#it's my way to show you that i think about you and send you my love🌷

[bucketbueckers]

TERRITORIAL

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men

wc: 8.0k

synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.

notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.

You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.

Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.

The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.

That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”

In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.

Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell. 

In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.

That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.

You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.

Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.

It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.

You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.

It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.

“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.

“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”

“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”

You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”

“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.

You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”

Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.

You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.

“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.

“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”

You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”

Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.

On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly. 

Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.

The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”

Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”

Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.

You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.

Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.

“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.

“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”

“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”

Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”

You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”

He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”

You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”

“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”

You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be. 

Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.

“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”

“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”

“One minute,” you reiterate. 

“Fine,” he huffs.

You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.

Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.

You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.

“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”

Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.

The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.

“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.

Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.

You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”

You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.

It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.

Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.

Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.

“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.

Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”

Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”

“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”

“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.

Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.

She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.

“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”

“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.

“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.

She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.

“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”

You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.

You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.

She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.

The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.

With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.

Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.

The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.

It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.

Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”

You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.

You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.

“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.

Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.

She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”

You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.

“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.

Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.

“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”

“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”

With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.

She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.

You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.

Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.

You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.

Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.

Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.

Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.

It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”

The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.

Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.

“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.

You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.

You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.

Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.

Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.

“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.

You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.

“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.

“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”

“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”

You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”

Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”

You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”

Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”

You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.

(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination. 

“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.

“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”

You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.

“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”

All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)

[mushyposts]

OKAY I HAVE A STORY TO TELL.

MY BEST FRIEND FUCKING HATES THIS HANSTER. Or more specifically, she hates ME and this hamster happens to be in the crossfire.

I sent this to her for the first time at LEAST three years ago. I don’t even remember the original context, I was having a phase of sending unrelated images as reaction photos and that last one in the thread got me so bad. I spammed her saying it was important, and then sent the hamster. She got so mad at it that I made it a point to send it whenever I could just because I couldn’t understand WHY she had such a deep hatred for this lil guy who’s just cheeked up!!

Her hatred for this image has led to her having to go on actual, honest to god walks because I’d just send it for NO reason. It’s a sticker on my iPhone, it’s saved to my phone and my laptop in a special folder for easy access, I have it open on a tab at all times. I am always ready, and the rage this mad her feel was unmatched.

Now. Important thing about me. I am VERY good at the long-con. Sort of ridiculously good, actually. I have “hamstered” her three times since the time I got temporarily blocked for it. It’s important to also note that aside from me sending it nonsensically, she has 0 reason to be so knee-jerk aggressive around the hamster. Anyway. Onto the three times I’ve hamstered her in the most BRILLIANT ways.

1- I did not use the hamster for over a year. I had moments I could have, but I didn’t. She even pointed this out!! Saying “I expected hamster ass.” But I did not rise to the bait, for I knew if I waited, the result would be oh so sweet.

I travelled HOURS to meet her, I took a plane, I used a train for the first time, I LABOURED!! And finally the moment was upon us. We met for the first time in person, we hugged, we exchanged thoughtful gifts, we went back to her house so I could force her to watch the hunger games, and then my time to strike came. I said “oh I have an edit to show you!” And I brought up an edit I had made using a capcut template, the “say yes to heaven, say yes to me. I’ve got my eye on you.” And then at the “you”, hamster ass flew across the screen.

The betrayal. The rage. The horror. It was cinematic. It was BEAUTIFUL. It was beyond anything I had ever seen before in my life. I played the long con, and it paid off. “In my own house?? Under my roof??” Yes, Soap. In your home. Under your roof. My hubris is unmatched and you consistently let it go unchecked. This is a saw trap you designed, enjoy the hamster.

2- I had just gotten back into contact with a mutual friend of ours who I hadn’t spoken to in years! It had been around eight months since the amazing first-meet-hamster-ass, and I once again hadn’t used it since then. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.

I sent a photo of the hamster ass to our friend and asked him to use it when he felt the time was right, and I wish I could have seen it when the time was right. Out on the beach, I think, and he goes “hey, look at this!” And shows her the hamster ass. The confusion, the betrayal, the shock. I would give my afterlife to be a fly on a rock observing that interaction. The rage in the message she sent me was beautiful.

At some point it becomes something she brings unto herself. I don’t gain anything from the hamster but her reaction, and yet even though she fully understands this, her rage for the hamster out matches her understanding that if she stopped reacting, I’d stop hamstering.

3- now. This one took prep, and I can’t take all the credit. I got my friends sibling in on this one and we planned it for MANY weeks before. I sent a document with ten hamster asses on it, and they cut each one out, numbering them 1-10, with little witty remarks on the back of them to keep things interesting.

I distracted my friend with our homestuck re-read, such perfect planning, and her sibling hid the hamster asses around their home. Coming to the end of the call while we discussed how wild everything was, and how we always forget the crazy little details, sibling walks in.

“I got some chocolate!” “Oh! Thank you-“ the pause. The silence. THE ERUPTION OF CHAOS AND RAGE. “THERE IS SOMETHING SICK AND WRONG WITH YOU!!” The HORROR!! Shakespeare could only ever HOPE to get to the level of drama and chaos exhibited in that discord call.

Nothing, however, could match when I went, “enjoy the hamsters!” And she goes “… hamsters? Plural?” And realises that yes, indeed, the hamsters are numbered. One to ten. She had number one handed to her, and yet nine more await her, hidden in her own home.

Has she found them all, you ask?? No. No she has not. How do I know for a fact that she hasn’t? Because if she had found number 10, I would know within on second of her realising, because the shock and horror when she finds it will be completely unmatched to any horror film identity reveal. No plot twist will ever compare to how she will react to number ten.

Anyway, that’s the very brief story of cheeked up hamster. I could add some screenshots of her reactions to being hamstered but it’s also late at night and I can’t be bothered. Just wanted to share with the world that sometimes the most fun pranks are the completely harmless ones.

Breaking your friends shit is out, sending them a cheeked up hamster is in.

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x reader (i think i kept it pretty gender neutral???) warnings: age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/late 40s), not so casual relationship, i know nothing about anything medical so please glance over that lol word count: 3.7k notes: if you are under 18 do not interact also be kind to me, i am not a writer but dr. jack abbot is a menace who i cannot stop thinking about so you all must suffer with me. also my inbox is open for all your screaming needs!

It started out strictly casual. You met on an app, for god’s sake. His profile was short and dry — but something about the line “I work nights. Not here to waste anyone’s time.” made you pause.

You’d been trading messages for a few days — mostly jokes, a few late-night check-ins after his shifts — when he finally asked, “Would you want to meet in person?” He told you he’d had a string of rough nights in the ER. Said he was craving company that didn’t know what "bed four" looked like post-code blue. You didn’t totally know what that meant, but you got the vibe.

Your schedule’s flexible — hybrid job, some travel, some desk work — so you offer a morning coffee at a place you’ve been wanting to try. He shows up looking like hell in the most attractive way: gray tee, tired eyes, rough around the edges but steady. You’re halfway through your latte when you realize you haven’t stopped smiling. He listens like it’s an instinct — intense, unshakable — but cracks jokes that disarm you when you least expect it.

You don’t hesitate when he invites you back to his place. It’s not flashy, not even particularly tidy, but it’s his. He kisses like he’s starving. And then, right before pulling you in again, he murmurs with a half-smile, “Take it easy on me, alright? Been a while. I might be a little rusty.”

You roll your eyes but your stomach flips. He is not rusty.

You feel a twinge of guilt sneaking out later, after he falls asleep. But you both said this was casual. Besides, it’s noon, and you’ve got spreadsheets and emails to wrangle. Still, before you even finish your afternoon calls, you send him a quick, “Had a great time. Hope you get some sleep.”

That opens the door.

What follows is a steady trickle of nothing texts that somehow mean everything. Memes. Podcasts you both like. A random snapshot of his hand scribbled with vitals — “Guess who forgot his notebook again.” You meet up again. And again. Sometimes it’s his place, sometimes yours. One night you share Thai on your couch and you swear you hear him hum when you rub your socked foot against his under the blanket.

You start catching feelings. Hard. And it’s the most grounded you’ve felt in years.

You don’t want to ruin it, so you let him lead. You try not to double-text. You wait a beat before offering plans. When your friends ask why you’ve been so mopey, they start teasing: “You’re in love with your situationship, huh?”

You don’t deny it.

He picks up on it, too. One night, over drinks at a dim bar near the hospital, you’re nursing a beer and dodging his questions about your weekend plans.

You say something noncommittal, too casual. You see it on his face before he speaks.

He sets his drink down a little too hard and says, voice low but clear: “Hey, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t play games like this. I’m pushing 50. I know I’m taking up time you could be spending with kids your age, and maybe that’s my mistake. But I like you. I like spending time with you. And if you don’t feel the same — if you’re trying to back off or slow-walk me into fading out — just say so. Don’t drag it out.”

Your stomach drops.

You blink, stunned. “Wait—what? No. Jack—God. You have it backwards.”

He watches you carefully, guarded, already preparing to retreat.

“I’m in too deep,” you say. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to do casual with you anymore. I want to see you all the time. I’m trying not to scare you off. But if this is just something light for you—if you really want to keep it easy—then yeah… maybe we should take a step back. Because I don’t think I can.”

The silence between you stretches for a beat.

Then he exhales. Long and slow.

And when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Well,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Sounds like we’re both idiots.”

[persefolli]

Seven

Smoke ‘Elijah Moore’ x Reader

Summary: After 7 years, your lover finally returns to Clarksdale

Warnings: Slight Angst, Cursing, Smut, somethingquickreally

Seven years.

Seven years since you laughed without a care in the world. 

Seven years since you walked the bayou with him.

Seven years since you said yes.

Seven years since his side of the bed was warm.

Seven years, and he still had the nerve to show up on your property.

You watched him pull up in a truck full of junk. He removed his cap from his head and held it to his chest once he made eye contact with you. Closer he came up the wooden porch stairs that were on its last leg. 

“Y/n.”

You scowled at him.

“Y/n baby.”

“I ain’t ch’our baby.” You shook your head and took a step back from him. 

The corners of his lips twitched, and he nodded. “Just came back from town.” He started. “They know you still my woman.” He pushed past, entering your house.

“I ain-”

“Ain’t nobody givin you trouble? Bothering you.” He interrupted. 

“No. Smoke.”

“Good.”

He looked around the worn down house and clicked his tongue, setting his cap on the wooden table. He walked until he spotted the counter, packages on packages stacked on one another, unopened. His eyebrows furrowed seeing envelopes with a very specific seal on them. “This better not be what I think it is.”

You sighed as he ripped open one of the packages, money spilling from the tightly wrapped paper. “You ain’t use not a damn penny I’ve been sending you for years!” He yelled holding up a wad of cash.

“I don’t need your money. And you bounced around too much for me to send it back.” You said retreating into yourself. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, a feeling you’d long forgotten til now. 

“I come back thinkin you opened up that lil shop you always talked about. This more than enough money! You just lettin this sit here! Living in this piece of-“

“Hey now!” You snapped at him. “This is home.”

Smoke placed his hands on his hips, sighing, you were right. He couldn’t deny it. This was home, and he would’ve been a bit disappointed finding out you had gotten rid of it. But he still couldn’t contain his anger, knowing how hard he worked, knowing it meant nothing to you.

“I wasn’t gonna use your blood money.”

“This ain’t blood money.”

“All money is blood money no?”

Smoke smacked his lips and turned to you again, walking up, hollering. “This the thanks I get?”

“Thanks for what?! Leavin me?! I didn’t ask for this fuckin money. And I sure never begged you to come home.” You yelled back.

“I take care of you. I took care of you.”

“Naw.” You shook your head. “My people got me. Even James up the road took good care of me.”

Elijah’s head snapped your way, and his eyes glared with rage. “James took care of you.” A twitch of his mouth flashed his teeth.

You stared.

“James ain’t take care of you.” He stroked his beard. “Nah cause….he know you ain’t to be touched.” He pondered for a moment, beginning to pace away from the table. Elijah looked at you one more time for confirmation, but when you said nothing, he stormed to the door. 

“No! Don’t” You dashed right behind him, grabbing his arm, “He ain’t touch me Smoke! Nobody did! He did help fix some stuff though, my stove went out!’ You panicked, knowing you had accidentally put a good man in danger.

“You could’ve bought a damn new one with the money I sent!”

You stood silent, looking at him with a hurt expression, bottom lip between your teeth as you felt the tension in the room humidify.  Smoke took a deep breath and stood in the doorway. “You don’t think I wanted to bring you with me?”

“Elijah-” You started, but he kept speaking. 

“I always had you.” He pulled out a locket to reveal a picture he’d kept of you. “Always kept ya.” He walked over to show you the locket, a picture of you taken a few years back when you had gotten your first job back when the two of you were teenagers. “Seven years or seven days I don’t wanna come home hearing nothing about no man takin care of my lady.”

You jumped when he swiftly closed the locket and stuffed it back into his chest pocket. He then grabbed you by the hips and pulled you close to him, kneading your hips, inhaling before looking up at you. 

“Cmon.”

“Where we goin?” 

“The bedroom,” He nodded to the open door that led to the only room in the house. “Gon get on that mattress and make love to my woman.”

You stood stagnant for a moment before going into the room, Smoke following. The door closed behind you two, the only source of light coming from the oil lamp and the cracks between the ceiling and wall. Smoke came up behind you, taking you by the waist again. “You let me take care of you.” He stated, pressing soft kisses along your shoulders. His beard tickled, grazing over your tender, untouched skin, His kisses traveled up to the base of your neck, where he applied more pressure. Open mouthed kisses, leaving the ghost of his passion on your skin. 

Smoke’s large hands squeezed your waist, traveling up your sides before trailing to the zipper of your dress. You let out a sigh as he slowly unzipped your dress, revealing your smooth back, disrupted by the presence of your white undergarments. You reached back for his belt, but he gripped you and pulled you against him, leaving no room for your hands to touch him.

“Don’t.” You pleaded with him to not tease you. That was the least he could do, not tease you after leaving you starved all this time. 

“Get on the bed.” He said in your ear.

Discarding your dress, you got onto the bed, sitting on your bum as you watched him undo his belt and discard his clothing. He took off everything but his socks, ritual for him. The two of you kissed as he climbed on top of you, hands roaming your body. His warm hands rubbed up along your thighs, reaching the waistband of your panties and pulling them down. Once he removed those, he trailed his hands back up along the undersides of your legs, pushing your knees back so your legs were perfectly positioned on each side of his torso. A shared groan. He’d entered you.

You looked at him with hooded eyes and whimpered as he moved, keeping his grip tight on your thighs. “Fuck. I missed you.” He leaned down and locked lips with you, swallowing your moans as he quickened his thrusts. The air filled with gasps and steam, sweat beading on your bodies. You ran your hands down his slick back and took hold of his hips, feeling his muscles flex as he got to work.

His face contorted, signaling that he was coming soon, but seeing that you weren’t there yet, he pulled out and quickly put you on your stomach. “Elijah~” You whimpered.

He grabbed your hips and entered you, the both of you sharing a moan again. You gripped the sheets as he fucked you from behind, hips snapping against you vigorously. You tensed up, let out a yell, and he smacked your ass in response.

“Fuck!” You shouted. Elijah wrapped his hand around and pulled your head up to level with his. He kissed you again, sucking and nipping your bottom lip as he fucked you into an orgasm. You gasped and lost the latch to his lips as you fluttered around his dick and began to come.

Elijah groaned and kneaded your ass as he felt you fall over the edge. “There you go.” He clenched his teeth and grunted as he finished in you. 

You two panted, catching your breath. He pulled out of you and laid down next to you. “Here.” He muttered and pulled you into his side, placing a kiss on your shoulder. 

Not wanting to get comfortable in his arms again, you turned to him.  “You gon leave again.” You stated.

You felt his lips press against your shoulder again, “Nah. I’m here. I’m stayin.”

[lnracer]

I have a requesttttt lately I’ve been thinking about Lando and I kinda think it would be so fun if he was with someone totally opposite to him SO my vision is:

Badass girlboss Reader (I personally imagine an Elle Woods-esque corporate trial lawyer or something) and Lando have been sneaking around but out in public they look like just friends and they’re kind of dating around but they end up getting jealous bc Reader thinks Lando wants the influencer/models he’s surrounded by and Lando thinks Reader wants a serious academic type. How it ends is up to you — maybe they work it out or maybe they just belong in different worlds :’)

Pairing: Lando Norris x Corporate Lawyer! Female Reader.

Warnings: Mild miscommunication, mild angst with a (very) happy ending and jealousy (mutual, a little petty).

Word Count: 3.601k.

a/n: Ahh, I just loved your vision so much! It was really easy to write and play with this dynamic (I don't think I've ever had so much creativity to write something so fast, but I ended up staying up all night writing this because I was genuinely so entertained 😅) but anyway, thank you for the request and I hope it meets your vision in the best way possible and that you like it! ☺️🧡

By day, she was the powerhouse trial attorney — the kind who walked into courtrooms in heels that could kill and left with verdicts that made headlines. The fashion magazines loved her almost as much as Forbes did. She was the youngest partner in her firm, a Harvard Law alumni with a Chanel addiction and a sharp tongue. Men underestimated her. Judges respected her. And juries? They adored her.

By night — well, lately, her nights often involved sneaking out of an apartment in Monaco, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies over her silk blouse.

Lando knew what the world thought. That they were “just friends.” That maybe she was his lawyer or his PR advisor or some business connection. The paddock shots of her standing beside him, sunglasses on, whispering something that made him smirk? Oh, the fan theories were relentless.

But behind closed doors? Their situationship was toeing the line of something real. No labels. No pressure. But a lot of stolen glances, late-night phone calls, and moments that felt too intimate for friends.

The problem? She was the type to keep her heart padlocked. Lando was used to people chasing him — but she didn’t chase. She leaned against his car in the McLaren garage and made fun of his post-race hair. She kissed him like he was hers, then told him she had court in the morning and disappeared in a plane.

Still, she wore his hoodie in her post-run selfies. And he kept saving seats for her in the paddock.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

They met at a charity gala in London — her firm was sponsoring, McLaren was donating, and neither of them wanted to be there. She was bored out of her mind, cornered by a finance bro pitching her crypto nonsense, when Lando swooped in like a cheeky, curly-haired lifeline.

“Sorry, mate,” Lando had said, slipping an arm around her waist with perfect ease. “I promised her the next dance.”

She had raised an eyebrow, amused and intrigued. He was only a year older than her, maybe a little cocky, but charming in that boyish, slightly-messy way. She didn’t dance, of course. Not at galas. But she let him lead her away anyway.

“You don’t look like a lawyer,” he’d said under his breath once they were out of earshot.

“And you don’t look like someone who reads contracts,” she fired back, her smile sharp.

That was the start of it. Flirty texts turned into late-night calls. Then came dinners in quiet places where no one recognized them. Then weekends in cities where she happened to be trying a case, and he happened to have a break in the calendar.

There was no official talk. No defining the relationship. But every time she passed through the paddock, Lando’s eyes would find her like muscle memory. And every time he showed up at her apartment with coffee after a red-eye flight, she didn’t send him home.

They didn’t owe each other explanations. Not when she was knee-deep in legal warfare Monday through Friday. Not when he was crossing continents chasing trophies. But there was something magnetic about them. Something they didn’t touch too closely for fear of setting off fireworks they couldn’t control.

He brought chaos into her perfectly curated life. She brought calm into his whirlwind. They weren’t each other’s type, and yet — they were exactly what the other kept coming back for.

Addictive in the best way. Dangerous if it ever tipped too far.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

It had been a week since the last time they’d spent time together. She was in New York for a deposition, Lando was in Italy for the race. Their texts had been sparse — just the typical “miss you” and “good luck” messages, but nothing too personal. It was their thing, keeping things light when the world was heavy.

But tonight, something felt off. She had just wrapped up a ten-hour workday and was about to dive into a pile of case files when she got a text from him:

Lan:

Can we talk?

She frowned at the screen. It wasn’t unusual for him to reach out like this, but there was a seriousness in the tone that made her stomach churn.

She stared at her phone for a few moments before typing back:

Y/N:

Of course, what’s up?

Seconds later, the phone buzzed again, this time with a FaceTime request. She hesitated, then answered, putting on the usual mask — cool, composed, business-like.

Lando’s face filled the screen, but it wasn’t the warm, mischievous grin she was used to. His brow was furrowed, eyes heavy, like he hadn’t slept well in days. She sat up straighter, her lawyer instincts kicking in, trying to gauge the situation.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice carefully neutral.

“Hey,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve been thinking.”

Her heart rate spiked. Thinking wasn’t good. When Lando thought, things got complicated. And she didn’t need anything complicated.

“About what?” she asked, her tone even but laced with caution.

“About us.”

There it was. The words she had known were coming, but hearing them still felt like a slap.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her, the walls going up instinctively. “What about us?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, though she tried to keep the edge out of her voice.

Lando sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “You know this whole thing… whatever it is… it’s killing me, Y/N.”

Her jaw clenched. “What are you talking about? You knew what this was when we started. No labels. No promises. Just… us. And if you didn’t like that, you should’ve said something earlier.”

“That’s the thing,” he snapped, frustration creeping into his voice. “I never wanted it like this. I thought maybe… maybe we could actually figure it out. But you’re so damn cold. You keep me at arm's length, and it’s like I’m not even real to you when we’re not together.”

Her breath caught. She was used to the cold, used to compartmentalizing her emotions, but this wasn’t a courtroom. It was Lando. And as much as she hated admitting it, it stung.

“I’m not cold,” she said, her voice tight, but the walls were beginning to crack. “I just… I don’t do messy. I have a career to focus on. And you have the entire world chasing after you. I’m not the type to play these games.”

“Games?” Lando repeated, his eyes flashing with frustration. “This isn’t a game, Y/N. I don’t get it. One second, it’s like I mean something to you. The next, I’m just some guy who’s filling space until the next big thing comes along.”

Her chest tightened. “You think I’m stringing you along?” She could feel the heat rising in her face. This wasn’t just an argument. It felt like it was unearthing something deeper — something they hadn’t dared to look at yet.

“I don’t know what I think anymore,” Lando shot back, leaning closer to the screen, his expression hard. “I’m asking you to be honest with me for once. What the hell is this? Because I’m not just gonna sit here pretending like it’s nothing while you keep everything locked up.”

Her pulse raced, the words threatening to spill out before she could stop them. “You think I’m the one who’s afraid of this? Of us? Lando, I don’t have time for games. You want someone who’s all in, someone who will follow you around and pretend that this is normal? It’s not. And I’m not some girl who’s gonna throw my life away for—”

“For what?” Lando interrupted, his voice sharp, cutting through her words. “For someone who you don't even give a damn? For someone who you treat like a casual fling when everyone’s watching?”

She froze, the hurt in his words hitting her harder than she expected. “That’s not fair,” she whispered. “You don’t get to do that. You know what my life is like. You don’t get to judge me for how I handle things. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am, and I won’t throw that away for anything or anyone.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched long between them, heavy and tense. Finally, Lando broke the quiet, his voice softer but laced with frustration.

“You don’t have to throw it all away. I just… I just want to know if I matter, Y/N. If I mean anything to you.”

Her throat tightened, the words suddenly stuck. “You do,” she said, barely above a whisper. “But it’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” Lando pleaded, his eyes searching hers through the screen. “Stop hiding from me.”

She stared at him, her heart racing, the emotional walls crumbling faster than she could rebuild them. “I can’t promise you what you want,” she said finally, her voice shaking just a little. “But I’m not walking away. Just… just give me time.”

Lando sighed deeply, his expression softening. “Time. Yeah. Okay. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I’m fine with this.”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Not yet.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

The next couple of weeks after their argument were… strange. Awkward. Almost like both of them had hit a wall they didn’t know how to scale.

She kept herself busy. Ridiculously busy. Court cases, meetings, contracts — anything to keep her mind off the tension that still clung to her thoughts. She buried herself in work, refusing to admit to herself that something about Lando was starting to haunt her, even if she wasn’t ready to admit that out loud.

Lando, on the other hand, was everywhere. In the paddock. At fashion shows. With influencers, models, and people who seemed to have everything in the world but didn’t seem to be doing anything. They laughed, they posed for the cameras, they made it look easy.

It drove her insane.

She wasn’t supposed to care. She wasn’t supposed to get jealous over him. But when she saw a photo of Lando and a famous Instagram model sharing a laugh at a recent charity event, it felt like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t that she was jealous. No, of course not. She wasn’t like that. But… they were so perfect for each other. Gorgeous, carefree, and living in a world where appearances were everything. The kind of world she didn’t belong to.

So, she did what she did best: she pretended it didn’t bother her.

She posted a few pictures from her latest trial, looking fierce in a tailored suit, with her caption reflecting the confidence she wanted to project: “Court’s in session. Winning isn't a choice. It's a guarantee.”

Her phone buzzed almost immediately with messages — friends, colleagues, even a few family members. But the one that made her stop was from Lando.

Lan:

Looking good in court. You know, you should wear a suit more often…

She stared at the message, blinking as the words sat in front of her. Was it a compliment? Or was it just a casual comment, like he always sent? Either way, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut that told her he was distracted by something — or someone — else.

So, she ignored his text. Just for a few hours. Maybe she was being petty. But she couldn’t help it.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Meanwhile, Lando had his own demons. He’d been thinking about the conversation they had, replaying it over and over in his head. Make it simple. She’d said that to him. But the more he thought about it, the more complicated it seemed.

He'd been surrounded by people, sure, but all these models, influencers, and socialites? They didn’t fill the space she left behind. They never could.

Still, seeing her posts — those posts — with all her academic accomplishments, her sleek, polished persona… it made him second-guess everything. He knew she was fierce. She was a force. But sometimes, he wondered if he was the right match for her. Was he really what she wanted? Or was she just pretending, keeping him at arm's length like she had from the start?

He'd seen how she interacted with the serious academics — those suave lawyers, those well-dressed business types she surrounded herself with at galas. People who played the game of life like it was a chess match, making calculated moves every step of the way. People who probably looked better on paper than he did. Lando couldn’t help but think, Does she need someone like that? Someone more… professional? More grounded?

The thought twisted at his insides.

A couple of days later, his answer came when he saw her with one of those very types at an event — a tall, dark-haired man in a crisp suit. He was talking to her, laughing at something she said, clearly enjoying her company.

Of course she likes someone like him, Lando thought bitterly, as he watched from across the room. The man was everything Lando was not — serious, calculated, and mature. He didn’t need to be the center of attention, and he certainly didn’t have to make himself a spectacle for people to notice him.

Lando’s grip tightened around the flute of champagne in his hand. He turned away, trying to shake off the unease bubbling in his chest. But the feeling stuck with him. All night.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

The next day, he texted her again, his message half-accusatory, half-playful:

Lan:

So, who’s the guy? Looks like a lawyer from here. Thought you were into people who could keep up with your… complicated life.

She read the message and snorted. Was he really going to throw that at her? The jealousy card? Really?

She quickly typed back, biting her lip.

Y/N:

He’s just a colleague. Someone from work. You know, not everyone revolves around F1 or the latest influencer trends.

The words stung even as she typed them. She hated that she was putting walls up, but she was so tired of constantly second-guessing herself.

Lan:

Right. And I suppose I’m the one who’s into those trends?

Y/N:

I mean, you’ve been hanging around them enough.

There. She said it. She was being petty, but jealousy was eating at her.

Lando’s response came quickly, almost instantly.

Lan:

Yeah, because that’s exactly what I want, more Instagram followers and pretty girls with no substance.

Her eyes narrowed at the text. She read it twice, the sharp edge in his words cutting deeper than she expected.

Y/N:

Then why do you keep surrounding yourself with them?

His response came even faster this time.

Lan:

I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe because I’m tired of wondering if you even want to be with me or if you’d rather be with someone who looks like he has it all together.

She froze, her heart dropping.

The tension between them had reached its peak. It was a tangled mess of insecurities, unspoken fears, and silent accusations. They both thought the other wanted something they weren’t ready to give. They were both fighting to keep a part of themselves that the other couldn’t touch.

But maybe… just maybe, it was time to tear down the walls and face it.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Monza had been a whirlwind for Lando — racing, media events, and the pressure that always seemed to come with the spotlight. But that wasn’t what weighed on his mind. No, it was her.

He had tried to act like he was fine, ignoring the nagging feeling in his gut, but deep down, he knew things were slipping. Every moment without her felt like they were growing further apart, despite how hard they tried to convince themselves otherwise. The jealousy, the silence — it was building up, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

So, without a second thought, he packed his bags and boarded a plane. Destination: New York. The city that never sleeps, or so they said. But for him, it was the city where he would finally have it out with her.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Lando stood outside her apartment building, his heart racing. He wasn’t sure how he got there, just that something in him had snapped. The confusion, the doubt — it was all consuming. The thought that they could end like this, with all the words left unsaid, made him angry. Angry at himself. Angry at the situation. And angry at her for shutting him out, even if she didn’t realize it.

He hit the buzzer.

A moment later, her voice crackled through the speaker. "Yes?"

He didn't even give it a second thought. "It's me. Lando. Open the door."

There was a pause. He could almost hear her hesitation through the intercom. Then the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

She stood there in front of him, looking stunned, her hair disheveled from a long day of meetings and calls. But despite the exhaustion, the moment their eyes met, everything else seemed to disappear. The anger, the confusion, the jealousy — it all melted away in that instant. But she didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

Lando stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

She crossed her arms, not backing down. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“You didn’t think I would?” Lando’s voice cracked, and the rawness of it hit her like a punch to the chest. “I’ve been standing on the edge of this whole damn mess for weeks. Watching you pull away, acting like I don’t even exist. And then I see you with some guy at that gala, acting like I’m nothing but a distraction. So yeah, I came here to figure this out once and for all.”

Her face flushed, but she refused to back down. “You think I want to be with you, Lando? You think I’m the one pulling away? I saw you with all those models and influencers. You think I can’t see what’s right in front of me? You want someone who fits your world — someone who doesn’t have a career that takes up all her time, someone who doesn’t get tangled up in complicated lawsuits and corporate contracts.”

Lando shook his head, walking toward her, his frustration mounting. “No! That’s not it at all! I don’t want someone like that. I want you.” He stepped closer, his voice rising. “But you keep acting like I’m not good enough for you. Like you don’t want someone who’s just... here. You want someone serious, someone who can sit in boardrooms and talk numbers and contracts all day. I’m just some guy who drives cars.”

“Lando…” She started, but he cut her off, his words tumbling out faster now.

“You don’t get it, do you? I’m in this world, yes, but I don’t care about that crap. I care about you. I care about us. But every time I try to get close, you push me away, like you’re afraid I’ll screw it all up. And you’re right, I’ve been surrounded by people who don’t care about anything. But you— you’re different. You’re smart. You’re ambitious. You’re real. And that scares me, okay? It scares me because I’ve never had someone like you before. And I don’t want to lose you because I’m too scared not being enough.”

She stood there, silent for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Her gaze softened, the tension in her shoulders releasing as she let out a long breath.

“I’m scared too,” she admitted quietly, almost in a whisper. “Scared that I’m not the kind of person you need. I’ve seen how you are around those people— how easy it is for you to just... slip into that world. And I thought, maybe, that’s what you wanted. Someone who can play that game better than I ever could.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No. No. I don’t need that. I need you. You’re the one who makes me want to get out of bed every morning, who pushes me to be better. Not some model or influencer with a perfect smile and a million followers. I need someone who knows who they are and isn’t afraid of what the world thinks. And that’s you. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Her lips parted as if she was about to argue, but something in his eyes stopped her. She took a step forward, looking up at him.

“Lando... I don’t know how to make this easier. But I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. I’ve been so wrapped up in what I think you want, and I forgot what I need. I want us. I just need to figure out how to stop being so damn scared.”

Lando reached for her hand, his voice softer now. “Then let’s figure it out together. No more pretending. No more games. Just us.”

She smiled, the weight lifting off her shoulders. She finally closed the space between them, letting her arms wrap around him.

“I’ve never been good at this,” she murmured, her face buried in his chest. “But I want to try.”

Lando squeezed her tighter. “Me too. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means figuring out how to play the long game with you.”

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other. The silence between them felt different now — like they were both finally on the same page, after all the chaos.

And as the city buzzed around them, they finally understood: sometimes, the best relationships weren’t the ones you planned out. They were the messy, complicated ones you couldn’t live without.

[cassie0queen]

(English isn't my first language so don't judge me ok)

I just had an idea what if this was a demon twins au where Danny runs away and everyone thinks he's dead but Danny is like the better twin but he loved Damian very much and Ra's was using this to make Danny obey his orders and the twins were super close and they had a really good relationship and Danny overhears Ra's talking about the battle to death between the twins and he decides he gonna let Damian be the heir and he finds the perfect opportunity to disappear when he's in a mission and the was an explosion and Danny is found by jazz somewhere in Chicago and decides this is her lil bro I'm thinking and everything continues as it was but Danny's parents accept him and like they send him with his sister to GU (BC she into psychology) so the GW wouldn't find him and he ends up moving schools there (and if you want add Danielle we're calling he Ellie BCS better BC why not is gonna be fun) and fast forward to 2 months in Gotham and somehow the bats don't realise there's other demon brat here and like things happen and both are into the same freaking thing like I'm talking about Danny joins art class bc he thinks Damien would do that and Damien learns more about space and science bc he thinks Danny would do that and like they both have the same clothing style? (Idk I think Danny would ware this clothes ) and like idk one of the bats come across Danny is wearing these clothes or something similar to what Damien had yesterday or a day before that and... BUT What if Bruce or Alfred was the one who finds out about Danny and like they think is a clone or something bc Damian didn't tell the truth about Danny bc shame/grief or guiltyness OR bc he saw the way Bruce talked about Jason when they thought he was dead? And imagine them confronting and Damian recognise Danny immediately and breaks down crying bc kid wasn't allowed to grief and if he was he was only alone at night in his bedroom because Ra's though Danny was a disgrace to the Al Gaul family and the bats finding out the whole story from Damian s perspectiv and like Danny's just living his life till F!KING BATMAN and robin (who kinda look like him or his twin but he ain't judging) breaks his freaking window and Ellie is laughing in the background bc batman is calling him son and wants him to go with him home (batsy is kidnapping kids from their homes (; ) and like jazz is coming home only to find this f!king furry bat cosplay dude (I'm scared to swear) want to kidnap her lil siblings and they start arguing and the bats weren't expecting to a redhead Young woman to be ready to fight batman and like robin trys to talk to Danny but his lil sister just doesn't allow him to speak and robin take off his mask and it shows Damian and everyone rameins silent Ellie is stunned thinking is other clone jazz knowing damn well thats Danny's twin bc sword and Danny's eyes well up just enough to make his eyes glossy and but he keeps a straight face and tells him to leave (he thinks Damian is still with the league of assassins) and Damian is heartbroken but HE ATTEMPTS to leaves but red hood quite literally lifts Danny up his shoulder and runs to the batcave with red robin giving instructions to what do to next and idk how but jazz and Ellie are coming along so yeyy (I know is bad but I barely had 20 hours of sleep in 3 days and I can't do basic math or spell something)

Lil Wayne here!!

[bxunyx]

Mr wrong

Pairing-Elias*Stack*Moore x Black reader

Summary-Stack is your Mr wrong

A/N-I don’t know if I like this or not it’s kinda poopy I’ll write a better one when I get a chance/feel I feel as though my stories connect in some way like Zara and Arna being sisters or whatever but I hope you enjoy lovelies also the lyrics isn’t in order I don’t think

You knew better than to come back to the Smokestack.

But “knowing better” never stopped you—not when it came to him.

The heavy night air sticks to your skin like the humid breath of temptation. You push open the door to the juke joint, the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and whiskey hitting you like a punch to the gut. Neon lights flicker above, casting a faint red glow across the room, a silent warning that maybe you should’ve stayed away.

But you walk in anyway, your heels tapping against the worn wooden floors, a rhythm that beats the same as your pulse. The low hum of voices and the clinking of glasses fill the air, blending with the distant wail of a blues guitar. You walk past your sister Arna who’s with stacks brother smoke.

“Bad boys ain’t no good,

Good boys ain’t no fun…”

You swallow, trying to steady the rush of feelings already flooding through you. You told yourself you wouldn’t come back to this place—wouldn’t come back to him. But here you are. You can feel it in the air, thick with regret and longing. You search the room for that one person you can’t quit, can’t forget.

And there he is.

Stack.

He’s standing near the back bar, his hand wrapped around a drink, looking like he owns the place. His shirt is open just enough to show that tattoo of you he got, the one you used to trace when your head was resting on his chest in the middle of the night, pretending not to care where he went once you fell asleep.

“Lord knows that I should

Run off with the right one…”

But it’s too late now. Your feet move before you can think, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like you’ve always been.

His gold tooth glints as he talks to a woman who doesn’t know any better. His laugh cuts through the air, deep and warm, and for a moment, you’re paralyzed. It’s a mix of hate and heat, of memories you should’ve forgotten but never could.

You close your eyes for just a second, knowing you should turn around and leave. But you can’t.

“Me and Mr. Wrong get along so good (So good)

Even though he breaks my heart so bad (So bad)

We got a special thing going on”

You shake your head, trying to shake the memories loose, but they stick to you like glue, and they always will. And then, his voice. That voice that wraps around you like a drug.

“Zara,” Stack says, his grin wide and mischievous as he finally notices you walking toward him. His eyes scan you up and down, drinking you in, like he hasn’t seen you in years—like he doesn’t know exactly how much power he still has over you.

You stop just a few feet away from him, your breath hitching in your chest.

“Look who decided to show up,” he drawls, his tone playful but with a hint of something darker. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “I didn’t think I’d want to.”

He chuckles, a sound that sends a familiar rush through you. “But here you are,” he says, his voice dropping lower, like a warning. “Right where you’ve always belonged.”

“Ain't no way that I'm moving on

I love my Mr. Wrong”

You hate how true it is. How the pull toward him is magnetic, unavoidable. How you’re always drawn back in, no matter how hard you try to escape.

His gaze doesn’t leave yours. “You still think about me, don’t you?” he asks, voice low and smoky.

You open your mouth, about to lie, but the words get caught in your throat. “Only when I’m trying not to,” you whisper, heart pounding.

He steps closer, and his presence wraps around you like smoke. You feel the warmth of him, the familiarity, the danger. “You’re lying,” Stack says, his lips almost brushing your ear. “You never stopped thinking about me, Zara.”

You shiver, your body betraying you, and you know he feels it too.

“Maybe I’ll never get it right,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t stay away from you.”

He smirks, a predatory glint in his eyes. “You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel the heat between you grow. It’s like nothing’s changed—like no time has passed. His hand reaches out for yours, not gently, but with a force that makes your pulse race.

“We got a special thing going on

Me and Mr., Mr. Wrong

Even if I try, no, I never could

Give him up 'cause his love's like that”

You hate that he’s right. The one you shouldn’t want. The one you can’t seem to stay away from.

Before you can say anything else, he takes your hand and pulls you toward the small dance floor. The music slows, the rhythm heavy and intimate. His hands find your hips with a familiarity that makes your heart beat faster.

Your body remembers his touch—how he always held you close, as if he never wanted to let you go. But tonight, the air between you feels charged, tense with everything unsaid. His lips brush against your temple, soft, almost tender, but the heat that follows is anything but gentle.

“Dance with me,” he says in that low voice you used to crave.

And despite everything, you do. Because you can’t stop yourself, no matter how much you want to.

He would always be your Mr wrong.

[dakusan]

How skz texts you when you're upset

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, emotional support, quiet love, soft boys with warm hearts

🌙 synopsis: you're not alone. not ever. eight boys, eight different ways of showing up when the world feels too loud. some send you memes. some send you playlists. some just send a quiet “i’m here.” when you're unraveling at the seams, they don't ask you to hold it together. they hold you instead—in texts, in voice notes, in the silence between words. this isn't about fixing you. it's about loving you exactly as you are—soft, sad, and still worth everything.

💌 a/n: hi hello yes. i promise i have a job (whilst looking for a new one) but i am also a girl with free time and nothing to do, so i write for you people. plus, i just think everyone deserves to be comforted like this, okay?? anyway. if you’ve had a hard day, I hope this felt like a warm hoodie straight from the dryer. or like… a text that says “u up?” but emotionally stable. as always, thank you for reading my little delusions 💗 p.s. i know it’s a short one but like... short and sweet, right?? i hope it’s sweet??? idk anymore 😭 p.p.s. YES I KNOW MY PIC AESTHETICS ARE WEIRD AND DON’T MATCH OR WHATEVER I’M TRYING… I SEE THE VISION IN MY HEAD OKAY THE EXECUTION JUST BE SUFFERING. leave me alone. smh. p.p.p.s no, i haven't made any songs to match this vibe. lmfao, soz •ᴖ•

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎶 Now Playing: "Star Lost" — Stray Kids

Bang Chan // 방찬 the gentle leader energy

[3:14PM] Hey, angel. I know today’s rough. I won’t push, but I’m here. Want to hop on call? We can sit in silence or talk, your pace. [3:17PM] You’re not alone in this. I promise. (You wake up to a Lo-fi playlist he made just for you, titled: “for when your heart’s tired”)

Lee Know // 리노 silent acts of care

[4:52PM] What do you need? Be honest. [4:54PM] I can cook. Or just sit with you. Or send you mean messages about the universe. [5:01PM] Here. Cat pics. Instant serotonin. (He drops off warm food at your door with a post-it: “Eat. Or I’ll be annoyed. 😒”)

Changbin // 창빈 aggressively loving

[5:03PM] WHO. UPSET. YOU. [5:04PM] I will fight them. Emotionally. And maybe physically. 👊 [5:07PM] Also… I’m proud of you. For just… being you. (He sends voice notes of him beatboxing silly rhythms with your name mixed in. Pure serotonin.)

Hyunjin // 현진 the poetic soft boy

[2:27PM] It’s okay to crumble sometimes. Even stars need to rest. [2:29PM] You are still whole, even when you don’t feel it. [2:34PM] Do you want a drawing? Or a distraction? I can write you a silly haiku. (You receive a photo of a messy sketchbook page with your initials in soft florals.)

Han // 한 chaotic comfort personified

[3:59PM] I see you’re feeling like 🍞 soggy bread. [4:00PM] BUT GUESS WHAT. YOU’RE MY FAVOURITE TOAST. [4:02PM] I’m gonna spam you with memes until you smile or block me. (He sends 17 voice memos. One is a fake commercial for “Anti-Sadness Spray,” voiced by him in 4 accents.)

Felix // 필릭스 human sunshine, through and through

[1:36PM] Hey, beautiful. I felt something was off today… Do you want hugs, words, or just my presence? [1:40PM] You deserve kindness even when your mind says otherwise. (You get a video of him baking cookies, captioned: “Saving one for you, always.”)

Seungmin // 승민 realist with a warm heart

[6:18PM] I know you think you’re being dramatic. You’re not. [6:21PM] Want comfort or tough love? [6:25PM] You’re handling more than most would. Let yourself feel it. (He sends a carefully curated playlist titled: “not okay, but surviving.”)

I.n // 아이엔 the shy but intuitive one

[5:40PM] Hey… are you okay? You don’t have to answer. Just wanted you to know I care. [5:46PM] Do you want to watch something later? I’ll even pretend not to hate romcoms. [5:49PM] You matter to me. Just… wanted to say that. (You later find out he stayed up playing your comfort game just to send you tips.)

[rafesbabygirlx]

ONLINE LOVE | 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

✧ Summary- Rafe Cameron used to avoid love, only having flings and never getting close to anyone. Now 27 and raising his 3-year-old daughter Harper alone, he wants something more, a real connection. Tired of being judged on the island, he tries Hinge and sets his location to the mainland. After days of no matches, he finds your profile and is instantly drawn to you.

✧ Prompt- for hingematch!rafe could you do one where hes been busy with his daughter and doesnt realise hes left her on delivered and she thinks hes ghosted her?

✧ Prompted here

It had been a month. A month of back and forth texting, FaceTime calls, and learning more about each other. Rafe surprisingly opened up about a lot to you, other than the fact that he had his daughter. He still didn’t know how to bring this up. Now worried it would ruin everything.

You had off today so you and Rafe had spent all night on the phone. You had fallen asleep first so when you woke up you wanted to make it a point to text him.

9:29am: Hi, how pathetic am I fallen asleep on you like that?

9:30am: My first year residency is kicking my ass, I’m shocked that I even stayed up as late as I did.

9:31am: I’m free all day today, finally have a day off, so don’t be shy in texting me! 🥰

9:44am: I’m sure you’re at work and busy. Like I said I’m free all day. I just can’t wait to hear your voice again.

You hadn’t mean to sound desperate. This past month you and Rafe had been on top getting back to each other the second with of you had texted. You had both shared your schedules, you knew when he’d be in meetings and he knew when you’d be working at your internship. The second either was over, one of you was immediately sending a text. Unless there was an emergency meeting he got pulled in to, this was a bit of a strange break in the pattern.

You busied yourself as best as you could. You made yourself a nice breakfast, something you barely get to do anymore. Then, you caught up on some of your tv shows and when they were done you began a new book. You took a full pamper shower, cleaned up your nails, did your hair routine, your skincare, and applied some makeup.

It had been 4 hours and when you finally picked back up your phone it was still radio silence from Rafe. You let out a sigh of defeat. Mind racing that something that seemed so precious could already be over. He hadn’t even read the texts. You don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but no matter how well this seemed to be going, he was only just an online dating match who ended up living 5 hours away from you.

On the other side of North Carolina, Rafe was a mess. Harper had claimed she had a stomach ache and refused to go to school, meanwhile he caught the toddler in the pantry sneaking cookies and gummies 3 times this morning. He told her the only thing she was allowed to do was lay in bed and get rest if she was that sick. This lead to full blown tantrums and Rafe wanting to pull out the short hair of his buzzcut.

Between Harper fighting him all morning and having to rearrange his business schedule, this glued Rafe to his office desk. His personal phone was forgotten on his nightstand and he didn’t get a chance to think about it. He left the office door open, which gave him a perfect view of Harper’s and the hundreds of times he caught her sneaking out of it.

“Harper get back here!”

“No daddy, I want more snacks.”

“You said your tummy hurt, were you lying to me?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to daddy, Harper.”

“Yes.”

Harper bowed her head in defeat. A cute way of defeat only a 3 year old could get away with. This caused Rafe to kneel in front of his daughter, lifting her chin delicately with his fingers.

“Why’d you lie Harper?”

“I don’t like school, I wanted to be with you. You mwake me safe.”

“Why would you need me to keep you safe baby?”

“Cause kids are mean and I don’t like ‘em.”

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. How about this, we spend the rest of the day doing anything you want? Snacks, movies, tea party. How’s that sound?”

Harper’s face lit up and she threw herself into her dad’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck and hugging him tightly.

“Yes daddy! Come!”

Rafe laughed as he allowed the toddler to drag him into the kitchen. She pulled out the tea set from the lower cabinet that was designated for all her stuff. Rafe put on some water to boil, then she went to pantry to pull out snacks she wanted for tea time.

They brought up everything to her room. Harper knew exactly how to set everything up. A setting for her, a setting for Rafe, and two other settings for her stuffed elephant and American Girl doll Sarah had gotten her.

They spent the entire day doing what Harper wanted. Rafe let his assistant know he would be unreachable as he just wanted to focus on his daughter. This was the first she brought up having problems at preschool. How the hell were 3 year olds already having issues. He got her to open up about it and it was 2 boys that would take her crayons and break them when she’d color or steal her gummies at lunch time.

Rafe took offense to that personally because he was always proud of himself for making her lunches every morning. But he quickly shook off the feeling of being pissed off at a 3 year old. Heloved being a dad and making Harper happy. He didn’t want to be sad or afraid to go to school. So to just do this little thing for her to see her smile, he was more than ok to do it.

When the time came around for Harper’s bedtime, he brushed through her now dried hair from the bath and tucked her into bed.

“You’re gonna have to go to school tomorrow Princess. I know it’s scary, but you’re a tough girl, I’ll come in with you tomorrow and talk with your teachers. We’ll figure this out together. Ok?”

Harper gave a soft sigh and looked like she wanted to plead with her dad to not go in another day. “Ok. Ima tough girl.”

“That’s right. I love you little one.”

“I love you daddy.”

Rafe had given her one final kiss before making his way to his bedroom and plopping down onto his sheets. He had forgotten about his phone all day and had decided to pick it up. There were notifications from Sarah, Topper, Kelce and all the way at the bottom there were four missed messages from you.

He ran his hand over his face. He never missed a text from you. He always had Do Not Disturb on and you’ve been the only one this past month that could still get through to him. He was stuck on what to say. His entire day was spent making sure his daughter had been happy. His daughter, you had no idea about. What could he even say?

It was now 8:30 at night. You had just cleaned up the kitchen from cooking dinner earlier. Mind finally at ease from the doubt and wary feeling about being ignored. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten attached, no matter how good it felt. He probably found someone closer to him and forgot all about you. Online dating has never turned out great for you. This was just another disappointing failure.

You sat on the couch, trying to push aside your thoughts as you engulfed yourself in your favorite movie. Your phone is next to you laying face down. It was almost 9 and even with a relaxing day of doing what you loved you were already feeling tired again. You rested your head in the palm of your hand as you our eyes began to close, a ping from your phone shot them right back open.

Embarrassingly, you reached for it quicker than you’d like to admit. You look at the notification and see it’s Rafe. You hold back a smile, not ready for what it says.

8:55pm: Hi. I’m really sorry about today. From the second I woke up chaos was erupting at the office. I had to get up and ready and rush out the door. I completely forget my personal phone at home and just got back. I missed you today. 🩵

You let out a breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding and smile warmly at the message. You were scared of rejection and know he feels this way you reply instantly not caring how it makes you look anymore.

8:57PM: No need to apologize Mr. CEO. Some things are unpredictable, it’s easy to get caught up, I’m still here for you.

Rafe took a sigh of relief at your response. He didn’t want to ruin this. But the gnawing guilt of lying to you about Harper made him terrified of what was yet to come. You said you loved kids. But would you love him when you found out he had a daughter?

For now the only thing to do was to continue to talk to you. Learn more about you. Hopefully you would understand why he was doing what he was doing. It was to protect Harper. You’d understand, right?

Tags + some moots: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @tul1preads @wuluhwuhmaster @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy @bellaballerina111 @pogueprincesa @daddyrafeslittleslut @nemesyaaa @papercranesandinkstains @frankoceanluvr11 @drewsephrry @zyafics @rafeysvenicebitch @rowdydevs @maybankslover @rafesgreasycurtainbangs

I think I have everyone tagged <3

[erwinsvow]

jack abbot sugar baby!reader, im clawing at the cage of my enclosure, this is so good!!! please i need more

thank you!!!! for some reason that’s what I was thinking about at my sisters graduation all day lmfao. welllll i think this deserves a real fic and after my exams I will write it but i think he realizes that he just really needs a purpose outside of work and when he starts doing all the things he does to help your life move a little smoother and take care of you because there’s no one else to do it and you neglect yourself almost as much as he neglects himself—so it’s kind of like. idk a soothing sort of routine for him. to take care of you and it comes very naturally to him. you have loans and don’t eat as much as you should because you don’t grocery shop as often as you should and you spend all your time studying. so he likes making you meals and sending you money for coffee (he sends $50 and says it’s for your breakfast and you go ? for the whole week?) and then it kind of goes a little further. your shitty laptop stops working after using it non stop for the last eight years or so and one day he just shows up with a new one. there’s squeaky door hinges and your shower pressure is terrible and your window won’t open all the way and then those things are just.. fixed! none of your clothes seem right for this interview you really want to do good at and he just… gives you a card and says to pick out something nice. then maybe a little bit further—rent is paid each month and there’s payments to your loans (the balance, not just the interest) that take you a while to catch onto. when you confront him about it and get kind of weepy because of how nice it is he just brings you in for a hug and kisses your forehead and tilts your chin (MANGO) and says don’t worry about it kid.

the kind of student is up to the reader to decide obvi ill bite & project and say she’s a second year medical student but she can be anything at all. and what he likes about you is that you’re funny just like him, once you stop being nervous. but you never stop being nervous around him (and he likes that a lot too. thinks about bringing you out of your shell and what he can do to make you comfortable around him. and none of those thoughts are in the bible.) likes when you text him throughout his shift of the leftovers from last night that you ate for dinner and what time you go to bed. you’re always up working when he gets home and those two hours before he falls asleep are some of his favorite of the day (maybe because he doesn’t feel like going to the roof when he’s got you waiting for him at home.) he says he’ll help you study after his shift but at 8am you two end up tangled in sheets or fucking on the couch or against the door and then fall asleep right after for a bit. when he wakes up you’re always working or studying but you put your laptop away when he wakes up and he really, really likes that. it’s supposed to be no strings tied, let me take care of you and make you cum so I forget all my own problems type of a thing, and it works for a while. until it doesn’t. surprise surprise you’ve been in love this whole time trying to awkwardly figure out how to tell him and he’s trying to explain himself going i pay for two rents even though you’re always over at my place because i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and-

[universefcb]

since you asked for Max Verstappen you shall receive xD

so first idea is divorced!dad!Max x only parent!reader and basically their daughters are in the same grade and are close friends so there are many playdates so the two meet quite often and it starts to develop

TOGETHER AND GLUED, MAX VERSTAPPEN.

→ Summary: You are single parents and develop feelings.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff/angsty. Romance.

→ Author's note: Thank you for your order, dear! I was very happy.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The sound of children’s laughter filled the house. The living room carpet was covered with dolls, pillows, little pots of Play-Doh, and two half-empty glasses of grape juice. Clara, her daughter, was sitting on the floor next to Sophie, her new best friend at school. The two had only known each other for a few months, but from the first day they seemed inseparable.

Sitting on the sofa, with a bottle of water in his hand and a light expression, Max Verstappen watched the scene with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. He didn't usually smile so much, not anymore, but there... there was something in that house, in that calm energy, that made his chest slow down.

You appeared in the living room shortly after, wiping your hands on a dish towel while trying to fix your loose hair. Max looked at you with almost no attempt to hide it. There was something comforting about the way you walked around the house, as if every movement had intention and calm. Unlike his world, where everything was rushed and controlled.

“They’re having fun,” he said, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt and adjusting it at his elbow. “This is the third Saturday in a row that Sophie wants to come here. I think you’ve become part of the routine.”

You smiled, that kind, real smile, like you understood exactly what this meant to him. “Clara too. Since she made friends with your daughter, she’s been sleeping better. She’s happier, more confident. So… I think we’re in the black.”

“I should be grateful, actually. Sophie was pretty closed off for a while after the divorce. I didn’t think she’d smile like that again.”

There was a pause, and their eyes met. For a moment, the children's sounds in the background seemed distant.

“I think... we both know how lonely this role can be,” you said, your voice a little lower, but still firm.

Max nodded. His blue eyes lost focus for a moment, returning to his daughters on the floor. It was true. He knew.

The girls' friendship became routine. Over time, the get-togethers stopped being just about them. When Max arrived, you had already left the coffee brewed, knowing that he liked it strong. Sometimes, he would bring croissants or cakes from the bakery he discovered near his house. The conversations would go on and on. They would start laughing together at their daughters' stories, then at school situations, after everything. And, little by little, they started laughing at each other.

One rainy afternoon, while Clara was crying after being teased by a boy at school, Max showed up uninvited. He was holding Sophie by the hand, a tub of ice cream, two Disney movies and had that protective and affectionate demeanor that few people knew.

“If he messes with you again, I can send an official email from Red Bull Racing. We have lawyers,” he said seriously, before winking at Clara and laughing through his tears.

You watched him the whole time. It was amazing how he could be both firm and sweet at the same time. How he brought comfort without making any effort. That night, after the girls had fallen asleep side by side on the couch, you sat on the floor with Max, your backs against the couch, and you just sat there, side by side, talking about everything and nothing.

“Do you miss it?” he asked suddenly.

“Of what?”

“To just be... you. Without having to split yourself into a thousand pieces all the time.”

You looked at him, feeling your heart skip a beat.

“I do. But I also feel like I found myself in this. I wouldn’t trade it. I just... sometimes I wish I had someone to hold my hand when everything was too much.”

Max said nothing. But he reached out, slowly, and let his fingers find hers in the silence of the room.

The invitation to go out came weeks later. Natural, unpretentious, but full of intention.

“There’s a new restaurant near the marina. I thought I’d take you. Just you. No school bags, no dolls on the floor, no fighting over vegetables. Just us.”

You laughed, surprised by his courage. 'A date?'

“If you want to call it that. I call it breathing.”

You accepted.

That night, she saw a Max the world didn't know. No pressure, no fame, no armor. He laughed easily, listened to her every word with attention, and touched her hand with a tenderness that said more than any conversation.

On the way back, he hesitated at the door of your house. You did too. It wasn't haste, it was respect. A rare kind of care.

“Is this going too fast?” he asked, as if afraid of breaking something fragile.

“No. It’s going the right way,” you replied, approaching him.

The kiss was calm, full of tenderness and security. And yet, it carried all the intensity of something that had been growing day after day, amidst scattered toys and small gestures.

You separated, both with silly smiles on your lips, foreheads touching.

“I hope I’m the best for you, dear.” He said.

“You already are”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[pin-k-ink]

MUSCLE MEMORY ⋆✦⋆ miya osamu

synopsis ➸ he was drunk when you called, but he sobered up the second he heard your voice. you said it was a mistake, that you didn’t mean to dial him—but he was already on his way. six months later, he’s still in your living room, dragging out every screw and instruction manual like it’ll keep you from asking him to leave.

tags ➸ exes to lovers, divorce, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, mentions of night terrors, making out, pda, dry humping, breèding kínk, hand job, unprotected sèx, nípple play, riding, praise kínk, dírty talking, creámpie

wc ➸ 12.4k

The sandpaper rasp of the wrench twisting into place sawed through Osamu's mental haze. He paused, squinting down at the befuddling array of components fanned out across your living room floor. What the hell was he even working on now? A dresser maybe? Or was this the start of that ludicrously ornate entertainment center you'd ordered last week?

With a frustrated grunt, he raked a meaty palm down his face, grinding the heels into his eye sockets until stars burst across his vision. Didn't matter what useless hunk of IKEA crap it was - the process remained the same damn song and dance every time. You'd call him in a mild panic over being hopelessly lost, he'd show up grumbling insults about your household incompetence under his breath, then inevitably succumb to staying and handling the entire assembly from start to finish.

All because of that one fateful night nearly six months ago when you'd called without thinking, voice soft and contented in a way that gutted Osamu completely.

"Hey babe, think you could come over and help me put this new coffee table together?"

The endearment had slipped out so effortlessly, luring images of the thousands of other mundane evenings he'd reported for wifely summons over the years. How many times had you greeted him just like that after work, beckoning him over to lend his hands to whatever domestic task needed handling while you puttered around your warm, chaotic little home?

He'd frozen with the phone still cradled against his ear, a penny whiskey and lingering self-loathing temporarily displaced by blinding white confusion. That single careless "babe" ricocheted through his alcohol-addled senses like a gunshot. Osamu replayed the words over and over, hunting for any hint of mockery or jest in your gentle tones. But there was none to be found - only the breezy assumption that he would, of course, be heading your way like always when called upon.

"...Osamu?" Your hesitant inquiry several beats later had him flinching violently, nearly dropping his glass in the process. Somehow you'd already sensed your mistake, uncertainty creeping into your voice. "Oh god, I shouldn't have just—we're not—I mean, I know you're not my husband anymore, forget I asked..."

But he hadn't forgotten. Hadn't processed or responded at all, really - just let the stunned inertia carry him forward for once instead of railing instinctively against it. His body moved on autopilot while your clumsy apologies filtered through the dense cotton shrouding his mind. Keys plucked from the dish. Jacket shrugged on over his rumpled sweats. The rote motions of preparing to head out and placate your helplessness all over again, divorce papers be damned.

The words finally came in a gruff rush only after Osamu was already pulling his truck out onto the main road.

"Just send me yer address. Be there soon."

He had no justification for the abrupt decision, no reasoned explanation. Maybe it was sheer impulse driven by a lifetime of conditioning to provide for you. Or perhaps there was some profoundly deeper current swirling beneath his dependably cynical surface that wouldn't allow the separation to sever such intrinsic responses completely. Either way, Osamu was powerless to resist its undertow - and he found he didn't want to fight it as he steered towards your place with a hollow ache spreading through his chest.

That first visit was supposed to be an outlier, the exception to shut down any further relapses in domesticity. Yet somehow, it had quickly spiraled into a new normal. Every time you inevitably dialed his number with a hapless plea for assistance, he reflexively found himself throwing on shoes and grabbing his toolbox without preamble. Often he was already halfway to your door before bothering to rationalize it or talk himself out of enabling this pathetic pattern you'd lapsesd into.

Week after week, month after month, the excuses and pretenses became flimsier and flimsier. At first, he told himself it was pure ego driving him to show up - that he derived some sick satisfaction from giving you hell about being so helpless on your own without him around to pick up the pieces. Look at your dumb ex-wife, can't even follow basic IKEA diagrams!

But the more jobs he completed with that same well-worn song and dance, the less weight the cruel taunts carried. His insults grew increasingly toothless, more like ingrained preambles out of sheer habit than any genuine derision. Until finally, Osamu was forced to confront the awful truth clawing at his ribcage each time he walked back into your space:

He simply couldn't resist the unconscious pull of being your husband again, even briefly and in this limited scope of handyman duties. Maybe it was masochistic, allowing himself to sink back into those waters of domesticity he used to drown in daily before everything went to shit between you. Or maybe he was just weak in ways he'd never admit - still not fully untangled from the intoxicating gravity of your combined existence.

Whichever justification rang truest, the outcome was the same. Osamu let himself become utterly unmoored by the mindless allure of being summoned to your side again, no matter how much he pretended it was an unwanted imposition. Because in those moments of cursing and hammering and careful assemblage, everything felt temporarily right in a way it hadn't for what felt like eons. Just him, sweat gathering along his hairline as he handled tools with a familiar easy cadence. And you, pottering nearby with a ready supply of beverages and off-hand encouragement to keep his steady rhythm flowing.

It was all so painfully, disarmingly unchanged whenever he willingly shed his lone wolf persona and stepped back into his vacated role at your side. That fact alone should have stripped Osamu of any lingering delusions - the harrowing intimation that perhaps he hadn't actually let go of being your partner in all the ways that mattered most, no matter how many years or court proceedings stated otherwise.

Yet whenever he found himself standing before your disheveled array of particle-board and scattered allen wrenches, Osamu couldn't resist the same tired refrain from echoing across his brooding inner monologue:

"Gonna take me at least a few weeks to get this mess put together proper. Might as well get comfortable, sweetheart..."

The endearment slipped out unconsciously, as natural as breathing. Osamu didn't even flinch at it anymore - just accepted the treacherously effortless backslide into old habits wherever you were concerned. Because in reality, this ramshackle plywood monstrosity wouldn't take him longer than a few hours, max, to fully assemble and have operational.

He was lying through his teeth about the projected timeline, and you both knew it. But you never called him on the flimsy ruse, just accepted each revised delay with a bemused look and fresh supply of cold barley tea awaiting Osamu's eventual break. As if you inherently understood that he was grasping at straws to prolong these rare interludes of domesticity for as long as possible.

The first time you'd moved to fetch your purse and peel off some cash to compensate him for his troubles, Osamu hadn't even thought - just reacted. One large, calloused palm engulfed your smaller one before it could fully withdraw from your bag. He drew it towards his chest, splaying your fingers over the steady thrum of his heartbeat through the thin cotton barrier.

"Don't even think about it, dummy," he'd rasped, the gentle admonishment at odds with the gruff delivery. "Ya know damn well I ain't here for money."

The words hung pregnant with unspoken depths between you, a fragile tension replacing the usual playful bickering. For a fleeting moment, Osamu thought you might draw away, might finally put a stop to this peculiar pattern of his with a soft yet firm rebuke.

Instead, you simply watched him with those infinitely familiar eyes that still gutted him regularly - open and searching and far too understanding for his liking. Then you nodded once, just slightly, and allowed your hand to linger against the frantic cadence of his pulse until he released you.

Since that evening, a sort of tenuous equilibrium had settled over your strange arrangement. You never moved to leave Osamu to his own devices anymore when he played dumb about needing "more time" with a project. Just accepted his continued presence hovering around your space with all the routinized nonchalance of a spouse moving through their own home.

He, in turn, no longer fought the subtle shifts that pulled him deeper and deeper into the reassuring gravities of old patterns. Like watching you haphazardly toss off your mismatched fuzzy socks in a meandering trail from doorway to kitchen before puttering about with whatever domestic task you pleased. Or the easy silence that embraced you both as Osamu worked, punctuated only by his quiet curses or the clinking of a fresh beverage being deposited within his reaching range.

Some nights, the easiness extended even into your kitchen as he prowled barefoot through the cramped galley, fully re-immersed in the role of putting together a meal for you both. Not out of any sense of obligation or guilt, but simply because the mindless ritual of cooking for your household came as second nature after so many years' practice.

Osamu couldn't resist sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch you curled up on the sofa, bare feet tucked beneath you and attention divided between whatever book or video you had playing and the soothing sounds of him working nearby. In those flickering moments illuminated by the soft glow of lamps and candles, everything felt so oppressively, deliriously right - like stepping directly back into the warm embrace of the past in a way Osamu hadn't experienced since your world was upended.

Some nights, he let himself pretend none of it had ever changed. That walking through the front door wouldn't eventually mean a jarring return to his cavernously empty apartment and the ever-encroaching loneliness lately. That this suspended illusion of being your partner again could simply stretch on indefinitely, leaving him gloriously unmoored.

Denial was a hell of a drug, as they said. But Osamu had always been a hopeless addict when it came to you.

The vanity's cumbersome weight settled onto the bedroom floor with a muted thud, scuffing pale marks into the worn hardwood. Osamu straightened, rolling his shoulders to work out the lingering knots as he surveyed his handiwork. Not too shabby, all things considered - the ornate piece looked damn near regal set against the soft blue-grey walls.

He blew out a low whistle, dragging his arm across his sweat-beaded brow as he pivoted to scope out the rest of your bedroom for the first time. Despite all the weeks and odd jobs he'd tackled around your new place, this particular sanctuary had remained off-limits until now. Part of him had unconsciously avoided crossing that line out of respect for boundaries, no matter how blurred they'd become elsewhere.

But now that he stood amidst the intimately personal space, hints of your essence seemed to permeate every particle. The delicate woven throw draped artfully across the overstuffed armchair in the corner. The collection of well-loved books haphazardly stacked on the nightstand, their cracked spines and dog-eared pages testaments to being revisited often. Even the subtly floral fragrance woven through the summer-breezy air unmistakably belonged to you.

Osamu inhaled deeply, letting the soothing familiarity of it all momentarily envelope him as he dragged his analytical gaze across each detail, cataloging and filing away the pieces of you on display. That's when his sweeping perusal stuttered to a halt, brow furrowing slightly as realization struck like an anvil weight in his gut.

There was no bed.

He did another slow pivot, eyes roving every inch of the spacious room as if expecting the absence of something so fundamental to materialize out of sheer obstinate scrutiny. But no matter which way he turned and looked again, the bare reality remained - no bed, no mattress, nothing more than the solitary armchair and vanity occupying the wide-open floorspace.

A harsh slew of curses broke from Osamu's lips before he could rein them in. Of course...of fucking course you didn't have a proper bed set up yet. He was peripherally aware of your sleeping situation - if the ramshackle state of your living room sofa quilted with ratty blankets and travel pillows was any indication. But standing here confronted by the harsh truth amidst these walls meant to be a sanctuary hurtled the implication home with stunning finality.

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair, mouth twisting bitterly as flashes of repressed memories flickered across his mindscape. Of you curled up in the dead of night, whimpering and shaking, whole body quivering from the thrall of another night terror. How you'd instinctively burrowed against him for safety, for the solid reassurance of his bulk and soothing murmurs easing you back from the brink. Neither of you had ever acknowledged those visceral moments of vulnerability, but he knew - knew how terrified you were of the dark and of sleeping alone with only your unquiet mind for company.

That was just the first of a whole cavalcade of realizations rapidly crashing over Osamu in waves of nauseous comprehension. With no bedframe, there was no tucking you in each night and drawing you close, surrounding your slight body with his familiar warmth and protective embrace until your racing heart calmed. No nuzzling your sleep-tousled hair and breathing in those first soft, earthy exhalations in the morning before extracting himself and padding off to put on a fresh pot of coffee. The way you'd always loved waking up to its rich aroma wafting from the kitchen no matter how early Osamu rose.

No more startling upright at the smallest creak or groan of your home settling around you, every noise an intruder until Osamu made a sweeping check and eased you back down with a reassuring murmur that it was just the house, just the old frame contracting with the night's chill. No more of him lumbering up in the darkness to find the latest unfortunate creepy-crawly invader and dispatch of it before returning to tuck you securely back under the covers, soothing your shudders with warm palms and featherlight kisses until you drifted off again.

Just...no more intimacies and routines and domesticities that had shaped so much of Osamu's purpose for well over a decade, now unceremoniously stripped away by your separation.

The realization left him feeling as though all the air had been forcibly drawn from his lungs in one punishing exhale. He doubled over with the force of it, knuckles blanching against the glossy vanity's sleek countertop as he struggled to draw breath. Of course he'd been aware of the changes, the rifts now severing what had once been such an intrinsic part of sharing your lives. But coming face-to-face with this empty bedroom and how bereft of true comfort it clearly was for you sliced right through to something primal and protective deep in Osamu's psyche.

"Hey, dinner's ready whenever you're done brooding over there!"

Your lighthearted call shattered through the spiraling vortex of Osamu's troubled thoughts. He straightened abruptly, disoriented for a beat before the rich, homey scents wafting in from the kitchen reoriented him. Right, you'd mentioned putting together a meal for the both of you once he finished up for the evening.

Dragging in a deep, steadying breath, Osamu willed his turbulent emotions into an infinitesimal box to be violently suppressed for now. He couldn't allow the anguished maelstrom of domesticity's absence to show on his face, not when you were so close and oblivious to his inner torment. With a few raking swipes of his palms down his sweat-damp face, he drew himself up to his full imposing height and turned towards the doorway.

The sight that awaited him in the cramped kitchen archway very nearly unraveled Osamu's hard-won composure all over again.

There you stood in your usual cooking attire - one of his old oversized t-shirts from high school, the faded cotton bunched up around your hips and showcasing your bare legs all the way down to those ridiculous mismatched fuzzy socks you always insisted on wearing. Your hair was piled in a messy topknot, loose tendrils framing your face and catching the soft evening light in a glowing halo.

You looked...so achingly familiar. So reminiscent of the thousands of other evenings Osamu had returned home from the restaurant or the gym or wherever to find you pottering around your shared living space in that same casually intimate state of undress. Completely comfortable and unguarded in a way very few ever got to witness - the purely domestic you that he'd committed to loving and cherishing until the end of his days.

And now here you were, existing in that same warm cocoon of homemaker contentment but utterly bereft of his steadying presence as the other counterweight. The gorgeous tableau you made standing there stirring something on the stovetop with your bare feet tucked up under you felt hauntingly, tragically incomplete in a way that put Osamu's throat in a vise.

His gaze roamed over the flex of your arms as you lifted the spoon to your lips for a taste, the elegant curve of your spine as you shifted your weight from foot to foot - all the tiny, quotidian details he'd once memorized so thoroughly they felt like extensions of his own body. Little snapshots of life and movement he'd once gotten to observe and admire as freely and unguardedly as he pleased, because you had belonged irrevocably to one another.

Now that simple pleasure - the artless intimacy of basking in each other's natural state - was forbidden him apart from these fleeting glimpses stolen under the pretense of being your handyman. Osamu felt reality crashing back down in waves of visceral grief sharpened by the purgatory of never fully losing this aspect of you, yet constantly having it daringly daunt just beyond his yearning reach.

A lump swelled in his throat as images began flickering through his mind, each one more haunting than the last. Of you succumbing to winter's vicious chills with no one there to wrap you in fortifying layers and nourishing soup broth to fight off illness. Of slipping and taking a nasty spill down the narrow staircase without his steadying arm to cling to, lying there helpless and alone until you could drag yourself to a phone for emergency assistance. Of bolting awake in the dead of night with your heart jackhammering from some terror-soaked nightmare, hands scrabbling for purchase and finding nothing but empty sheets and darkness to compound the panic.

Worst of all were the flashes of you simply...existing in a state of isolated loneliness, surrounded by this hollow house that was supposed to be a sanctuary but instead formed yet another reminder of Osamu's absence. Of his failure to be there for you the way he'd once sworn to the farthest stars.

Before he could spiral entirely, your melodic voice anchored him back to the present moment at hand.

"Earth to Osamu?" You grinned over your shoulder, luminous eyes sparkling with a gentleness that sucker-punched him squarely in the gut. "You getting that broody look again cause something's too complicated for those big strong hands of yours?"

The teasing lilt was feather-light and lilting - so fondly familiar that for a single delirious heartbeat, Osamu could actually convince himself nothing had changed between you. That this was all just another evening unfolding like the millions preceding it throughout your long history together.

Then reality came crashing back down, that infinitesimal box of suppressed emotion cracking open until acidic undertows were lapping at his ribs with every inhale. Osamu sucked in a harsh breath through his nostrils, jaw clenching hard enough to grind enamel as he struggled to reign himself back in.

"Very funny," he managed at last, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the ragged edges fringing his tone nonetheless. "You got a mouth on you tonight, that's for sure."

Rather than rising to the bait and firing off another salvo of playful barbs, you simply hummed thoughtfully before turning back to your cooking endeavors. Osamu watched, feeling increasingly disoriented by the casual domesticity, as you deftly transferred portions to waiting dishes and carried everything to the small dining table in the adjacent room.

"Well c'mon then, no need to make yourself a stranger!" you called over your shoulder with a grin. "That vanity won't be ready to use until you've refueled for the night."

The lilting words wrapped around Osamu's senses, both grounding and disorienting him further into a dizzying vortex of memories and yearning and desperate, crippling fear.

Dinner proved to be even more torturous than Osamu could have anticipated. Seated across from you at the cramped little dining table, he found himself repeatedly clenching his jaw and fists to restrain from simply reaching out and clasping your hand in his. To twine those deft fingers with his own calloused ones and revel in the featherlight caress of your pulse fluttering against his wrist.

You carried on with breezy conversation, utterly oblivious to the brutally visceral war he was waging to keep from shattering every pretense between you. With each lilting anecdote and bright peal of laughter, Osamu's resolve fractured further - hairline cracks spiderwebbing outwards from his restraint's foundations. By the time you rose to start clearing dishes, his composure hung by a few bare threads.

He watched with bated breath as you padded around the kitchen, hips swaying in that unconsciously hypnotic rhythm he'd admired for over a decade. The column of your throat worked with each swallow, clavicles casting distracting shadows that drew Osamu's heated stare like a magnet. Resisting the overwhelming urge to simply cross the scant distance separating you and wrap himself around your pliant form was swiftly becoming an exercise in agony.

You paused by the sink, back to him as you efficiently rinsed the first plate. The soft sounds of running water and your quiet humming curled around the nape of Osamu's neck, sending goosebumps rippling across his flesh. His fingertips twitched with yearning to reach out and ghost along the elegant inward curve of your waist, palms settling possessively on the flare of your hips to tug you snug against his chest. He could perfectly envision nuzzling into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, lips skating across the hammering pulse point as you shivered and instinctively arched back into his embrace...

Osamu's throat clicked with a muffled groan as he abruptly shoved away from the table, scattering the remaining dishes in his haste to create distance before he could surrender to the impulse clawing at his ribcage. The harsh screech of wood on tile finally made you turn, blinking owlishly at him.

"Everything okay?" The words were innocent enough, but Osamu flinched like he'd been struck. Didn't you realize what you were doing to him with even the slightest movement or vocal caress?

"I—yeah. Just...gonna get a head start cleaning up the rest of that mess." He gestured vaguely at the half-assembled vanity parts still strewn in the living room to divert your questioning stare. You hummed in acknowledgment before returning your focus to the sink and dishwater.

It took every ounce of Osamu's waning self-restraint not to immediately retreat right then as planned. Instead, some masochistic impulse rooted him to the spot, gaze helplessly drinking in every curve and subtle shift of your body at work. The nearly irrepressible compulsion to wrap you up in his arms and relearn each dip and swell with hands and mouth was becoming a physical ache, radiating from the cradle of his hips.

By the time the final dish clattered into the drying rack, Osamu felt positively feverish - a maelstrom of need and desperation simmering beneath his clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists. He watched with rapt hunger as you turned towards him once more, swiping loose tendrils of hair back from your flushed cheeks. At the first glimpse of your softened features and those infinitely gentle eyes regarding him, a tremor shivered through Osamu's broad frame.

"So..." you began, seemingly unaware of the storm roiling behind his rigor-tight exterior. "That should just about do it for assembling everything I needed help with, yeah?"

Your words were like the death knell, reverberating through Osamu in waves of wretched comprehension. Whatever dizzying spiral of domesticated bliss he'd spun himself into was about to end. This illusion of being your husband and provider again, however fleeting, would shatter permanently the instant he returned to the barren, yawning silence of his own empty apartment. And some small, wretched part of him wasn't sure he would survive the transition emotionally intact a second time.

Osamu tried and failed to formulate a response around the steadily constricting vise encircling his throat. He simply stared at you mutely, gut clenching with all the farewells and protestation scalding at the back of his tongue. Don't make me leave. Don't eject me from this little world we've reconstructed and straight back into the bone-deep loneliness, not yet. I'm not ready—

"Hey." Your soft murmur coaxed Osamu's awareness back to the present just as you'd begun tentatively closing the distance between you. Your palms cupped his bristled cheeks with infinite tenderness, calloused thumbs sweeping in gentle arcs. "This was...really, really amazing of you, you know. Coming through for me again and again like this despite everything. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to properly thank you for—"

The gentleness in your tone and the exquisite warmth of your touch against his skin proved to be Osamu's ultimate undoing. With a harsh rumble torn from the depths of his sternum, he surged forward and engulfed you in the circle of his arms - swift and utterly inescapable. You made a soft sound of surprise quickly swallowed by the solid wall of his chest as he crushed you against his painfully rigid frame.

"Don't..." Osamu rasped out the single syllable with such gruff vehemence that you instinctively froze in his unrelenting embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut, savoring the feel of you - so achingly familiar yet electrically new after weeks of deprivation. The scent of your hair, the pliant curves yielding to his unyielding musculature, the stutter of your startled inhalations puffing against the bare skin of his throat. It was intoxicating, dizzying, devastating in equal measure.

"Don't you dare thank me," he managed at last in a low rasp against the crown of your head. His words vibrated into the very marrow of you with their quiet intensity. "Like I'm some stranger doin' you a favor instead of..."

Instead of what? His wife, his partner, his entire goddamn world until the cosmos decided to twist the knife a little deeper? The sentiment clung bitterly to the back of Osamu's tongue, sullen truth cloying in his throat until he swallowed hard against it. No words could adequately capture the depths of what you were to him in this moment, wholly encompassed in his arms once more.

With a shuddering inhale against your hair, Osamu simply allowed himself to sink further into the comforting abyss of holding you so intimately. This was what he'd been so desperately aching for all along - not the mere ability to lend his capable hands in putting together inanimate pieces of your new life, but the privilege of simply being present as a visceral part of it once more. Of slipping so seamlessly back into being your steadying anchor, your shelter against the world's crueler contradictions that you fought so admirably to rise above.

Time seemed to melt and blur around the two of you frozen together in the dimly lit kitchen as a galaxy of contradictions warred behind Osamu's eyes. He breathed you in with every lungful, each molecule of your essence searing straight through to scorch his withered soul. Memories flickered like dying embers - thousands of other embraces shared over countless evenings, each as mundane and life-alteringly significant as this one.

Yet in the same breath, this felt profoundly and irrevocably unprecedented between you - the first time since your legal separation that Osamu had dared clutch you with such brazen, unguarded yearning. As if enveloping your pliant form was the only talisman still binding him to reality, to whatever remnants of purpose and identity were inextricably tethered to simply...being yours. And you his, despite the distance contrived to render the notion dead letters on a decree.

The thud of Osamu's rabbit-kicking pulse reverberated through every inch of his suffocating embrace. Each hammering cadence seemed to scream the same lament - Never leave me again, don't make me surrender you and this world we've only just reconstructed. I can't, I won't, don't ask me to—

His silent inner turmoil must have vibrated outwards, bleeding into the aura of frantic desperation enveloping you both. For you made another small, unintelligible sound against Osamu's heaving chest that sparked like a livewire to his nerve endings.Instinctively, he stiffened his arms into unforgiving bands until you were utterly subsumed within him. As if the slightest allowance of space would mean your immediate, irrevocable loss forever more.

Then, with a ragged exhalation escaping his gritted teeth, Osamu reluctantly dragged his lashes apart and allowed his forehead to drop against yours. Your faces hovered achingly close, close enough for your trembling breaths to mingle and eyes to blur together into a universe of their own making. Little more than a hairsbreadth separated your primed lips, Osamu's gaze fixated on the infinitely delicate swell of their petal-soft flesh as you unconsciously swiped your tongue over the seam in a devastating swipe.

A low, gravelly keen vibrated up from the confines of his ribs as feverish compulsion took over. Osamu found himself leaning infinitesimally forward without conscious thought or restraint, magnetic and undeniable. He angled his head just enough to allow your noses to brush in the faintest caress as your lips...your lips were suddenly so impossibly close his entire being vibrated with the need to surge across that final searing distance and—

Your trembling fingers found purchase against the taut cords of Osamu's nape, digits splaying wide to anchor him in place. He shuddered at the scorching brand of your touch, gut clenching in anticipation of either being pulled infinitely closer or utterly severed from your tempting orbit.

But you didn't relinquish the tenuous connection thrumming between you. If anything, the barest hint of pressure from your palms coaxed Osamu to sway another infinitesimal fraction nearer until the whisper-soft swell of your lips hovered an exquisite hairsbreadth from his own.

A tremor rippled through his whole body at the first searing brush of your breath fanning hotly against his mouth. Osamu's lids slipped to half-mast without conscious thought, transfixed by the plump blush of your lower lip as your tongue swiped out to wet them with devastating intent.

He was already leaning in, succumbing to the magnetic draw, when you surged upwards to crash against him in a searing collision of velvet heat.

A deep, guttural keen reverberated from the depths of Osamu's chest as your mouths melded with urgent insistence. He swayed dangerously on the precipice of his restraint for all of a heartbeat before surrendering completely. With a harsh rumble of pure visceral need, his arms constricted around your pliant body until not an inch of space remained between you.

Then, like a starving man who'd glimpsed an oasis after years of deprivation, Osamu simply allowed himself to indulge without hesitation. To sate the endless aching hollow that had steadily consumed him since last he'd sampled your essence so intimately.

His lips moved with hungry, devouring strokes - licking into the searing cavern of your mouth with relentless undulations that stoked the wildfire rapidly engulfing your entwined frames. You arched helplessly against the scorching heat of his broad palms spanning your lower back, fingers splaying wide to knead against the flexing muscles working just beneath the surface of your skin.

When the first desperate keen spilled from between your kiss-bruised lips, Osamu wasted no time in coaxing it into a resonant moan that buzzed against his stinging mouth. He canted his hips with purposeful pressure, pinning you immobile as he ground his rapidly stiffening cock into the softness of your pelvis with deliciously torturous friction.

It wasn't until the two of you were both trembling and gasping into one another that Osamu found the iron-willed strength to slowly disengage. He gentled the devouring sweeps of his tongue, teeth scraping in a lush caress as he gradually coaxed the tempo into something slower and infinitely more searing. Each excruciatingly tender glide of your mouths was a convulsive give and take - a tantalizing farewell embrace soaked in poignancy and desperate longing.

Finally, with a ragged groan torn from somewhere primal, Osamu tore himself free. Only to sway there gasping as if punched in the gut, foreheads pressed flush and lungs heaving in ragged synchronicity. His chest still cradled yours, hard ridges and sweat-dewed flesh sealed as one.

You whimpered first - a soft, infinitely vulnerable sound that fractured straight through to Osamu's very marrow. It took every ounce of restraint still lurking in his hollowed bones not to immediately surge back in and silence the anguish with his lips and tongue and wretched, yearning soul.

Instead, he found his hands drifting upwards until his palms cradled your feverish cheeks with infinite tenderness. Osamu drank in every precious detail of your features through a sheen of unshed desperation. The frantic flutter of your lashes against freshly kissed skin. The lush, swollen contours of your mouth that panted in time with his own.

"Let's get you a fuckin' bed already," he rasped out at last, the sudden gravel of his voice making you shiver anew against him. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Osamu's mouth, underscored with a hundred different roiling emotions barely restrained behind it. "Can't have my wife spendin' another night on that worn-out sofa, now can I?"

The endearment slipped free before he could bite it back, weighted with layers of yearning and promise and a profoundly deeper intimacy than simple words could convey. But from the way your breath hitched and crystalline eyes sharpened to laser focus entirely on him, Osamu knew you heard every one of those unspoken depths loud and clear.

He didn't look away or attempt to backpedal — simply held your searching stare with that same molten intensity even as his thumb stroked tenderly across the upswept beauty mark below your parted lips. An anchor, a tether, a binding vow of intent all shored up in one infinitesimal caress.

You held Osamu's piercing stare for a long moment, feeling pinned in place by the smoldering promise flickering behind those gunmetal irises of his. Finally, you gave a slow nod. "Okay...let's go get a bed then."

The drive to the local furniture showroom passed in a weighty hush, punctuated only by the occasional burst of evening traffic and sideways glances you stole at Osamu's grim profile. He kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, forearms tensed against the steering wheel with hands gripping tight enough to strain the knuckles. You couldn't begin to fathom the cyclone of thoughts and emotions warring behind that brutally calm facade.

Eventually, you pulled into the dimly lit parking lot and climbed out without a word. Osamu fell into step beside you, radiating that aura of surly disquiet you'd grown so familiar with in recent weeks. Yet there was an undercurrent thrumming between you now - a new vibrating frequency wrought from the lingering echoes of your impassioned embrace and whatever fragile agreement you'd stumbled upon.

Once inside the cavernous showroom, you felt some of the leaden tension release its vice grip enough for you to draw a deeper breath. Almost instinctively, you found yourself gravitating towards the furthest display of luxurious mattresses and bed frames, fingers trailing along the opulent fabrics and polished woods as you passed.

"I've always liked the look of the sleigh beds," you commented idly over one shoulder, watching Osamu steadily approaching through your periphery. "With the curved headboards and footboards, you know? They feel so sturdy and supportive without being too overbearing."

He hummed noncommittally as you came to a halt before an incredibly lavish mid-century piece. Despite its grand presence, the subtle embellishments and deep coffee wood stain exuded warmth and familiarity in a way you found immensely appealing. Beckoning, even.

You sank down onto the plush mattress with a contented murmur, feeling the high-quality memory foam contouring to your weight and cupping your curves enticingly. Almost without conscious volition, you leaned back onto your elbows and stretched out — shameless in your indulgence to test the comfort and support in your usual sleeping position.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Osamu's throat work in a harsh swallow as his gaze raked over the lines of your body. There was a weighted heat searing behind those slate irises of his, a predatory promise reminiscent of your fervent embrace only an hour earlier. The memory of his unyielding frame pinning yours into searing compliance made an insistent fluttering erupt low in your abdomen.

"Not bad," was his only terse assessment after a prolonged pause. You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly circled the bed like a wolf scenting its prey. Each unhurried footfall felt charged with blistering tension and roiling intent.

When Osamu reached the footboard, he braced both hands against the smoothly curved wood with enough force to whiten his knuckles further. His shoulders tensed and released as he inhaled a measured breath before pivoting to pin you with that loaded stare once more.

"Lots of space to stretch out," he remarked in that same low, thrumming rasp. "Seems sturdy enough, too. Built to take on a lotta...friction without fallin' apart."

The blatant insinuation curled around your nerves like physical caresses. You bit the inside of your cheek sharply to smother the whimper threatening to break free at the spark of liquid heat pooling between your thighs.

Perhaps sensing your body's visceral reaction, Osamu's mouth curved into a smug facsimile of a smirk as he leaned forward incrementally. Until his weighty presence consumed your periphery, obliterating every other stimulus apart from the sandalwood-musk cologne and smoldering promise radiating off his solidmuscular frame in waves.

"You think it'll do, babe?" His gravelly rumble was pitched for your ears alone, dripping with dark promise that liquefied your bones. "This the kinda bed you want me puttin' you through your paces on every night?"

A violent shudder ripped through you at the mental images his words conjured — of slick flesh trailing scorching paths across rumpled sheets, sinuous bodies arching and rocking in unbridled ecstasy. Osamu's smirk deepened into something utterly ravenous at whatever he glimpsed flickering across your features. He opened his mouth to undoubtedly ratchet up the torment further when a discreet cough from across the showroom shattered the lascivious fog wreathing you both.

You startled, eyes swiveling guiltily to find a middle-aged saleswoman regarding you with a look of polite incredulity. Clearly she'd witnessed enough of Osamu's provocative stance looming over your prone form to gauge the situation accurately. Heat flooded your cheeks as you scrambled upright, surreptitiously tugging your skirt back into proper place.

Osamu simply leveled the hapless employee with one of his signature inscrutable looks, not bothering to extricate himself from his position caging you against the mattress. If anything, he seemed to lean in fractionally closer - a barely perceptible assertion of dominance that had your pulse skittering anew.

The poor saleswoman cleared her throat again, shifting awkwardly. "My apologies for interrupting...I simply wanted to let you know we'll be closing the showroom in about fifteen minutes if you need any assistance with your, er, selection this evening."

"We're good, thanks," Osamu responded gruffly, not even bothering to glance her way as he continued pinning you with that incendiary stare.

You studiously avoided the employee's surprised look until she gave a jerky nod and retreated towards the front offices. Only then did you realize you'd been holding your breath, letting it escape in a shuddering rush as your shoulders sagged infinitesimally.

"So..." You swallowed hard against the unexpected burst of uneasiness now seizing your nerves. Tentatively, you raised your eyes to meet Osamu's heated regard head-on. "We're really doing this again? Uh, g-getting...a bed together, I mean?"

His expression didn't so much as flicker, maintaining that composed intensity that somehow felt more loaded in the wake of your question. You fought against a sudden urge to squirm under the weight of that smoldering appraisal, abruptly regretting the wobble of uncertainty now coloring your tone.

For several beats, the silence stretched unbearably taut between you. Then, just when you thought you might shatter from the stifling tension, Osamu leaned in until you were practically cross-eyed from his proximity. Until you could make out every subtle shift of gunmetal and amber swirling through his irises, every calloused ridge scoring the seam of his lips as they parted to murmur:

"Baby, if you think I'm gonna put us both through that fresh hell of gettin' separated again...well then, you must be confusin' me with some sorta moron. Because I already updated my life insurance policy. Listed you as the sole beneficiary again. You know, just in case I accidentally choke to death on any more crappy pickup lines I might try on you from now on."

The words were spoken with such dull candor, so utterly devoid of humorous inflection or levity of any kind. Yet the sheer unexpectedness of Osamu's customary deadpan delivery combined with the saccharine endearment and sappy-as-hell promise slammed into you with startling impact.

You stared at him, feeling your lips twitch as incredulous euphoria bubbled up from your core. Osamu's brows furrowed in apparent consternation at your lack of verbal response. But you were powerless to fight against the rising tide as it crested, expelling in a sudden peal of loud, uninhibited laughter that echoed freely through the cavernous showroom.

"You—" You gasped out between wheezing guffaws, clutching at your midsection. "You absolute sap! Did you...really...just say that...with a straight face?"

Osamu's expression remained utterly impassive as you gradually descended into intermittent hiccuping giggles. If anything, his severe features seemed to sharpen even further in affront at having the solemn weight of his declaration demolished so thoroughly.

"Yeah, and what about it?" he growled at last, the underlying gravel of his tone only serving to rekindle your mirth. "That's you spoken for, end of story. I ain't goin' through losin' my goddamn mind again just cause you can't wrap your brain around a simple fact."

His eyes fairly smoldered into yours, lips thinning into a mulish line that should have been intimidating yet only struck you as unutterably endearing in that moment. You reached up without conscious thought, palms cradling the prickly warmth of his jawline as a fresh bubble of giggles escaped on a sigh.

"My big ol' grumpy bear," you murmured through your smiling stupor, thumbs stroking across the sharp ridges of his cheekbones.

Osamu's carefully cultivated scowl faltered infinitesimally as the searing intensity in his gaze transmuted to something softer, more vulnerable. Like he'd just been robbed of his last defenses against the rising swell of cautious optimism blooming between you.

With a low growl that rumbled straight through to your bones, he surged forward and crushed his mouth against yours in a searing reclamation of heated devotion.

The apartment felt almost cavernously silent in the aftermath of your laughter at the furniture showroom. You sank back against the worn cushions of your living room sofa with a contented sigh, the last few giddy giggles tapering off into the warm evening quiet.

Osamu settled in beside you without preamble, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch as his frame angled bodily to face yours. You watched, transfixed, as his piercing slate eyes slowly carved a path from the crown of your head down to your bare toes and back again in one unhurried sweep.

The weighted regard made your skin prickle with rising heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. You recognized that look - the same dark, hungry simmer he used to level your way when you were still newlyweds and Osamu couldn't seem to get enough of simply...observing you existing around him.

"C'mere," he rumbled at last, voice rough as flintstone in a way that liquefied your bones. Without a second's hesitation, you leveraged yourself up and swung one knee over to straddle Osamu's solid thighs, knees sinking into the frayed upholstery on either side of his hips.

His spine straightened at the sudden change in proximity, those brooding steel irises darkening further with naked want. You could actually feel the scorching brand of Osamu's stare skating across the swell of your breasts now devastatingly close to his line of sight, unconsciously squirming a little closer at the intoxicating sensation.

Thick cords of muscle flexed and jumped beneath the sleeves of Osamu's shirt as his hands drifted up to bracket your waist, thumbs stroking idle patterns against the jut of your hipbones. His palms felt like searing manacles as his fingers splayed possessively, fingertips just grazing the soft undercurve of your ass to tug you infinitesimally nearer still.

A throaty sound of pure satisfaction rumbled up from Osamu's barrel chest as your bodies melded flush together, his thick thighs cradling your hips in a scorching vee. You could feel the rapid kick of his pulse stuttering against the notch of your breastbone where it was sealed to his own swiftly rising and falling with quickened breaths.

"Fuck, I missed this..." he rasped in a gruff undertone, the words more felt than heard with how intimately you were entwined. Osamu's knuckles traced the elegant inward curve of your spine through the thin cotton barrier of your shirt. "Missed gettin' to look my fill whenever I wanted, no matter how greedy it made me."

Your nails scored lightly against the nape of his neck, noses brushing in an achingly delicate caress as your mouths hovered infinitesimally apart. "Well you've got your chance now, don't you?" you whispered in return, stomach clenching at the rasp of Osamu's harsh exhale ghosting across your sensitized lips. "All the time in the world to drink your fill again."

His eyes slipped to half-mast, pupils swallowing up nearly all the quicksilver irises in a look of pure, unguarded yearning that stole the air from your lungs. With purposeful leisure, Osamu's broad palms mapped every dip and flare of your torso in slumbering strokes before reversing course. His gaze followed the journey, hooded and predatory, like a man committing every intimate landscape to indelible memory after nearly being rendered sightless.

You found yourself hopelessly captivated in turn by the minuscule changes flickering across Osamu's ruggedly beautiful features as he absorbed you in. The way his jaw tended to tick subtly whenever your upper bodies brushed together with each shared breath. How his brow pinched when large hands found a new swell of softness to reverently mold and explore. And most distractingly, the steady darkening of those piercing grey eyes until you felt pinned and utterly claimed beneath their singularly focused weight.

It wasn't until you felt the first wayward tear searing a path down your flushed cheek that you realized the gravity of what was unfolding between you. More followed in their wake, hot and silent, prompting a low keen of alarm from somewhere deep in Osamu's broad chest.

You smothered the wounded sound with your mouth before he could give voice to his concern, lips parting on a desperate whimper as they crashed together in a searing tangle. Your tears continued unabated even as your bodies writhed and strained closer, cradling Osamu's whiskered jaw between your palms while his calloused digits dug in with bruising possession.

Neither of you pulled back until breathing became a secondary need to sating this newly rekindled inferno raging between your fused frames. Chests heaving in ragged unison, you simply clung to one another through the aftermath - foreheads sealed, noses brushing, lips so closely aligned that the softest whispers could be savored with searing intimacy.

"We're really doin' this for good, aren't we?" Osamu murmured at last, the usually gruff rasp nearly inaudible but rippling through you with sledgehammer impact. You felt his hands - those powerful, work-roughened appendages you'd once admired in daily reverence - tenderly cup the hinge of your jaw. "You and me, all chips in and no more runnin' the second shit gets sideways again..."

Somehow, you managed a jerky nod through the fresh swell of tears rapidly clouding your vision. Osamu drank in the silent confirmation with undisguised adoration and soul-deep longing painted across his chiseled features, thumbs brushing away the molten salt streaking down your cheeks with exquisite tenderness.

"Good," was his only graveled response before tugging you back into another searing, desperate kiss that seared you both straight through to your very marrows.

You surrendered wholly to the scorching tempers of Osamu's questing mouth, fingertips digging harsh furrows into the dense cords of muscle spanning his shoulders and back as you clung on for purchase. The room seemed to tilt and spin dizzyingly in your periphery until the only stable anchors were the unyielding planes of his body and the ravenous sweeps of his tongue claiming you in rough strokes.

Eventually, oxygen deficiency began to pound thick drums in your skull. You tore away with a shuddering gasp, lungs heaving in great draughts of air that did little to steady your racing pulse. Osamu simply watched you through half-lidded eyes, lips curved in a smugly satisfied slant as he dragged the back of his knuckles down your flushed cheek.

"Who'da thought the mighty [Y/N] would be such a crybaby after all these years?" he rasped, black depths glinting with teasing amusement despite his own labored breathing.

You blinked at him owlishly for a moment, still struggling to comprehend anything beyond the electrifying aftershocks of his kisses ricocheting through your nerve endings. "What...?"

The raspy chuckle that rumbled up from Osamu's broad chest vibrated through you in delicious waves, prompting fresh tingles to erupt across your skin. "Don't act like ya don't know what I'm talkin' about, babe," he goaded, leaning in to brush the words directly against the swell of your kiss-bitten lips. "You bawlin' yer pretty eyes out over the dumbest little things. Like that time ya got so hysterical over the snowglobe I gave ya for our first Christmas..."

Recognition instantly dawned, rapidly giving way to a fierce burn of arousal and indignation in equal measure. You immediately attempted to pull back, twisting your torso away from Osamu's heated vicinity as the memories resurfaced with embarrassing clarity.

"Don't you dare bring that up again, Miya!" you huffed, chin jutting mulishly even as mortified tears began prickling the corners of your eyes anew. "It was a sweet, thoughtful gift and the timing couldn't have been more meaningful! I was allowed to be a little emotional over it..."

But Osamu simply crooned in a low tone of unbridled satisfaction, strong arms banding around your waist with sublime indifference to keep you trapped against the scorching brand of his frame. "Sure, bawlin' for a solid hour while puttin' a dent in the couch cushions from hidin' your face was totally proportional to the occasion..."

You attempted to cut him off with a fierce shake of your head, but he easily overpowered your squirming until your bodies were melded together in a seamless wall of unyielding muscle and feverish, tingling softness. Emboldened by your tearful indignation, Osamu simply smirked and pressed his advantage - ducking to brush his whiskered jawline along the fragile tendons straining in your throat.

"Or what about the time yer favorite shitty boyband dropped a new album right before finals week?" he practically purred against your hammering pulse point, teeth grazing wildly sensitive flesh just enough to make you shudder violently. "Pretty sure I had to pick ya up off the floor when ya got so overwhelmed ya passed right the fuck out from blubberin'..."

"Stop it!" you cried in a watery burst, chest hitching with miserable laughter even as you feebly swatted at Osamu's questing hands and wicked mouth. "You're such an ass, bringing up all that ancient history like it means anything!"

But even as you scolded, your thighs instinctively parted to grant him deeper access, spine arching to present your vulnerable throat in clear supplication. Osamu rumbled deep in his chest again - this time a low sound of pure masculine satisfaction that skated like a physical brand across your nerve endings. His broad palms found purchase on the undercurve of your backside, fingertips digging in with delicious urgency until your hips were rocking in a slow, salacious grind against the formidable bulge rapidly taking shape beneath the snug denim.

"So what's got ya cryin' this time?" he growled against the fragile hollow just beneath your ear, trailing heavy open-mouthed kisses downward. "Me finally puttin' a baby in that pretty belly of yours after all these years? Can't think of a better reason to get those waterworks flowin' again if ya ask me..."

The sheer audacity of his words - the carnal filth as much as the undisguised insinuation that this reunion was only the opening salvo to so much more - punched a startled keen of pure, searing need from your very marrow. You twisted with renewed urgency, mouth finding his in a souling embrace of slick heat and tangling tongues as the desperate flames licking between you swiftly roared into an inferno once more.

Osamu kissed you back feverishly, his thick tongue delving deep to taste every corner of your mouth. His large, calloused hands roamed over your body, squeezing and caressing. He broke the heated kiss with a ragged gasp, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

"God, I've missed you..." he rasped against your skin, voice dripping with raw need. "Missed the way you taste, the way your body feels against mine."

You shivered at his words, nails digging into the firm muscles of his back as you arched against him wantonly. Osamu groaned deep in his chest, the bulge in his jeans grinding against your core. His hands grasped your hips, guiding you into a slow grind that had you both panting harshly.

"Spent so many fuckin' nights after we divorced just lying there, remembering what it felt like to be inside you," Osamu confessed in a low, gravelly tone. "So deep I couldn't tell where you ended and I began. Thinkin' about it drove me crazy with how much I wanted you back."

A desperate whine spilled from your lips at his words. You hastily pushed his shirt up, desperate to feel his heated skin under your palms. Osamu aided your efforts, quickly stripping the garment off and tossing it aside. His eyes burned with molten intensity as your hands mapped every ridge and muscle of his powerful torso and shoulders.

"Wanted to feel you wrapped so tight around me again," he growled, the rough timbre of his voice sparking liquid heat in your veins. "To get so deep in that velvet pussy until we were both lost to everything but being joined."

You swallowed thickly, body thrumming with need at his filthy words. You knew exactly what he meant - the feeling of being utterly filled and completed by him in the most carnal sense until the world faded away.

Osamu captured your lips in another bruising kiss, all clashing teeth and tangling tongues. His hands roamed over your clothes, desperate to bare more of your feverish skin to his ravenous touch. When you finally parted, you were both panting harshly.

"It felt like I could breathe again when you first called after the divorce," he admitted in a rough rumble, steel-grey eyes boring into yours intensely. "Even though it was just asking for help with some dumb furniture, it was like...like I was still yours when you said my name like that."

You made a choked sound at his confession, heart clenching at the rawness in his tone. Osamu didn't give you a chance to respond, claiming your mouth in another searing kiss that had you melting against his solid frame. His hands found their way under your shirt, calloused palms mapping every inch of newly exposed skin as the kiss turned messy and frantic once more.

Finally, he tore his lips away to mouth hot, open kisses along your jaw. "Soon as I heard your voice, I was already moving without even thinking about it," he panted roughly against the hinge of your jaw. "Out the door and in my car before I could second-guess just like all the other times you needed me."

You gasped shakily in understanding, fingers tunneling through his hair to hold him close. You vividly recalled that first fateful call and Osamu showing up without hesitation, just like he had done a thousand times before when you were still married. Despite the legal separation, some intrinsic part of him was still bound to answer your summons without question.

Osamu pulled back slightly, eyes blazing as he cradled your face in his big palms. "Never stopped being yours, no matter what kinda shit happened between us," he stated simply, calloused thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. "Always gonna come runnin' when you call, woman. You hear me?"

His raw declaration hung heavy in the charged air between you. You searched his ruggedly handsome features, taking in the grim set of his jaw, the intense heat smoldering in those gunmetal irises. Osamu meant every single word - you could feel the solemn truth behind them down to your bones.

You let out a shaky exhale, fingers splaying against the solid planes of his chest. His heart thundered beneath your touch, a rapid cadence you knew matched your own racing pulse.

"Osamu..." you began, then halted uncertainly. So much still lay unspoken between you beyond the heated admissions of desire and longing. Questions and doubts flickered like candle flames, threatening to undermine the fragile foundation you'd reconstructed.

Sensing your hesitation, Osamu's calloused thumb stroked your cheekbone soothingly. "Just say it," he rasped in that deep timbre that never failed to make you shiver. "Whatever's goin' through that big brain of yours. We're layin' it all out on the table here."

You drew in another fortifying breath, leaning into the solid warmth of his palms cradling your face so tenderly despite the rough calluses scoring your skin. When you finally met his piercing stare again, you found yourself talking without conscious thought.

"I want to try again," you stated plainly, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "You and me, for real this time. No more separating or letting things fall apart between us."

Osamu's jaw ticked subtly, but he remained silent and impassive, letting you forge ahead unfettered.

"But I need to know you're all in," you continued, willing your voice not to waver. "That you're not just going to take off again if things get tough or we hit another rough patch. Because I can't..." You broke off, blinking rapidly against the burning swell of tears. "I can't survive that a second time, Osamu. Losing you nearly destroyed me."

The anguished admission seemed to reverberate between you, cracking the simmering tension briefly. Osamu's brow creased, eyes softening imploringly as he pulled you flush against his body once more. You went willingly, savoring the steadying anchor of his solid frame and familiar, intoxicating scent.

"Baby, I ain't goin' nowhere," he murmured gruffly against your hairline, one big palm cradling the back of your head. "Should never have left in the first place, no matter how bad shit got between us. That was the biggest mistake of my damn life."

You squeezed your eyes shut at the regret saturating his gravelly rumble, fingers flexing against his skin where they rested against his chest. After a steadying moment, you felt Osamu pull away just enough to lock eyes with you again. His gaze was open and earnest, burning with an intensity that stole your breath.

"I'm all in here," he vowed simply, stroking the pad of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. "No more runnin', no more wastin' time apart when we both know there ain't nothin' for me without you by my side. We're gonna make this thing between us work this time, you hear? Even if I gotta spend every day for the rest of my life provin' it to you..."

His words trembled through you with the weighty promise behind them. You searched Osamu's stormy gaze for any hint of prevarication or doubt, but found only steadfast resolution burning there. A dawning smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the vice of uncertainty unclenched around your ribs.

"Well, you'd better get started then," you murmured, shifting to wind your arms around his neck and bring your foreheads together. "Because I'm going to keep putting you through your paces until I'm absolutely certain you're not going to flake out again, Miya Osamu."

Osamu's deep chuckle rumbled against your body, the vibration sending tingles skittering across your sensitized nerves. "Gettin' my ass put through the wringer every day for the rest of forever?" His calloused palms roamed soothingly over the dip of your waist and flare of your hips. "Sounds like my kinda livin' hell, babe."

Unable to resist any longer, you closed the scant distance and sealed your mouths together in a slow, drugging glide of velvet heat. Unlike before, this unhurried press of your lips and tangled tongues spoke to something deeper - a resounding connection and intimacy born from years spent in each other's orbit. It was a familiar kiss that nevertheless sparked fresh flames of passion and hunger, igniting the dormant fire between you with all the raw power and promise of a phoenix rising.

Osamu's broad palms gripped and molded every inch of you they could reach, stoking the building flames further with each hungry sweep and caress. You responded in kind, dragging your fingertips through his silken, ash-brown locks and raking across his scalp with just enough force to make him groan. Your tongues curled and twined as you savored the wet heat and tangling strokes, bodies pressed close enough to feel the thundering cadence of his heart racing against your breastbone.

A sudden surge of impatient desire had you tearing at Osamu's jeans, desperate to feel him fully bared and pliant beneath your wandering palms. He helped you shuck his belt and shove the snug denim down his hips, boxers quickly following until his cock sprang free - swollen and heavy, pulsing with every rapid throb of his hammering pulse. You hummed appreciatively at the sight, wrapping your fingers around the familiar weight and length and giving a few loose, languid pumps.

"Fuck, that's good, baby," Osamu grunted, eyes slipping shut in pleasure. His head fell forward to rest against yours, breath ghosting hot and quick over your flushed cheeks. "Been too long since I felt those pretty little hands on me, missed you so damn much."

Your own eyelids fluttered shut, drinking in the husky, graveled rasp of his voice and the feel of his thick cock twitching against your palm. "I've missed this, too," you murmured, swiping a bead of pre-cum from his tip and using it to slick your hand as you began stroking him with intent. "Missed the feel of you, how good you always made me feel. How perfectly we fit together."

Osamu let out a guttural sound, his hips bucking involuntarily into your touch. He quickly recovered, though, deftly working the fly of your jeans open and pushing them down over the generous curve of your hips. His mouth sought yours again, swallowing your moans as he palmed the generous swell of your ass and squeezed, grinding his rock-hard erection against your belly.

"Let me get my mouth on you, baby," he begged between messy kisses, tongue sweeping deep into the cavern of your mouth. "Wanna taste that pretty pussy of yours, feel you comin' apart on my tongue."

Your entire body jolted at the carnal filth spilling from his kiss-swollen lips. You'd always had a weakness for his wickedly talented mouth, and the prospect of it licking and devouring you like some succulent feast had you instantly slick and throbbing. But tonight, you wanted something else entirely.

"Later," you breathed against the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip sharply before pulling back. Osamu's pupils were blown wide with desire, his gaze burning hotter than the sun as he stared at you uncomprehendingly. You couldn't help the wicked smirk curling the edges of your mouth.

"Tonight, I want you buried inside me," you declared bluntly, delighting in the way his eyes went hazy with lust. You let go of his cock long enough to wiggle out of the confining denim and kick the jeans aside, then immediately grasped his hand and guided it between your legs.

"Want you filling me up, fucking me until I'm sore and aching," you continued, biting your lip as his fingers parted your slick folds. The first teasing brush against your clit had your entire body bowing and thighs clenching, but you forced yourself to meet Osamu's scorching stare once more. "Making sure I'm thoroughly bred, so I can never forget who I belong to ever again."

For a moment, all Osamu could do was gape at you in mute astonishment. Then his nostrils flared, pupils blown so wide the blackness nearly eclipsed the steel-grey of his irises entirely. A low, animalistic growl ripped from his chest, and the next thing you knew, his mouth was slanted over yours and his thick fingers were pumping into your molten core.

"Fucking hell, woman, what're ya tryin' to do to me?" he snarled between biting, desperate kisses. His free hand found purchase on the swell of your breast, squeezing roughly before rolling and pinching your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. "Gonna be the goddamn death of me with that dirty mouth."

You arched into his touch, panting heavily as he worked you higher. His long, thick fingers stroked and rubbed your sensitive inner walls, coaxing wave after wave of slick honey from your throbbing channel. You writhed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase on the corded muscles of his shoulders.

"Please, Samu, I need you inside me," you moaned, hips bucking against his hand. He cursed harshly, fingers stilling inside you for a moment. Then he withdrew, making quick work of the buttons on your blouse before yanking it down your arms and tossing the garment aside. He followed up with your bra, leaving you bare before him save for your panties.

"Look at you, all soft and pliant, ready to take me," Osamu growled, calloused hands skating reverently over the curve of your belly and hips. "Finally gonna make me a daddy, huh?"

He dipped his head, latching onto the supple flesh of your breast and suckling deeply. Your hands found their way into his hair again, fingers digging into his scalp as you moaned wantonly. When he finally released your breast, he blew gently over the stiff peak, causing it to pucker even more.

"You know you can never go back once you have my baby," he continued, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the valley of your breasts and up the column of your throat. "No other man would ever measure up after that. You'd be ruined for anyone else, just like I was the first time I was inside you."

You keened sharply at his possessive, primal words, head falling back to grant him better access. "Good," you gasped, nails scoring the planes of his back and shoulders. "Because I've never wanted anyone else, Samu. It's only ever been you."

He groaned against the shell of your ear, grinding his thick, heavy length against the damp fabric still concealing your aching core. "You're damn right, and it's always gonna stay that way."

One powerful hand found purchase on the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place as he devoured your mouth with bruising, punishing kisses. At the same time, his other hand slipped between you, ripping away the final barrier separating your bodies. The shredded material was summarily discarded, and you barely had a chance to draw breath before he was lining up and plunging home.

"Ride me, sweetheart. Just like you used to."

The command was a deep, resonating purr against your feverish skin, one that sent a shiver dancing down the notches of your spine. A whimper escaped your throat, fingers flexing against Osamu's muscular back. You could already feel his length pulsing inside you, stretching and filling you to the brim with that familiar, delicious ache.

"Fuck, that's perfect," Osamu hissed between his teeth, his head tipping back and eyes slamming shut as you began to roll and undulate against him. You were already impossibly wet and aching, his thick, swollen shaft bottoming out with each fluid pump and grind of your hips. He was seated so deep and full inside you, it felt as though there wasn't a single molecule of space between your bodies.

You couldn't help but agree.

"You feel so good," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the delicious stretch. You shifted slightly, finding the best angle to allow the bulbous head of his cock to graze and stroke the sensitive cluster of nerves hidden deep within your slick channel. "So big and hard inside me, splitting me open. Like you were made for me."

Osamu's rough chuckle vibrated against your chest. He dropped a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the tender flesh. "Damn straight, I'm made for you," he affirmed, voice muffled against your skin. "Just like you were made for me. Fuckin' perfect, we are."

You sighed in contentment, arching into his touch. Your hands skated over the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders, reveling in the familiar sensation of his solid, warm frame and the taut lines of his body moving against yours. The scent of his skin - that intoxicating, masculine musk and subtle hints of spice and citrus - enveloped you completely, filling your senses and flooding every corner of your mind.

The room quickly filled with the slick, obscene sounds of your coupling - the wet squelch of your joined bodies, the breathy sighs and ragged grunts as you both raced toward the edge. Your bodies were in perfect sync, instinctively attuned to each other despite the years apart. Every roll and thrust, every shift and cant of your hips, was matched and amplified by his.

It wasn't long before the coil of pleasure in the pit of your stomach began winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. Your breath was coming in short, gasping pants, nails digging into the taut sinews of Osamu's shoulders as you clutched him tighter. He sensed the subtle shift in the air, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured, calloused palms cradling the sides of your neck and jaw. His piercing stare was focused entirely on you, the intensity of his gaze making your heart trip over itself. "Never knew what I did to deserve a woman like you, but I'll spend every day of my life tryin' to live up to it."

The raw vulnerability in his deep, graveled rumble tugged sharply at your heartstrings. A trembling breath spilled from your lips, eyes prickling with sudden emotion. You reached up, mirroring his hold as you gently cradled his rugged features.

"You don't have to be anyone other than who you are, Osamu," you assured him, voice thick with the swell of emotions roiling in your chest. "Just...just be with me. That's all I've ever needed."

A beat of silence passed between you, a suspended moment that seemed to stretch an eternity. Then, like a thread snapping, Osamu's expression crumbled, and he crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was desperate, hungry, conveying everything unsaid with a ferocity that threatened to consume you whole.

"I love you, Y/N," he panted roughly between biting kisses, calloused palms roaming restlessly over the bare expanse of your back and shoulders. "Fuck, I love you so goddamn much."

Tears pricked your eyes, the lump in your throat thick and hot. "I love you, too," you choked out, kissing him again and again. Your bodies never faltered, the slick slide and pump of his thick cock still pistoning in and out of your molten core.

When Osamu finally pulled back, his pupils were blown wide and black with hunger. "Come for me, beautiful," he urged, thumb slipping between you to circle and rub your swollen clit. "Need to feel you milkin' my cock, wanna feel you cum all over me."

The tension in your belly snapped, white-hot pleasure surging through you like lightning. You cried out, the sound swallowed up by his ravenous mouth. Your cunt spasmed around him, gripping his pulsing shaft and wringing him dry.

Osamu came with a guttural snarl, his body seizing and jerking against yours as his hips pistoned erratically. Thick ropes of seed splashed against your womb, painting your walls and filling every nook and cranny. He kept pumping through his climax, drawing out both your orgasms for as long as possible.

You were both boneless and panting when it was over, limbs tangled together and foreheads pressed close. The heat of the moment was slowly dissipating, replaced by the steady thud of your hearts and the soothing warmth of his bare skin against yours.

Osamu's thumb brushed the swell of your cheek, calloused pads smoothing the lingering tracks of tears. "What's the verdict, babe?" he murmured, dark brows pinching together slightly.

Your own lips twitched in a small smile. "I think you've made a pretty compelling argument so far, Miya," you quipped lightly, then leaned in to kiss him. "But you know, they say it takes a few rounds to really make sure a job's done right."

He chuckled, a low, husky rumble that made the heat stirring in the pit of your belly flare to life once more. His mouth curved into a crooked smirk, the glint in his eyes promising wicked delights and the fulfillment of many, many desires.

"Guess we'll just have to keep tryin' until it takes then, yeah?"

[lavenderchqn]

✧・| green with 'envy'

— anemo men trying out the "you're the most jealous person I know" trend with their partner. for some it feels like more than a trend.

content warnings: comedy, hurt/comfort; serious and unserious jealousy talks; a panic attack (I am so sorry Venti mains, all you do is suffer because of me); implied self-doubt/low self-esteem in some; mentions of overthinking; playful teasing;

this set of scenarios has been requested by anon!

[note.] — cover art created by @sssA_km on twitter for hoyofair 2024! and a personal writer note - from this point onwards, all scenarios created for anemo males as a group will include ifa! give it up for our first tall man.

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Abort the mission, abort I repeat! When he joked about you being jealous, getting it spun onto his… oversights… was not what he had in mind. Oh heavens above, somebody please save him! 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Aether says as he enters the room. It’s heavy, the atmosphere. His usually bright golden eyes have seemingly dulled. His arms are crossed. Nothing in his behaviour indicates he’s joking. And thus, you take it as a confrontation. 

You sigh. If being labelled as the jealous one is what it takes to finally access some of Aether’s behaviour, then so be it. At least you’ll hopefully be on the same page. “What makes you think that?” You ask. There’s no reason for you to turn this into a screaming match.

The blond stutters. It’s like Aether hadn’t expected your reply to be, well, that. He blinks a few times, trying to process your counter-question… and how to proceed. After a second of thinking, he replies again. “Your tendencies to cling whenever somebody else is speaking. Or how you drag me away when somebody’s asking for help.” Ouch. That’s cold. Unnaturally cold for him.

You nod. “Love, you realise I’m doing it to, I dunno perhaps, help?” You know, you’re not the only one who’s noticed the lack of decorum people show around your partner. How they ask for his assistance in the simplest tasks. And well, how he never seems to find it in himself to deny them. “People are getting overbearing, trampling over you because you never deny.” 

It’s groundbreaking. World shattering. Aether is at a loss for words. Is it really true? He stands, still as a statue, when the severity of your words seeps in. “W-Wait, so—“ He starts, stumbling over his words. “My quote ‘jealousy’ is me trying to help you out from being taken advantage of, Love.” There’s not an ounce of matter in your body where it seems like you’re unserious. Not to mention… how you’re right. 

You get up, coming close. With the gentlest of notions, you pull Aether into a hug. “It’s okay, you know.” You whisper, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “You can work on boundaries.” Your jealousy was just a defence mechanism. Not for you, but to protect him. And, until he’s able to defend himself, you’ll be there in his place. Even if it makes you seem like the clingy and overbearing partner. Who may or may not be an asshole at times. 

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

He doesn’t mean to send you into a panic. Unfortunately, his words dig deep. Not because you’re unhealthily possessive in his eyes. It’s because he can see the things that are hidden. Those things you’re not fully ready to tackle right in the moment. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know…” Venti says nonchalantly. He throws it how one would a compliment. But the tone, the words. This isn’t a joke. This feels like an interrogation about to be laced with poison. 

A pin drops. You feel like the mere sentence has knocked all the air out of your lungs. It’s getting hard to breathe. You feel like you’re about to pass out any second now. 

“Love?” He asks. Unfortunately, his words don’t seem to reach you. You’re as still as a statue… Oh god, are you breathing? “Baby? Baby!” Something has gone utterly wrong. You were not supposed to react this way! You were supposed to play into the joke, not take it to heart. Not to mention have a panic attack. 

“Okay… okay…” Venti’s reaction is immediate. He helps you to the ground, holding your hands so you won’t hurt yourself. Even if he didn’t think you’d have a panic attack over his comment, that’s the situation. He has to make it better. “Love, can you hear me?” 

You don’t. You can barely hear anything over your heart pounding. There are too many thoughts running rampant. Will Venti scream? Shout? Leave you over that? Tears continue falling down your cheeks.

“Try— Try and follow my breathing, okay?” He says, linking your hands together. He takes a deep breath, hoping you’ll follow. Your body does, even if you’re still unresponsive. It takes trial and error, sobs rippling through your chest. 

“…sorry—“ You breathe out, leaning forward. You feel exposed. In your subconscious, you feel Venti uncovered something he wouldn’t like. “Don’t apologise, please,” He’s still not convinced. He doesn’t want to assume. “Can I?” He asks, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He doesn’t need to. You know. Venti is asking if he can give you a reassuring kiss. You shake your head. It’s a little too early for that. “That’s okay,” 

It takes a moment for you to feel like you’ve become one with your body again. Even longer when you feel able to speak about what happened. 

“Do you ever ask why I get this way…?” You begin. “Maybe it’s because -y’know what, never mind…” And it’s gone. But Venti doesn’t push further. Because he knows. He knows that some deeper feelings are buried in your mind. Those that require addressing, but not perhaps now. 

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎

He gets the worst timing. Not to mention, how he doesn’t even reply when you enquire. In the end, Xiao makes you think… you’re actually the most jealous person he does know. And what’s about to come is an interrogation. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Xiao says, handing you another plate. It’s an odd timing — right in the middle of doing dishes? Really? Well, in his defence, he didn’t even want to participate in this whole… joke. Venti’s nagging and Heizou’s retelling of his story ultimately pushed him towards it. 

“You’re right, I am. Especially when you look like that, Xiao,” You say, drying a glass and standing on your tippy toes to place it on the back shelf. That- That was not what he expected your reaction to be. You seem to have caught on, stopping to look at him. “Xiao?” 

He’s silent, looking at you in confusion. You come up close, slowly taking a plate from his hands to ensure it doesn’t end up on the floor. “You meant it as a joke, right?” You ask. “I, uh—“ 

“Okay…” You tut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Let’s finish cleaning up, okay? Then we can discuss it seriously.” Your voice is lower, meeker. Like you came to the wrong conclusion due to his lack of response. A time machine to go back these few minutes, please. 

The rest of the chore session is spent in silence. Uncomfortable one, to be precise. With glasses of water on the table, you’re finally ready to talk. Communication is the key to maintaining a healthy relationship. If Xiao thinks you’re jealous, you’re open to tackling it. No matter how worried it makes you feel. 

“Ssoo…” You begin, taking a nervous look at your partner. He looks equally anxious, if not more. Heavens above, was it that bad? If Xiao was so worried about bringing it up, it had to be serious. “What makes you feel like I’m jealous?” You ask, gulping. 

“I, uh, don’t think you are.” “Wait, what?” You blink a few times to make sure you’ve heard him right. “I don’t consider you to be jealous.” “Sorry, I uh? Do you want me to be more jealous then?” Xiao sees the puzzled look on your face. You do your best to solve the riddle you're getting from his words. Jealous, but not really? Should you be jealous? 

“It’s a trend—.” Xiao takes a sip of his water. “Wanted to see how you’d act... or something,” 

“Oh, you silly goose!” 

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔

He knows you like the back of his hand. There are many ticks he can do to finally push you to your limit. But what if you actually do act upon his words… If he wants you to be jealous, then why not return the favour tenfold? 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Ah. Heizou’s at his annoying behaviour once again. Recently, he’s been doing everything to push your buttons. A compliment to a random coworker here, a brief hug there. Doing everything he could to make you jealous. 

“Oh?” Your voice is higher and clearly amused. Well, if Heizou oh-so wishes, you can play right into the trend. “You know other people?” You ask, dropping down an octave. Your voice almost robotic. You’ve turned around to face him, eyes ice cold. Exactly how the trend goes, yet precisely against the picture Heizou has been painting in his mind. 

For weeks, he wondered. Would you puff your cheeks in annoyance? Would you cling to try and assert dominance? Or maybe, just maybe, you’d leave marks in visible spots. That’d be pretty hot. Alas, here you were being… actually jealous. And not in a cute way.

“What?” He hums, shocked. “No, no, of course I don’t, Darlin’” He has this one smile across his face. The dumb one. The one he likes to plaster on whenever he eats your food when you’ve told him not to. 

“Maybe I’m right in being jealous,” You sigh. Wandering from window to window, you blabber — loud enough for Heizou to hear. “My partner does nothing to stop the unwanted attention… You know what,” You stop for a second, looking directly at him. “Maybe I should take after his behaviour.” You smile. Hugs, compliments, and perhaps a date? If he’s acting like he’s single, so should you.  

“Absolutely not.” His voice gruff, as he grabs you by the shoulders. “My darling is not for sharing, you know.” His olive eyes looking straight through you, searching for any signs of your act being a joke. It had to be. 

“Oh, but Heizou,” You roll your eyes. “If you want me to be jealous, it’s only fair you get jealous too~” 

He drags you closer. With one arm dropped to your waist, he bends forward, cradling you in a graceful arc. All so he can whisper huskily into your ear. “I won’t repeat myself… Darling,” Let’s just say Heizou has bitten off more than he could chew. 

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

From the beginning he makes it sound like he’s joking. He doesn’t consider you jealous one bit, but there’s nothing wrong in having a little laugh. Besides, once and if a situation of your jealous nature truly arises — he’ll be there to provide you with the truth. 

“Ah, you’re the most jealous person I know, Beloved,” Kazuha’s voice is light as he embraces you from behind. His words — with a heavy meaning behind them, don't carry the same tone. Turning around, you notice a gentle smile across his face. Like your jealousy is a mere word of endearment.

“Is that so?” You ask, returning to your previous task, albeit moving slightly to allow your partner to nestle his head close to your neck. Kazuha only hums in return, his hair tickling you softly as he places a small kiss. “Well, with a partner like that, I’d be silly not to make sure the world knows.” 

Oh? Your words have definitely piqued his interest. He hugs you a little bit tighter, waiting for what your thought process seems to be. “What makes you say that, Dearest?” 

“Oh, you know,” You turn the two of you around, a glass of water in your hand. There’s a struggle in getting to the couch — given you’re basically moving two bodies at once. Kazuha and his cat mentalities… thinking he can just hang on you. “Love, give me a hand, c’mon,” “Okay, okay, whatever my Muse says.” 

Once you safely make it to the couch and Kazuha makes himself comfortable with his head in your lap, everything in his gaze is asking you to continue. Therefore, and once you’ve covered the two of you with a blanket, you resume your thought. “You’re dashing and others want a piece of you for themselves, Kazu. Can’t allow them that,” 

You lean forward, gently grabbing his cheek in between your teeth. To demonstrate your point. Kazuha chuckles in response but cannot deny he’s enjoying himself. Especially when you kiss him across his face, lest a mark forms. “That’s what you think, Muse?” He asks, turning his attention to your hands. 

“People have eyes, of course, they’d want to steal you…” 

The room soon turns into silence. You’re enjoying your glass of water while Kazuha enjoys being treated like a cat — having your fingers play with his hair and all. Unfortunately, there’s an irrational thought bubbling in your chest. Honestly, it’s been there ever since he made the comment. “Kazuha?” “What can I do for you, Dearest?” 

“You’d tell me if I was unhealthily jealous, right?”

“Of course.” 

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑

What a hypocrite he is. If anything, you should be the one to call out his jealousy… since you’ve gotten yours from being in a relationship with him. Oh well, at least by participating in the trend he’s inflating his already big ego. 

“You’re the most jealous person I know,” Wanderer states as he notices your sour expression. In truth, you aren’t even sour. That’d be an overreaction. Still, you cannot help but roll your eyes at the stack of chocolates and love letters he brought home. It’s like he gets you jealous on purpose to try and get the higher ground… Heavens, the lack of self-awareness on his part.

“Sorry?” You tilt your head, eyebrow raised. “I’m the jealous one?” The tone of your voice is baffled. Hell, you look around and point at yourself. You do your best not to snort. After all, you have to uphold your posture and make him out to be the buffoon here. 

“Who else?” He rolls his eyes. “As far as I know, chairs don’t get in relationships.” Okay that was a stupid joke. Your cover gets blown off as a smug smile graces your lips. You look your partner up and down as you think of what to say next.  

“I think you need a mirror, Love.” You comment, laughing a little. “If anybody is jealous in this relationship, it’s you.” “Oh, please,” He retaliates, turning his head upwards without breaking eye contact. The glint in those blue pupils begging for you to take the challenge. Oh, how amused he is. It’s game on. 

“Mind I remind you of…” You pause, putting a finger to your lips. “Of how you almost strangled the guy who praised my outfit the other day.” The ball is now in his court. “Duh? I’m the only one who’s to compliment your outfits.” He doesn’t forget to mention how he chose it. Taking pride in being complimented for something you didn’t achieve? How childish.

“The barista asking for my number.” “Looked shady, also, ew.” “The girl who helped me to get up after—“ “You shouldn’t have fallen, idiot.” 

It does go back and forth for a while. It’s like for every example, there's a retaliation. Well, he is being delusional in thinking those don’t constitute jealousy. 

“—Miss Miko gifting me the flowers.” For the first time since you’ve started, there’s silence. Oh, you must’ve cut deep. Okay, okay, maybe it was a low blow… Yae Miko and all...

“Good one.” Wanderer smirks. Man, that was quite fun. He'll be sure to repeat it sometime.

𝐈𝐅𝐀

He feels guilty even wanting to attempt it. His motivation is to be useful to others, so making your means of affection out to be something toxic grinds his gears. Will be apologising for the stupid joke for at least a week straight. 

“Bro, you’re the most jealous person I know… you know?” Ifa’s voice is full of uncertainty when it echoes through the room. It’s like he’s unsure if the matter should even be brought to light… Like it’s serious. 

You, on the other hand, are absolutely floored. You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. Sure, there were some comments about Ifa being married to the saurians instead of you. Did those constitute you being labelled the jealous one? You always try your best to not be controlling, at least you think. Your weight shifts from one leg to the other and you feel your lips trembling. 

“D-Do you really think that?” You ask, tilting your head forward — as a mechanism to not let him see how your eyes fill with tears. Some of the locks make it between your fingers, twirled nervously. “I’m s… sorry, I’ll do bett—er. Promise,” The words are being thrown out haphazardly, hoping any of them land. You’d rather not… have Ifa break up with you right there. 

You brace for impact. The slew of accusations, the painful stabs into your heart. It makes your head spin. Instead, you’re met with the broad chest of your partner. His arms wrap around you as Ifa pulls you into the biggest hug possible. “God, I’m so sorry,” He lets out. Stupid, idiotic, imbecile, he mutters name-calling himself. “It was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it at all, Bro.” 

You look up at him. Ifa’s jaw is clenched as he rubs your back. “Really?�� You ask, still unsure. He wouldn’t be bringing up it if he didn’t mean it… right? “Yeah, I was joking. Didn’t mean a word. Sorry.” He doesn’t peek at you, embarrassed he even attempted to participate in the trend. So stupid, so immature. Of course, you’d be worried. Jokes are only good when both parties laugh. If he could, he’d bash his head against the wall. You deserve better than his antics. 

“I really don’t feel like you’re jealous, okay, Bro,” He says, for the last time today, as kisses you on your head. “I won’t tell you that unless I really mean it.” Ifa holds his pinky up, waiting for your acceptance with bated breath. Only when you link your finger with him, does he feel the calm wash over his body. 

date of posting — may 11th 2025

[aphroditrist]

I have Neptune square ascendant on my mc I haven’t gone in for a diagnosis but people on the spectrum always say “I can spot someone on the spectrum” about me but everyone else doesn’t think I am and idrc either way. The lesson here is most definitely detachment, isn’t that what Neptune is? If Virgo is control and perfection Pisces would be letting go and acceptance. I’ve gotta say neptunes also about reflection so I tend to look best when I feel best. Honestly it’s probably just the way I can relate to everyone pretty well. But I feel like most people don’t get me. I’m currently having a 12th house transit with like 6 planets and it’s definitely showing up as public rumors I can’t control. Like there’s a narrative about me right now that’s entirely untrue but I don’t really have the means to stop it. But it doesn’t have to matter. I know the truth and people who know me know who I am.

This transit: Sun, Mercury, Neptune, Venus , and Saturn, north node,🥲 send help

Eventhough it’s a 12th house transit my experiences come out in (10th house neptune square ascendant and Jupiter exalted in the 4th) I feel like with this placement I attract so much attention and people always come up with these assumptions about me and if I don’t talk to them they go crazy putting shit together about me. It’s never bothered me before but thanks to this transit I literally have drama from highschool with people who didn’t go to my highschool and literally don’t know me at all (who moved across the country) mixing with my most immediate ex and his friend group and my school and I know my name is being thrown around. It is what you make of it though. I choose to embody power and that’s what I have been receiving. For a second I almost dropped out of school but

𝔑𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔱

what i have noticed, the influence of neptune on your ascendant, what i have noticed. Is the people i have met with neptune on their ascendant, have been diagnosed with autism. i myself have neptune on my ascendant, and i have also been diagnosed with autism. We have this distant appearance, an appearance that is not to be understood, so people try to project everything onto us, people try to have a certain image of us, no matter how difficult that is. We come across as untouchable, as if you cannot reach our presence. and people get confused by us, how we are so unreachable. They want to come to us, to have a certain image of us. So that they can reach us, but they never succeed, because our personality is really a mask, a mirror of other people. That's why they can't reach us. Only themselves. people with this aspect are also always idolized, people literally get addicted, to the presence that neptune brings on the ascendant. All sorts of things are projected, all dream pictures. we are always maladaptive daydreaming, that is another reason why people can’t reach us. You know what else I have noticed? we are extremely insecure when we see pictures of ourselves, as if we look different in every picture, and it ruins our whole image. we get confused, and because of this we can become fixated on our appearance. we have an obsession when it comes to appearance. words touch us deeply, there is a lot going on inside us. No matter how calm we look from the outside, there is a lot going on inside us, that can be very dangerous, because people never know where we stand. did you know at first i didnt believe that neptune on the ascendant really causes an obsession in people when it comes to looks, until i met another girl with this aspect, and noticed how i tried to change my whole appearance to her. Its really unbelievable, the effect people with this aspect have on you. Its like you see a balloon, that you want to follow without knowing where it leads. People with this aspect that I have come across all have this dreamy look, a fantasy look, think fairy. It is a type of look that always floats in your mind. The just have this magical appeal to their appearance. And these are really the type of people who still watch Barbie in their adult years, they are full of dreaminess.

[princesevsnape]

Slytherin Boys React- They are smitten with you

Characters: Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire, Tom Riddle, Blaise Zabini

A/N: I love reading Slytherin boys react posts so I wanted to start doing my own too. I also want to do this with the Gryffindor boys. I still need to do this post for the Gryffindor boys but please send in a scenario that I can do for both Slytherin boys and Gryffindor boys. Can be literally anything and as always thanks for the support

Mattheo Riddle:

When Mattheo is smitten with you the entire school knows. As well as you.

He makes his feelings very clear to you.

He always pays you compliments and likes to see you blush

He would get very protective and possessive of you .

He would always stare at you from across the room

He would glare at any guy that even tries to talk to you

He acts like your boyfriend way before the two of you even get together

Draco Malfoy:

He was a little bit nervous about being open with his feelings at first

He wouldn’t want these feelings

But the nicer you were to him the more those feelings grew

He hated seeing other guys flirt with you

He would send you little gifts anonymously but seeing how much your eyes lit up and seeing how happy the gifts made you he eventually admitted they were from him

He admitted he was scared of telling you his feelings but couldn’t hide them any longer

Theodore Nott:

Always complimenting you

Finding excuses to sit next to you in classes or in the library or anywhere really

He would follow you around like a lovesick puppy, wanting to be near you all the time

He’s always the first to comfort you when you need it.

He stares at you a lot and he always gets embarrassed whenever you catch him staring.

He finds you distracting but he can’t stop thinking about you

Lorenzo Berkshire:

Always complimenting you

Always flirting with you

He’ll try and show you he cares through thoughtful gestures like giving you his jacket or scarf when you’re cold.

He’s protective of you

He always finds ways to touch you like slinging an arm around your shoulders

He gets jealous easily but always try’s to play it off

Blaise Zabini:

His attention is always on you no matter what he’s doing. He gets distracted by you, he’ll stare at you from across the room.

He gets very jealous

He tries to play it cool when around you but often slips up

He would give you thoughtful gifts something that he knows would actually mean something to you

He’d send you little love notes, he loves to make you smile

Tom Riddle:

He hates it

He doesn’t want these feelings

He pushes you away

But you’re always so nice to him so no matter how hard he tries the feelings grow stronger

He then becomes obsessive and possessive

He’d threaten anyone that hurts you in anyway

He’d always make excuses to be near you, because he’s intrigued by you, and wants to know what’s so special about you to cause him to has the feelings that he hates so much

[unabashegirl]

Love Island — part 3

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: I just want to say a huge thank you for all the love and support you’ve shown for the first part of Love Island! Every like, reblog, message, and little comment has genuinely meant the world to me

Also! Please, please don’t hesitate to send in your requests — whether it’s blurbs, one-shots, or even just a fun idea you want to see come to life. If you're feeling a little shy, no worries at all — you can always send them in anonymously through Tumblr! I’d love to hear from you and create more content you’ll enjoy 🌞💌

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

The couples began to drift off into quiet conversations around the villa, but Tom stayed rooted to his spot, his fists clenched as he watched Harry and Y/N exchange glances. Beside him, his friend Lucas, a tall, lean guy with sandy blond hair, noticed the tension and nudged him.

"Mate, you alright?" Lucas asked, voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear.

Tom exhaled sharply, his gaze still fixed in Harry’s direction. "Not really, no."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think it’d bother you this much. You two weren’t exactly, you know… Romeo and Juliet."

Tom scoffed, shaking his head. "It’s not like that. It’s just—I thought we were solid enough to stick it out a bit longer, you know? This is barely the second week and she’s already runnin' off with Harry."

Lucas gave him a sympathetic look. “Can’t blame her too much. You said yourself you weren’t feeling that spark with her.”

“Yeah, but…” Tom struggled to find the right words. “It’s just a kick in the teeth, that’s all. Feels like I’m bein’ made a mug of.”

Lucas patted him on the shoulder. "Look, you’ve still got options. The girls are already buzzing about you—Layla’s practically been eyeing you since the first day. And don’t forget Max and Callum, they’ve got your back too.”

Tom’s jaw tightened as he looked around, catching Max and Callum’s sympathetic glances from across the pit, while Jamie joined their little group, clapping Tom on the back. "Forget it, Tom," Jamie said. "This whole thing's a game, right? Y/N's just playing it. Tomorrow, find a way to play back."

Tom forced a smile, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, maybe. Guess we’ll see."

As the boys exchanged a few more quiet words, the rest of the villa settled into their new dynamics, unaware of the brewing tension that would no doubt play out with even more intensity in the days to come.

“Ah, the sweet sting of rejection,” the narrator's voice chimed in with a touch of mischief as the camera panned over Tom’s tense expression. “Looks like not everyone’s feeling quite as ‘coupled up’ as they were this morning. But hey, this is Love Island—where loyalties change as quickly as the cocktails get poured.”

“With Tom stewing by the fire pit and Harry sharing stolen glances with Y/N, it’s safe to say we’ve got ourselves a love triangle in the making. So, who’s playing the game? And who’s about to get played? Only time will tell… and maybe a few sneaky chats by the pool tomorrow.”

As the night settled in and the villa quieted down, Y/N and Chloe slipped away from the others and made their way into the dressing room, heels clicking softly on the tile floor. Chloe nudged her with a cheeky grin as they reached the mirrors, settling in front of them with makeup bags and brushes scattered around.

“Alright, spill it,” Chloe whispered, eyes sparkling. “What’s going on with you and Harry?”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Chloe raised a brow, smirking. “Please, everyone saw the way he was looking at you during the recoupling. You’re both already causing a stir, you know.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, and she bit her lip, trying to play it cool. “Look, Harry’s… well, he’s a bit different, isn’t he? There’s this energy about him—it’s easy to talk to him. He makes you feel like the only person in the room.”

“Mm, dangerous.” Chloe teased, reapplying a bit of lip gloss. “So, does that mean you’re done with Tom?”

Y/N sighed, leaning on the counter. “I think I am. Tom’s sweet, but it just feels too… comfortable, you know? And then there’s Harry. I just don’t know where it’ll go. But it’s Love Island, right? I’ve got to see what happens.”

Chloe nodded thoughtfully, nudging Y/N with her shoulder. “Fair enough. Just don’t let Georgia or Lila get in your head—they’ll be on him like hawks.”

Y/N laughed, brushing it off, but there was a hint of nerves behind her smile. “I know”.

t’s the end of a long day in the villa, and with the recoupling finally done, couples are settling into bed—some with more excitement than others. Y/N and Harry, freshly paired up and very much the center of attention after Harry’s bold choice, head to the bedroom together, laughter and nervous smiles exchanged between them.

They climb into bed, adjusting the duvet and settling in. The tension is thick, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling between them as they lie shoulder to shoulder. Harry glances over at Y/N, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips.

“Quite a day, yeah?” he murmurs, turning to face her a bit more, his hand resting between them on the duvet.

Y/N grins, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear as she looks back at him. “Yeah, wasn’t expecting that.” She pauses, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Didn’t think you’d pick me.”

Harry chuckles, his eyes meeting hers in the low light. “You’re surprised? Really?” he asks, feigning shock. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“I mean…” she shrugs, but her smile widens. “Maybe a little. But you’ve got the whole villa talking now, you know. Even Georgia was making claims.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, rolling his eyes with a grin. “But I’m here, aren’t I?” He leans a little closer, their faces only inches apart. “Thought it was obvious I wanted to get to know you. Really get to know you.”

They share a charged look, each of them feeling the spark in the small space between them. Y/N’s pulse quickens, but she keeps her cool, meeting his gaze with confidence.

“Alright,” she teases. “Let’s see if you’re as smooth as you think you are.”

Harry laughs, playfully nudging her shoulder before leaning back. “Careful, or I’ll start showing off,” he whispers. Then he lets the moment settle, his hand gently resting near hers under the duvet, their fingers almost brushing.

They lie in companionable silence for a moment, each of them acutely aware of the other’s presence, as the lights dim throughout the villa.

The narrator’s voice floats in, a knowing chuckle evident.

“It looks like our newly-minted couple are starting to find their rhythm… but this is Love Island, after all, and things never stay simple for long. With Y/N catching Harry’s attention, will sparks fly, or will rivalries start brewing? Get ready for some sleepless nights and see who’s getting closer... and who’s getting jealous.”

As the morning sun rises over the villa, Y/N is the first to stir, carefully slipping out from under Harry’s arm as he sleeps soundly beside her. She lets a small smile escape as she notices his relaxed expression, feeling a flutter of excitement as she heads to the kitchen to make herself a smoothie. The villa is peaceful, the calm before the inevitable storm of another day.

Taking her smoothie out to the sun deck, Y/N settles in with her book, enjoying the quiet moment alone. She relishes the warmth of the morning sun and the rare stillness in the villa, her mind drifting back to the night before, replaying the feeling of Harry’s arm around her as they fell asleep.

Half an hour later, the villa begins to come alive. She can hear voices and laughter drifting over from the bedrooms, and soon enough, footsteps approach her.

“Y/N,” Tom’s voice cuts through her quiet time. She looks up to see him standing beside her, his expression intense.

“Oh, morning, Tom,” she greets, setting her book down and bracing herself for what she knows is coming. His brows are furrowed, and it’s clear he’s got something on his mind.

“Do you mind if we have a chat?” he asks, hands on his hips as he stares down at her.

She gives a small nod, gesturing for him to sit. “Sure, let’s talk.”

Tom sits beside her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking almost nervously at the floor before meeting her eyes. "Listen, Y/N, I’ve just got to ask… after last night, where’s your head at?” He exhales, clearly unsettled. “I mean, after Harry chose you like that, I just… I need to know where we stand.”

Y/N pauses, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. “Tom…” she starts carefully, gathering her thoughts. “I won’t lie, things are a bit… complicated now.” She sighs. “Last night didn’t exactly go as expected.”

Tom shifts, swallowing, but nodding, his jaw set. “So… are you still interested? Or are you moving on?”

She looks at him, appreciating his honesty but feeling the awkwardness of the situation. “I’m just figuring it out, you know? I think we owe it to ourselves to see how things feel with other people too. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

Tom’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as he processes her words. His posture straightens, and he crosses his arms, clearly frustrated.

“Wait—so that’s it? You’re just… seeing how things feel with other people now?” he asks, his tone edging into anger. “After everything we’ve been building? Just because Harry waltzes in, you’re ready to throw it all away?”

Y/N lets out a small sigh, trying to keep her voice steady. “Tom, it’s not about throwing anything away. We both came here to meet people, right? I thought we were on the same page.”

Tom scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to just… drift off the second someone else showed interest.” His voice rises slightly, his frustration boiling over. “Feels like I’ve been wasting my time if you’re just going to move on that easily.”

“Tom, I’m not just moving on,” she says, trying to keep her tone calm despite his anger. “We’re meant to be exploring connections here. That doesn’t mean what we had wasn’t real. It just means… I have to be open to the process.”

Tom shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Open to the process? Sounds like an excuse. You know what? I’m not buying it.” He stands up, his face flushed with anger as he glares down at her. “Maybe I should’ve seen this coming. Maybe you’re just like everyone else here, out for yourself.”

Y/N flinches at his words, feeling the sting, but before she can respond, Tom turns on his heel and storms off, leaving her alone on the sun deck, her peaceful morning now shattered.

“Looks like Y/N’s got her work cut out for her, and with Tom on edge, it’s only a matter of time before the villa feels the heat. Will Y/N be able to smooth things over, or has Tom’s fuse finally burnt out?”

Y/N’s gaze follows Tom as he strides toward the kitchen, his jaw tight, shoulders tense. Harry, blissfully unaware, is busy preparing two cups of tea, one for himself and other, for Y/N. He’s humming softly, a faint smile playing on his lips—clearly in a good mood.

Tom approaches him with an air of simmering frustration and barely contained irritation. Without missing a beat, he nods at the extra cup in Harry’s hand.

“That’s for her, isn’t it?” Tom says, his tone sharper than usual.

Harry glances up, his brow lifting in mild surprise at Tom’s confrontational tone. “Yeah, it is,” he replies, unfazed, as he continues stirring the tea. “Why?”

Tom huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just didn’t peg you as the type to swoop in the second someone’s available.”

Harry’s smile falters, and he sets the spoon down, giving Tom his full attention. “I don’t think I’m swooping in, mate,” he says, his tone calm but with a slight edge. “We’re here to see if there’s something there, yeah? Same as everyone else.”

“Right, of course,” Tom says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But she and I were building something. And now, you’re what? Just gonna step in and see if you can do better?”

Harry’s jaw clenches for a second, but he keeps his voice steady. “Look, Tom, I didn’t come here to cause any issues. I’ve got to trust that Y/N knows what she wants. So if she’s interested… well, that’s her choice, isn’t it?”

Tom’s eyes narrow, the frustration boiling over. “Choice? Yeah, well, maybe I think it’s a bit easy to make that choice when you’ve got someone like you throwing yourself at her.”

Harry’s eyes flash, but he remains composed, taking a calming breath. “Listen, mate,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone. I respect Y/N, and if she wants to spend time with me, I’m not going to stop her. Simple as that.”

There’s a tense silence between them, each refusing to look away.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise! It seems Tom’s feeling a bit threatened by our new islander, and let’s just say Harry’s not exactly backing down. With two guys eyeing the same girl, it looks like sparks are set to fly—just not the romantic kind.”

As Tom’s frustration starts to draw even more attention, Lucas steps in, placing a firm hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Mate, c’mon,” he says, guiding him away from the kitchen. “Let’s get some air, yeah? Cool off a bit.”

Tom clenches his jaw, but after a beat, he allows himself to be led away, shooting one last glare in Harry’s direction. As the two disappear toward the sun deck, Harry lets out a quiet sigh and turns his attention back to the tea he was making. Just then, Y/N approaches, having seen most of what transpired from across the villa.

“Hey,” she says softly, offering him a small, apologetic smile as she glances in the direction Tom had gone.

Harry hands her the cup he prepared, his expression softening the moment he looks at her. “Morning,” he says, a little smile creeping back. “Here, thought you could use a good cup of tea after… all that.”

Y/N takes the cup gratefully, blowing on it before taking a sip. “Thanks. And… sorry about that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tom’s just… well, he’s been feeling a bit blindsided, I think.”

Harry gives a little nod, leaning against the counter and watching her. “No need to apologize,” he says gently. “It’s not your fault if he’s upset. Besides, it’s not like you owe anyone anything here.”

Y/N gives a soft, contemplative nod, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “Yeah, I know. It’s just—Tom’s comfortable, you know? He’s a nice guy… but I’m not sure there’s anything beyond that.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too sure,” Harry says, a hint of a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Just a little comfortable, is he?”

She chuckles, shrugging lightly. “Maybe too comfortable. There’s no spark, no real excitement.” Her gaze lifts to meet his, and for a moment, they both linger in the silence. “With you, though,” she starts, feeling her cheeks warm a little, “I think I do feel something… different.”

Harry’s grin widens, his gaze locked on her with unmistakable interest. “Is that right?” he says, his voice soft and low. “Glad I’m not the only one, then.”

She bites her lip, glancing down for a second before looking back at him. “Guess we’ll have to see where it goes, won’t we?”

Harry takes a small step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “I’d like that.” His hand lingers by hers, almost touching but not quite, as if savoring the tension between them.

“Looks like the tea’s not the only thing heating up this morning! With Tom sidelined and sparks flying between Y/N and Harry, it seems our villa’s newest couple might just be on the verge of something big. Stay tuned, because in here, anything can happen…”

Y/N takes a slow sip of her tea, glancing up at Harry with a slightly nervous smile. "So," she begins, setting her cup down on the counter. "What made you come here? To Love Island, I mean."

Harry leans back, crossing his arms as he thinks about her question. “Guess I just thought it’d be a bit of a laugh, to be honest.” He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Never done anything like this before. My sister convinced me, actually—said I needed to do something that’d take me out of my comfort zone.”

Y/N smiles, intrigued. “So what is your comfort zone, then?”

He smirks, thinking. “You know, work, mates, a good pint at the local…” He pauses, his gaze softening. “I guess I don’t usually put myself out there, especially with relationships. I’m… guarded, I s’pose. I don’t let people in that easily.”

She nods, understanding. “I get that. It’s hard to open up, especially when you’ve been hurt before.”

Harry’s eyes meet hers, something vulnerable in his gaze. “Yeah, it is. That ever happen to you?”

She hesitates, looking down at her cup. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Had one or two of those, too. I’ve always felt that… if I’m gonna be with someone, I want it to be all-in, you know? Like, I don’t want to waste time on half-hearted feelings.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his voice steady. “That’s it for me, too. People are so casual these days, like everything’s disposable. But I want someone who actually wants to be there, through all of it.”

Y/N looks up at him, feeling the intensity of his words sink in. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“What? Thought I was just here for a holiday fling?” he teases, a grin breaking through the serious moment.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Not exactly. But it’s nice… to see you’re after something real.”

Harry tilts his head, studying her. “What about you? Is there anything you’re hoping to find here?”

She takes a deep breath, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I think there is.” She looks away for a second, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve spent so much time focused on what everyone else wants from me, you know? And I think… maybe it’s time to figure out what I actually want.”

Harry’s hand rests on the edge of the counter, close enough that she can feel his presence. “ It’s like, everyone has expectations. Sometimes, you just want a clean slate, a chance to be yourself.”

They hold each other’s gaze, the air thick with something unspoken. Harry leans in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur. “I reckon we’re both looking for that spark, then. Something that feels real… not just ‘comfortable.’”

Y/N swallows, her cheeks warm. “Seems like we’re on the same page.” Her smile turns playful as she raises her eyebrows. “Guess that means you’ll have to impress me, though.”

Harry laughs, eyes twinkling. “Oh, I’ve got my work cut out for me, have I? No pressure, then.”

They share a laugh, but beneath the humor, there’s a sense of understanding, a spark that neither of them can deny.

The girls gathered on the sun loungers, sipping their drinks and chatting about the day’s events. Georgia, with her sharp gaze fixed on Harry and Y/N across the yard, leaned in closer to Lila and Amber, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Look at them, all cozy and sweet over there,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Can you believe it? Y/N really thinks she’s won the jackpot, doesn’t she?”

Lila squinted towards the couple, where Harry and Y/N shared a laugh, the sunlight catching Y/N’s hair. “They do look a bit... comfortable, don’t they?”

Georgia scoffed. “Comfortable? More like she’s turned him into her little puppet. I mean, really—what does she even have?’

Amber leaned back on her lounger, a smirk forming on her lips. “You’re just jealous, Georgia. You’ve made it pretty clear you’re interested in Harry too.”

“Jealous? Please,” Georgia shot back, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t waste my time on someone who’s already taken. It’s pathetic. She’s just playing the sympathy card”.

Lila shook her head, frowning slightly. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? She is nice.”

Georgia raised an eyebrow, her tone dismissive. “Nice doesn’t get you anywhere in here, Lila. Nice girls finish last. Harry deserves someone who’s actually worth his time, not some sad little backstory.”

Amber leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s the real issue here, Georgia? Is it just about Harry, or do you feel threatened by Y/N?”

Georgia’s expression hardened. “I’m not threatened. I just don’t think she belongs here. She’s too soft. This is Love Island, not a charity case. And let’s be real, Tom was way better suited for her. But she just had to run off with Harry, didn’t she?”

Lila shook her head, glancing between Georgia and Amber. “But that’s how this whole thing works, right? If there’s a connection, you go for it. It’s not her fault Tom couldn’t keep her interested.”

Georgia huffed. “Whatever. I just think it’s weak. And I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m happy for her when she’s clearly trying to stake her claim on Harry like it’s some kind of prize.”

Amber raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, what’s your plan? Just sit here and sulk while they flirt?”

Georgia smirked, the corners of her lips curling in mischief. “Oh, don’t worry. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’m not done just yet. I’ll make sure Harry knows exactly what he’s missing. And if that means shaking things up a bit, so be it.”

Ah, the sweet scent of jealousy in the morning! Someone get Georgia a mirror—she clearly needs a reality check!

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