taking part in.. The floor beneath you both was a bit wet, Eren didn’t care… He never did care for mess. Especially now.

“Thats right… Give me that reward for beating this pussy so good.” The words Eren spoke were like vibrations to your clit. It shook you to your core, like it was on the highest setting. He knew what to say and what buttons to press in your mind. Not only that, but he knew this position was so deep. You were opened up like a slut, and the way your pussy was gurgling on his cock was just embarrassing.. but that showed just how open it was.. how stretched it was for him and him only.

Eren loved it, let alone your tears falling down your face. It made him speed up. The small little decor on the sink’s counter was pushed off by accident, and your body was now being lifted from the floor a bit as his thrusts were now close together. You couldn’t feel the floor with your foot.. and the other was perched on the counter still.

“Eren!.. oh- fuck me..” your mind was spinning. It’s like you could feel each vein of his cock on your pink walls. You could feel your pussy crying for release, your orgasm at the tippy top. It was like a waterfall, your body trembled, but you could tell you weren’t the only one reaching that high.

Eren got quiet. And everytime he gets quiet, he starts biting that bottom lip of his.. he gets all red in the face and his brown hair starts to stick to his forehead a bit. His eyes spark focus, and he will then drop his head back. You watched it in the mirror, his every move.. that’s before he looked at you in the mirror once before a husky chuckle left his lips.. a moan escaping from his throat.. it was from the depths of his heart..

And his cum straight from his heavy balls went straight into your wetness. Your body took in every drop, every single one.

“I-Ion know if that did it or not..lemme try again”

ⓒ Monstas1ut .do not copy

[woso-story]

Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Twenty-Two

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

Being Alexia's girlfriend is… perfect.

There’s no other word for it.

Waking up next to her, the way her arm lazily wraps around your waist in the mornings. The soft kisses on your temple before she leaves for training. The way she smiles at you like she’s still surprised she gets to call you hers. It’s all perfect—so easy and natural, like it was always meant to be this way.

But just as everything is falling into place, it’s time to leave.

You’re heading home for Christmas—Zaragoza, with your family and Mapi’s—and suddenly the timing feels unfair. You just got her, just held her hand in public for the first time, just kissed her in front of your friends… and now you have to leave?

You cling to her the morning of your departure, sitting on the edge of your bed in your thick sweater, your overnight bag packed and waiting at the door. Alexia stands in front of you in her pajamas, arms crossed and teasing you with a little smile.

“You’re acting like you’re leaving for six months,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“It feels like it,” you mumble.

She laughs and leans in, pressing a long, slow kiss to your lips. “You’ll be back in a few days. I’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure if you will.

Mapi’s voice cuts through the moment from the hallway. “Okay, lovebirds. We’re late. Again.”

Alexia helps you up, your hand lingering in hers even as you walk toward the door.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper.

“I know,” she whispers back, her voice soft.

Just as you turn to say goodbye one more time, Mapi groans. “Seriously? I’m gonna drag you out myself.”

And she does.

She literally wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you out the door while you and Alexia are still laughing through your goodbyes. Alexia leans against the doorway, watching you with soft eyes and a small smile, blowing you one last kiss.

It’s hard. Really hard.

But the Christmas days are… perfect.

Your family is thrilled to have you back, and the warmth of home wraps around you like your favorite blanket. There’s food, endless teasing, way too many sweets. And everyone’s excited to meet Alexia someday—your parents, your cousins, even your uncle who pretends not to care about football but somehow knows exactly how many goals she scored this season.

In the evenings, it’s just you and your girlfriend again. You curl up under your childhood blanket, your phone pressed to your ear, and tell each other what you’ve been doing the last few hours.

Her voice always makes your heart calm down.

She tells you about what her mom cooked, and how Alba forced her into watching Love Actually again. You tell her about your grandma’s bad jokes and how you can’t stop thinking about her whenever someone says the word “Barcelona.”

And then, just like that, it’s New Year’s Eve.

You and Mapi are driving back to Barcelona, music blasting, the car packed with presents and leftovers. You're both excited—there's something special about ringing in the new year with your people. Your girlfriend. Your friends. Your life.

The apartment is buzzing with laughter when you arrive. People are everywhere—Alexia in the kitchen with Alba, pouring cava into mismatched glasses. She turns the second you step through the door.

Your heart jumps when you see her. She looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“You’re back,” she says, crossing over to pull you into a kiss.

“I told you I’d come back,” you smile against her lips.

The night is full of music, dancing, drinks, and joy. Midnight comes too fast. Everyone’s counting down around you, glasses raised, eyes bright.

“Cinco!”

“Cuatro!”

“Tres!”

You’re already turning to her, arms around her neck.

“Dos!”

“Uno!”

And then her lips are on yours, and nothing else matters.

The best start to a new year in a long time.

---

Time with Alexia moves differently now. Faster, somehow, but fuller too.

The new year kicks off with both of you buried in responsibilities. She heads off to training camp with Barca. You dive into a new project at work that keeps you glued to your laptop late into the evenings. Life is moving fast—but it’s moving in the right direction.

She still finds ways to make you feel like you’re her priority. You come home to flowers more often than not—sometimes roses, sometimes wild little bouquets she picked up “just because.” Sometimes there’s a note tucked between the petals, scribbled in her handwriting:

“You’re the calm in my chaos.”

You go on double dates with Mapi and Ingrid. You visit Eli and Alba often, sharing Sunday coffees and warm croissants. The first time they came over after Alexia made it official with you, Eli pulled you into the tightest hug and whispered, “Ya era hora. Bienvenida a la familia.”

Everything is falling into place.

At the end of January, it’s your birthday.

Because Alexia’s birthday is less than a week later, the two of you decide to celebrate together—nothing extravagant, just a cozy dinner with your closest friends. Laughter bubbles through the night, champagne glasses clink, and Alexia keeps looking at you like she’s the luckiest person in the room.

Maybe she is.

But you feel the same way.

Alexia is the best girlfriend you could ever ask for. Supportive, steady, full of quiet passion. She kisses you when you’re stressed, holds you when you're tired, reminds you with every little thing she does that you’re loved, deeply.

Life isn’t just good.

It’s perfect.

[coffeeaddictbluebird]

Divorce Lawyer - Carlos Sainz

Summary: Carlos gets the shock of his life when he finds out his wife has been talking to a divorce lawyer.

WC: 1.1K

Warnings: Slightly

Suggestive Genre: Angst + Fluff

Carlos loved his wife, and he knew his wife loved him. 3 years of dating and after a lot of ups and downs, they were finally married. Even that was 2 years ago now. Maybe that was why he never thought he would have to face a day like this. A day where he thought his beloved wife was going to serve him with divorce papers. Yes they were going through a rough phase. But that’s what he thought it was. A phase which would end sooner rather than later. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to believe it. He never thought they would come out of the other end of this fight with anything other than a nice getaway trip and lots of makeup sex. But those phone calls changed it all.

Carlos was not a man who would ever go through his wife’s phone. They had each other’s bank account and passwords. There was never any need for snooping. But today — today Carlos was not that man. The urge to go through his wife’s phone was strong. So he did the next best thing he could. He walked out of his house, texted his wife who was showering that he won’t be back tonight, and drove to Lando’s place.

Lando, rather reluctantly sometimes, was the middleman in their relationship. But never had he thought he would have to call Carlos’s wife in the middle of the night and ask her if she was planning to divorce his friend. Because if she was, it would be a very stupid thing to do. Everyone around them saw how they were just made for each other. All you needed to do was look at an interaction between them to know how in love they were. Regardless of whether they were fighting, or not.

Lando had also never seen Carlos cry. He didn’t know he was even capable of that. That in itself conveyed how serious his drunk friend was. So the only best thing to do for Lando right now, was to take that glass out of his friend’s hand and drag his drunk ass back to his own place, in his own bed. His wife tried to apologise to him, but all he did was shake his head. He just told her to have a good night and set her husband straight in the morning.

The next morning, Carlos surprised to wake up in his own bed. He is even more surprised when he walks into the kitchen and sees his favorite breakfast laid out on the table. Did he go back in time somehow? She hadn’t cooked breakfast for two weeks. Honestly, after the divorce thing, he didn’t know what to say. So he just took a plate, served himself and said thank you as he sat down to eat. He didn’t know whether he was going to be able eat or keep it down if he did. His wife was on the verge of divorcing him, and here he was, having his favourite breakfast. Maybe this was how she was planning to tell him. Slowly segue from breakfast to the most dreaded conversation of his life. How would that even work? How do breakfast and divorce go hand in hand?

”I’m not going to divorce you.” Is the first thing she says.

”What?” Carlos almost chokes on his food.

”I don’t know why you think I am going to divorce you, but that’s not going to happen.” She sits in front of him with her plate.

”But-“

“Let me finish.” She stops him. “I know we have been fighting a lot and we haven’t been on proper talking terms these past two weeks, but I would never do that to you, honey.” When did she last call him that? He abandons his breakfast to stand in front of her.

”But what about that divorce lawyer that’s been calling you?” The expression on her face is almost comical, and he would have laughed if this was not the situation right now.

”How do you even know about that?”

”So it’s true. You have been talking to a lawyer.” He slumps back against the counter.

”That’s not the answer to my question, Carlos.” It stings to hear his name again.

”You were in the bathroom yesterday, and your phone kept ringing. It rang twice, so I was just going to pick it up and say you would call back, when I saw the caller ID” He turned to look at her, only to find her trying not to laugh. “Is- is this a joke to you?”

She stood in front of him. ”Oh, honey. That’s not- that guy is a new client of ours. He was interested in making a contract with the Company and that’s why he has been calling me. I just saved his name like that because I accidentally gave him my personal number.” She held his face in her hands. When was the last time she held him? Was this close to him?

”So- so you are not going to-” She shook her head. “Carino, you have no idea how happy that makes me.” He smiles as pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. Just breathing in her scent feels so good.

”Baby, are you crying?” She tries to pull back. He shakes his head, tightening his arms around her.

”I can’t even imagine the thought of not being with you anymore, baby. Not even if we fight like cats and dogs. I love you too much for that. I would die without you.” She lightly scratches at his back, knowing how much he loves it.

”Don’t say that. I love you too. It broke me to even think about you not being there anymore. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.” He pulls away just enough to look at her face.

”And you never will. This is forever, okay? You are never getting rid of me. Ever.”

”The day I say that, I want you to shoot me with the gun in my foot locker.”

It earns him the loudest laugh he has heard from her in a while. Oh how he loves that sound. “You don’t even own a gun, Mr. Sainz.

He laughs and picks. her up, wrapping her legs around him. “Now what do you say we forget about this fight, Cariño. I think I have a way to make it all up to you.”

”I think you are forgetting the fact that we are not on talking terms yet, Mr. Sainz.” She smirks as she leaves a hickey on his neck. His PR team are going to have a field day if he goes out like that.

”Oh trust me Mi Amor, there’s no talking required for what we are about to do.” She chuckles as she wipes the rest of the tears from his eyes. It’s going to be a long day today, and not even the devil himself would be able to stop Carlos from worshipping his wife.

[ancelineonline]

Look I’m An Old. I’ve been voraciously devouring books for a good 30 years. The « oh my god literature is dying!!! Look at all the trash these dumb woman are reading » has been a widespread social panic at least three times I can remember. It’s definitely been more than that, those are just the times I remember it clearly. Like. Chill. Literature is not dying. People just like to read fun trashy books sometimes. And also, just because it’s romance doesn’t necessarily mean it’s trashy.

This has also been a widespread social concern *since the invention of the novel.* It was a great concern in the 1700s and early 1800s when printers started printing serialized novels and pamphlets. Authors like Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters whose books we now rightfully consider classics were part of the « oh god look at all these women reading trashy novels » panic of their day. And the novel is much, much older than them. Also, people used to be horrified about the other trashy entertainments of the masses at various points in history and two of the biggest examples of the « trashy society ending entertainments » that some people were horrified by are Shakespeare’s plays, and Mozart’s operas. And like Austen and the Brontë sisters, both of those are pretty roundly considered High Classical Literature/Music today.

It’s not new, and it’s not a big deal. Society just doesn’t like it when people like things and have free time to enjoy things. I don’t think A Court of Thorns and Roses is going to be the next Wuthering Heights and Fourth Wing probably isn’t going to be the next Pride and Prejudice. But they also aren’t the downfall of literature. They’re just books women are enjoying reading. That’s fine, people can enjoy things.

Personally, I don’t have that much interest in the dynamic that comes from women who are into Kylo Ren writing romance novels. OP is right. Harrison Ford is right there. Ewan MacGregor and Liam Neeson are right there. John Boyega and Oscar Isaac are *right fucking there!!*

But that’s my personal preference and ultimately there’s nothing wrong with someone having a different preference. (Although it’s not a bad idea to take a minute to think and reflect on why the whiny villainous white man is more appealing to you than the infinitely more heroic men of colour, but that’s a post for another time.) People are also allowed to have preferences that don’t align with mine or yours. It’s fine. It’s not the death of literature OR society.

it’s so funny when people online act like women reading trashy romance novels is like. a new phenomenon and a sign of the downfall of society bc this has never been a thing before. this has been an extremely popular genre of book for ages. the only difference now is that they’re written by women who wanted to fuck kylo ren. which i guess is annoying. out of every man in star wars like be so serious. they had harrison ford in those movies

[pappigyu]

A Love Rekindled

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Romance

Summary:You married Mingyu with dreams of a beautiful life, but marriage to him turned cold, distant, and lonely. When he forgets your first anniversary, it becomes the last straw. You ask for a break, but Mingyu doesn’t stop you. Only with your absence does he realize how empty his world is without you — and how much he truly loves you.

(a/n - I am back ig?)

Chapters:

Chapter 1: Forgotten Promises

Chapter 2: The Break

Chapter 3: Loneliness

Chapter 4: Realization

Chapter 5: Desperate Measures

Chapter 6: A Second Chance

Chapter 7: Home Again

Chapter 8: A Love Rekindled

Chapter 1: Forgotten Promises

The clock struck midnight.

You stared at the door, your heart heavy with an emotion you couldn’t name anymore — hope, maybe. It was your first wedding anniversary. The first year you survived loving a man who had slowly become a stranger.

Mingyu wasn’t cruel. No, he was just... indifferent. Always busy, always tired. You used to believe that love would be enough to weather it all. But love, it turned out, needed tending too. And Mingyu had long since stopped watering the roots you planted together.

You lit the candle on the small cake you bought yourself. One slice. You didn’t bother making dinner this time. The first few months, you used to prepare grand meals, set the table, and wait for him. Only to eat alone, feeling more ridiculous each time.

The candle flickered as you closed your eyes and made a wish. "Please remember me."

The sound of keys jingling startled you. The door opened, and there he was — your husband — with his hair messy and his tie loosened, exhaustion etched across his handsome face.

You stood up, trying to compose yourself. "Hi," you said softly.

Mingyu barely glanced at you. "Hey," he mumbled, tossing his bag on the couch. He didn't even notice the candle, or the cake, or the nervous excitement you couldn't completely hide.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited for him to say something — anything.

But he only trudged into the bedroom, calling over his shoulder, "I'm gonna shower."

The flame on the candle sputtered and went out.

Later that night, you lay next to him in bed, both of you facing opposite directions. You whispered, so quietly you weren’t sure if you even said it aloud:

"Happy anniversary, Mingyu."

There was no response.

And something inside you broke.

Chapter 2: The Break

The next morning, the sun streamed weakly through the curtains. You sat at the kitchen table, your hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm coffee you didn’t have the appetite to drink.

Mingyu emerged from the bedroom, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, already halfway out the door in his mind. His hair was still damp from the shower. He barely glanced at you.

Something about it felt final this time. Something about it hurt more than usual.

He grabbed his keys from the counter.

"I’m going to the office. Big meeting today," he said, voice clipped and distracted, like you were a co-worker he barely knew.

You stared at him, feeling the words press against your ribcage, demanding to be set free.

"Say something." "Tell him." "Fight for this."

Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it.

"Mingyu," you said, your voice trembling more than you wanted it to. "I think we need a break."

He froze, keys jangling in his hand.

Slowly, he turned to you. His eyebrows pulled together slightly — confusion, maybe irritation — but not heartbreak. Not devastation. Not the reaction you were secretly begging for.

"A break?" he repeated blankly.

You nodded, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as your chest cracked open. "This isn’t working anymore. We’re not… we’re not happy. At least, I’m not. I can't keep doing this, feeling like I’m invisible."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I’m just busy, ___," he said, almost defensively. "Work’s been insane. You know that."

"I know," you whispered. "I know you’re busy. But... I’m still here. And you don’t see me anymore."

The silence between you stretched and stretched, tight and fragile like glass about to shatter.

Mingyu looked at you then — really looked — and for one breathless moment, you thought he might say something. Apologize. Ask you to stay. Promise to try.

But he only looked away. "If that’s what you want," he said quietly.

You felt the finality of it land like a blade between your ribs.

"I’ll pack a bag," you said, your voice hollow.

You didn’t wait for him to answer. You couldn’t bear to see his face anymore — couldn’t bear to see how easily he let you go.

You left that afternoon with a small suitcase and a heart so heavy it dragged behind you like an invisible chain.

Mingyu didn’t stop you. He didn’t even come to the door.

As you pulled away in the taxi, you allowed yourself one last glance at the home you built together — the home that had become a prison of silent dinners and cold beds.

You wiped your tears away before they could fall.

You had made the right choice.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

Chapter 3: Loneliness

The first night away was the hardest.

You stayed at a small rented apartment on the other side of town — a place that didn’t smell like him, didn’t echo with the memories of what used to be. It was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat on the edge of a strange bed in a strange room, suitcase barely unpacked, staring at the wall as the city buzzed outside your window.

The loneliness gnawed at you immediately, sharp and cruel. You thought you'd feel lighter — freer — stepping away from a marriage that had hollowed you out. But all you felt was the echo of everything you lost.

You wondered if Mingyu was home yet. If he noticed how silent the house had become without you. If he cared.

You curled up under the unfamiliar sheets, burying your face into the pillow to muffle the sound of your own breaking heart.

Meanwhile, across town, Mingyu sat on the couch in the dark, still dressed in his work clothes, the house unbearably still around him.

At first, he thought he’d feel… relieved. Less tension. Less arguments. Less guilt.

Instead, he kept glancing at the door, half-expecting to see you walk through it with that tired little smile you always wore after a long day — the one you used to save just for him.

The clock ticked loudly in the empty room.

The cake — the stupid little cake you had bought for your anniversary — still sat forgotten on the kitchen counter.

Mingyu leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.

He hadn't even said goodbye.

And now you were gone.

The next few days passed in a strange, dreamlike haze.

You tried to build a new routine. New coffee shop, new grocery store, new walking paths. But everything reminded you of what you left behind.

The mornings were the worst. You used to wake up to Mingyu’s quiet breathing beside you, the warmth of him tucked into your side even in sleep.

Now, the bed was cold. The silence pressed against you like a second skin.

You missed him. God, you missed him.

But you also missed yourself — the version of you that used to laugh easily, that used to believe love could fix anything. That version felt so far away now, like a childhood friend you couldn’t remember how to find.

Mingyu didn’t call.

Not once.

You told yourself you weren’t surprised. You told yourself you didn’t expect anything different.

But it didn’t stop the ache every time your phone lit up with a notification that wasn’t him.

It didn’t stop you from waking up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, reaching for a hand that wasn’t there.

One night, after too many sleepless hours, you finally allowed yourself to cry. Really cry. For the love you gave so freely. For the pieces of yourself you left behind in that house. For the boy you married, and the man he became.

And somewhere across the city, Mingyu sat alone on your shared bed — his head bowed, your side of the mattress untouched — feeling a hollow kind of misery he didn’t have a name for yet.

He thought of your voice when you said, "I can't keep doing this."

He thought of the way your eyes had shattered when he said nothing to stop you.

For the first time in a long time, Mingyu wondered if maybe — just maybe — he hadn’t been as good a husband as he told himself he was.

And for the first time, he was afraid.

Truly, deeply afraid.

Because what if you didn't come back

Chapter 4: Realization

It started with the coffee mug.

The first Saturday morning without you, Mingyu stumbled half-asleep into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. It was yours — the chipped one with the little cartoon heart on the side.

You used to drink from it every morning, sitting at the counter, legs swinging off the stool, hair messy from sleep. You used to hum under your breath sometimes, songs you didn’t even realize you were singing.

The house was silent now.

He stared at the mug in his hand for a long moment before setting it down — carefully, almost reverently — like it might break if he wasn’t gentle.

Like he had already broken enough.

The next thing he noticed was the scent.

Your perfume was fading.

It clung weakly to your side of the closet, to the scarves you left behind, to the pillow you slept on. He buried his face into the fabric once, shame burning in his chest, desperate to catch a trace of you.

But it was already disappearing.

Just like you.

The realization crept in slowly, relentlessly.

You were gone. And this time, it wasn’t just a bad argument. It wasn’t something a few sorry flowers and half-hearted apologies could fix.

You had left.

Not because you stopped loving him. But because he made you feel like you didn’t matter.

And God, Mingyu hated himself for it.

He hated the way he took you for granted. The way he assumed you would always be there — waiting, forgiving, staying.

He remembered the way your voice had cracked when you said, "I can't keep doing this."

And how he had let you walk away anyway. Because he was too proud. Too stupid. Too convinced he still had time.

At night, the bed felt bigger. Colder.

He reached out once in the dark, half-asleep, instinctively seeking the familiar warmth of you — only to find empty sheets.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of every missed moment press down on him.

The anniversaries he forgot. The dinners he skipped. The smiles he didn’t notice fading.

He thought he was working hard for your future — late nights, early mornings, endless meetings — but somewhere along the way, he stopped coming home to you.

He worked so hard building a life for you that he forgot to live it with you.

One evening, a week after you left, he opened the fridge out of habit.

There was nothing inside except a half-empty bottle of wine, a few condiments, and a single slice of dry cake on a plate — the anniversary cake you bought for yourself.

Mingyu stared at it, a lump rising in his throat so violently he had to grip the counter to steady himself.

You had waited for him.

And he didn’t even see you.

That night, sitting alone on the kitchen floor, Mingyu finally let it hit him — the full, crushing weight of what he lost.

He didn’t need a bigger paycheck. He didn’t need another promotion. He didn’t need late nights at the office or business trips or empty congratulations from strangers.

He needed you.

The girl who loved him when he had nothing. The girl who stayed even when he made it hard. The girl who had whispered "Happy anniversary, Mingyu," into the darkness, and gotten silence in return.

His heart twisted painfully.

He missed you so much he could barely breathe.

And for the first time since you left, Mingyu wasn’t just lonely.

He was terrified.

Because he was starting to realize — if he didn’t do something soon — if he didn’t fight for you — he was going to lose you forever.

Chapter 5: Desperate Measures

It started with the phone calls.

Late at night, when the guilt and the loneliness wrapped around him like a noose, Mingyu would unlock his phone and stare at your contact photo.

His thumb hovered over the call button so many times. Once, he even pressed it.

But the call rang twice, and he panicked — hung up before you could answer, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to break free.

Coward.

He hated himself for it. But fear rooted him in place — fear that you would answer with a voice full of ice instead of love. Fear that you wouldn't answer at all.

The next time he saw you, it wasn’t planned.

You were walking out of a grocery store, balancing a bag of vegetables in your arms, looking so tired, so heartbreakingly small without the usual spark in your eyes.

Mingyu had been across the street, frozen in place, too stunned to move.

God, you looked different. Not drastically — but he could tell. He could feel it.

You were carrying the weight of missing him, just like he was carrying the weight of missing you — but somehow, you stood straighter. Firmer.

Stronger without him.

Mingyu’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

He wanted to run to you. Beg. Plead. Tell you how sorry he was, how stupid he was, how much he needed you.

But what right did he have?

He watched you get into a cab and drive away, disappearing into the city lights — like a ghost he couldn't catch.

And for the first time in his life, Kim Mingyu realized:

Love isn’t something you can take for granted. Love is something you fight for.

The next morning, he sat in front of a blank piece of paper for over an hour, trying to write you a letter.

How could he even begin?

I’m sorry felt too small. I miss you felt selfish. I love you felt like a broken promise.

In the end, he wrote only two sentences:

"I didn’t see you. I see you now."

And then he crumpled the paper up and threw it away — because words weren't enough anymore.

You deserved actions.

You deserved everything.

Mingyu took a week off work.

No meetings. No excuses. Nothing was more important now than you.

He went to every coffee shop you liked. Walked every street you used to love. Hoping — praying — to catch a glimpse of you.

Sometimes he thought he saw you — a flash of hair, a familiar jacket — and his heart would leap into his throat. But it was never you.

Still, he kept looking. Because what else could he do?

He had wasted so much time pretending you would always be there.

Now, he would waste every second he had left earning you back.

One evening, exhausted and desperate, Mingyu found himself standing outside your apartment building. (He knew he shouldn’t know where you were. He knew he had no right.)

He stood across the street, hands shoved deep into his pockets, heart in his throat.

A hundred different scenarios played in his head: You opening the door and slamming it in his face. You telling him it was too late. You looking at him like a stranger.

He deserved all of it.

Still — he stayed.

Under the heavy sky, in the biting wind, with nothing but his regret to keep him warm, Mingyu waited.

Because you were worth waiting for.

Even if you never opened that door.

Even if you never forgave him.

He would wait.

He would never stop waiting.

Because he finally understood something he should have known all along:

You weren’t just someone he loved. You were someone he couldn’t live without.

Chapter 6: A Second Chance

It was raining the night Mingyu finally found the courage to cross the street.

He stood outside your apartment building, soaked to the bone, heart hammering so loudly he was sure the whole world could hear it.

For a long time, he just stared at the door. Your door. The barrier between him and the life he wanted back.

He almost turned away — twice. Almost convinced himself that you were better off without him.

But then he remembered the way you used to look at him — like he was your whole world — and he realized he couldn’t live knowing he never even tried to fix it.

So with a breath that rattled through his entire chest, Mingyu stepped forward and knocked.

Softly at first. Then again, harder. Desperate.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You almost didn’t answer.

But something — instinct, maybe — pulled you toward the door.

When you opened it, the breath caught painfully in your throat.

There he was. Mingyu.

Drenched from head to toe, raindrops clinging to his hair, his shirt plastered to his skin. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out. A shadow of the man you once loved — and yet somehow more real than ever.

His eyes — those beautiful, familiar eyes — locked onto yours, full of something raw and broken.

Neither of you spoke at first. The rain filled the silence between you.

Finally, you found your voice, shaky and barely above a whisper.

“…What are you doing here?”

Mingyu swallowed hard.

“I had to see you,” he said hoarsely. “I had to — I couldn’t —” He broke off, dragging a hand through his wet hair. His voice cracked. “Please. Please just… listen.”

You should have slammed the door. You wanted to slam the door.

But your heart betrayed you. It always did, when it came to him.

You stepped aside without a word.

Mingyu hesitated — just for a second — before stepping inside, dripping water onto the floor.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold.

Mingyu stood there, shifting his weight like he didn’t know where to start. His hands trembled at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter. I’m sorry I forgot all the little things that meant everything to you.”

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time — really seeing you.

“I thought…” His throat worked around the words. “I thought you would always be there. I thought… loving you in my heart would be enough even if I didn’t show it.”

A broken laugh escaped him — bitter and full of self-loathing.

“But love isn’t enough if you don’t show up, right? If you don’t fight for it?”

You said nothing. You couldn’t. Your heart was beating so violently it drowned out everything else.

Mingyu took a step closer.

“You have every right to hate me,” he said, voice shaking. “I deserve it. I deserve you never forgiving me.”

Another step.

“But please… if there’s even a small part of you that still…” He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands curling into fists like he was physically holding himself together.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I’ll be better. I’ll love you louder. I’ll choose you — every morning, every night, every moment in between. If you’ll let me.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with all the things that could never be unsaid.

You stared at him — this man you had loved so deeply, who had hurt you so badly — and you felt the walls you built around your heart tremble.

You saw the desperation in his eyes. The regret etched into every line of his body. The boy you married, stripped raw of all his armor, standing in front of you with nothing but his heart in his hands.

And you realized something terrifying:

You still loved him.

You still loved him.

Even after all the pain. Even after all the lonely nights. Your heart still beat for him.

But love — real love — needed more than just feelings. It needed trust. It needed work.

And you weren’t sure if you were ready to fall back into him just yet.

Your voice came out small, trembling.

“I’m not sure I can just forget everything.”

Mingyu’s face crumpled.

“I’m not asking you to,” he whispered, stepping closer until he was barely a breath away. His hand hovered in the air between you, not daring to touch.

“I’m asking you to let me try.”

The rain pounded against the windows like a heartbeat.

You looked at him — really looked at him — and saw not the man who broke you, but the man who was willing to spend a lifetime stitching the pieces back together.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out — and let your fingers brush against his.

Mingyu sucked in a ragged breath like he had been drowning and you had just pulled him above water.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet.

But it was a beginning.

And sometimes, that was enough.

Perfect — I'll keep it bittersweet: full of those tender, painful moments where love tries to bloom again but fear and scars still linger.

Here’s Chapter 7: Home Again:

Chapter 7: Home Again

The first time Mingyu came back to his apartment — truly came back — it didn’t feel like coming home. It felt like walking into a museum of someone else's life.

The walls were still the same. The pictures still hung. Your scent still lingered faintly in the air, subtle and achingly familiar.

But the space between you was wide, like a bridge half-burned down.

Mingyu didn’t touch you. He didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even hold your hand unless you offered it first.

He was careful — like you were made of glass — and maybe you were. Maybe the love between you was as fragile now as a bird’s wing, too easy to break with a single wrong move.

Mornings were the hardest.

You used to wake up tangled together, limbs thrown over each other, the world outside forgotten.

Now, when you opened your eyes, Mingyu was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor like he didn’t know if he belonged there.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you — like he still couldn’t believe you had let him stay.

Sometimes, you caught yourself wishing he would pull you into his arms the way he used to. Before everything got so hard. Before you had to wonder if love was enough.

But neither of you moved first.

The space stayed.

Mingyu did small things. Things he never used to think mattered.

He remembered how you took your coffee — two sugars, no milk. He fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom without you asking. He folded your laundry carefully, placing your favorite sweaters at the top of the pile because he knew you hated digging for them.

One night, he cooked dinner — a disaster of burnt rice and over-salted chicken — and you laughed for the first time in months.

The sound startled both of you. Mingyu froze, staring at you with something like wonder — like hearing your laugh again was a miracle he didn’t deserve.

You saw the tears gather in his eyes before he blinked them away.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Your laughter hung in the air between you, fragile and beautiful and terrifying.

A ghost of the life you used to have.

The first time he touched you — really touched you — it was accidental.

You were reaching for a cup in the cabinet. He reached too.

Your fingers brushed.

You froze.

So did he.

For one heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, so slowly it made your chest ache, Mingyu turned his hand over and laced your fingers together.

His grip was trembling. Terrified.

He wasn’t pulling you closer. He was asking.

Asking if he could still have this — even after everything.

You didn’t pull away.

Your fingers stayed tangled with his, awkward and clumsy and perfect.

You didn’t look at him — you couldn’t. But you squeezed his hand, just once.

Permission.

And Mingyu — God, Mingyu looked like he could cry from just that tiny thing.

Some nights, you cried when he couldn’t see. Some nights, he cried when he thought you were asleep.

Both of you were learning how to love again. Both of you were scared.

But underneath all of it — the fear, the brokenness, the hesitation — something stubborn and wild and hopeful grew.

You were finding your way back to each other.

Not all at once.

Not perfectly.

But step by step. Moment by moment.

Love, it turned out, wasn’t the fireworks and grand gestures. It was the soft rebuilding. The whispered apologies. The hand reaching out in the dark, hoping it would be taken.

It was two broken hearts choosing — every day — to try again.

And maybe… Maybe that was even more beautiful than never breaking at all.

I'm so glad you want to keep going — I'm diving right in. This last chapter will be warm, emotional, a little teary, but full of healing and real love. Here’s Chapter 8: A Love Rekindled:

Chapter 8: A Love Rekindled

It didn’t happen all at once.

There wasn’t a single day where everything suddenly clicked, where all the hurt was erased and only happiness remained.

But day by day, the cracks filled in.

You smiled more easily. Mingyu laughed again — real laughter, not the hollow kind. The walls between you grew thinner until you barely noticed they were there at all.

He still made mistakes sometimes — forgetting small things, getting lost in work — but he always caught himself now.

And you — you weren’t afraid to speak up anymore.

You were building something new. Stronger. Braver.

Together.

It was a Sunday morning when it happened.

The sun streamed through the windows, warm and golden, catching on the dust motes in the air. You were curled up on the couch, reading a book, when you realized how quiet it was.

No tension. No unspoken words. Just peace.

You heard footsteps behind you, the soft creak of the floorboards you knew by heart.

When you looked up, Mingyu was standing there — holding a ring.

Not the old one. A new one.

Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.

Like the life he wanted with you.

Your heart stopped.

Mingyu sank down onto one knee in front of you, his hand trembling just a little.

His voice — when it came — was rough with emotion.

“I don’t deserve another chance,” he said. “I know that.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head, needing to finish.

“But if you’ll have me — if you’ll let me — I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can love you the way you deserve. Every day. Every hour. Every breath.”

He swallowed, looking up at you with all the vulnerability he used to be so afraid to show.

“I don’t want just a second chance, ___. I want forever. With you. Only you.”

Tears blurred your vision. You set the book down with shaking hands.

Mingyu held out the ring, his hand steady now, sure.

“Will you marry me, again?” he whispered.

Not because he needed you to fix him. Not because he couldn’t live without you.

But because he loved you — enough to fight for it. Enough to choose you — every damn day.

Your heart broke open in the best possible way.

You dropped to your knees too, laughing through your tears, and threw your arms around him.

“Yes,” you choked out. “Yes, Mingyu. Yes.”

He held you so tightly it almost hurt, and maybe it was supposed to — because loving someone completely always came with a little bit of pain.

But it was the good kind. The kind that said you were alive. The kind that said you had survived.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to slide the ring onto your finger, his hands clumsy with nerves.

You both stared at it — simple, perfect — and then at each other.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t the desperate, grasping kiss of two broken people clinging to the past.

It was slow. Deep. Steady.

It was a beginning.

Later, you would sit together on the couch — your head on his chest, his arms around you — and watch the sun set in golden streaks across the sky.

You would talk about everything and nothing. You would laugh. You would dream.

And when the stars came out, Mingyu would whisper against your hair:

“I love you. Thank you for choosing me again.”

And you would whisper back:

“Thank you for giving me a reason to.”

Because love wasn’t just surviving the storm.

It was learning how to dance in the rain.

Together.

[icaruspendragon]

lemme tell ya fellas, having a mental illness that is heavily stigmatized and dangerously misrepresented in media sure is hard sometimes.

random strangers on the internet will be like, “i’m so ocd! i just can’t stand it when things get messy!”

so cool! but i think the word you’re looking for is actually “organized.”

because then i’ll get on the internet and be like, “i’ve had ocd episodes do bad i considered seeking inpatient treatment.”

and then a random stranger online will say, “if you say you have ocd, then why is your space so cluttered and disorganized?”

and to the random stranger i say, “the clutter exists because my object permanence skills are ass. and besides, there are lots of different types of ocd, the kind you see on tv isn’t the only kind.”

and then i will be asked, “how do you have ocd, then?”

to which i reply, “it’s an anxiety disorder that makes me have lots of awful and disturbing and upsetting intrusive thoughts, mainly centering around death and dying (amongst other things). like i had an episode in the past two years or so that stopped me from being able to drive anywhere.

i couldn’t drive bc i was convinced i was going to be involved in a car accident and be completely fine whereas the other driver would be terribly injured and i wouldn’t be able to help them and instead i’d just have to stand there on the side of the road watching them bleed out in a ditch.

because for me. that’s the obsessive part of the disorder. my brain conjures an upsetting intrusive thought that i very much don’t want to think about, which means all i can do is think about it. and i know i can’t make something happen by thinking about it too much, but also i can girl boss #manifest a fatal accident.

there was episode where i didn’t leave my house for weeks because i was convinced my presence in the general public would cause a mass casualty event and i’d be helpless while being forced to watch people die and it’d be all my fault because i thought it into existence.

so yeah my desk may be messy, but to be fair, i am constantly plagued by thoughts of death and try to cope with it by coming up with every single contingency plan and then some. that way i can be prepared to help the victim of the accident i’ve caused by existing.

another quirky fun non-cleaning my bathroom symptom of my disorder is picking at the skin on my head to the point it’s covered in sores and bald spots. bc body focused repetitive behavior self grooming habits are the self soothing technique my brain picked. so i don’t even notice i’m doing until someone smacks my hand away from my head or i need to use my right hand for something and see my fingers have blood on them.

the bfrb is a manifestation of anxiety, not self harm. but i am so self conscious and embarrassed by it that i stopped getting my hair done for like a year because i didn’t want anyone to see the 15 plus sores i have on my head at any given time.

so yeah. a dirty countertop “bothering your ocd” must be incredibly difficult for you to manage. i’ll be sure to ask you for advice the next time i go across an intersection with my eyes glued to my speedometer because if i don’t look at the road i can’t make a car appear out of nowhere to t-bone me, subsequently forcing me to watch someone die.”

[gojover]

get him back! | mydeimos.

summary ⇢ years after your messy breakup that broke up the band, you and mydei are forced back together for a reunion tour—and the public can’t get enough of your chemistry. on stage, you’re electric, but backstage it’s all snide comments, heated arguments, and mydei slipping in petty lyric changes just to piss you off. you’re not sure what’s worse: how much you still hate him or how much you don’t.

pairing ⇢ lead guitarist!mydei x lead singer!fem!reader contains ⇢ romance, angst, smut (oral sex, hate sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, wall sex, overstimulation, slight dirty talk), exes to lovers!au, modern!au, band!au, profanity, alcohol consumption, smoking—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! word count ⇢ 16.7k note ⇢ inspired by the honkai star rail official mydei art, olivia rodrigo’s get him back! & daisy jones and the six by taylor jenkins reid. reposted from @/dxnheng. read on ao3 here.

i). wait, is this the song with the drums?

Your first instinct, when Anaxa drops the news about the reunion tour, is to shake your head and vehemently say no.

“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up a hand like that might somehow physically block the idea from reaching you. Anaxa simply raises an eyebrow and adjusts his glasses.

“It’s not a request,” he replies, flipping through the stack of papers he brought with him. “It’s happening whether you’re on board or not. Your contract’s airtight.” 

“That’s impossible,” you scoff, folding your arms defensively. “I specifically remember agreeing to no future projects involving him.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re in a band that makes millions, the label doesn’t exactly care about your personal vendettas. Fans have been begging for this for years. You know how much money this is going to make?”

“I can’t do this, Anaxa. You know what he’s like. He’s gonna make this a living hell for me.”

Your manager’s eyes soften just enough to make you look away. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But it’s just a tour. A few months, and then you never have to see his face again if you don’t want to.”

You hesitate, teeth worrying your bottom lip. Anxiety coils inside your stomach like a live wire. You’d thought you’d buried that part of your life—left it to rot somewhere in the wreckage of what used to be your band and your relationship. Mydei’s name still leaves a bitter aftertaste whenever it slips out of someone’s mouth.

But the label wants it. The fans want it. 

“So, what—you just expect me to pretend we didn’t break up in front of the entire world?” you snap, though there’s less fire behind it this time.

Anaxa shrugs and sets the contract on your coffee table. “Pretend, don’t pretend. Hell, make it part of the show for all I care. As long as you’re both on that stage together, the crowd’s going to eat it up.”

You hate how practical he sounds. How it almost makes sense. You glance at the contract, at the neat, tidy letters spelling out your own name and Mydei’s right next to each other, and feel something bitter curl up in your chest.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you mutter.

Anaxa pats your shoulder as he heads for the door. “Try not to do it on stage. Though that might actually sell more tickets.”

You flip him off without looking, and Anaxa just laughs on his way out. The contract sits there on the coffee table, and no matter what you do, you can’t seem to look away. Your eyes blur over the words, and all you can think about is him.

Mydei.

You’ve spent months forcing yourself not to say his name out loud, not to think about his legs tangled with yours in bed or the rasp of his voice in your ear when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself before a show. You don’t let yourself think about the songs you wrote together. You definitely don’t think about the way it all fell apart. It was easier when you could pretend that part of your life was over—when you didn’t have to picture his face or hear his voice in your head, mocking you with every love song you swore you’d never sing again.

With a resigned sigh, you grab the pen Anaxa had placed next to the contract papers and flip to the last page. Your signature comes out a little shaky, but it’s done. You let the pen drop onto the table and lean back against the cushions. 

The rehearsal studio feels too small. It’s ironic, really—after spending years crammed into dingy vans and shitty motel rooms together, you’d think it wouldn’t bother you. You’re the first person there (Anaxa had threatened to personally drag you out of your apartment if you didn’t show up on time), and because you don’t know what else to do, you set about adjusting your mic stand.

It’s stupid. You know it’s already set to your height, but it gives your hands something to do. The room is way too quiet, the walls lined with soundproofing and a few faded posters from when your band—the Chrysos Heirs—was at its peak. There’s a familiar, musty smell—stale air and old fabric—and it makes your chest ache just a little.

Without really thinking about it, you start humming one of the old songs—one that never made it to an album, just something you and Mydei had messed around with one night in the back of a bus. The melody flows out of you like muscle memory, soft and a little shaky at first, but gaining strength as you let the lyrics slip past your lips.

“Kiss me once and call me baby, Lie to me and say I’m crazy— Can’t believe I let you take me—”

The door swings open mid-verse, and you stop singing so fast it almost gives you whiplash.

Mydei steps inside, and for a second, you can’t move. It’s like being punched in the gut—seeing him again after all this time. He looks almost the same, and that’s what pisses you off the most. The same messy hair, the same worn leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, that same stupid, self-assured expression. The only real difference is the hint of stubble lining his jaw, like he didn’t bother shaving before showing up. Typical.

He stops just inside the door, guitar case slung over his shoulder, and his eyes lock onto yours. His expression doesn’t give away much—just a calm, uninterested look, like he couldn’t give a shit about being here. Your stomach twists, anger simmering just under your skin. You’d spent months convincing yourself that you’d moved on, that he didn’t matter anymore, but seeing him here, right in front of you, makes all that effort feel pointless. You hate that he still looks good. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drags his gaze over you like he’s sizing you up. You force yourself not to react, keeping your expression as neutral as possible, even though your hands are shaking where they grip the mic stand. You can’t let him know how much this is messing with you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Mydei glances at the mic stand, then back at you, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or just plain indifference. You don’t know which is worse. You half expect him to make some smartass comment about your singing earlier, but he doesn’t say a word. Just sets his guitar case down on one of the couches and starts unzipping it, still not acknowledging you.

The way he’s ignoring you grates on your nerves. You’re tempted to snap at him just to get some kind of reaction. But you know how that game goes—how he’s always been good at pushing your buttons and making you the one who loses their cool first. You’re not giving him the satisfaction today.

You busy yourself with the mic stand again, even though there’s nothing to fix. It’s something to do with your hands, at least. The air feels thick, and your chest feels tight, and you can’t stop your mind from wandering back to late-night songwriting sessions and whispered promises that ended up meaning nothing. You wonder if he thinks about those nights too—or if he’s just moved on completely while you’re still stuck in the aftermath.

The door swings open again, and Castorice and Hyacine walk in, chatting and laughing about something. They both pause when they see you and Mydei, exchanging a quick look before stepping inside.

“Hi,” Castorice greets, adjusting the hem of her faded purple band t-shirt. “Everything okay here?”

You force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Yeah. All good.”

Hyacine gives you a small smile, her pigtails swinging, and starts setting up her bass. Castorice nudges Mydei with her elbow as she passes by, but he just shrugs her off and keeps tuning his guitar. She rolls her eyes and grabs her drumsticks.

You can’t help but glare at him, half-hoping he’ll look up so you can throw something snarky his way. Maybe if he’d just stop pretending like you’re invisible, you wouldn’t feel like your chest is caving in. You’re caught between wanting to scream at him and wanting to leave before your hands start shaking too hard to hide.

Phainon slips in a few minutes later, his snowy hair wind-ruffled and his jeans ripped at the knees. “Already at each other’s throats, huh?” he mutters, mostly to himself, but you hear it.

“Nah,” you bite out. “No one’s dead yet.”

Phainon chuckles and unslings his guitar case. It’s forced, yes, and you know he’s just trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t help much. Mydei doesn’t even acknowledge the comment; he just keeps strumming a few notes like he’s deliberately tuning you out. You look away.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour – Behind the Music. Episode One.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]Soft lighting. Castorice sits on a stool, tapping her drumsticks against her knee absentmindedly. She grins when she notices the camera.

CASTORICE: The first practice? Oh, man. That was a nightmare. I mean, I know it was gonna be awkward, but—wow. I half expected the room to just spontaneously combust. (Laughs) They didn’t even look at each other for the first half hour. I thought I’d have to throw a cymbal at someone just to break the ice.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her bass leaning against her shoulder.]

HYACINE: Honestly, I wasn’t sure if they’d even show up. _____ got there first, and Mydei came just before me and Cas showed up. When we walked in… (Sighs) It was like stepping into a freezer. I kept looking at Castorice like, Are we really doing this?

[CUT TO: PHAINON, leaning against the wall with his guitar propped up next to him.]

PHAINON: You could cut the tension with a knife. I was just waiting for one of them to snap, honestly. ____ was messing with the mic stand like it owed her money, and Mydei—(snorts) he just acted like he didn’t give a shit. Everyone knows he does, though. I could see his hands shaking a little while he was tuning his guitar.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, slouched on the couch, arms crossed.]

MYDEI: First practice? Whatever. I showed up, didn’t I? (Shrugs) _____ was already there, singing something I wrote. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t feel like arguing. Didn’t feel like… dealing with that. (Pauses) We got through it. That’s what matters.

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a folding chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere off camera.]

YOU: I didn’t think he’d actually come. And when he did… (shakes head) I was just angry. At him, at myself. At the fact that he didn’t even look at me. We used to be… I don’t know. Better than that. He didn’t say anything to me, and I wasn’t gonna be the one to break first. We both have too much pride.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE AGAIN, twirling a drumstick between her fingers.]

CASTORICE: Eventually, I just started playing something random to break the silence. That usually worked back then—get the rhythm going, and the rest will follow. I guess some things never change, because once I started up, Phainon joined in, and Hyacine just kinda jumped in too. ____ and Mydei just stared at each other like it was some kind of weird staring contest.

[CUT TO: HYACINE AGAIN, laughing softly.]

HYACINE: I thought one of them was gonna strangle the other before we even got to the chorus. But after a few minutes of us just messing around with the intro, _____ gave in and started singing. Mydei followed—stubborn asshole—but it actually sounded good. Like, almost better than I remembered.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, smiling with his eyes crinkled at the corners.]

PHAINON: It was a mess. A beautiful mess. That’s just how it is with us. Always on the edge of imploding but somehow making it work. They didn’t say a word to each other the whole practice, but the music spoke for them. It’s weird how that works, huh?

[CUT TO: MYDEI, still looking annoyed, but his jaw clenches a little.]

MYDEI: We got through the set. It wasn’t… terrible. (Pauses) She still sings like she’s got something to prove. Never really lost that passion. I guess that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

[CUT TO: YOU, looking almost hesitant.]

YOU: The music was the only thing that didn’t feel different. That’s the worst part. We still fit together on stage. I don’t know how to feel about that.

ii). he had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye.

The venue is packed, lights flashing in time with the beats of the opening song. Castorice is good. That hasn’t changed, not even a little. The heat of the stage lights is already making sweat prickle at the back of your neck, but you force yourself to ignore it, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark mass of people in front of you. You can barely make out individual faces past the glare, but it doesn’t matter—they’re all screaming, hands in the air, chanting your band’s name like a war cry.

To your left, Hyacine’s fingers fly over the bass strings, head bobbing in time with the rhythm. Her eyes are focused and sharp, lips curved into a smile. Next to her, Phainon strums his guitar, sweat dripping down his temples. He’s got that manic grin on his face, the one that always surfaces when he’s deep in the music.

You’re trying to focus—keep your voice steady, keep your hands from shaking—but it’s hard when you know he’s right behind you, adjusting his guitar strap and dragging his pick over the strings just loud enough to be a distraction. You swear he’s doing it on purpose, plucking random notes like he’s got nothing better to do, just to see if he can make you crack.

You refuse to look back at him. Instead, you take a slow breath and lean into the mic, eyes half-lidded and voice low as you speak to the crowd.

“Hey, everyone,” you drawl, and the noise swells, cheers and screams merging into a single deafening roar. You give them a crooked smile. “Feels good to be back. Did you guys miss us?”

The crowd roars. You can feel it—the way they’ve been waiting for this, for you. You ignore the way it makes your throat close up a little, focusing instead on the setlist displayed on the prompter. The opening song is one of your older hits, the kind of thing that used to play on the radio at least once a day back when it was first released. You’ve sung it a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different. He’s right there, and you hate how you can feel his presence without even looking.

The drums kick in, pounding through your ribs, and you throw yourself into the first verse.

“Bite your tongue ‘til it bleeds, Hide the bruises on your knees, Say you never cared— I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

Your voice is steady, loud enough to carry over the instruments as the crowd sings with you. You almost lose yourself in it. The light pulses red and white, casting shadows across the stage, and you grip the mic stand tighter, putting every ounce of frustration into your performance.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mydei move closer to his mic, his guitar slung low and his fingers dancing over the strings. You force yourself not to look at him, focusing on the rhythm instead, on keeping your breathing even as the verse transitions into the chorus.

“Bittersweet vendetta, Carved your name into my skin, Kiss me like a secret. Make me wish I’d never let you in.”

You push your voice harder, practically shouting the last line, and the crowd’s response is instantaneous—voices rising to meet yours, some of them screaming loud enough to rival the speakers. You finally risk a glance to your right, just in time to see Mydei’s lips curve into a smirk, his head tilted like he’s daring you to acknowledge him.

He leans into the mic, and his voice slices through the air.

“She lies like she means it, Fake love on her lips—”

You clench your jaw so hard it aches, but you don’t miss your next cue, even though your mind is reeling. That’s not the original line. He’s never changed it before—not in all the years you performed this song together. You shove down the surge of anger, forcing yourself to keep going as if nothing happened.

The audience reacts immediately—some laughing, some whooping. You know they heard it. You know he did it just to get a rise out of you. You hate that it’s working, that your pulse is thrumming in your ears and your hands are shaking even as you keep your expression blank.

You don’t look at him. Instead, you pour every ounce of your irritation into the next verse, voice dropping low and venomous.

“Cut me down with your clever words, Always knew how to make it hurt, Fake your way to heaven, But I’d follow you through hell first.”

You swear you hear Mydei laugh under his breath, but he keeps playing like nothing’s wrong, his fingers moving over the strings like second nature. Your stomach twists, and you can’t tell if it’s fury or something uglier—something that feels like regret buried under years of resentment.

The bridge comes crashing in, and you give it everything you’ve got. Your voice is raw and unrestrained.

“Swore I’d never write about you, Guess I lied again somehow, Made my bed on broken promises, Tell me—are you happy now?”

The crowd’s roar almost drowns you out, but you don’t let up, spitting out the words like they’re poison on your tongue. You’re breathless by the time the final chorus hits, and the last line comes out almost like a snarl.

When the song ends, the audience erupts, and you finally allow yourself a moment to breathe, wiping sweat from your forehead with your palm. Your ears are ringing, but you catch a glimpse of Mydei as he steps back from his mic, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t look at you. Nor does he seem to particularly care that he just tore through one of your most iconic songs with a cheap, unnecessary jab.

You force a smile and wave to the crowd.

The moment the stage lights cut out and the cheers of the crowd fade behind the heavy backstage door, you’re off. You don’t bother thanking the crew or even stopping to catch your breath—you just march straight to the green room, hands still trembling from the adrenaline and the anger. Your heart’s pounding so loud in your ears that you barely hear the door swing open behind you.

You whirl around just as Mydei walks in, still wiping sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. The sight of him—smirking like he didn’t just pull that shit on stage—makes your stomach twist with rage.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but you don’t care.

Mydei just raises an eyebrow, like he’s confused about why you’re yelling. “What was what?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb,” you snap. “You changed the fucking lyrics. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He just shrugs and tosses his towel onto one of the chairs. “Oh, that. Yeah, I thought it sounded better. More honest.”

You take a step closer, jabbing a finger at him. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just rewrite shit on stage without telling anyone. We practiced that song a hundred times, Mydei. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re really gonna get this worked up over one line?” He scoffs, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Come on, it’s not that deep.”

“Not that deep?” You laugh, but it’s humourless and cold. “You made it sound like I’m some kind of manipulative bitch in front of thousands of people! How the hell am I supposed to not get worked up about that?”

“Maybe if it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t bother you so much,” he says, leaning back against the wall.

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Mydei shrugs again, his voice low and taunting. “You always were good at faking it—feelings, sincerity, the whole tragic frontwoman act. Sorry if I just cut through the bullshit.”

Something snaps inside you, and before you even realise it, you shove him backwards with both hands. Mydei doesn’t stumble, but his smirk falls for just a second—just enough to make you feel a flicker of satisfaction.

“Fuck you,” you spit out. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

His face hardens, and he pushes off the wall to get right back into your space. “Don’t I? I know you lie like it’s second nature. You get off on being the victim, pretending like you’re the one who got hurt. But we both know you’re just as guilty as I am.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You’re breathing hard now, fists clenched at your sides to keep from swinging at him. “You’re the one who decided to leave the band first. I’m not the one who bailed.”

“Yeah, because sticking around and watching you sabotage everything we built together sounded like a blast. You’re impossible to deal with. Always have been.”

“You think I’m impossible? You’re the one who picks a fight every chance you get. It’s like you can’t stand if I’m not miserable,” you shoot back. “Newsflash, Mydei—not everything’s about you and your bruised ego.”

“Says the girl who can’t stand it when someone calls her out,” he says, lips curling into a mocking grin. “Maybe I hit a nerve because you know I’m right. You’re so used to being adored that the second someone questions you, you lose your shit.”

You shove him again, harder this time, and he doesn’t move—just stays rooted to the spot, glaring down at you. “God, I hate you,” you seethe, voice cracking despite yourself.

“Funny. Didn’t sound like hate the last time you were screaming my name.”

You freeze, heat rushing to your face, and the anger bubbles into something darker—something desperate and bitter. “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? Always gotta have the last word, always gotta prove something. You’re pathetic.”

“You’re one to talk,” he grits out. “Still hung up on shit that happened years ago. I’m pathetic? You’re the one still singing about heartbreak like it’s gonna make people feel sorry for you.”

You want to hit him. You want to scream at him until your voice breaks. Instead, you shove him again, and this time he catches your wrists, yanking you forward until your chest brushes his. His face is inches from yours, breath hot against your cheek.

“Admit it,” Mydei murmurs, low. “You’re pissed because I called you out, and now you can’t hide behind your lyrics like a coward.”

You wrench your hands free, but you don’t move back. You’re too close, breathing hard. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” you whisper, voice tight.

His eyes bore into yours. “And you’re a goddamn liar.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Hyacine pushes the door open with a scowl. She takes one look at the two of you and shakes her head. “Seriously? Already? I knew this tour would be a shitshow, but I didn’t think you’d try to kill each other on night one.”

You finally rip yourself away from him, swiping at your face like you’re trying to scrub the confrontation off your skin. Mydei doesn’t look at you. He just picks up his towel and wipes his hands.

Castorice slips in behind Hyacine, still buzzing from the performance. “Kephale, you two are like feral cats. Can’t we just chill for five seconds?”

“We’ve got interviews in ten minutes,” Phainon pipes up from behind her. “You guys need to get your shit together.”

Hyacine levels both of you with a glare. “I don’t care what personal shit you’ve got going on, but don’t pull that crap on stage again. Mydei, you don’t change the lyrics without telling us. _____, stop feeding into his bullshit. You’re both being idiots.”

Neither of you says anything, but you’re still seething, trying to force down the bitter ache in your chest. Mydei rolls his shoulders and turns away, his shaggy hair falling down the nape of his neck. When you finally turn and leave the room, you can still feel his eyes on your back, and it makes your skin crawl. You tell yourself you’re just glad to be away from him, but the knot in your stomach says otherwise.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Opening Night – Sold Out.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, her expression thoughtful.]

CASTORICE: Okay, look, I’m not gonna go around pinning the blame on anyone. That doesn’t do anyone any good. (Shifts slightly) I just think that we’re all adults here, and what Mydei and _____ were doing didn’t do us any favours.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, scowling at the camera.]

HYACINE: They’re pretty f***ing immature, if you ask me. Sometimes I think Mydei and _____ forget that they’re not the only people in the band. They founded it, sure, but what about me, Cas, and Phainon? This isn’t just some petty high school-level battle of the bands shit. This is our f***ing careers we’re talking about.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, leaning back with a cigarette rolling between his fingers.]

PHAINON: Yeah, it’s real inspiring when your frontmen are trying to rip each other’s heads off backstage. Real rock and roll. (Scoffs) Look, they’re both stubborn as hell, and it’s not like we didn’t see it coming. You put two people with that much history on the same stage, and it’s like throwing a match into gasoline.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, arms spread out on the back of the couch.]

MYDEI: It’s not my fault she can’t handle the truth. We’re supposed to be putting on a show, aren’t we? Guess what—drama’s a part of it. If she wants to get pissed because I added a little honesty to the setlist, that’s on her. (Shrugs) I’m not gonna apologise for making it real.

[CUT TO: YOU, visibly tense, gripping the edge of your seat.]

YOU: He didn’t change the lyrics because it was real. He did it to hurt me. There’s a difference. It’s not about the fans, or the show, or whatever bullshit excuse he’s telling himself. It’s about control. He just couldn’t stand the fact that I was getting through it without him, that I was… fine. (Pauses) Or at least trying to be.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE AGAIN, rubbing the back of her neck.]

CASTORICE: (Sighs) You’d think that after all these years, they’d have learned how to work together without turning it into a battlefield. We’re not in high school anymore. We’re on tour. If one of them messes up, it’s not just their mess to clean up—it’s all of ours.

[CUT TO: HYACINE AGAIN, looking more annoyed than before.]

HYACINE: It’s exhausting. We’re just trying to make music, not mediate whatever unresolved shit they’ve got going on. Half the time, I feel like I’m babysitting. They either need to figure it out or shut the hell up and be professional for once.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, giving a resigned laugh.]

PHAINON: Honestly, if they’d just screw and get it over with, we might finally get some peace around here.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, AGAIN]

MYDEI: Phainon said that? Not a chance. I’d rather set my guitar on fire.

[CUT TO: YOU AGAIN, rolling your eyes.]

YOU: Yeah, well, might be the most impressive thing Mydei’s done in a while.

iii). do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it’s up and down.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Founders’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting upright with your arms crossed.]

INTERVIEWER (off-camera): Can you tell us about the band’s early days? How did the Chrysos Heirs come together?

YOU: God, that feels like forever ago. (Pauses) It was just me and Mydei at first. We were… just kids, really. We’d meet up after school in my dad’s garage—him on guitar, me scribbling down lyrics on whatever scraps of paper we could find. It wasn’t anything serious back then. We just wanted to make noise and piss off the neighbours.

INTERVIEWER: Did you always know it was going to be a band?

YOU: (Shakes head) Not at all. We didn’t plan for it to be anything more than a way to kill time. We’d play until our fingers ached or Dad came out yelling at us to cut it out. (Smiles a little) It was messy and loud and—fun. We didn’t think much past that.

INTERVIEWER: When did it start to feel like more than just noise?

YOU: When Castorice came into the picture. She was incredible. She had this way of making everything tighter, more precise. Like she just knew what needed to happen to make the sound click. Mydei knew her from some music workshop thing—said she was the only drummer he’d met who wasn’t full of shit. (Laughs softly) One day, she just showed up with this beat-up drum set and told us our timing was crap. And she was right.

INTERVIEWER: What was your reaction to her criticism?

YOU: Oh, I was pissed. I didn’t want some stranger telling us we were doing it wrong. But she wasn’t mean about it—just honest, I suppose. And once she started playing, we couldn’t really argue with her. She made us sound like an actual band.

INTERVIEWER: And Hyacine and Phainon? How did they join?

YOU: They came later. We’d been playing these tiny, shitty bar shows—barely getting paid, just trying to scrape together enough for gas and food. It was clear we needed a bassist. Castorice was the one who pushed for it. She said we sounded hollow without that low end. She knew Hyacine from some other band that had just imploded—some drama I never got the full story on. Hyacine came in and just took over. She was relentless, always pushing for perfection. It drove me and Mydei crazy at first, but she made us sound good. Really good.

INTERVIEWER: And Phainon?

YOU: (Smiles fondly) Phainon was a surprise. Mydei found him at some underground gig—he was up there shredding like it was the easiest thing in the world. Mydei practically dragged him to rehearsal the next day, and Phainon barely said a word. He just picked up his guitar and played like he’d been with us the whole time. We didn’t even have to teach him the songs—he just… knew. It was weird, but it worked.

INTERVIEWER: What was it like performing together back then?

YOU: Incredible. We weren’t perfect by any means—we’d f**k up chord changes and stumble over lyrics, but people didn’t care. There was this energy that made up for it. The crowd felt it too. We’d get off stage, drenched in sweat, hearts pounding, and just laugh about how much we almost screwed up. Those shows were something else.

INTERVIEWER: And what about you and Mydei? You two were already together by then?

YOU: (Pauses, glancing away) Yeah. It just happened. It wasn’t really something we talked about—it just made sense at the time. We were always around each other anyway.

INTERVIEWER: What changed?

YOU: (Exhales slowly) Success changed things. Suddenly we were everywhere—touring, interviews, non-stop shows. We didn’t have time to breathe, let alone talk about anything that mattered. It was just… go, go, go. And when things got tough, we didn’t know how to handle it. We didn’t talk. We just fought. About stupid shit—lyrics, setlists, tempos. It wasn’t about the band anymore. It was about us, trying to hurt each other without admitting that’s what we were doing.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, leaning back in his chair with one arm thrown across the back of it.]

INTERVIEWER (off-camera): Can you talk about why you left the band?

MYDEI: (Exhales, looks away for a moment) It wasn’t… one thing, you know? People always want it to be simple, like there’s one big reason I just up and left. But it wasn’t. There was just—too much shit piling up. Tension between all of us, pressure from the label, and I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with it.

INTERVIEWER: Do you regret it?

MYDEI: Sometimes. Maybe. I didn’t really think about what it would do to the others at the time. I needed to figure out who I was without the band. It was selfish, I know, but I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay with how things were going.

INTERVIEWER: Were you unhappy with the band itself, or just the dynamics between the members?

MYDEI: Both, I guess. The band was everything to me at one point. It was the one thing I thought I could count on. But then it just got… complicated. We went from just being a bunch of idiots messing around to something huge, and I wasn’t ready for that kind of pressure. The music stopped feeling like ours—like mine. It was just what everyone else wanted from us.

INTERVIEWER: How did the others react when you told them you were leaving?

MYDEI: (Chuckles bitterly) Not well. Castorice tried to talk me out of it—said I was being impulsive and throwing away something we’d built from the ground up. Hyacine was pissed. She didn’t say much, but I could tell she was angry. Phainon didn’t say anything at all. Just kind of… stared at me like I’d betrayed him or something.

INTERVIEWER: And _____?

MYDEI: (Stiffens) She didn’t take it well. She said I was running away—like I always did. We fought about it for hours. Nothing we said made sense by the end of it. Just yelling for the sake of yelling. I think we both knew it wasn’t just about the band at that point.

INTERVIEWER: After you left, the Chrysos Heirs seemed to almost dissolve overnight. Can you talk about that?

MYDEI: (Breathes out slowly) Yeah, I heard about it a few months later. It wasn’t something I expected. I thought they’d keep going without me, honestly. I didn’t think I was that important. (Pauses) Turns out, though, that me leaving kind of pulled the rug out from under everything. 

INTERVIEWER: Did the others ever talk to you about it?

MYDEI: Castorice called me once. She didn’t say much, just that they’d decided to take a break, and that without me there, it wasn’t working. She didn’t blame me, exactly, but I could hear it in her voice. Like she was trying not to say that I’d screwed everything up. (Shakes his head) Phainon never reached out. I don’t know if he was angry or just—disappointed. Hyacine texted me some stuff, mostly updates, but nothing about how they felt about it.

INTERVIEWER: What about _____?

MYDEI: (Tenses visibly) We never spoke to each other after I left.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think that the band dissolving hurt her the most?

MYDEI: Yeah. I know it did. The band was everything to her—more than it was to any of us, I think. She was always the one pushing us to go further, to make better music, to keep going even when it was hard. So when it all fell apart… I know she took it personally. Like she failed or something. Especially when I saw her trying to do solo stuff after that. 

INTERVIEWER: Did you listen to her solo work?

MYDEI: (Nods) Every track. It was good—different, but good.

The studio lights beat down on you like a relentless sun, and you resist the urge to wipe at the thin sheen of sweat forming at your hairline. You force yourself to smile through it, shoulders squared and posture just right, even as your muscles ache from holding the same position for too long. Castorice mutters under her breath about how awkward it feels to act casual when there’s a giant lens pointed right at your face; you can’t help but agree. It’s been ages since the last group photoshoot, and the discomfort is hard to ignore.

Mydei stands at the far end, stiff and distant, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He’s staring at some fixed point behind the photographer’s head, looking like he’s seconds away from bolting. It drives you insane how obvious he’s being about not wanting to be here. You catch his eye once, and the look he gives you is so blank, it’s almost insulting.

Castorice throws an arm across Phainon’s shoulders, and the two lean into each other. Hyacine sits cross-legged in front of you, holding up two peace signs and grinning widely.

“All right, good! That’s enough for the group shots,” Aglaea, the director of photography, calls out, clapping her hands together. “Everyone but Mydei and _____, take five. I want a few duo shots.”

You stiffen. Castorice glances between the two of you with something close to worry, but when you shoot her a tight smile, she just shrugs and heads off with Hyacine and Phainon in tow.

Mydei hasn’t moved an inch, his hands still stuffed into his pockets, jaw tight. You take a slow breath and will yourself not to let him get under your skin. Not again.

Aglaea gestures you both forward, clearly sensing the awkwardness but too professional to comment on it. “All right, you two. Let’s lean into the chemistry a bit. I want intimate and raw—like the world’s finally looking at you both behind the professional masks.”

Your lips press into a thin line. Mydei doesn’t react at all.

“Face each other,” Aglaea instructs, waving a hand to adjust the lighting. It catches on the bright gold of her blouse, and you blink a little. “Mydei, hands on her waist. _____, put your hands on his shoulders. Closer. I need to feel the tension. Like you’re caught between fighting and kissing.”

You almost laugh at the irony. That’s practically all you’ve done since he showed up again—hovering somewhere between wanting to scream at him and wanting to grab his face and never let go. The thought burns. You squash it as you step forward.

Mydei’s hands settle on your waist, and it’s as if electricity crackles through you, setting every nerve alight. His touch is hesitant, like he’s not sure he has the right to be this close anymore. Your hands come up to his shoulders, fingers brushing over familiar leather and muscle, and you force yourself to look up at him.

His eyes catch yours. Neither of you moves. He looks at you like he’s seeing something he thought he’d lost, and it makes your heart twist painfully.

“Closer,” Aglaea calls out, voice clipped. “Mydei, lean in like you’re about to say something you’ve been holding back for years. _____, tilt your chin up—give him that look, like you’re angry but imploring.”

You do as she says, your breath hitching when his forehead dips to rest against yours. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders, and his hands shift on your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your shirt like he’s trying to memorise the feel of it. Those strands of hair that he always braids because he claimed it made him look “edgy” brushes against the curve of your cheek. You can feel his breath fan across your face, warm and familiar, and it hurts how natural it feels.

When you look to the side, Aglaea is frowning. “Closer,” she says again. “I need to see that longing.”

You don’t bother hiding your scoff, muttering under your breath, “Maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t look like he’d rather be doing literally anything else.”

His eyes snap to yours, defensive. “Sorry I’m not putting on enough of a show for you,” he mutters back, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn, it wouldn’t feel like pulling teeth,” you hiss.

He narrows his eyes, tightening his grip just a fraction, enough to make your pulse jump. “There you fucking go again. Acting like you’re the only one who cares about this.”

You force yourself to keep the smile plastered on your face for the camera, teeth clenched. “Oh, forgive me for thinking you don’t give a shit. It’s not like you haven’t disappeared for months without a word.”

“You think I wanted to leave?”

“You didn’t exactly try to stay,” you snap, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You left me to deal with the fallout while you got to play the tortured artist somewhere else. And now you’re back, and you’re acting like none of it mattered.”

“You didn’t want me to stay,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “You didn’t even ask.”

The accusation slices through you, and your grip on his shoulders loosens. “How was I supposed to ask when you made up your mind without me?” you fire back. “You made it clear that I wasn’t worth staying for.”

His expression hardens, like he’s trying to cover the hurt bleeding through his anger. “That’s not fair. You never once asked how I felt about it. You just decided I didn’t care.”

You want to scream at him for being so oblivious—for acting like you didn’t spend weeks waiting for a call that never came. Instead, you force your lips into a tight, brittle smile. “Guess you made it pretty damn convincing when you left even though I asked you to stay.”

Something in his eyes cracks, just for a moment, but then Aglaea’s voice cuts through.

“Yes! That’s it!” she crows. “Keep it up. Mydei, cup her face.”

He doesn’t move at first, just stares down at you, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. Then his hand lifts, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek like it’s muscle memory. The way he looks at you, then, makes your throat close up.

You want to push him away, but your hands stay where they are, like they’re glued to him. Aglaea calls out more instructions, but her voice is distant—just noise behind the thunder in your chest.

When she finally calls for a wrap, you step back, your hands falling limply to your sides. Mydei’s arms drop away from you, his face shuttered and closed off again. You don’t look at him as you turn on your heel and walk off to the break room, every muscle in your body screaming with the urge to just get away from him before you say something even worse.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Members’ Cut.”

The screen fades out into grainy footage from an old concert: Mydei and _____ on stage, harmonising, Mydei strumming his guitar while _____ sways with the mic. The audience sways as one, flashlights held up as they move in time with the song. The video fades out.

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: PHAINON, sitting cross-legged on a couch, an easy smile on his face.]

PHAINON: Back then? Man, they were something else. You’d think they were fused at the hip with how much time they spent together. Writing songs at three in the morning, huddled over some crumpled notebook, arguing about chord progressions one second and laughing the next. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people make something so good while simultaneously wanting to strangle each other. It was weirdly sweet.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, sitting in a green room with her legs swung over the arm of a chair.]

CASTORICE: _____ used to steal Mydei’s hoodies every time we hit a new city. Didn’t matter how hot it was—she’d be drowning in that thing, sleeves halfway covering her hands. Mydei’d just roll his eyes and mumble something about it smelling weird when he got it back, but he never complained. They’d go on these stupid little coffee dates whenever we had downtime—just the two of them, sneaking off like no one would notice. We noticed. Everyone noticed.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting on the floor of the green room.]

HYACINE: Honestly? Their songs were the best ones we ever wrote. Together, they just… clicked. It was effortless. I think the first time I heard “After Midnight”, I kinda wanted to throw up from how sweet it was. But you could tell—every word, every note—they put their whole hearts into it. It was like they were making something for just the two of them, and the rest of us were lucky to get a piece of it.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, still sporting that easy smile.]

PHAINON: But, y’know, things got complicated. Like they always do. They’re both stubborn as hell, and neither of them knows how to sit down and talk without throwing metaphorical knives at each other. Still… (Laughs softly) I stand by what I said. If they screw each other and get it over with, everyone’s gonna be okay.

iv). wanna kiss his face with an uppercut.

You’re sprawled across the hotel bed, face buried in the pillow, when your phone rings. You groan, tempted to ignore it, but the screen flashes Anaxagoras’ name, and you know better than to let it go to voicemail.

You pick up and press the phone to your ear. “Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Anaxa deadpans. His voice is brisk, no-nonsense as always. “I’m just checking in.”

“Fantastic,” you say dryly, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. “Photoshoot went great. Almost fought Mydei. Twice.”

“Great Kephale,” he mutters, and you can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you two still at each other’s throats?”

“It’s kind of hard not to be when he acts like breathing the same air as me is a personal insult,” you snap. “Aglaea made us take those stupid couple shots, and he looked like he wanted to die the whole time. It’s—” You break off, clenching your jaw. “It’s annoying.”

Anaxa grunts, unimpressed. “You’re letting him get to you.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Then stop it,” he says, as if it’s that easy. “You don’t have to like him, but you do have to get through this. It’s one shoot and a few public appearances. You’ve handled worse.”

“That’s the problem. It’s not supposed to be worse. We’re supposed to be professionals, but he’s—he’s making it impossible.”

Anaxa doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his tone is firm. “Look, if he wants to act like a child, let him. You don’t have to stoop to his level. Smile for the camera, grit your teeth if you have to, and don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s pissing you off.”

You hate that he’s right. “Yeah. I know.”

“You want me to handle anything?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head even though he can’t see it. “I’ll deal with it.”

He doesn’t bother with goodbyes, just hangs up like always. You let your phone drop onto the bed and slump back down, staring up at the ceiling. You hate that it’s still gnawing at you—the frustration, the hurt, the way Mydei’s indifference feels like a punch to the gut every single time.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You can handle it. You’ve been through worse.

A knock at the door startles you out of your thoughts. You blink, wondering if you imagined it, but then it comes again—more impatient, this time. You groan and push yourself up, dragging your feet as you cross the room. Your muscles still ache from the photoshoot, and your mood hasn’t improved because of Anaxa’s call.

You pull the door open, expecting maybe Castorice or one of the others, but it’s Mydei. He leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his jaw set in that familiar way that makes you want to slam the door right in his face.

“What do you want?” you snap, not even attempting to sound polite.

He glances away, gaze fixed on some spot above your shoulder. “I— Just wanted to—”

“Oh, please,” you interrupt. “Like you fucking care.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m starting,” you snap back, “because you spent the whole fucking day making it perfectly clear that breathing the same air as me is unbearable, and now you’re playing concerned? Do you even look at yourself?”

“Maybe I do care,” he tells you, and you cut in again.

“You’re the one who looked like he’d rather die than put his hands on me. Trust me, I noticed.”

“It’s not that—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched, and steps closer. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” you shoot back, shoving his shoulder. “You can’t just act like a dick and expect me to read your mind. Or are you still too much of a coward to admit anything out loud?”

That hits a nerve. His eyes flash, and he steps into your space, so close you can feel the heat coming off him. “Maybe if you didn’t act so fucking righteous all the time, I wouldn’t feel like I’m losing my mind around you,” he spits out.

“Yeah?” you challenge, shoving him again just to get him to react. “Maybe if you didn’t keep running away every time something actually matters, we wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid cycle!”

He grabs your wrist, yanking you even closer, and you can feel his breath on your face, warm and ragged. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are,” you hiss, your voice cracking despite yourself. “You always do. You think if you act like nothing happened, it’ll just go away. Well, fuck you, Mydei, because it doesn’t.”

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but his jaw works soundlessly, and you’re so sick of it—so tired of dancing around whatever’s been festering between you since the band split. Before you know it, your hands are gripping the front of his jacket, yanking him forward just as he crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not soft or careful—nothing about it is gentle. It’s teeth and heat and frustration, like trying to punish each other for every stupid fight, every missed chance. He makes a low, frustrated noise, backing you into the room and kicking the door shut behind him.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now, and his grip on your waist is bruising, like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. You bite down on his lower lip, and he groans against your mouth, pressing you back until your spine meets the wall.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter against his lips, barely catching your breath.

He just smirks, dragging his mouth down to your jaw, his voice rough and breathless. “Yeah? You’re not much better.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he doesn’t even try to hide the shiver that rolls through him. You hate him—you hate him so much for making you feel like this, for pushing and pulling and never letting you breathe. But right now, with his mouth on yours and his hands on your body and heat pooling inside your stomach, the only thing you can think of is him taking you against the wall.

You barely register the way Mydei lifts you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he pins you to the wall. His mouth is hot and unrelenting against yours, like he’s trying to erase every insult you’ve ever thrown at him. You’re just as ruthless, biting at his lips and tugging his hair hard enough to make him growl.

He eases you down when you moan—embarrassingly loudly, but you don’t give a fuck. His hand slides under the waistband of your jeans, and you don’t stop him. You let him tug them down, the denim sliding down your legs and pooling at your ankles. Mydei lifts you up, just so you stand on your tiptoes long enough for him to kick them aside. Every brush of his skin against yours feels like an assault—every touch a reminder of all the hurt, all the anger—but you don’t pull away. 

You hate him. You love him. You need him.

His hands slide down to your thighs, gripping tight enough to leave marks, and then he pulls back, panting, his eyes dark and wild. You’re wet by now, enough that your underwear feels cool from where a damp spot has formed already.

“You always have to have the last fucking word, don’t you?” he grits out.

You scoff. “Someone’s gotta knock you off your high horse.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s rough. Without warning, he drops to his knees, his hands slipping under your thighs to keep you steady as he buries his face between your legs.

You gasp, one hand flying to the wall to brace yourself, the other still tangled in his hair. Mydei doesn’t waste any time—he’s ruthless, licking you through the fabric of your panties. It makes your head spin. You choke on a moan, trying to squirm, but he just tightens his grip, keeping you firmly in place.

“Mydei—” you start, but his teeth graze your inner thigh, and your words dissolve into a shuddering gasp.

“Shut up,” he mutters, yanking your underwear to the side and pressing his mouth against your folds with a fierce sort of hunger. His tongue flicks over your clit, and your head falls back against the wall, a keening sound leaving your throat.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you manage to choke out, even as your thighs tremble around his head.

He laughs against you, the vibrations making you bite down on your lip to stifle a whimper. “You’re still running your mouth,” he taunts, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Wonder if I can make you shut up.”

He doubles down, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking his tongue in a manner that has you seeing stars. Your nails scrape against his scalp, and he just groans in response, the vibrations sending another shockwave through you. Your hips jerk forward. He grips you harder, dragging his mouth down to lick at your folds like he’s starved for it.

Your fingers tighten in his hair. You can’t help the way you tug him closer, grinding against his face despite yourself. Mydei merely hums approvingly, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, pressing you harder against the wall.

When his tongue dips inside your clenching hole, your knees almost give out, but he holds you steady, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming, maddening pleasure. You’re barely breathing, trying to swallow down the sounds threatening to spill out, but when he curls his tongue just right, you can’t stop the loud, desperate moan that breaks free.

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips slick and his eyes burning. “You done being a brat now?”

You glare down at him, panting and still shaking. “Fuck you.”

His smirk only widens, and before you can blink, he’s pressing his mouth against you again—rough, merciless, relentless. It doesn’t take long before your vision blurs and your head tips back, his name tearing from your lips as you come against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and your grip on his hair has gone slack, and even then, he licks you through the aftershocks like he’s addicted to the taste of you. When he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stands, and says, “You’ll give me one more, won’t you?”

Your breath comes out in shallow pants. You can barely muster the energy to glare at him, but his smirk only grows as he straightens up, dragging his hands up your sides and pushing your shirt higher until it’s bunched under your arms. You’re still too dazed to protest when he lifts it over your head, tossing it to the floor before his hands find your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

He dips down to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his lips—sweet and dizzying all at once. You’re still recovering from your climax, but it doesn’t matter—he kisses you like he’s making up for every second he hasn’t touched you, rough and a little desperate, his hands squeezing your hips.

His hands slide up your back, finding the clasp of your bra. You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he unhooks it and slides and straps down your arms, tossing it aside without a second thought. His mouth is back on yours in an instant, but his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes your back arch off the wall.

You don’t even think before your fingers find the hem of his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, and he helps you get it off before crashing his mouth against yours again. Your hands roam over his bare chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle and the rapid beat of his heart under your fingertips. His skin is warm and slightly slick with sweat, and you can’t resist scraping your nails lightly down his abdomen just to feel him shiver.

He bites down on your lower lip in retaliation, and you gasp into his mouth. It earns you a low chuckle. You’re about to shoot back with something sarcastic when his hands slide up to cup your breasts again, rolling your nipples between his fingers, and your retort dies in your throat.

“Thought you were gonna give me attitude,” he murmurs against your mouth, lips curving into a cocky grin. “Guess you can be good when you want to.”

“Shut up,” you breathe out, but your voice comes out shaky. He laughs softly, bending down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your hands fly back to his hair, fingers twisting in the strands, and he groans the tug.

Your hips buck against his, and he grinds back without hesitation, the hard line of his cock rubbing against your thigh through his jeans. You can feel just how badly he wants you; the thought sends another wave of heat flooding through your veins. You tug at his hair hard enough to make him look up at you, his lips red and swollen.

“Quit teasing,” you pant. Mydei’s eyes flash with something dark and hungry.

He doesn’t bother replying—just scoops you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. His mouth is back on yours, demanding, and you feel him fumbling with his belt between your bodies. You don’t have the patience to wait, so you reach down to help him, your hands brushing against his as you yank the buckle open and shove his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock.

He groans in relief when your hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly and spreading his pre-cum across the length. He bites back a curse. His hands tighten on your thighs, and you don’t miss the way his muscles tense under your touch. You give him a little smirk, but it falters when he presses his tip against your entrance, not quite pushing in yet.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes roaming over your face.

You roll your eyes, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a bruising kiss. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I swear—”

You don’t get to finish because he thrusts into you all at once, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your head tips back against the wall, and Mydei buries his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin as he adjusts to the tight warmth of your cunt. His breath is hot and ragged, each exhale brushing against your collarbone. His fingers dig into your thighs.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice rough and strained. His hips pull back just enough to drag his length almost completely out before he slams back in, his pace brutal from the start. The force of it makes your back scrape against the wall, and you can feel every inch of him—thick and girthy, splitting you open in a way that has your body straining towards him.

Your hands scrabble for purchase, nails leaving crescents on his shoulders as he sets a relentless rhythm, each thrust hitting deep and perfect. You’re clinging to him, your legs tightening around his waist as he drives into you. The wet, obscene sounds of your skin against skin echo through the room, mingling with your breathless mons and his low groans.

“Fuck—so tight,” he mutters against your skin, his mouth dragging along your throat, teeth scraping and biting hard enough to leave a slight stinging in their wake. “You feel so fucking good. S’like you were made for me.”

You whimper, your hips rocking against his instinctively, desperate for more. You can’t stop yourself from moaning his name shakily. It spurs him on. He grins against your neck, pressing a sloppy kiss to your pulse point before sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Yeah? That good, huh?” he taunts, his tone mocking but laced with genuine awe. One of his hands slides from your waist to cup your breast, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. His thumb grazes over your nipple, and the sensation has your back arching off the wall, pushing your chest further into his hand.

Your head is spinning, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly as he fucks into you hard. You can feel every ride and vein dragging against your walls, every thrust forcing sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

His mouth finds yours again; his teeth nip at your bottom lip before he slips his tongue inside. You’re so lost in him, so overwhelmed, that it takes you a second to realise his other hand has slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with almost punishing pressure.

“Fuck—” Your hands are back in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, but he doesn’t let up, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing insistently as his cock drives into you again and again. “I can’t—fuck, I’m—”

“Gonna come again?” he growls against your mouth, his pace never faltering. “You’re gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? That’s it. Good girl.”

His words make your thighs clench. Your climax comes over you without warning, tearing a strangled cry from your throat. Your walls clench around him, pulsing and fluttering as pleasure blazes through every nerve ending. You feel your thighs trembling where they’re locked around his waist.

Mydei doesn’t slow down; he just keeps fucking you through it, each thrust coaxing another wave of sensation that leaves you gasping and boneless in his grip. Your mind is a haze, barely able to process how good it feels to be taken like this. You’re dimly aware of his breathing getting rougher, his hips stuttering as your body milks him.

You drag his face back to yours, capturing his lips in a desperate, messy kiss, biting until you taste copper. He groans into you. You feel him shudder just before his rhythm falters. With one last, deep snap of his hips, he buries his cock inside you, spilling hot and thick as his body shakes with the force of his release.

His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, both of you panting and trembling. He stays inside you, like he’s not quite ready to let you go, his hands sliding up your sides to hold you close. You’re still reeling, your pulse racing, but you manage a small, satisfied smile, brushing your lips over his with a gentleness that almost feels out of place after what just happened.

For a long moment, neither of you move—you just breathe each other in, letting the remnants of pleasure tangle in the space between you. Finally, he pulls back enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip.

“Still think I’m running my mouth?” you whisper, still trying to muster some semblance of defiance.

Mydei simply nudges his nose against yours. “Maybe,” he says, a little bit hoarse, “but at least I finally shut you up.”

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour – Behind the Music. Episode Two.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, sitting on a stool.]

CASTORICE: You want to know about the relationships? (Grins) Oh, man. It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion. Some of us slipped right back into old habits, and some of us… well, it’s complicated. Mydei and _____? (Snorts) Don’t even get me started. You can feel the tension from three rooms away.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting cross-legged on the floor.]

HYACINE: There’s definitely still some… uh, unresolved stuff. We used to be so tight. All of us. I mean, we fought, sure, but we’d always make up eventually. Now? I don’t know. It’s like everyone’s got their guard up. Phainon’s doing his best to keep things light, Castorice just barrels through any tension like she doesn’t notice, but Mydei and _____… (Pauses) It’s like walking on eggshells around them.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, leaning back against the wall with his guitar across his lap.]

PHAINON: I think everyone kind of forgot how to be around each other. We spent years being everything to one another—friends, family, bandmates, rivals. When the band split, it wasn’t just the music that fell apart. It was us. Now it’s like… we’re all trying to figure out where we stand again. The way Castorice and Hyacine laugh like nothing’s changed, while Mydei and _____ act like they’re on opposite sides of a war zone. It’s exhausting.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, still slouched on a couch with his arms crossed.]

MYDEI: I’m not gonna sit here and pretend everything’s fine. It’s not. The band breaking up after I left? I’m sure that wasn’t just some decision they made over drinks. Castorice acts like we’re one big happy family again, but she knows it’s not that simple. Phainon’s always the peacemaker, trying to smooth everything over, but that just makes it worse sometimes. I don’t know.

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a folding chair.]

YOU: It’s frustrating. We used to be so close. All of us. And now it feels like every word has teeth. Castorice is trying so hard to keep us from falling apart again, and Hyacine’s just… tired. Phainon’s stuck playing mediator, and Mydei—(shakes head)—he still looks at me like it’s probably my fault. Maybe it is. But it wasn’t just me who made it boil down to this.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE AGAIN, balancing her drumsticks on her finger.]

CASTORICE: We’ve always been a mess. That’s kind of our thing. But it used to be that we were messy together. Now it feels like we’re just trying not to accidentally set each other off. I miss how easy it used to be. Back when Mydei and _____ could actually talk without biting each other’s heads off. Back when Hyacine would just crack a joke instead of staying quiet.

[CUT TO: HYACINE AGAIN, resting her chin on her hand.]

HYACINE: Sometimes it feels like we’re playing pretend. Like we’re trying to convince ourselves that we’re still friends when we’re really just… people who used to know each other. Cas keeps pushing for us to hang out after shows, but it never feels right. Everyone’s just waiting for someone to break the silence. I don’t know. Maybe it’ll get better once we’ve been on the road for longer.

[CUT TO: PHAINON AGAIN, eyes thoughtful as he fiddles with his guitar strap.]

PHAINON: I think everyone’s just afraid to be the one who cares the most. Back in the day, we knew each other better than anyone else did. Now, it’s like we’re scared of stepping on each other’s wounds. Mydei’s carrying too much pride to apologise, and _____ is too stubborn to forgive. Castorice and Hyacine just want everyone to get alone, but no one’s talking about the elephant in the room. We’re good at pretending on stage, though. Real good.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard.]

MYDEI: You don’t just come back from something like that. You don’t go from being everything to each other to nothing without it leaving a scar. I’m not saying it’s all her fault. (Hesitates) I’m just saying that it’s easier to be mad than to admit I might’ve messed up, too. That’s why I keep my distance. It’s just… easier that way.

[CUT TO: YOU, looking almost weary.]

YOU: I never thought it would feel this hollow. I don’t know what I expected—a clean slate, maybe? But it doesn’t work like that. We’re still carrying the past with us, and it’s dragging us down. I guess… I just wish he’d talk to me. Even if it’s to say he hates me. At least that would be something.

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, shrugging with a half-smile.]

CASTORICE: Whatever happens, I’m not giving up. We’re stuck with each other. That’s just how it is. Even if we have to scream it out or throw things at each other, we’re gonna make it work. Because the way they look at each other sometimes? There’s still something there. They just gotta get over themselves long enough to see it.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, adjusting his guitar.]

PHAINON: They’ll figure it out. We’re not just a band—we’re more than that. And sometimes, being more means we break and put ourselves back together. We’ll get there.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, giving a faint smile.]

HYACINE: If we can just stop letting the past dictate everything, maybe we can start being friends again. Maybe more. I don’t know. But I do know this—on stage, we’re still the same. Maybe the music will help us remember how to be us again.

v). so i write him all these letters and i throw them in the trash.

When you stir in your sleep, the mattress beside you is cold. 

It’s late—past midnight, probably. Your stomach grumbles; you sit up and shuffle tiredly over to the mini-bar and grab a bag of salted cashew nuts, tearing it open. There’s no trace of Mydei. It’s as if he was never here, didn’t fuck you against the wall like it was all he could think of, didn’t lay down on the bed next to you and curl a strong arm around your waist.

You wish you could say you were just disappointed. The truth is, you had expected nothing else, but disappointment still curls around your ribs.

It’s stupid. You walk over to the glass table placed in front of the plush armchair towards the side of your bed. There’s a notepad and a slightly blunt pencil placed on top of it. You sink into the armchair, popping a handful of cashew nuts into your mouth and chewing. 

The words should be flowing by now—anger and frustration always make for good material—but tonight, they’re stuck somewhere between your ribs, buried under the feeling of his mouth on your skin.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You knew what you were getting into. You knew better than to expect anything else from him. But the way he kissed you, like he was trying to make you forget every fight—made your chest ache. You’re not surprised that he’s gone. You’re not even hurt, really. Just angry. Angry at him for leaving without a word, angry at yourself for caring that he did. You shove a few more cashews into your mouth and wipe your fingers on your sweatpants before picking up the pencil.

Your hand moves almost without thinking, words scrawling across the page faster than you can catch up with them.

You look at me like I’m your only song, And I play the part even when it feels wrong. We’re always dancing on the edge of a goodbye, But I’d risk the fall just to feel you by my side.

You pause, glaring at the lyrics. You should throw the notepad across the room, rip the page out, crush it in your fist. Instead, you just sit there, tapping the pencil against your knee. You can still feel the way his mouth moved against yours, the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. You take a shaky breath and force yourself to keep writing. It’s better than sitting here drowning in the memory of him.

We’re tangled and twisted and never the same, We love like it hurts and kiss through the pain. You’re poison and honey and everything wrong, And I hate that you’re still the one I want.

The pencil scrapes harshly against the paper as you press harder than you mean to. The words taste bitter in your mouth, but at least they’re honest. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to write them down—because admitting that you want more than just his hands on you feels like exposing a wound you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.

You swallow down the knot in your throat and lean back, squeezing your eyes shut. It would almost be easier if you hated him. If you could just shove him out of your head and pretend he was nothing more than a bad decision. But it’s not that simple. You don’t just want him; you want the old him, the one who used to light up when you walked into the room, who teased you until you were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. You want the Mydei who didn’t always look at you like you’re a problem he can’t fix.

You know you’re being unfair. He’s not the only one who’s changed. You’re not the same either—too guarded, too tired. Sometimes you wonder if you’re just setting yourself up for disappointment because it’s easier than admitting you still love him.

Your chest aches, and the next words come almost like a confession.

You look at me like I’m the one you’ve been missing, Kiss me like I’m the dream you keep wishing Would come true when the lights fade away— But you never stay.

You finish the verse and set the pencil down, pressing your fingertips to your lips like you can still taste him there.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this again. But he looked at you tonight like he was starving—like you were something he couldn’t resist. And you let him have you because a part of you needed it, too. Needed to feel wanted, even if it was just for a few hours. Even if he was gone before you woke up.

You shove the notepad away, letting it fall to the floor as you curl up in the armchair, knees pulled to your chest. The song lingers in your head, the lyrics clawing at your heart. You feel ridiculous for letting him get under your skin like this, like a bruise that won’t heal.

The truth is, you’d let him hurt you a thousand times if it meant he’d look at you like that again. Like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe that makes you a fool, but you don’t know how to be anything else when it comes to him.

Shaking your head as though to dissolve it of its thoughts, you tear out the sheet of paper with your lyrics on it, fold it into a square hastily, and shove it inside the pocket of your sweatpants. You stand up and grab your lighter from your bag. You need a smoke.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Founders’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a simple black stool, hands loosely clasped in your lap.]

YOU: Writing with Mydei… God, it used to be so easy. We didn’t have to think about it. (Smiles softly) We’d just be sitting on the floor of his shitty apartment—barely any furniture, just the couch his neighbour was gonna throw out and that one rug we stole from Hyacine’s place. One of us would pick up the guitar, start playing something, and it was like everything else just faded out.

INTERVIEWER (off-screen): Was it always that natural?

YOU: (Nods) Yeah. It just worked. Sometimes we didn’t even talk before starting a song. I’d be on the floor, writing down whatever came to mind, and he’d be next to me, leaning against the wall with his guitar. Sometimes I’d hum something, and he’d just—pick it up. It was like we were reading each other’s minds.

[CUT TO: MYDEI, sitting with his back slightly hunched, elbows on his knees.]

MYDEI: We wrote some of our best songs at 3 A.M, dead tired, arguing about lyrics while eating instant ramen. She’d always overthink the words—had to make sure they said exactly what she wanted. I didn’t care as much. I guess I figured the feeling mattered more than getting every word right.

INTERVIEWER: Do you have an example for the same?

MYDEI: There was this one song (pauses, shakes his head). We wrote it after this stupid fight. I’d stormed out, pissed as hell, but when I came back, she was sitting on the floor, scribbling lyrics like her life depended on it. I didn’t say anything. Just sat down and played along with whatever she was humming. Neither of us apologised, but… I guess that was our way of making up.

[CUT TO: YOU]

YOU: We never talked about it, you know? We’d write all these songs that were practically confessions—about each other, about how much it hurt when we fought, or how we couldn’t stand being apart—and then we’d just… move on. Never acknowledged it.

INTERVIEWER: Do you regret that?

YOU: (Hesitates) Sometimes. But the songs made it pretty obvious. We were practically begging each other to figure it out without actually saying it.

[CUT TO: MYDEI]

MYDEI: She always wrote like it was her way of… bleeding out whatever she couldn’t say. We made something good out of it, though. Even if we never said it out loud. And… yeah. Sometimes I miss that. The simplicity of it. Just us and a guitar and whatever shit we were working through. I didn’t need anything else back then.

[CUT TO: YOU]

YOU: It’s funny. We used to write about heartbreak like it was this distant concept—something that happened to other people. Never thought we’d end up writing about each other.

vi). i want to get him back (and then?)

The rooftop is quiet at this hour—too early for most and too late for the rest. The sky is more navy than blue, more shadow than light. You push the heavy metal door open with your shoulder, and it clicks shut behind you with a soft thud. You tug your hoodie tighter around you, retreating into the warmth, and dig around in your pocket for your cigarettes.

The lighter sparks on the second try. You inhale. Smoke fills your lungs, and something in you loosens. You hate how easy it still is to find comfort in bad habits.

That’s when you notice him.

At first, it’s just the faint glow of a cigarette at the far corner of the rooftop. But you know it’s him—know it in the shape of his silhouette, the way he leans forward with one elbow braced on the ledge, hoodie pulled low over his face. Mydei. Of course.

You hesitate for a beat, frozen halfway between the door and where he stands. It would be easier to leave—pretend you didn’t see him, pretend you didn’t spend the night tangled up in him and then wake up to cold sheets and silence.

But you don’t.

Your steps are quiet as you cross the rooftop, stopping a few feet away from him. He doesn’t look at you, just exhales slowly, eyes on the horizon. You take a drag from your cigarette, watching the tip burn orange, watching the smoke curl upwards and vanish into the sky.

“Why’d you leave?” you ask. You mean the hotel room, but not only that.

He’s quiet for a long time. You wonder if he’s even going to answer.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says eventually, still not looking at you.

You huff a breath. It’s not quite a laugh. “You didn’t want to be there.”

He doesn’t argue. The silence stretches again, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just tired. He glances at you. The wind picks up a little, brushing your hair across your cheek. He notices—always notices—and shifts just slightly so he’s blocking the breeze. Neither of you says anything about it.

“You looked peaceful,” Mydei says. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“You think not being there was better?”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You nod. You don’t push. You’ve learned not to with him. “It’s not just about tonight,” you say quietly.

He nods, eyes dark and shadowed. “I know.”

The sun starts to edge over the horizon, painting faint streaks of pink and orange across the navy sky. It’s beautiful in that fragile, fleeting way, like something you’re scared to touch because you know it’s too delicate to last. You both watch in silence for a while, letting the smoke and the light fill the air between you. There’s a comfort in it, strangely enough. The way the world keeps turning even when your heart feels like it’s stuck. The way mornings come anyway.

You look at Mydei again.

He’s tired. You can see it in the curve of his mouth, in the slump of his shoulders. But he’s here. Part of you wants to ask him why. Why he came up here. Why he didn’t leave the hotel entirely. Why he lets himself touch you but won’t let himself stay. Instead, you say nothing.

He offers you his lighter when yours gives out, and your fingers brush when you take it. It’s a brief touch, barely there, but it’s enough to make your chest ache in that too-familiar way.

You smoke the rest of your cigarettes side by side, not speaking, not needing to. It’s the kind of silence that used to exist between songs in the studio. When you stub the last bit out on the ledge, you take one last look at the sunrise. The light catches on his face now, gold and soft, and you want to say something. You don’t even know what.

So instead, you pull your hoodie tighter and nod. “I should go.”

He nods too, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you either.

You turn back towards the door, and as you do, a folded piece of paper slips from your pocket. You don’t notice it fall, fluttering once before landing gently near his feet. You don’t notice it, because you’re too busy disappearing back into the stairwell, too wrapped up in keeping your shoulders straight and your breathing steady.

He doesn’t move for a while after you’re gone.

Then, slowly, Mydei leans down and picks up the paper. The handwriting is unmistakable—your quick, slanted script, a few smudges where the pencil dragged.

He reads it once. Twice.

Then he folds it back up, holds it in his hand like it might crumble, and watches the sun break over the city, alone.

The lights shift from the vibrant spotlights of the previous set into something softer, slower—dimmed gold and dusky purple spreading like ink over the stage. Your mic is cold under your fingers. You roll the cord absently through your hand. You can’t see much beyond the footlights; only the sea of shadows, the faint outlines of swaying arms and cell phone lights blinking like stars.

But Mydei’s there, across from you. This next song is just you and him, after all.

He’s adjusting the strap of his guitar, head bowed, eyes hidden beneath the fall of his hair.

It’s the same stage. The same lights. The same song. Why does it feel so different?

The crowd doesn’t know what they’re about to hear. Most of them don’t even know the song, you’re pretty sure. It’s some B-side from one of your earlier albums. You remember when you wrote it. The quiet of three in the morning, the late-night arguments that bled into music, the unraveling of two people who couldn’t speak to each other unless it was in chords and half-rhymed lines.

Here you are again. Older. Worse at pretending.

The intro begins with gentle chords, the kind that hurt more than they soothe. Your mic is already at your lips. You inhale like it’s your first breath of the night.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care this time, Said your name like it didn’t still taste like goodbye. But you look at me like you never learned how to let go…”

Your voice holds, though it feels like walking a tightrope. Every word comes out measured, like if you let it slip, your heart will come out tumbling too. You don’t look at him, not yet. You can feel his presence—like gravity—but you don’t turn your head.

Not until he sings. Then, you do. He meets your gaze.

“I said we were fire meant to burn out fast, But I keep finding you in every song I’ve written last. You don’t ask me to stay, and I don’t ask you to try… But we’re still standing here, pretending we’re fine.”

His voice—God, his voice. It’s rougher than it used to be, edges carved by years and distance, but it still wraps around your lyrics like it was always meant to. He’s not just singing. He’s looking at you like he’s saying every word for the first time. It knocks the air from your lungs.

Your heart’s pounding now, and you hate that it still reacts to him like this. Like your body remembers the way he used to hold you when no one else was watching. 

The chorus crashes over both of you.

“So lie to me, baby, say it’s still love, Say the ending never mattered, that this beginning’s enough. We were smoke, we were stars, we were doomed from the start, But tonight, just tonight, sing like you still mean every part.”

Mydei steps closer. You do, too. It’s instinct, not plan. You don’t even realise it until you’re nearly toe-to-toe, voices tangling into harmony, eyes locked.

You wonder if the crowd can feel it. If they can hear the way your throat tightens, how the vowels tremble when he looks at you like that. Like he’s trying to remember the shape of you—not just your face, but your soul. The bridge comes. You always dreaded it.

“Maybe we’ll break like we always do, Maybe we’ll forget this in the morning too. But for now—God, for now— You still feel like a home I never knew.”

The line lands like a punch to the chest. Yours, and maybe his too.

You let it ring out, raw and full. For a second, it feels like the two of you are back in that tiny studio years ago—barefoot, angry, tired, in love. Writing a song you were both too scared to mean. But you meant it. You always did, and you do now.

The last chorus is quieter, a lullaby instead of a plea.

“And I’d sing this with you a thousand times… if you’d let me.”

You drop your hand from the mic, breath catching in your throat, and for a moment—just a moment—there’s silence. Just you and Mydei.

He doesn’t move. He’s staring at you with something unspoken lodged in his eyes, something that looks too close to regret.

You turn away first. Your heart’s already too full. One more second and it might burst.

The crowd roars behind you, applause crashing in waves.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Members’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: CASTORICE, lounging back on the couch.]

CASTORICE: It was just a fact. Mydei and _____. You didn’t say one name without the other. (Shakes her head) And the way they used to look at each other on stage? Insane. Like, we’d be in the middle of a song, and I’d be watching them instead of playing because damn. The rest of us could’ve vanished into thin air, and they wouldn’t have noticed.

(Laughs lightly, rolling her eyes.)

CASTORICE (CONT’D): It was kinda funny, actually. Like, okay, we get it, you’re in love. Can we get through the set without you two making heart eyes at each other? (Pause) But, y’know… it was also kinda nice. Seeing people that in sync. That kind of connection isn’t something you fake.

[CUT TO: HYACINE, sitting cross-legged on the floor, bass resting on her lap.]

HYACINE: They were disgusting. I mean that in the nicest way possible. (Grinning) Like, you’d be tuning your guitar, and they’d just be standing off to the side, whispering to each other like they weren’t literally about to perform in front of thousands of people. And yeah, sure, couples sing duets all the time, but with them? It was different. Like they were letting us in on something private, something meant just for them. Even if it was a song they’d performed a hundred times before, it always felt like they were saying something new.

(Chuckles, eyes soft with nostalgia.)

HYACINE (CONT’D): They made you believe in that kind of love, y’know? The all-consuming, this-song-is-about-you kind of love. You couldn’t want them and not feel it.

[CUT TO: PHAINON, sitting with his arms draped over the back of the chair, smirking lightly.]

PHAINON: Yeah, they were that couple. The ones who made you roll your eyes but also kind of wish you had what they had. Like, I remember this one show—Mydei had just finished this crazy guitar solo, and instead of, I don’t know, reveling in the applause like a normal person, he immediately turned to _____ like she was the only one whose reaction mattered. And she just grinned at him, and I swear to God, he looked like he won the lottery.

(Shakes his head and scoffs.)

PHAINON (CONT’D): They were reckless with it. Loud about it. No hesitation, no holding back. They didn’t just love each other, they showed it. And that’s rare. You don’t get that kind of honesty on stage very often.

(His smirk fades just slightly.)

PHAINON (CONT’D):  …That’s why it was so hard when it ended.

vii). ‘cause i miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh.

The crowd is louder tonight. Not louder in volume, necessarily, but just… like they’re expecting something. Like they know something you don’t.

You glance at the setlist as someone does your in-ear check. Your duet with Mydei is coming up next—the same one you’ve done every night for years. It’s not your most popular song, but it’s yours. It always has been. Something about it felt safe even now, when everything else between you and him was held together with duct tape and willpower.

You take a sip of water and step towards the side of the stage, waiting for the intro cues.

But when you hear the first notes, they’re not yours.

Your stomach drops. The chord progression is soft, a little unfamiliar. It’s not one of your tracks, or a part of the agreed setlist.

Your gaze snapes to the center of the stage where Mydei stands—guitar in hand, face calm. He’s adjusted his mic, and he’s… smiling? Not a grin. Nothing cocky. Just this small, quiet thing, like he’s doing something that matters to him more than he’s ready to admit.

“This one’s not on the list,” he says into the mic, casual, like this doesn’t upend everything. “I wanted to try something new tonight.”

Your brow furrows. You step a little closer, careful not to draw a scene. Castorice gives you a sharp look from behind her kit, like, Did you know about this? You shake your head once. 

Mydei starts to sing.

“You look at me like I’m your only song, And I play the part even when it feels wrong.”

It hits you like a punch to the ribs.

That lyric. That exact line. You know it because you wrote it, alone. In that hotel room weeks ago, scrawled in a burst of emotion you weren’t proud of, folded up and shoved into the pocket of your sweatpants. You’d thought it got tossed in the wash or lost somewhere in the shuffle between cities.

Apparently not. Apparently he found it. And instead of asking you—like a normal person would—he set it to music. He built a melody around your bleeding heart and decided to sing it to a crowd of thousands.

“We’re tangled and twisted and never the same, We love like it hurts and kiss through the pain. You’re poison and honey and everything wrong, And I hate that you’re still the one I want.”

It’s a beautiful melody, and you feel something inside your chest twist, hard. He sings softly but unsteadily, like he wasn’t sure that you’d hear it—or worse, that you would.

He doesn’t look at you while he sings. He scans the crowd, eyes on the horizon. But the meaning is clear. You can feel it in the tightness in your chest, in the hush that’s fallen over the audience, like they know this isn’t just a love song.

You fold your arms over your chest, more for grounding than anything. Castorice doesn’t play a beat. Hyacine and Phainon watch silently, hands loose on their instruments like they’re ready to jump in if needed, but they don’t. Neither of you do.

This is his moment, and your words.

“You look at me like I’m the one you’ve been missing, Kiss me like I’m the dream you keep wishing Would come true when the lights fade away— But you never stay.”

You exhale shakily. You feel exposed, as if you’re standing naked in front of an entire arena. The words weren’t just lyrics—they were confessions. Grudges. Regrets. Things you never had the guts to say out loud. And here Mydei is, saying them for you.

No. Singing them.

Your fingers curl into your palms. You don’t know whether to be furious or deeply, deeply moved. 

He finishes the song in a whisper, almost. The last chord rings out like an unanswered question. The audience is silent for a beat too long. Then they erupt—whistling, cheering, screaming. It’s a standing ovation for something they didn’t even know was a story.

And still, Mydei hasn’t looked at you—until now.

He turns, finally, just a little, and meets your eyes across the stage. You don’t smile. You don’t clap. You just stare at him, speechless and conflicted.

Then, Mydei steps back from the mic and gives the signal to move on with the set. You turn your face away before the next lights come up, blinking hard. Your heart’s racing. You don’t know what happens after this; what this means; what you’re supposed to say.

You only know one thing: That song was yours, and now, it’s his, too.

The hallway outside the dressing rooms is buzzing—crew rushing around, the muffled roar of the crowd still seeping through the walls, someone shouting about cords and lights and encores. But all you can hear is the blood in your ears and your name echoing in Mydei’s voice as he sang your lyrics.

His voice, but your words. Your heart on a scrap of paper you never meant for anyone else to see.

Your footsteps are harsh against the floor as you turn the corner and push the door open. The dressing room is too bright, too sterile compared to the intimacy of the stage. Mydei stands with his back to you, shirt clinging to his skin with sweat, hair pushed off his forehead like he ran his fingers through it too many times.

You close the door behind you with a click. Quiet, but final. He hears it.

“Hey,” he says, not turning around yet.

You stare at the back of his head. “Don’t do that to me.”

Mydei pauses. Slowly, he turns to face you. “I figured you’d be mad.”

“Mad?” You laugh, breath catching somewhere in your throat. “You think I’m mad?”

“You look mad.”

“I am mad,” you snap, taking a step closer, heart pounding. “You sang a song you weren’t supposed to have. You didn’t even ask me, Mydei. You just—just stood there and threw it at me in front of ten thousand people like it meant nothing.”

“It didn’t mean nothing,” he says. “That’s why I sang it.”

You’re both quiet. The silence stretches and tightens until it’s almost unbearable.

“You could’ve told me,” you say finally, voice hoarse. “You could’ve talked to me. About the song. About anything. But you don’t. You never do.”

Mydei exhales slowly, resting his hands on his hips like he’s bracing himself. “I didn’t know how.”

You tilt your head, lips parting in disbelief. “That’s such bullshit, Mydei. We wrote songs together. We told each other everything through music. And now you’re just—standing there, acting like it’s some impossible thing.”

He looks at you, then. Really looks. And for a moment, he’s not the cold, distant version of himself he’s been for months. He’s just him. The boy who used to fall asleep beside you in the tour van. The one who hummed half-finished melodies in your ear at midnight in whatever motel you were crashing in. The one who used to kiss you like the world might end before morning.

“I didn’t know how to say I missed you,” he admits. “So I used your words instead. Because mine never come out right.”

You don’t want to forgive him. You really don’t.

But the hurt in his voice is real. So is the way he’s looking at you—like you’ve always been the only person in the room, and he’s just been waiting to see you again for real.

You take one shaky step forward. Then another.

When your lips crash into his, it isn’t careful or slow. It’s everything you’ve been holding back: Rage, longing, grief, hope. His hands find your face, yours grip his shirt, and everything around you blurs until it’s just him, just the warmth of his mouth and the softness of his sighs and the undeniable truth that this still feels like home.

You part, breathless.

Neither of you speaks at first. You’re still close enough to feel his breath on your cheek, the heat of his skin under your fingertips. 

Your voice comes out quieter than you intend when you tell him, “I want to get you back.”

Mydei doesn’t hesitate. “You already have.”

It hits you harder than the kiss did. Something cracks inside you—something small and soft and long-buried. You almost don’t realise you’re crying until he wipes your cheek with the back of his hand.

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” His thumb traces the edge of your jaw. “You’re allowed to be.”

You step back first, gently. He lets you go, but his eyes follow you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

As you adjust your jacket and run a hand through your hair, something slips from your pocket—folded paper, creased from being handled too many times. You don’t notice, but Mydei does.

He kneels to pick it up after you’re gone, quietly unfolding it to find another unfinished song. Lyrics in your handwriting. His name, half-crossed out and rewritten three times.

He reads the first line. Smiles.

He doesn’t hand it back to you. He tucks it into his jacket, like he already knows how it ends.

[CUT TO BLACK] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: Reunion Tour. THE END.”

[traveler-at-heart]

Stuck Together - Part 7

Summary: After Westview, Wanda and her children go into hiding. She's not happy with the person in charge of protecting them.

Wanda Maximoff x F! Super Soldier R

A/N: Final part is here. Thank you to everyone reading :)

Quiet.

Something you love. Or used to, anyway.

It’s stupid, how fast you got used to the little things. The sounds in the kitchen as Wanda made coffee. The hurried steps of fhe boys, eager to join Riley in a morning walk.

Now you’re back to being alone, feeding the animals, looking out the window while the radio plays some generic music.

Everything’s so bland and boring and you hate it.

Then, one morning, you hear a car parking in the driveway.

“Sestra!” a voice with a heavy accent calls, and your shoulders drop. You realise a moment later that you were holding your breath.

Fanny barks, eager to say hello to Riley. You open the door, your dog sprinting out to greet Yelena and her pup.

There’s a brunette trailing right behind the Russian, looking around nervously.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, you left the hospital against medical advice. What was I supposed to do?”

“Hu-huh” you cross your arms, looking at the stranger. She hesitates, taking a step forward to introduce herself.

“Kate Bishop”

“Clint’s minion” you recognise the name. He told you all about their little stint in New York. You turn to Yelena, raising your arms. “I’m fine, all healed. You can chill”

“Well, we came all the way here, could we at least stay the night?”

In that moment, Riley sits at your feet, barking excitedly. You glare at the blonde.

“Only because Riley agreed”

“Good girl” she says, scratching behind her ears. With a roll of your eyes, you turn back home, Yelena and Kate close behind you.

As you prepare coffee and the two girls make sandwiches, you think of all the things Natasha told you about Yelena.

She was my little sister.

And you knew, that if anyone could understand your grief was her, out of all the people in the world.

But that didn’t mean you wanted to spend time together. It was a constant push and pull. Talking about Natasha and avoiding the topic altogether were both equally painful.

After a while, you show them the guest room. Yelena doesn’t flinch at the sight of one bed, and even when you mention the other rooms available (or even the couch), they both walk in.

As Yelena walks by you, you arch an eyebrow, and she gives you a stern look.

“Shut it”

Figuring it’s better to give them some privacy to settle, you take a stroll around the farm, Lou happily following along while Fanny and Riley chase each other.

Your mind is a mess, and you don’t know which way to turn to hurt less. As usual, there’s a weight in your chest when you think about Natasha, and how much you miss her. But now, Wanda’s abscence is also there, the wound very much fresh and open, as only a few days ago she was in your arms, promising to stay.

For the first time in years, you miss going on missions.

“Had a good walk?” Yelena says when you’re back. You just shrug your shoulders, sighing as you go up the steps. “Well, ok. Have a seat”

“What is Bishop doing?” you ignore her invitation, taking a look through the window.

“Trying to cook dinner”

“Is she going to burn my house down?”

“I’d give it a 40-60 chance of it happening” the blonde smiles, clearly not worried about it. Then, she pats the space next to her on the porch swing. “Now come. Sit”

With a sigh, you walk up to her and lean against the bannister, crossing your arms as you look at her. Yelena rolls her eyes at your defensive stan.

“So, what’s the deal between you and this Wanda?”

“Nothing”

“Not what I heard” she shakes her head, amused. You glare.

“From who?”

“Barton”

“Oh, come on. You were trying to kill the guy a few weeks ago and now you gossip? He braids your hair while he’s at it?” you mock.

“Ok, fine. Not directly from him. He called Kate and she called me”

“She called you or you were together?” you tease her.

“Stop being an ass. Tell me what’s going on”

You look away for a moment, thinking that you could tell her it’s none of her business. Ask her to leave you alone, to try and get drunk, forget about everything that’s weighing you down.

But you can’t. Because, whether you like it or not, you’re bound by grief, and loss. And love. Love for Natasha.

If she was struggling with something, you’d be chasing her around until you made sure she was ok.

“Nothing. I thought… Hill asked me for help to protect her. And for those couple of weeks, I developed these feelings. Maybe I was just lonely”

“Feelings? Like love?”

“I guess. But she left, and it’s probably for the best. She’s right; someone always gets hurt”

“You’re already hurt” she replies, her voice gentle.

“I’m a big girl, I’ll get over it”

“But do you have to? Why not go after her? Give yourself the chance to be happy. Just once”

“I don’t think… I didn’t do anything to stop her, Yelena. I don’t think I can be happy, after failing Natasha” you finally say, voice shaking.

“You didn’t fail her. She made a choice. After everything she went through, all the possibilities that were taken from her… do you really think the last thing she ever did was against her will?”

You can’t answer that.

What’s worse? To think you could have stopped her? Or that her sacrifice was always inevitable?

Yelena stands up, her hand on your shoulder.

“Just… remember what you told me. A life worth living. That’s the best way to honor her memory”

“Yeah” you sigh, looking up. You hate crying.

Though, a second later you smell the smoke and hear Kate’s scream.

“We should probably go help her”

“And order some pizza” Yelena adds, smiling as you roll your eyes.

—

It’s been a while since you’ve been here.

The gifts and letters scattered around always warm your heart.

There are people who value her, honor her life.

Natasha’s legacy.

As far as your little tribute, it’s all the plants you placed around this hidden corner of land.

You spend some time cutting and cleaning the grass around the gravestone, and then turn your attention to the flowers.

The peonies get pruned, daffodils adding a spring of color. You know the hydrangeas aren’t blooming until early summer, but that’s fine.

Natasha once told you; bare trees or withering flowers didn’t make her sad. It meant she was staying long enough in one place to watch them go through every season. It meant she had a home.

Once you’re done removing the soil, checking the watering system you installed, and fixing the little gifts people left for her, you sit on the floor, watching your hands.

“Sorry for not coming sooner. Hill called me. And you know I answered because she was your friend. Turns out she wanted me to help out Maximoff. She got a bit more annoying than when she was running around the Compound looking like a raccoon with all that eyeliner” you chuckle at the memory of her dark clothes, rings and smoky eyes. She couldn’t look more different now.

“I should have known it was going to be trouble, and I don’t mean just because I almost got killed twice. It’s because… I started to fall for her. She has two kids, by the way. Born from magic or some weird deal I don’t really understand”

I didn’t think I had it in me, to fall in love again. Not only because I lost you, but because I had been so angry at everyone. It felt like I only had space for that emotion. Anger.

But I saw myself in Wanda. In everything she lost, in all the things that were taken from her, without so much as an apology. And I want more for her. I want her to be happy. Maybe with me. Why not?

As usual, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. It’s different this time, though. I still feel sad and lonely, but it’s also a different kind of nostalgia. I can think about you and appreciate everything we shared.

Most importantly, I think I’m finally ok with the fact that you made your choice. I have to trust that you knew what you were doing, Tasha. And that whether I like it or not, it is what you wanted.

You lean your head against her grave, the stone cold against your skin. It makes your heart ache, it makes you wish you could bring her back and feel her warmth against your body.

How could you ever think Wanda’s a monster? If you could, you’d create a new reality, a new universe where Natasha gets to live the life she always deserved.

But you can’t do that. All you can do is go and find your own happinnes.

With a final touch, you speak softly, hoping she can hear you, wherever she is.

“I love you, so damn much. And I always will”

—

Very few times in her life, has Wanda regretted putting on The Dick Van Dyke Show.

And then, she realises what episode they’re watching.

Never name a duck.

The one where Ritchie becomes attached to two ducks, but only one of them survives. Until he’s sick and the vet tells Rob he needs to be in the wild.

The words that come out of Rob’s mouth make Wanda think of you.

“But maybe that was a selfish love”

That’s exactly what she thinks her love for you is. Selfish.

You didn’t ask for any of this, and Wanda’s not about to burden you with everything she carries. She’ll manage alone, like she has done ever since Pietro died.

Except she wasn’t alone. There was Vision, Steve and Natasha. You, in the background, doing your part, fighting for Wanda’s right to have a life outside of this.

Even if she misses you, you deserve to have a life.

And so, she let you go.

“Can we watch something else?” Billy asks, and Wanda can tell the show is making him sad as well.

“Sure, sweetheart”

After watching Zootopia, the kids drag their feet to the room they’re sharing. Fury provided another safe house, while Wanda decides where to go next. Billy and Tommy need stability and of course they won’t get it by changing houses every other day.

“Can I ask you something?” Tommy says, turning to look at Billy, making sure his brother’s asleep. “Is Y/N ok?”

“I sure hope she is, my sweet boy. She knows how to take care of herself” Wanda smiles at him, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears that are almost rolling down her cheeks. “Now you get some sleep, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow”

“Night, Mom” he replies, settling in bed.

As Wanda takes a moment in the hallway, she allows herself to think about you, probably back home. Watching Ancient Aliens, cursing at the TV as you sip on a bottle of beer.

It’s stupid, how much comfort it brings her to think of you doing the most absurd things.

Said comfort doesn’t last long, though. She hears a branch snapping close to the house. It’s a small place and the road ends a few feet away from the entrance. So, whoever approaches has to leave their vehicle and walk to the front door.

Without wasting a second, she goes to the door, hand up in the air to hold the intruder.

“Hey, now wait a second” you say, smiling.

Wanda’s so shocked that she drops her hand, you crashing down immediately after.

“I’m sorry” she rushes to your side, and you sit up. Wanda places her hands in your face,  fingers tracing the cuts and bruises that are still healing.

On pure instinct, you move forward, kissing her. She moans against your lips, allowing you to wrap your strong arms around her waist. But then she remembers.

“Stop”

“No” you shake your head, pulling her closer. “You said you’d stay, Wanda”

“That was before”

“Before…”

“You almost got killed because of me” she sighs, pushing her hair back and standing up. You follow her, reaching for her hand.

“Can’t even tell you how many people have tried to kill me. And I’m still here”

“It wasn’t just him. It was Agatha too. And who knows what else? I’m like a magnet for these things. I don’t want you getting hurt” she says, arms around her own body, as if desperate to find something that can hold her together.

“Wanda… bad things are going to happen. It’s part of life. Wouldn’t you want to face them with someone who… who cares about you?” you whisper, holding her chin between your fingers.

“I’m scared”

“The thing is, we’ve both lost people. And I know, I can’t deny that a part of me will always love Natasha… but I think I have to accept she made a choice. And I should try to live my life. I think Vision would want that for you as well. I mean the real Vision; not that white awful thing” 

“I just don’t want to lose anyone else. I don’t know if I can take it” she says, finally reaching forward. You kiss her temple.

“Well, just come back home and we’ll take it one day at a a time. Together”

“The kids miss you” she says after a beat of silence.

“And I miss them, but I swear if there’s a fourth Cars movie I will burn down Pixar myself”

Wanda laughs for a moment, her breath tickling your skin.

“Promise me you won’t leave me” she says against your neck and you smile, making her look at you.

“Scout’s honor, witchy”

“Don’t…” Wanda’s about to fight you on the nickname, when you meet her lips in a soft kiss.

“Just stop fighting it. You like me too much”

“You wish” she teases, kissing you again.

Looks like you’re stuck with each other.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[shanastoryteller]

this is NOT a request for u to hurry finishing up the new chapter for siat (bc people who do that are ungrateful brats) but a genuine question. Do you feel even less drawn to it right now (spn brain aside) because of what JKR has done to English politics and the lives of trans women? Because I think it would be completely understandable if you felt this was ur final straw to not finish it but I would also get the opposite of it being ‘now there’s even more reason to finish it’ I think both viewpoints are valid and have their reasonings and this is really truly not in any way meant to be a “why isn’t there a new chapter yet!!:(((“ ask I’m just curious what HP fanfic writers (especially someone as well known as you) make of this as I keep seeing posts going around of the “if u still read/write HP fanfic you’re a terf too” variety and I just…disagree with that but also see where they come from (aka helping the fandom stay relevant. But even if we all quit reading and writing fanfic, HP would still be popular and imo the dent fanfic makes isn’t that big in the fandom bc locals still love HP and most people who now read fanfic hate JKR and wouldn’t actually read her books/buy merch)

Regardless of what you decide, know your Audience is behind you,100%. Hell, you dragged most of us (me included) back into Supernatural. I’m excited for the new chapter of tgp!! 💖💖

Thank you for all your words, whatever fandom they may come in (I.e I found you years ago because of your teen wolf fic specifically embers embers but stayed through so many fandoms and even read some I know nothing about) you are a beacon of light in this world and I treasure each of your works truly and with all my heart

thank you, this is a really sweet and nice way of asking, i'm so glad you enjoy my writing <3

but honestly: nah lol

jkr is shit and so are all of her opinions. the influence she has on government sucks and i personally think it's best to avoid giving her money, but i'm not pocketwatching other people

siat, which is a very popular hp fic, is 8 years old and has 2.8 million hits

in 2023 alone, 9.6 million people visited universal studios hollywood, the home of the wizarding world of harry potter

people should engage with media in whatever manner they feel most comfortable and sparks the most joy. but the idea that fanfic is a significant contributor to the cultural zeitgeist is just stupid

siat's on the to do list, i've just been infected with spn brainworms and wbt is also on the list but i feel more compelled to work on that one than siat just because huge chunks of it are already written so it seems a little silly to drag my feet as much as i have, plus at the time it had been a year since i posted the first chapter and i was like. ok come on let's go this is getting ridiculous

it's a goal to get back into a regular update cadence with siat. i'm not tired of it, i don't hate it, i still have an outline and know we're i'm going

it's partially that we're in sort of a tricky part to write, since it's about when a bunch of threads are about to come together and i don't want to fuck it up, and also that demands for updates honest to god really do kill my motivation to work on it. it's not punishment, i'm not trying to be a bitch, but i love the story and want to love sharing it with you, but being treated like a dispenser of fic, or like i owe people something and i'm somehow being selfish or inconsiderate by having fun writing what i want to write, really honestly just kills that. i don't want to write with that in the back of my head

people ask me about siat updates a lot. i don't post anything close to all of them. and if it was just "love the story can't wait to see what happens next!" that wouldn't be a problem, that's nice, i like that people are engaged and interested in what's to come

but a litany of "when will this update?" "is this abandoned?" "what about siat :(" "i don't care about x, why aren't you working on siat?" "you haven't updated siat in a while..." "why haven't you updated siat?" just makes me feel kinda bitter. which isn't a place i want to write from

it will be updated. i probably won't write the next chapter straight through and will alternate with tgp or wbt or whatever, but it's honestly just a mix of brainworms and having a lot of fun with these blorbos and wanting to have be in the right mindset while i write

[pez3639]

This is probably so weird, but can you do one where Luke hughes and the readers' younger sister are dating and you have to meet him for the first time

Endings and Beginnings

Luke Hughes x Reader's Sister || Quinn Hughes x Reader (kinda not rlly. the smallest inklings of it)

WC: 2.2k Words

A/N: No I actually love this and had so much fun doing a lil emo piece about being an older sister. This probably isnt what you had in mind so my bad, this def focuses alot more on the older sister. BUT i feel like i should continue this, esp with the dead end i left there... maybe. Also NOT proofread.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

“Yes, I’m on my way right now,” there was a pause in the phone call as you heard your sister's shaky breath. The silence wasn't awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was the kind that screamed hesitation, even when no words have been spoken. You let her simmer a moment before speaking up. “Hey. You’re going to cross that stage and move onto bigger and better. No more stupid 8 A.M. classes. No more forced smiles to people who talk behind your back. No more college bullshit.”

It’s a few seconds before you hear a long exhale, her quirk that always signals she's finally coming down from whatever ledge her thoughts had chased her to. “Yeah, yeah…you’re right. This is good, it’s great actually,” you continue driving, speeding actually, barely missing the pothole that you were hurtling towards. The sun glares through the windshield, illuminating the necklace that hangs from your rearview. A simple chain with a star attached to it. The sweet sentiment blinded you with a reflection of the sun before your sister's voice came to life over the phone again.

“But why does it feel like nothing's okay and everythings crashing down around me?” her voice no longer carried the anxiety that it held before, now much more quiet and watery as if her tears were collecting in her throat rather than her eyes. Its your turn to take a long exhale before reminding her of how many times she’s done this.

“Do you remember your kindergarten graduation?” you breathe out, knowing that she's hopefully slept since then, either way she lets out a huff of laughter before you continue. “You refused to crawl out of my bed that morning. You were too scared to even look at the little cap and gown. You hid under my covers and cried and cried until I held your hand and told you it would be okay. I did the same thing when you graduated middle school. I think by the time you graduated highschool you just wanted to steal my bed, but that didn’t stop me from holding your hand and telling you it was okay. And I’m doing that now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Your sister laughs at the memories of you two. That’s how it’s always been. The two of you. The two year age difference didn’t matter much, at least to you it didn’t. Most of the memories you had were of you and her. The first time she called you “sissy” while waddling towards you. The late nights on the trampoline, both of you armed with sleeping bags and flashlights that never got used since both of you were far too scared of the dark trees. Her screaming ecstatically when you graduated highschool and you subsequently having to speak for her the next day when she lost her voice. And now her college graduation. Every memory, every moment in time, splattered across your consciousness like constellations. All of those stars linking the two of you together. You and her. 

You felt your eyes sting at the thoughts of the future, both of yours carrying a certain haziness that couldn’t be defined. The only thing you knew is that you would always hold her hand through it. You continue driving with misty eyes and a tight throat before she cuts the silence.

“I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her sincerity broke you out of reverie. Not ready to face those emotions yet, you let out a dry and humorless laugh, “You’d live. You’re too much like a rat to not survive without me.” Her laugh on the other side of the line mirrored yours before she was onto another anxious tangent. 

“Okay, so when you get to your seats there should be…” she drifted off before you heard her mumbling one, two, three, under her breath. The thought of her standing there in her graduation gown while still having to count on her fingers made you grin. She crackled back to life after a moment. “There should be seven seats.” 

“Seven? I thought it was just me, mom, and uh…” you trailed off guiltily at having forgotten her boyfriend's name. Luka…Leo…Logan? No none of those were right as you shook your head at the names that popped up. “Your boyfriend?” 

“Did you really forget his name?” she accused in a dry tone. You pressed the brakes as you took a right turn before grimacing. Shit. “Oh yeah I definitely did…sorry?” She laughed a little at your antics as you continued to try and think of names. In your defense, you’d never met the guy, no less seen a picture of him. The relationship was still a bit new, so you never pressed about it, understanding that maybe she wanted to keep it a little more hidden as they grew closer with one another.

“Oh my god I can’t believe you, and yes he’ll be there, but so will his family.”

Your eyebrows shot up at the new information, “Holy shit, does mom know?” you question, wondering if you were the last to receive this news.

“Yes because she actually reads our group chat messages”

“Whatever,” you say dryly and with an eyeroll, “Okay, I’ll get there and make sure all the seats are good. Don’t worry about it. Everything is going to go great. Now go get in line or whatever you have to do at these things.” The two of you exchanged goodbyes as you got in line for the car park and hung up the phone. The college she attended wasn’t crazy big, but it definitely had a bigger student body than the small-town highschool the both of you attended. Eventually you found a spot and pulled in. You gathered your purse, coat, and ticket into your lap before just sitting there and staring. You felt the ache in your chest begin. The ache that always accompanies growing up. 

It felt like just yesterday that the two of you were giggling and ogling over your prom date. It was just last week that you two were pulling her last baby tooth. Only a month ago you two were running through the sprinklers in the backyard. But in reality, all of that was years ago. Your mind playing a cruel trick to bring up heart-ache and nostalgia. Nostalgia for times that were long gone and never coming back.

The trees along the pathways were budding in the late spring. The blossoms would woefully float down to the ground as if they were scared to let go of their mother branch. Two living things being torn apart by the movement of time. The lively weather was rolling in, a shift from the hoppy wistfulness of spring to the slow and sweltering heat of the summer. Collecting yourself, you unzip your purse to tidy up before heading into the large chapel where commencement was held. Pulling down your mirror, a polaroid stare back at you. Your own college graduation, more rather the pre-party. You hope your sister had that. One last stand with the people she's come close to. At least for now. They may end up bridesmaids, or co-workers, or strangers. Breathing out a heavy sigh, you blot your nose with powder as you take yourself in. Older and more mature than what you were when you graduated. 

Pushing up the mirror, you begin to shift and prepare for the walk to your seat. Unbuckle, open the door, and go. It should be easy but your body drags as if your bones have been turned to lead. Of course you were excited for your sister and her future, but you couldn’t help but mourn for the times before this. Before these big life events. Before you two grow old. You shut the car door and follow the masses to the chapel. The air serves as a lifeline of breath as the old brick walls enter your eyesight. So many people have gathered here to watch and celebrate someone. Everyone here has come together to support one another. It's warming to know such a diverse and expansive group of people can come together for a cumulative reason.

Getting closer and closer, people start collecting tickets as you walk past. You hand yours over and receive a program in exchange. You continue to walk further into the warm atmosphere of the church. Finding your sister placecards, you count out seven and shoot a text to your mom. You take a seat and shed your jacket while glancing around you. There's not many decorations, just some balloons and streamers here and there. A projector screen is in the middle of the stage where pictures of the graduates scroll through. Many of them are club and sports photos, but every now and then a straggler will pop out at you. Your mother begins to walk down the row of seats and chooses the spot to your left, sitting at the end of your reserved seats, meaning you’d have to sit next to these people you've never met before.

Once settled, your mother kisses your cheek and pats your knee in a comforting way, both of you feeling the emotion of today. She begins to make small talk, half of which you’re zoned out for, only throwing in a nod and Uh-huh here and there. About ten minutes pass before a family of five begins scooting down the rows of seats. Three boys and what you’re assuming are their parents. Your mother grabs you hand as she stands, pulling you up with her. Exclaiming in excitement, she greets the older woman first before saying hello to the boys.

“Oh Ellen it’s so good to see you here! She’ll be so happy that everyone made it.” Your mother speaks around you before introducing the family to you. Ellen, Jim, Quinn, Jack, and Luke. Right, his name was Luke. You remember your sister dropping it a few times. You all sit down, with Luke sitting to your right. You try to inconspicuously look him over, but probably failing. He tall and looks lanky under his somewhat formal attire. His dress pants fit loosely around his legs but his polo wrapped around his bicep. His curls looked well maintained, something you had no doubt that your sister had a hand in. He extended his hand to you before choking out a quiet “Hi, I’m Luke.”

You raised an eyebrow a bit and felt the corner of your mouth tug at his nervousness, your older sister protectiveness dropping by a lot at the simple gesture. “Hi, it's nice to meet you Luke.” You offered your name to him before making basic small talk. He told you about his brothers while you gave stories of your sister. While you two were playing with the hose and making mud puddles, the three brothers spent their time together enjoying hockey. As he continued to talk about himself, you understood why your sister chose him. He was the youngest of his brothers and close to all of them, especially Jack. You were glad that she found a family that loves each other as much as yours does. 

Soon his brothers joined in the conversation, making you realize how different he was from your sister. She was outgoing and fun but also had a soft side. You could imagine Luke bringing it out of her more, the two of them sharing a coffee and eating dinner. You understood that the two were more than just a new couple, they truly complimented and matched each other. Luke would often find himself going red as he defended himself from his brothers chirps at him. Moreso Jacks than Quinns. Jack was a true middle sibling–  boisterous, witty, and a bit cocky. Quinn on the other hand was different from both of the boys, from his dark and tousled hair, to the scruff that adorned his jaw, and the heavier look in his eyes. You recognized that look all too well as you caught eyes and he smiled at you, making your heart flutter. You averted you eyes as people began filing onto the stage as the music began to draw in. Everyone hushed as the graduates walked down the aisles and up to the risers on the stage.

As the ceremony continued, speakers came and went. Each one following the same formula on hitting the highs and lows of college. Admin and local “celebrities” filtered to the mic before congratulating the class and sitting down. As long-winded as the ceremony was, you don't miss the way Luke jumps from his chair along with you and your mom when your sister gets called to walk the stage. Or the way he’s grinning ear to ear when he sees his family cheering just as loud as him. It brought a smile to your face. Quinn caught your eye again as you shared a knowing look.

After the ceremony, the graduates ran to their loved ones. You barely had time to brace yourself before your sister borderline launched herself into you. Shes bouncing everywhere between people, from you, to your mother, to Luke, then Quinn and Jack, before slowing down with Ellen and Jim. Everyone stands congratulating her, with Luke showing extra affection for her. Always a hand on the small of her back or interlocked with hers. Everyone continues to mingle before a head of dark hair appears in front of you.

“Hi, I’m Quinn.”

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

ok, size kink with neighbor Steve Roger’s and his cute neighbour (reader) who he’s had a crush on since she moved in 🫶

Neighborly Crush » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Neighbor!Steve Rogers x Neighbor!Female Reader

Summary: Steve has had a crush on you since you moved in and he finally gets his chance with you.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (18+), language, neighbors to lovers, sweet/dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, blowjob, unprotected sex, riding, praise kink, size kink, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Steve has had a crush on you since the day you moved into the apartment across the hall from him. He first noticed you in the parking garage, unloading your stuff from your car. He gave you a smile and went up to his apartment. It didn’t take him long to realize you were going the same direction as him. He was unlocking his door when he seen you go inside of the apartment across the hall from him. That was about 6 months ago.

Ever since that day, Steve has been trying to work up the courage to go across the hall to your apartment and talk to you, but that hasn’t happened yet. He doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to talking girls. Girls used to give him weird looks when he tried to talk to them in the past. That was years ago, when he was a skinny kid from Brooklyn.

Steve has told Bucky and Sam about you and his crush on you. They’ve been giving him advice and trying to encourage him to ask you out, but he hasn’t done that yet. Every time he works up the courage to talk to you, it’s short and sweet like “Good morning”, “Hello”, and “Have a good day”. It’s also pretty obvious that he gets nervous anytime he sees you.

“You’re not that skinny kid anymore. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, man.” Bucky says.

“She’ll be a lucky woman to get a chance with you.” Sam says in a suggestive tone.

“He’s not wrong.” Bucky states. “You’re Captain America. Literally any woman would love to be with you.” He says.

Steve sat there, thinking about it. Women do want to be with him. They aren’t the women he wants. The woman he wants is you… his cute neighbor.

“You guys are right.” Steve stands up. “Thank you.” He says.

“Good luck!” Bucky and Sam say in unison.

When Steve got to the apartment building you and him live in, he stood in front of your door for a short moment and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. He felt himself getting nervous as he waited for you to answer the door. He smiles when you finally opened the door.

“Hi, Steve!” You smile.

“Hi, Y/N.” Steve smiles back.

You stepped aside to allow him to come inside your apartment.

“What can I do for Captain America?” You asked with a smile on your face.

“I was wondering if we could talk. I understand if you’re busy.” He says nervously.

“I’m not busy. I actually just got home from running errands.” You said. “Take a seat.” You say, gesturing towards the couch.

Steve sat down on the couch and you sat down next to him, your knee touching his. He looked at your knee and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Do you want anything? Like something to drink?” You asked sweetly.

“No. Just you.” Steve’s eyes went wide when he realized how he just said that. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant-” He stopped talking when you put a hand on his thigh.

Steve felt his cock beginning to get hard. He swallowed thickly. Now’s not the time for that.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.” You say.

Steve blushed and smiled when you said that. You think he’s cute!

“I’m your neighbor. You can tell me anything.” You say softly.

He wants to be more than neighbors with you. Steve took a deep breath before saying anything.

“I like you!” Steve blurted out fast.

“What?” You asked, making sure you heard him right.

“I like you.” He repeats softly. “I’ve had a crush on you since the day you moved in. I think you’re really cute. I would like to take you on a date. Only if you want to.” He tells you.

You sat there, staring at him and trying to process what he just said. You didn’t know he liked you that way.

Steve felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you didn’t say anything back to him. He knew it meant you didn’t feel the same way as him. Or so he thinks.

“I’ll see myself out.” Steve says, saving himself from even more embarrassment.

Steve stood up, but didn’t get far from the couch when you grabbed his wrist. He looks at your hand on his wrist and then looked at you. You stood up from the couch, looking up at him.

“I like you too, Steve.” You murmured softly.

“You do?” He asks.

“Yes.” You smiled.

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed him softly and sweetly. Steve was caught by surprise, but kissed you back. His hands found their place on your waist, pulling you against his body. Your hands cupped his cheeks.

“Take me, Stevie.” You whispered, looking in his blue eyes.

“Take you where?” Steve asks, feeling stupid after he said that.

“To my bedroom.” You say with a small giggle.

You grasped his hand and lead him to your bedroom. You closed and locked the door behind you. You then kissed him again.

Steve couldn’t believe this was happening. He was getting his chance with you. His body was filling with excitement.

Your hands pushed his jacket off. It fell to the floor. Your hands tugged on his t-shirt, wanting it off. Steve pulled away from your lips to take his shirt off. Your hands roamed his body, feeling his muscles. You then used all of your strength to push him onto your bed, catching him by surprise.

You stood in front of him, stripping from your clothes, leaving yourself naked. Steve took the opportunity to kick his shoes off and took his jeans off, along with his boxers.

Steve watched your every move. You sunk down to your knees, getting in between his spread legs. You bit your bottom lip when you got an eyeful of the size of his cock. His breath hitched in his throat when you wrapped your hand around his now hard cock.

“You’re so big, Stevie.” You purred softly.

Your hand stroked his cock for a few seconds. Your thumb swiped over his tip, using his precum as a lubricant. You then kitten licked his tip and the veins on his cock. Steve’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head when you did that. You wrapped your lips around his cock and began sucking him off. You stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Steve wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He wasn’t sure if he should hold the back of your head and pulled your hair a bit as you sucked his cock to hold onto the sheets. He decided to put your hair in a makeshift ponytail and hold it.

Your eyes flickered up at him. You had an innocent and cute look in your eyes. Steve is starting to love that look.

You decided to see if you could take the rest of his cock in your mouth. You took your hand off of his cock and moved your mouth further down his cock. You choked a bit, but you were able to make it work. Steve looked down at you, noticing that the rest of his cock was in your mouth.

“Good girl.” Steve praises in a moan. “Taking my big cock in that pretty little mouth.” He says.

Steve’s dirty words made you squirm a bit, rubbing your thighs together for some kind of relief. Steve even surprised himself with his dirty talk. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you were making him feel in the moment or the heat of the moment. Either or, neither of you were complaining about it. If you’re being honest, Steve’s dirty talk turned you on. You put your hands on his thighs to keep from touching yourself.

Saliva began to pool in your mouth. Some of it leaked out of your mouth, rolling down your chin. Your eyes water any time his cock hit the back of your throat or when you choked on his cock. You didn’t really mind it. Some of your saliva got on his balls, making both of you messy. Steve notices and smirks.

“Look at you.” Steve mutters. “Getting all messy by sucking my cock.” He says.

You whined against his cock at the sound of how dirty he sounds. Your hot neighbor who looks innocent is not as innocent as you thought. He most definitely doesn’t sound innocent. You brought a hand up to his balls, rubbing them to see his reaction.

“Holy shit!” Steve moans loudly.

His reaction caught both of you off guard. You were pleased with it.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” He pants.

You did it again, the same reaction from him. His hand tightened its grip on your hair the closer he got to coming.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Steve moans as he got closer to coming.

Steve threw his head back in pleasure when he came, coming in your mouth. A little bit of it rolled down your chin. You pulled his cock out of your mouth and stared up at Steve from your position on the floor.

“Holy shit…” He breathes, lifting his head.

You giggled softly at his post orgasm state. Steve looks down at you, seeing a little bit of his cum on your chin. He reached a hand down, swiping his thumb across your chin to wipe his cum off of your chin. You seductively licked his cum off of his thumb while maintaining eye contact.

“God damn. That’s hot.” He mumbles.

You bit your bottom lip and stood up, standing in between his spread legs. You put your hands on his shoulders, slowly moving them down to his chest.

“Can I ride you, Stevie?” You asked sweetly and seductively.

“Yes.” Steve answers a little too fast.

“Lay down for me, big boy.” You almost whispered, biting your bottom lip.

Steve repositioned himself on the bed, laying on his back and laying his head on the pillows. You got on top of him, straddling him. You leaned down and gave him a soft kiss. You reached a hand down in between the two of you, wrapping your hand around his cock. You stroked it a few times before lining it at your entrance. Your mouth fell open when you sunk down on his cock. You knew Steve is big just by looking at his cock, but you didn’t know that he was this big until you felt his cock stretch your pussy as he entered you. You took a moment to adjust to his size when his cock was fully inside of you.

Steve took that moment to let his hands roam your body, starting at your thighs and moving upwards to your hips and higher. His hands slid up your waist, stopping on the your ribs just below your breasts. His thumbs traced the underside of your breasts before moving his hands to your breasts, cupping them with his hands. He gave them a squeeze, making you gasp softly.

“I’m ready whenever you are, pretty girl.” Steve says.

You gave him a smile as you placed your hands on his strong chest. You rose yourself up off of his cock, only leaving his tip inside of you and then sunk back down.

“Oh fuck…” You moaned. “S-So big.” You babbled.

Steve smirks to himself and bit his bottom lip. He loves that you’re already drunk on his cock and you just started riding him.

“Already drunk on my cock, darling?” Steve asks in a cocky tone.

You babbled a “Yes” while nodding your head. It sounded more like a whine, but Steve still understood what you said.

You’ve been with a couple men before Steve and they weren’t as big as him. Steve is bigger than those other guys. If you’re being honest, you’re enjoying the size of Steve’s cock.

“So tight.” Steve moans.

Your nails dug in Steve’s skin, leaving red line marks on his chest. Steve’s hands still continued to roam your body. His hands found their way to your ass cheeks and left them there.

Steve’s mind began to wander. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Him fucking his cute neighbor who he has a crush on since you moved in. He never wanted this moment to end. He sure as hell knows he’s enjoying it.

“You feeling good, pretty boy?” You asked.

“Mhmm, yes- fuck…” He moans.

“Then you’re definitely gonna love this.” You say seductively.

You rolled your hips against his at the perfect angle, making both of you moan out loud. His cock hit the one spot inside of you perfectly. You threw your head back in pleasure, arching your back a bit. Steve’s eyes were focused on your breasts. He licked his lips and wrapped an arm around your waist and used the other one to push himself up so he was sitting up against the headboard. His hips thrusted upward when he sat up a bit, hitting that one spot inside of you again.

“Oh yes, Stevie!” You moaned loudly.

Steve smiles to himself, happy and proud that he’s the one making you feel good. He quickly got entranced by the way your breasts were bouncing as you rode him. You noticed and smirked at him.

“You can play with them if you want.” You say seductively, shaking your chest at him to make your breasts jiggle.

Steve’s hands slid up your sides, stopping just underneath your breasts. His thumbs rubbed the underside of your breasts, making you moan softly at the feeling. He then cupped on your breasts, giving it a soft squeeze. He gently pinched your nipple just to see your reaction. You moaned loudly when he did that. Steve smirks to himself, pleased with your reaction. He repeated his actions with your other breast, earning the same reaction from you.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Steve says.

“You better believe it, baby cause it is happening.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

Steve watches you intently as you rode him. His eyes flickered down to where the two of you are connected. He licked his lips as he watched his cock he swallowed up by your pussy.

“Fuck…” He moans lowly.

Steve reached a hand down to your pussy and started rubbing your clit in circles. You bucked your hips against his hand and hips.

“Oh yes! Oh fuck, Steve!” You moaned loudly.

You bounced on his cock faster. Steve continued to rub your clit. Your orgasm began to build up, along with his.

“You getting close too, darling?” He asks.

“Yes!” You moaned and nodded.

Steve’s fingers rubbed your clit faster. Your nails dug in the skin of his chest the more your orgasm was building up. You felt the coil in your stomach about to snap. Then it finally did.

“Stevie!” You moaned loudly as you came on his cock.

Steve gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm, which wasn’t too far behind yours. His hands held on to your hips, helping you bounce on his cock to get him closer to the edge. You could sense how close to coming he is. He could also tell that he was about to lift you off of him any second before he cums.

“Cum inside of me!” You blurted out.

“I- fuck… I can’t.” Steve grunts.

“Yes you can! I want you to!” You moaned.

“God damn. You’re a dirty girl.” He almost growls.

Steve came inside of you, a white ring of cum formed around the base of his cock. Your bouncing came to a stop. You two gazed deeply in each other’s eyes breathlessly before kissing each other passionately. He lifted you up off of his cock, his cum dripping out of your pussy. You laid down next to him. You two stared up at the ceiling with satisfied grins on your faces.

“This isn’t a one time thing, right? We can do this more often?” Steve asks curiously.

“We can do this as much as both of us want to.” You say.

“Good.” He rolled over to his side and kissed you. “Rest up, sweetheart. We’re going for an another round in a little bit.” Steve says huskily.

“I can’t wait.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[marauder-misprint]

Hey if you don't mind writing this, could you write Sirius black with a Malfoy female reader? And it could be a bit of a passionate story if that's ok with you, it could be about their last years at school or their older age in their after school life (a world where everyone will be of age haha)

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ Not sure if it ended up being the most cohesive story but it is what it is. Also not sure if it's as passionate as you wanted, but I mean, they make out so that's something.

Hope you enjoy! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Seven minutes

Sirius Black x Malfoy!reader

3k words

cw: a good snog, fluff-ish, pining if you squint, minor pure blood supremacy beliefs

Your parents gave you a chance with things. You always had an option first and if you failed, your parents took over. You needed a dress for your fifth birthday? You got to pick it out, but if you failed to find one, your parents would pick one for you. Going into third year, you knew that you wanted to take Ancient Runes but didn’t know what else to take, so your mother decided that you would take Arithmancy. And going into your seventh year, a new choice was coming up: who you would spend the rest of your life with.

Lucius, your older brother, had started dating Narcissa during his fifth year and your parents were pleased. You, however, hadn’t dated anyone. You hadn’t even kissed anyone. And now you needed to at least be dating someone by the time Christmas break came around, otherwise your parents would pick someone for you. 

And you were not going to let them pick someone for you.

You start considering all the boys at Hogwarts. They needed to be from a good family and if you got the option, you’d like them to be attractive and tolerable. Whatever guy you tell your parents about at Christmas could end up being your husband and you didn’t want to be stuck with a dud. 

The obvious choice of the eligible bachelors? Evan Rosier. You knew your parents would approve of his lineage. He was a handsome young man and you would go as far to say you were friends. You weren’t always the most sociable, even among Slytherins, and Evan seemed to understand that. If only his sister could understand it… 

Now, you have to do the difficult part: get him to see that you’re interested so he asks you out. Some girls are bold enough to ask a guy out, but you were a Malfoy. Your pride said you couldn’t do that. You know your worth. Evan needed to initiate it.

Your first move was to sit next to Evan whenever you could. That, however, meant putting up with listening to Barty and Avery drone on about things you couldn’t care less for. 

“I think you could drink more than a gallon of lake water before you throw up,” Barty said, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. 

Evan shook his head. “No. It’s the Black Lake, Junior. That shit will wreck you.”

Avery agreed with Evan, thus leading the boys to plan to test their theory after classes. You just rolled your eyes. Drinking lake water wasn’t how you were planning to spend your afternoon. You’d probably just wait around for them in the common room, reading or something. 

“Malfoy, coming to watch?” Avery asked, bringing their attention to you as you stirred your tea lazily. 

“I fear I’ve seen Junior throw up more times than I’d like.”

“Aw, I’m not going to throw up!” Barty whined. 

Evan casually threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. “She’ll be there.” 

Great. You supposed that’s the cost of trying to catch Evan’s eye – if you succeed, you have to put up with his strange activities. But it also meant that he smiled down at you and started to walk with you to your classes. You could feel something building between you two. Your plan was moving ahead, even if you had to see Barty puke after his second cup of lake water. Evan was right – it wrecked Barty’s insides and he had to go to the Hospital Wing. 

A few weeks passed and Evan had yet to ask you out, yet to kiss you or make any sort of move on you beyond putting his arm around you occasionally. Still just friends. Your mother wouldn’t accept “I’m working on it” when Christmas came around. You needed to have an actual relationship you could tell her about. 

Your interest was piqued when rumors started spreading about a party in Ravenclaw Tower. From what you heard, it was an open invite and your friends were planning on going. When the day came, Pandora, Dorcas and Lucinda walked with you as the group of boys followed behind at a short distance. You were really hoping that Evan would ask you to dance or something. You needed him to make a move. You figured a party would be the perfect place for him to do so. He wouldn’t be singled out if he did; plenty of other students would be dancing and snogging in corners, and probably more behind closed doors. 

A boy Pandora knew let you into the common room and you were immediately met with the scene of a party. Music, lights, drinks, dancing, chatter. The group dispersed once you were all inside. Pandora stayed with the boy and Dorcas went to find her friends in Gryffindor. That left you and Lucinda to hang around with the guys, not that you minded. Hanging around Evan was the point of coming tonight. 

With a drink in your hand, you felt your hopes sink. Evan was disappearing out onto the roof with Barty and a few others to smoke. He’d be gone for a while and you had absolutely no intention of sitting around while the boys passed a blunt. While you watched Evan head up the stairs, Lucinda slipped away from you. You glanced around the common room with no success. You sighed. You decided to find Dorcas; you could be her shadow for the night. 

“And I thought Malfoy was too good for parties,” Sirius drawled as you approached the group. 

You crossed your arms, placing yourself just behind Dorcas’ elbow. 

“Usually I have better things to do,” you said more quietly than you meant to. 

Sirius rolled his eyes and muttered something to Peter that you couldn’t hear. The two boys smirked. You tried to not shrink in on yourself. Maybe you needed to get out more to make more friends so that you wouldn’t be reduced to hanging around Dorcas’ friends when your few decide to go smoke. 

“Like I was saying,” Marlene said pointedly, “if a stink bomb went off in the library, Madam Pince would for sure blame you without any proof.”

“Are we not innocent without being proven guilty?” James asked.

“Your existence has made you guilty,” Dorcas laughs.

You shifted your stance next to her. You actively avoided looking at Sirius because you could feel his gaze lingering on you. You know you don’t belong with this group. He knows it. You’re sure the rest of the group knows it, but it’s better than standing alone.

You didn’t listen to their conversation. You knew nothing would be directed at you or would require you to respond. You observed them. James’ eyes would flick over to Lily every so often. She was talking with some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Remus reacted to the conversation with his facial expressions, not saying much as he sipped on his drink. Peter appeared to be desperate to remain a part of the conversation. Something about him made you feel like he could repeat the conversion word for word in two days' time if you asked him to, but he wouldn’t tell you the ingredients for a basic healing potion. Marlene and Dorcas were both at ease as they laughed and poked fun at the boys. Mary, also seeming at ease, mirrored Remus’ stance: not saying much and sipping her drink.

And then there was Sirius. You tried not to look at him. Every time you did, he was looking at you and not looking away. You could tell that from time to time he did look away; you supposed it was to prevent anyone from accusing him of staring at you. But he was. 

You mentally blame Evan for it. If he hadn’t gone out to smoke, he’d be in here and you’d be lingering at his side instead of Dorcas’. You’d probably still feel a bit out of place, but it would be less than you did now. 

“Oi! Malfoy, Meadowes!” Lucinda called over some music. “Over here, bitches!”

You and Dorcas made eye contact before both rolling your eyes. 

“You lot are coming too,” Dorcas said firmly to the Gryffindors, and just like that, the whole group headed over to where Lucinda was standing with her hands on her hips. “What’s up, Luce?”

She held up an empty bottle. “What d’you think? Spin the bottle or seven minutes?” 

You looked over to Dorcas to let her answer because frankly, you didn’t want either option. She didn’t get to answer either.

Marlene practically collapsed onto her shoulders and said, “Seven minutes. Let’s give ‘em some privacy!”

“Alright then,” Lucinda said with a wicked grin. “Who’s spinning first?”

The group Lucinda was with and Dorcas’ groups merged to form a large circle as Marlene took the bottle from Lucinda and placed it on the ground. She decided that since she chose the game, she would spin it first. She looked a bit disappointed when it landed on a boy from Hufflepuff but went into one of the closets with him anyways. You waited as more people spun the bottle and got ushered off into closets. The spinning had to pause occasionally to allow for closets to open up. You kept a neutral expression as the bottle drifted past you with each spin. 

“Black, you’re up. A closet just cleared,” a Ravenclaw boy yelled.

You crossed your arms, watching Sirius move to the bottle. It felt like the whole circle was holding its breath as the bottle spun. How hard he spun it would decide his next victim. Well, that’s how you’d describe it; other girls would probably see it as an honor or something. You stared, frozen in place, as the bottle stopped pointing in your direction.

“Oooooh!” a few voices around the room said.

Sirius stood in front of you with a smirk on his face and a hand extended in front of him. You don’t want to take it. You don’t want to be in a closet for seven minutes with him. You’d rather leave the party right now. When you didn’t move, Sirius grabbed your hand and pulled you with him in the direction of the open closet. You sent Dorcas a pleading look, hoping she can somehow get you out of this, but she just smiled. 

“Have fun in there,” the Ravenclaw boy said before closing the door and locking it with a click. 

“Malfoy, you didn’t have to look so upset,” Sirius said.

Your back was against the wall and Sirius still felt too close to you. You liked him better when he was standing on the other side of the circle, far away from you. You liked it better when you couldn’t smell his cologne, even if he had good taste, and when you couldn’t hear his breathing. His hand moved and touched yours. You jerked your hand away.

“Don’t,” you hissed. 

He chuckled. “Fine. Then tell me why you looked upset when the bottle chose you.” 

“Upset?” you scoffed. “Because you’re… you!’

“I’m me. Yup. And your issue with that is…”

“Oh please, I don’t need to answer that.”

Sirius hummed. “I think you do.” He reached forward again but this time, his fingers brushed the side of your face. “What’s the pretty little Malfoy got against me?” 

You forcefully grabbed his wrist to hold his hand away from you.

“That. That is my issue with you. You think all girls should just fall at your feet, praise the ground you walk on. And what’s even worse, a lot of them do.”

“But you don’t.”

“Correct.”

Sirius clasped his hand over the one you had on his wrist.

“That’s what makes you desirable.”

“Desirable? You must think I’m delusional if you think I’ll believe that.”

“No, I think you’re quite sane, you know, a realist. And if you think about it, why would I admit to desiring you when you match everything my parents expect me to want? Come on, it’s me.” Sirius slowly pried your fingers off of his wrist. “And, you should know, that bottle didn’t land on you by chance.” 

“You needed to trap me in a closet with you so you could, what? Charm me?” 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you at a party since me and the boys started sneaking into them. Couldn’t waste my chance.”

“Again, you needed to trap me in a closet with you?”

“Let’s see, I’m not allowed in the Slytherin Common Room. I’ve been hexed away from the Slytherin table more than once. It’s not like you would’ve given me the time of day if I talked to you in the library,” Sirius listed off. “So, yes, I did need to trap you in here.”

“You admit it’s a trap. Good.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, still very aware of how close Sirius was to you and unsure of where he’d put his hands next. But you had to admit, he was correct – the only time Sirius could talk to you was when you approached him and that wasn’t something you do. Tonight had just been a fluke. You had gone to a party without ensuring you had enough Slytherins to surround you and keep you entertained. 

“Listen-” Sirius started to say.

“Like I have a choice,” you grumbled, earning a low chuckle from him.

“I think you should give me a chance. Decide for yourself if I’m worth all the praise I receive. Take me for a test drive.”

You scoff, holding yourself tighter. “Could you be any more full of yourself?” 

“I mean, I could…”

“Merlin, Black… Rhetorical question!” You sighed. “When are these goddamn seven minutes up?”

“We got time. But really, think about it. You’re here, right now, with me. With nothing else to do for a few minutes. We can stand in silence or you can kiss me. And, in my humble opinion, one of those sounds a lot more fun.” 

Your mouth moved before you realized what you were saying. “I don’t make the first move.” 

Sirius understood that to be permission. One of his hands found your face, cupping it, and then his lips met yours. He was gentle and waited before adding more pressure; he gave you the chance to push him away and you didn’t. You didn’t pull him in either. You let the kiss happen and when he tried to deepen the kiss, you let him. When he nipped at your lips, you separated them and allowed his tongue to meet yours. At that point, you had your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Padfoot, time’s up,” Remus called through the door.

There was the click of the lock being undone. Sirius, however, wasn’t done with you. Remus opened the door barely a crack before Sirius was pulling it back shut. 

“Take this one off rotation,” he said before locking the door with magic. 

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your first kiss hitting you. Sirius’ hands rested on your waist. He must’ve been able to tell something was off.

“You alright? Did you… want to leave?” 

You bit your lip. 

“I just need a second.”

You did. Your first kiss. And it was with Sirius Black – the notorious black sheep of his family. Not only that, but it happened as you were trying to get Evan’s attention. And now you weren’t sure if you still wanted Evan’s attention, because you liked how it felt to kiss Sirius. 

After a few seconds, Sirius asked, “So you don’t want to leave?”

“I don’t think so…”

“You don’t think so?” You could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Shut up, Black,” you said with a hint of harshness before calming yourself. “That was just… my first… kiss…” you grumbled. 

If there had been more light in that closet, Sirius would’ve been able to see how red you turned, and you would’ve seen how wide his eyes went. 

“Your first? Bloody hell, I didn’t mean…”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You clicked your tongue. “More than fine, actually. I… liked… it…”

Validating Sirius was more painful than accepting that you liked kissing him. His grip on your hips tightened slightly. 

“You liked it, huh? So I can do it again?” 

“Please.”

It didn’t take long for you to forget about Evan. You had other things on your mind. Sirius’ lips on yours. His teeth biting your lips. His tongue inside of your mouth. Then his hands moved over your body, although never venturing under your clothing. You didn’t know what to do when his mouth left yours and he started kissing the side of your mouth, your cheek and then your jaw and your neck, continuously moving down until he found the sweet spot where your neck turned into your shoulder. His wet kisses stopped and he started sucking. With your head tilted to the side to give him better access, you realized that he was leaving marks on you. You realized that you didn’t mind. 

After a while, you were both breathless and holding onto each other. 

“Merlin, Malfoy… you sure I’m the first bloke you’ve kissed?” Sirius breathed.

“Positive.”

“I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.”

“Take me on a date first.”

“I don’t really do-”

You put a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

“I thought I was desirable? Or were you just saying that?” 

He pulled your hand off of his face. “Hogsmeade then?”

“Alright then.”

Sirius unlocked the door as you adjusted your clothing to make sure you were at least presentable. You were able to slip back into the party mostly unnoticed. You grabbed a new drink from the table and decided to walk around while Sirius found his friends. Remus, James and Peter seemed very interested in why he spent so much time in the closet with you. Sirius knew he would be in for it when he told them he was going to take you on a date. 

As you walked around, you saw Evan, Barty and Avery come back in from the roof. Evan shot you a bright smile, but you couldn’t bring yourself to return it. He was no longer the person you were hoping to tell your mother about. Assuming this date with Sirius went well, your mother would be hearing about him. You slammed your new drink and left the party. Parties really weren’t your scene. 

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Hey! P here!! How are you? Been busy a lot 😔 Can I request fic about James Vowles x wife reader? Since last season, James has been pursuing Carlos to join Williams but to no avail. To extend spending time with his family (I read somewhere about it, which is good I think 🤔) Anyways, she's been saying (jokingly) that he loves Carlos more than her with the amount of attention he's given to him even especially after Carlos joins the team. Compliment his hair, making it look like James had fallen in love with Carlos and now his wife. I can imagine how shocked and baffled James is about her jokes🤣🤣🤣 All these things lead to the F175 event at O2 and chaos happend. You decide how it goes. Add anything you want. Ask me anything. Thanks!! :))

Smooth Operator

James Vowles x Wife!Reader

feat. Carlos Sainz as the Unexpected Third in Your Marriage

hi I’m back after ages I have so many requests im working through I’m sorry it’s taking years but life is horrible rn anyways this one made me laugh hope yalls like it.

You were this close to adding Carlos Sainz to your Christmas card list and not because you liked him. Oh no,because at this point, it felt rude not to.

“Just admit it,” you said one morning, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as your husband stared lovingly oh so lovingly at an image of Carlos on the Williams simulator. “You’re in love with him.” James blinked. “Excuse me?” “With Carlos. Your hair idol. Your strategic soulmate. Your beautiful Spanish muse.”

He turned slowly, expression pained. “We’re not doing this again.”

You leaned on the kitchen island with a smile that spelled chaos. “He’s got thick curls, James. You said he’s a data genius. Yesterday I caught you complimenting his turn-in technique. What’s next? Love poems?”

James pinched the bridge of his nose like a man suffering. “I am the Team Principal of Williams Racing. This is business.”

“This is a crush. You’re emotionally cheating. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

He sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you, my dear husband, are flirting with danger. And Carlos.”

It had all started last season, when James became laser-focused on “Project Carlos.” He claimed it was about rebuilding Williams, strengthening the team, reshaping the future.

But all you heard was:

“Carlos is incredibly adaptable.”

“Carlos has unbelievable race awareness.”

“Carlos doesn’t just drive the car. He becomes one with the car.”

At one point, you genuinely wondered if James was going to name your future child Carlos.

When Carlos actually signed with Williams, you half-expected James to cry.

Instead, he opened a bottle of champagne and said, “This is the beginning of a new era.”

“For you and Carlos?” you asked.

“For the team,” he said. But you weren’t convinced.

The true chaos began at the F175 Launch Event at the O2.

You’d promised to be chill. Polished. Supportive.

You even wore your Nice Wife at PR Events dress. The red one. Very “I’m fine, my husband’s not cheating on me with a race car driver.”

But then someone on the panel asked James what it was like to sign Carlos.

And your darling husband turned to the mic with the serenity of a monk and said,

“Carlos brings something really rare. He’s sharp, strategic. He reads the car like a language only he understands. Honestly, watching him drive is like art. It’s… elegant.”

You turned your head slowly. “Elegant?” you mouthed. Elegant?

Then, like a woman possessed, you strode onto the stage.

“Hi, yes, sorry to interrupt,” you said sweetly, grabbing a mic. “I just wanted to confirm that I’m still married to James Vowles, even though he appears to be in a deeply committed emotional relationship with Carlos Sainz.”

Carlos, sipping water off-stage, choked.

The crowd erupted.

James looked like he’d aged fifteen years in fifteen seconds.

“Darling,” he said, his voice that calm, brittle tone you only hear when someone is internally screaming, “this is not the time.”

“No, James,” you said, planting your hand dramatically on your hip. “This is exactly the time. I just want to know if I’m going to be replaced by someone who has better curls and a smoother overtake.”

“I can explain-”

“Oh, no need. We’ll work out a custody schedule with Toto and Fred. Maybe alternating grands prix?”

“YOU’RE BEING RIDICULOUS,” James hissed.

Someone in the audience shouted, “LET HER COOK!”

Carlos was now hiding behind a curtain.

The next morning, your phone exploded.

Sky Sports: “Carlos Sainz Caught in Love Triangle?”

F1 Twitter: #VowlesVibes

CarlosFan69: “Why is this woman funnier than every man on the grid?”

James stood in the kitchen, scrolling grimly through the headlines.

“I’m a Team Principal, not a Bachelor contestant,” he muttered.

You, in your robe, sipping tea: “Maybe you shouldn’t flirt with Spaniards on live TV.”

“It wasn’t flirting,” he snapped. “I said his driving was elegant.”

You raised a brow. “You’ve never called me elegant.”

“Because you walked on stage and accused me of strategic adultery!”

“I was brave,” you said. “A woman in love. Defending her man from another man.”

His face dropped into his hands. “I’m married to a gremlin.”

You leaned in, grinning. “But I’m your gremlin.”

Later that day, Carlos sent James a text:

Carlos: Hey… everything okay? Do I need to issue a public apology? I didn’t mean to come between you two.

James: It’s fine. My wife just thinks I’m in love with your hair.

Carlos: …Are you?

James: I’m blocking you.

That night, James curled up beside you on the sofa, resting his head against your shoulder.

“You know I love you, right?” he mumbled into your shirt.

You smiled, stroking his hair. “Of course. But if Carlos ever invites you to a shampoo commercial…”

He groaned. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’ll understand,” you said sweetly. “I’ll pack your conditioner myself.”

After The Incident at the F175 launch the one where you jokingly accused your husband of being emotionally married to Carlos Sainz in front of God and every Sky Sports mic things had settled.

Barely.

The memes were still circulating. Your phone was still getting tagged in Twitter/X posts captioned “Me third-wheeling my parents’ divorce like #VowlesVibes.” And people were still calling James “a loyal yet emotionally confused king.”

But James? He was trying to carry on like everything was normal.

Which is why, when Carlos invited both of you to dinner, James said yes without hesitation.

You, however, stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Dinner?” you repeated. “With the man you abandoned me for?”

James groaned. “I did not abandon you. You stormed the stage like a Real Housewife of Monaco.”

“You called his driving elegant, James. That’s practically foreplay.”

“You’re lucky I love you.” “You’re lucky I didn’t bring a slideshow.”

The dinner was at some trendy, overpriced Italian place in London that clearly catered to rich people who wanted to pretend they were casual. You sat down at a three-person table tucked in a corner, candlelight flickering between bread baskets and sparkling water.

Carlos arrived ten minutes late, curls bouncing, smile too charming for someone who’d accidentally become the center of your marriage drama.

He hugged James. He hugged you.

You tried not to squint suspiciously at the way your husband’s hand lingered on Carlos’s shoulder.

“This place is nice,” Carlos said, settling in. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I was worried I caused some tension?”

You sipped your wine. “Carlos, you did nothing wrong. You just exist. With your hair. And your tactical driving style. And your surgeon hands.”

James choked on his water.

Carlos blinked. “Sorry??my what?”

James cleared his throat. “She thinks I talk about you too much.”

“You do,” you and Carlos said at the same time.

James raised a hand. “Okay, betrayal.”

The waiter came by, and just as you were ordering pasta, someone at the table next to you gasped—loudly.

“Oh my GOD,” a girl whispered, clutching her friend’s arm. “It’s them.”

You raised a brow.

“The… Williams love triangle!”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“They went viral,” the friend whispered back. “The guy, the wife, and the other guy with the perfect hair this is them!”

You stared at James. “You see what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t ask to be in a tabloid throuple,” he hissed.

Suddenly, the girl leaned over, clutching her phone. “Can I get a picture of all three of you? You’re like, iconic. Like PolyF1Goals.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry?? what?”

She beamed. “You know, like a throuple! You, your husband, and Carlos!”

Carlos blinked. James looked like he’d swallowed a fork.

You?

You smiled sweetly and said, “Of course.”

So yes, there is now a photo floating online of James in the middle, looking like he’s questioning every life decision, you smiling like the chaos demon wife you are, and Carlos doing a confused peace sign like he’d just stumbled into a cult.

The caption?

“Williams going for podiums and polyamory in 2026. #ThroupleTrouble #VowlesSainzWife”

Later that night, back at home, you flopped onto the bed and checked your phone.

Another headline.

“Carlos Sainz Caught in Unexpected Romantic Dynamic With Williams Boss and Wife”

Experts weigh in: Is this the future of F1?

James walked into the room and faceplanted on the bed beside you.

“I’m going to be buried with this story on my tombstone, aren’t I?”

You stroked his back lovingly. “Right next to a bouquet of Carlos’s curls.”

James groaned into the pillow. “I hate you.”

You kissed his temple. “No you don’t. You love me more than Carlos.”

He hesitated. “…Yes. But only slightly.”

That caused another wave of the endless storm of “ you love Carlos more” rant from you.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | nine

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, angst, cursing, jordan 💀, talks about the past

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.3k

authors note: I got stuck with this part but I wrote a very sad one shot if you want to cry go read it here. The hours are important on the saturday conversations on HIS PHONE so pay attention to it that's all ENJOY 🙂‍↕️

08 | 09 | 10

Friday

“Jordan…” The name slipped from your lips like a whisper; he was there. On the other side of the room, but he was there. It had been about a year and a half since you had seen him, or maybe more; at one point, you had stopped caring.  

He locked eyes with you for a second. Rafe noticed that and cursed internally. He gently grabbed you by the shoulders and turned you around without a second thought.  

“I think we need something to drink; come on.” You didn’t question it and let him guide you to the kitchen.  

“I’ll be back,” he said as soon as he reached the kitchen. You nodded at him as he left, then you looked around for something non-alcoholic to drink.  

When he stepped out of the kitchen, he made his way to Jordan.  

“Can you tell where she is?” Jordan asked, trying to rile Rafe up.  

“Not happening, but I can tell you that you should go.”  

“This is a party; I’m not going anywhere.”  

“You will, unless you want round two.”  

“Ah, ever the violent one.”  

“Get out of my sight and don’t even think about talking to her.”  

“Okay, no, this is not happening,” Sarah interrupted before dragging Rafe away.

Sarah hadn’t asked him to drop off food, but he didn’t care. He also knew that Sarah wouldn’t call him out in front of all her friends. So, on his way to Sarah’s place, he bought pizzas for them and himself. He knocked on her door, fully expecting Sarah to open up, but no, it was you.

“Hey, need help?” you asked him.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, allowing you to take two boxes from his hands as you walked inside.

“This smells really good.”

“Yeah, Sarah said you guys were hungry, so…” another lie.

“She was right.”

“Thank you, now you can go,” Sarah said.

“Ah, don’t even let me grab a slice? I did you a favor.”

“Right, a favor,” Sarah said, a bit annoyed.

“Let him stay,” Wheezie said. “I barely get to hang out with him.”

“That’s not my problem,” Sarah replied. “And I don’t think they want you here.”

“Sarah, it’s okay. If Wheezie hasn’t seen him, we can put up with him for a while, right?” you said, turning to the rest; they just nodded.

“You heard the lady.” Sarah didn’t try to push him out or say anything more. She was keeping track of everything since she had caught you mentioning his name more the night before after the game.

During the whole hour and a half he had been there, he noticed you didn’t use your phone besides taking pictures and playing some music.

At one point, Wheezie had asked you something, so you started telling her what she had asked. Now and then, someone would comment on it. Rafe didn’t; he just gave you all his attention. You didn’t notice, but Sarah did. Cleo made a mental note of the way he looked at you; she was definitely going to tell Pope about it.

Saturday

After he had left Sarah’s place, it was full debrief mode to talk about everything that had happened during the night, besides Jordan showing up. The next morning, you left for your house around 10 AM; the morning was slow. You were at peace watching a show when your phone pinged. You thought it was probably just the girls or a random notification.

It had been impulsive to invite Rafe to your house, but also, since Jordan had followed you on Instagram again and made his disgust for Rafe clear, you were going to ensure he knew Rafe was there with you, even if it wasn’t true. The pretending was reserved a hundred percent for your house and the eyes of your parents, but messing with Jordan was also a nice feeling.  

You knew that none of your friends would think much of it—maybe just Angie, but she was more stressed about the pretending than you were.  

You were prepping some items when the doorbell rang; your dad went to open it.  

“Hello, Rafe,” your dad welcomed him in.  

“Hey, Dave,” he shook your dad’s hand, then saw you coming from behind and smiled, “Hey, princess.” He kissed your temple.  

“Hi,” you smiled and side-hugged him. It felt too good to have him this close, but you had to remind yourself it was just a show for your parents.  

“Well, I’ll let you guys be,” your dad said, still looking at both of you. Rafe had one arm over your shoulders.  

“Okay,” you said softly, walking to the kitchen. Your dad had stayed in the living room, reading something.  

“We are making cookies with a heart in the middle,” you said as you two entered the kitchen.  

“Okay, then let me know what to do.”  

As you gave the instructions, he just stared at you. He was itching to get closer to you, to hold you—something. He didn’t understand why, but the feeling was too strong. He looked out of the kitchen, noticing that your dad was no longer there, but your mom was coming in.  

He was going to take what he could get. So when your mom walked in asking about something, he really didn’t care; he just hugged you from behind. His arms encircled your waist, and he rested his chin on top of your head.  

You kept talking to your mother, trying not to think too much about Rafe’s arms enveloping you and how good it felt.  

“Rafe, why don’t you start putting the jam inside the hearts, please? Just while I finish talking to my mom?”  

“Hmm, fine…” he replied, but not before planting a kiss on your neck and then on your temple. 

He knew it might have been a bit too much with the kiss on the neck, according to what you two had agreed on, but it felt right, and he didn’t regret it. He went back to the kitchen counter to finish what you had asked him to do, not before noticing the blush creeping into your cheeks.

You stepped out of the kitchen for a minute with your mom, as if creating more distance from Rafe would help with the blush that had already settled on your face.  

“He really likes you, huh?” your mom commented as you helped her with something on her phone.  

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Yeah, I mean, he should if he is my boyfriend, right?”  

“Of course, honey, but I mean it’s good he shows it. Because then you know he hasn’t stopped.”  

“Yeah, yeah.” You handed her the phone back.  

“Yeah, okay, go back to your guy. Thanks for the help.”  

You returned to Rafe to help him. Before putting one tray in the oven, you snapped a picture of him helping with the cookies to post later on your story.  

“You think your sister will like these cookies?” you asked.  

“She’s six; anything sweet she will like.” He felt a warmth in his chest when you asked about his sister. It was just a question, but it felt nice that you inquired about her.  

“Look, children can be picky. These cookies can be a little dry, and not everyone likes the jam, so I have to make sure,” you chuckled softly.  

“If she doesn’t like them, my mom will.”  

“I can live with that,” you smiled softly.  

For a couple more hours, both of you hung out. It hadn’t been long since you two started spending more time together, but you couldn’t stop thinking about why it took so long. You hadn’t been open to it at first, and you didn’t even remember why. Kelce had told you many times he was a very good friend and great company, and now you were starting to understand why.  

Rafe, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking back on sophomore year, and if this had happened then, he would’ve flipped. It felt so good to finally get to know you more in depth; it had helped him understand so many of the things he always wondered about you, and he was trying to avoid other things resurfacing, but he was losing that battle.  

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INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[nugwon-moved]

newbie ── ( 심재윤 )

synopsis — jake visits for a hangout with your brother, but things take a sharp right that night. ── smut (m.), mini fluff, requested. afab virgin!reader x brothers best friend!jake (requested) b/n = brothers name, y/n has a basement bedroom. wc: 4.2k!

warnings — detailed full fic / slow burn, being a virgin is not embarrassing—keep it as long as you want. trust me you’re not missing anything. losing your virginity, unprotected sex (safety first), kissing, slight pain and crying, prn with a mini plot, reader is innocent (kinda), yunjin (lsfm mention), masturbation, back shots, a little teasing, creampie, hints at breeding, mentions of aftercare, lots of kissing!

here’s the thing, every time your brother's best friend visits—you get this gut feeling. he recently moved back from korea and now he’s over more than ever. you thought you had escaped your tiny crush, the one you knew was so wrong but you never looked back after he’d left. he was back, and he was HOT.

“jake, long time no see.” you smiled leaning against the wall, in the last two years. both of you had changed, he’d gotten taller, gained a few muscles and the style changed too. you? same height but a little curvier, nice hips with a nice ass on you too. needless to say, the glo-up was serious—jake especially thought so, the way he looked at you, flirting with you without speaking a single word. “jake moved back officially, about time, we’re gonna hang out in the basement though, wanna join?”

this was odd, your brother never invited you to hang out with him and his friends before. it’s usually ‘get out’ or ‘please go away y/n.’ but it was jake someone you both grew up with. “i was gonna go get yunjin, and go shopping but i’ll hang with you guys or some other day,”

jake watched as you walked away, gently biting his lip, smelling the floral scent that exuded from your body. vanilla was his favorite. “stop checking her out, it’s creepy.” your brother sighed, shaking his head as he walked away. you couldn’t help but look back on the way to your car, smiling towards jake as you waved to him.

“so jake came, back…? and he’s—hot? i’m sorry i just don’t see innocent little jake who played the violin as hot.” yunjin chuckled as the two of you walked through the mall. god, he’s all you could think about, it made you sick. why did he have to look this good? those lips, his gaze.. the stance. he walks like he owns the place. “y/n fantasizing about your brother's best friend taking your pants off is very dirty and wrong, young lady.”

yunjin laughed, watching as you snapped out of your daydream about him. truth is, no one has ever touched you. simply because. ‘you’ll wait for me right..?’ replayed in your head way too much. the day jake said that to you—it just stuck with you, “he’s not even into me like that. once he finds out i’m a virgin still he’s gonna run, guys hate virgins.” you told yunjin.

“guys love virgins.” she rebutted, “you’ll see.”

a while after you walked back in the front door of your house. clearly hearing the boys laughing from the basement downstairs, your room. you placed your bags on the counter along with your keys and wallet, “i’m home b/n.” you called out to your brother, making your way downstairs. “what’re you guys doing?” without even looking at you, jake made your heart race.

you still couldn’t believe he was back, it was surreal. “we were just talking, catching up. i was about to head home though.” jake smiled, looking back at you from the couch. he’d probably be back again tomorrow... “i gotta use the bathroom—that burger ran through me!” your brother stood up, running into the bathroom.

“gross!” you groaned, sitting down next to jake, now you were alone. for the first time in two years. it was silent but it wasn’t uncomfortable—you played with your fingers as jake looked at you. watching you fidget and smiling at your face. he spoke but spoke lowly. jake admired you and he’s always has.. “i missed you, you know?”

“really? you never called.” you replied, humming softly as you finally looked at him. you hadn’t realized it yet, but jake was getting closer to you, “i waited for you though.” that look, you folded—like a piece of laundry… its actually erie how he gets you like this.

“yeah?” he smiled. jake was no stranger to intimacy but he took it seriously, only engaging in it with someone he cares for. “i’m glad, i’ve been waiting for you too—it’s been a long time.” he inched closer, and closer. hand gently resting on your thigh, “you were all i thought about..” his eyes flicked to your lips, pretty and they looked a little cold to him.

the tension was so thick—you didn’t know if it was sexual or romantic or if you were just nervous and reading to deep into it. as jake leaned closer so did you, kinda like a magnet. it just happened, his lips touched yours, brushing against one another’s. “can i kiss you?” he whispered; always one to ask for consent.. you loved that in a man. you nod, leaning in and closing the kiss between the two of you.

your brother would be gone for a little bit, and jake knew what he wanted to do. although it may not get that far—he’d get far enough to have you stuck on his mind for the rest of the night. jake pulled your body closer, laying you down on the couch softly while closing the space between the two of you. his lips: soft, warm, and gentle for yours. finally getting what they’d been craving for all this time.

it was the first time, the first time you ever kissed someone, on the lips—and the first time you ever really been this close to a boy- no, a man. the both of you knew this was wrong, you’ve always known this was wrong, but it felt so right. how could you resist him.. and how could you pass up on the opportunity to let him be your first anything. practically a once in a lifetime thing to you.

jake stopped though, the guilt of it crept up to his cheeks. clearly showing as they painted themselves with a pastel shade of pink. he pulled away, looking between your lips and your eyes, “i should go..” jake cleared his throat, standing to his feet and shuffling away, “bye, y/n..”

you ran your hand down your face after you heard the front door close, silently screaming, you were so close to… “i’m gonna be a virgin for the rest of my life..” you sighed. — “yeah you will, loser.” your brother said coming out of the bathroom, patting his hands on his pants as he made his way upstairs—to his room. you sighed, gathering your things to go shower and bed.

a few days had gone by and jake had visited every day since he’d gotten back, and since that night he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you. “y/n~ lovely to see you awake this late?” it was close to midnight, your brother was passed out in his room and jake was most likely staying over. “what you up to?” he plopped down next to you, the basement, you’d placed your book down—glancing at him.

eyes slightly shifting to his lips before refocusing on his eyes. “reading,” you hummed, “nerd,” he chuckles, only teasing. it was so you to just sit on the basement couch and read.. he took the book gently, bookmarking it, and closed it. “promise you won’t lose your place, you owe me a movie night though.” jake hums sadly, he hadn’t gotten a chance to sit with you.

“what movie should we watch?” you pulled your knees up, sitting on them and slightly shortly your body towards his. what you were wearing? so simple and relaxed but… it turned him on a little. sweats and a cropped sweater, jake was a dog. “stop staring at my tits.” you teased him, pushing his shoulder playfully.

it was all playful. full of jokes and funny games—until now. jake wanted you, he wanted you bad, “anything,” he muttered, eyes locking with yours. he was almost positive you could feel the tension too. “still a virgin?” he hummed, crap you were practically praying that question never popped up. the silence told him what he wanted to know.

you played a random show, something you wouldn’t get to fixated or worried about missing out on. jake’s eyes still on you, it’s like he never looked away, never blinked—no emotion just mind all on you.

“told you i’d wait for you.”

“yeah, but i didn’t think you’d not indulge a little.” because he did—how could he not. he lived in korea, in an apartment building for people his age... he’s had his fair share. “do you want to.. lose it one day?” you nod. “when?” he quickly answered, he wanted to be that person, it was clear and obvious. he never said it out loud, nor did he explain what ‘wait for me’ really meant. like wait for me to come back, or wait for me before you find someone else or fall in love..?

“is this an interview?” you laughed, “nervous?” but jake was still serious, focused and the gaze was intense. “really soon, i’m the only virgin left in my friend group it’s kind of embarrassing.. but i don’t want to do with just anyone.. not everyone is clean or have the right intentions.” jake understood, running his hand through his hair. he needed to think about this—so he looked away.

‘could i take her virginity..? i mean what if i hurt her—or what if she doesn’t enjoy it, or it’s too painful? i don’t want to see her hurting..’ jake fought the mental war with himself. god knows how long he’s wanted you, how long he’s waited for this moment, but is it fair? you guys watch a few more episodes—the show you were watching? you. of all things—and there’s this scene, where he cums too fast, jake couldn’t help but chuckle, placing his hand on your thigh just to see what you’d do.

you shifted your eyes down for a second, heat creeping up to your face and your heart slowly speeding up. suddenly the moments from the other day flooded your brain, and your legs squeezed together. if he’d stayed a little longer, maybe you would’ve done this already—“y/n.” jake was already looking at you when you looked at him. “come closer,”

you did just that, scooting closer to him—even laying your head on his shoulder. this felt domestic. “no here.” jake pulled you up, sitting you in his lap and made you straddle him. the tv was now background noise as all your attention was solely focused on him. “you trust me right?” jake’s hands land on your waist, gently rubbing small circles with his thumb.

you nod, “you have to use your words.” this was consent, without explaining to you that it was—he was getting your consent. “yeah..” — “come here,” his hand goes to your cheek, pulling you in closer and placing a small kiss on your lips. followed by another and then another one. “tell me if you want to stop okay?” your heart fluttered.

“okay,” assuring him that you wanted to keep going, you don't think you’d stop honestly, his lips were soft and his lap felt like home. when your lips collided again—all your worries and problems left the room. it started slow, slowly turning into something more, his teeth taking your bottom lip between them and sucking on it. the soft moan you let slip out as his did that.

your bodies couldn’t seem to help themselves either, it’s clear they knew what they wanted too. slowly grinding against one another, parted lips and panted breaths as the kisses started getting rougher. “do you want me to be your first?” immediately yes! is what you wanted to say but your voice got caught in your throat. he wouldn’t go through with it if you didn’t answer so you know you had to say something. quickly.

“only if you start slow,” you were scared now, for so long you’d been wanting to lose your virginity and now that the moment has approached you—you’re scared. “i’m kind of nervous.” you admit, jake grins and shakes his head, rubbing his hands down your thighs and then back up to your waist. “that’s normal, but trust me. you’re perfect.” was that a raindrop? a waterfall? were your sweats… sweating? “i got you okay?” jake stood up, with ease, walking over towards your bedroom and shutting the door with his foot.

this would be the first time he’s taken someone’s virginity—and he understood what came with that. the responsibility of the aftermath of it. a soul attached to him, dramatic but it’s true. “relax,” he sat you on the bed, standing between your legs and making you look up, “tonight is about you.” jake locked the door, taking his jacket off and dropping it on the floor. no shirt? abs galore—should you cum now or later?

“i-.. you..” you stutter, jake only coming closer and leaning down to your level, before you knew it his lips were back on yours. his hand was slowly rubbing your torso, going up your shirt, feeling what was going to be his soon. your soft moan slipped as his lips made their way to your neck, careful not to leave any marks where everyone could see—“let’s take this off,” he tugged your shirt.

you lifted your body and let him slip your shirt off, he admired your chest—something he’s always liked. but this wasn't his favorite part. hands roaming each other's body, he let you seem like you had control but he did. he focused on the soft spot on your neck, slipping his fingers down between your legs slowly. “excited?” he chuckled.

“don’t laugh,” you whined, looking down at his hand. “i just.. got turned on easy..” you groaned, plopping down on your back while looking at the ceiling. jake took it upon himself to take your sweats off, tossing them with his jacket on the floor. he spread your legs with ease and kissed you above your panties. “o..oh.” you whispered. tingles flying up your spine.

“just gonna make sure you’re really ready.” he smiled, kissing your waist as he gently tugged down your panties. it was like an instant reflex for you to spread your legs wide—jake was amazed by the sight. it’s prettier than he imagined. “so wet, you’re leaking.” the string of essence from your cunt to your panties proved that before he could even look. it’s too good to be true.

jake placed a kiss on your cunt, shutting his eyes to taste and savor the flavor of you. his tongue swiped along your folds, and immediately, relief hit your back—you had been craving this. his mouth on you and the feeling of it running through your body. quiet hums left your mouth. followed by jake—and his moans. finding pleasure in pleasing you—a giver at its finest.

it didn’t take much for him to wrap his lips around your clit and devour you the way he wanted to. it felt so good—too good, you had to cover your mouth so your family wouldn’t hear you. “fuck you taste so..” he sighed digging his face into you, lapping up your essence and using it as his personal moisture and lip balm. your hips rocked steady—feeling this in your stomach, and the way you felt so close to finishing. it’s like he knew.

he stopped.

“hey!” you looked at him, the devious smile plastered on his lips, his deep chuckle echoing through your room—hitting your walls. “i’m not done yet,” he assured you.. “can let you finish and i haven’t even gotten to the best part.” he climbed between your legs, kissing your lips again, and distracting you from the fact he just edged you. he slipped his pants off without you even noticing, but once your eyes started to wander down he grabbed your chin.

“eyes on me,”

his voice was deep and assertive, and it made you listen. keeping your eyes focused on him. “tell me if you’re sure you want to do this.” — “i am, im ready. i’m swear it.” jake kissed your lips, caressing your cheeks gently before rubbing his tip along your folds. using your essence to wet himself more—“it’ll only hurt for a minute.”

he teased you, distracted you—and kissed you with passion. like he was in love with you— and he did it with so much ease. and you were under his spell, all until you finally felt him. “ow-.” you whimpered, jake kissed you again, resting his forehead on yours. “jake.. it hurts.” you muttered, “i know, i’m sorry, it’s gonna be okay.” your eyes squeezed shut—trying your best to bare the pain.

when he saw you, his heart stung. she’s in pain. “look at me, don’t think too hard.” he whispered, pecking your cheeks gently before you opened your eyes. he maintained eye contact, only using his tip to get you to open a little. “you’re okay, don’t cry.” he wiped the tears that dropped from the side of you face. “you’re doing so good.. it’ll be over in a second. i promise.”

jake’s words were soothing, comforting in a way. you didn’t even realize he was finally inside of you—too distracted by his comforting words—maybe it was love? jake’s hips rocked steadily, moving at a slow and gentle pace to get you used to it. “wait-.” he stopped, your hand on his chest used as a signal. “whenever you’re ready.” the moments passed, you waited for your heart to slow. finally moving your hand and looking up at him with those pretty eyes you have.

jake could get lost in them, “okay go..” you hummed, and he did. instantly started to move again—the pain was bearable and it slowly started to turn into pleasure. your soft and strained moans mixing with his ‘mm’s and subtle, occasional ‘fuck’s that slipped. “you’re huge..” you didn’t get to see it yet, but you felt it—and he wasn’t all the way inside of you yet.

“and you’re so wet, oh my go-..” he moaned, eyes shutting slight just from the sound of your cunt. intoxicating, it’s like a massage he’d been waiting to get from you and only you could do it right. it’s better than he’d imagined, than he dreamed. “holy shit..” he murmured, he was typically the quiet guy in bed, but you—were doing something.

“faster.”

it’s like a switch flipped in his head. eyes suddenly darkening, he might finish too fast. you were fresh, tight and the sound of wetness mixing between your thighs was the sound he needed as a ringtone. jake leaned his body up, kissing you again before he towered over you, head leaning back as he grabbed the back of your legs—holding them in his arms with ease. this sight was undeniably beautiful to you.

his moans were encouraging, you liked it more than you dreamed you would. the feeling was unmatched, and you’ve heard the stories about first times—this was nothing like that. your hands reached to rub his torso, fingers falling through each crease in his abs, down to his v line and the sight of his hips snapping into you like this—turned you on more. you didn’t know it was possible to get even wetter.

“shit baby,” he took one hand, rubbing your clit with it—new fear unlocked. the pleasure that shot through your body—you could probably cum right now. but jake would find it as a fun game, he’d push you to cum more. “you like that, baby?” echoed through your room, his firm hands moving to your waist to bring you closer, push deeper into you. “you feel like heaven.” his head tilted back once more, the sight of his adam’s apple bouncing from the moaning and the deep breaths he slowly started to let out.

panting, and he’d hadn’t even given his all yet. he was trying to save you—trying to give you grace. but god, did he wanna take you there.. he slowed his hip, gesturing for you to sit up. and when you did, he did all the work from there. “you’re holding back, you can moan into the pillow then.” he chuckled, he saw how hard you were biting your lip, the way your throat sunk from the deep grunts and muffled sounds you threaten to let out.

jake flipped you—turning you on your stomach and pulled your hips up towards him. his hand rested on the small of your back and the other on your ass—so plump and juicy. it was screaming his name—he’d been waiting to feel it since he’d gotten back. “fuck..” he mumbled under his breath, helping you get comfortable and relax again. his hips never stopped but they got faster, the skin slapping against the backside of your body. the feeling unimaginable, he wasn’t lying when he told you you’d need that pillow.

your moans were louder now but muffled, nobody would hear these. your eyes were fluttering with every thrust you tried to keep them open. but the way he was doing you in—you succumbed to the pleasure. gripping your sheets and pillow tighter each time. jake watched as your ass bounced back against him, the sounds of your moans and then the sound of your wetness echoing through his ears like a song. he was so entranced with it.

he couldn’t hold back anymore, your walls squeezed around him. feeling the wetness dripping down your thighs and the cold feeling made you clench more. “fuck keep doing that.” jake spoke, voice deep. his brows furrowed in concentration—making sure you felt good while also trying not to embarrass himself with cumming too fast—or inside of you. “that feels so good!” you moaned, more confidence in your voice. jake liked that—“right there,”

he found your spot, the spot. you didn’t even know what it was but it just felt too good every time he hit it. snapping his hind relentlessly into you, his hand went up your back, grabbing the back of your neck and pressing you into the mattress. he was so deep, you took all of him—you were doing so good for him. he was proud of you, proud of your reaction and the moans you let out. you were a different person when you were under him.. legs trembling ever so slightly but jake wasn’t finished with you yet.

he pressed his head against your shoulder, biting the skin gently and leaving kisses there too—his eyes slowly rolled back just from the mere scent of you. “oh my fucking god you feel so good. so tight, so..” he moaned next to your ear. that turned you on more than ever. he trapped your hands behind your back when you reached back to touch him. common mistake—but you weren’t complaining. it felt too good to you, how deep he was. the sweat and heat coming off of each of your skins.

you never wanted this to end.

the night got louder and you prayed nobody could hear this—which they probably couldn’t. your moans were louder, tears of pleasure dripping from your eyes as you said his name so sexily he couldn’t help but go faster. you didn’t know he could go faster but he proved it. “fuck i’m gonna cum, you feel so fucking good y/n.” he reached his arm around your waist, holding your body flush against his.

your moans and pants were synced with every piece of movement you were just closer to reaching that limit you so desperately needed to reach. “me too—oh my god.. please don’t stop!” you dipped your head into the pillow arching your back deeper, feeling it 10x better than before. your eyes rolling back and legs shaking as it finally started to hit you. “f…fuck ja-.” he was holding out, waiting for you to cum so he could—it was gonna be a lot to clean but it was worth it.

“cum for me, come on i know you can do it.” he grinned, proudly, and his thrusts started to get sloppy and drawn out. harder than before, your legs closed up but that only made it feel even better—he felt you squeezing his cock, clenching repeatedly and gasping for air in your pillow. he just listened to it, the sound of your cunt mixing as you came, the creamy substance slipping down your leg and his cock.

if he didn’t pull out now, he’d creampie you—it was too soon for that.. or was it.. he didn’t care either way. “i’m cumming,” he moaned breathlessly—leaking out into you but he slowly released himself. it was hard and loads of it, just dripping from the entrance of your cunt where he laid his cum to rest at. he took a deep breath, as your body fell limp with exhaustion. “felt good?”

you glanced at him, “too good.”

jake got up, walked towards the bathroom to get a towel, and came back to you quickly. he knew you’d probably be sore for the next few days. too. “you should soak in lavender and epson salt tomorrow, to help relieve the soreness. you did so well for me though.” he smiled as he turned you around, and cleaned your cunt. watching as more of his cum leaked out of you each time you clenched around nothing. “i could go another round.” he joked while kissing up your chest and then to your lips.

“thank you, jake.” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and looking up at him. “but no more rounds for you,” the both of you shared a laugh, “i’ll go start a shower, wait right here okay?” he stood up once again, making his way to the bathroom. “looking good~.”

you cooed as you stared at his backside, “hey, stop looking at my ass!”

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