#literally like. word for word of dreams had words

[yuramour]

★ IT'S TRUE LOVE — F1 GRID

synopsis. f1 grid as different romance tropes pairing. f1 grid x reader (ft. mv1, yt22, ln4, op81, gr63, ka12, cl16, lh44, dr3, aa23, cs55, ob87, ih6, jd7) genre. fluff, angst??, headcanons warnings. mostly fluff?, some of these are angsty tho, some brief mentions of suggestiveness, not proofread wc. 7k (about 500 per driver, 2 paragraphs each)

a/n. ollie's is based on a dream i had that i woke up CRYING from. also, i think isack's is the longest, but like...that's my man stfu. also, very much not proofread. soz!

MAX VERSTAPPEN

☆ strangers to lovers?

you and max met when you first moved to italy. you were working the front desk at a fancy hotel in monza that served as a temporary home for some of the richest people in the world. he hardly paid you any notice at first- just a simple smile and wave whenever he passed by the front desk. you didn't really know anything about formula 1- or really care. but something about the man stuck with you. after a few months of working at the hotel, he finally approached. asking if you wanted to go for a drive. of course, you said yes. he took you to a secluded lookout point at the edge of the city. you talked for hours, the conversation winding down after the sun had long since set. it was clear he just wanted someone to talk to, confide in. someone who didn't care about who he was. he took you back to his hotel room that night- and in the morning, he was gone. it turned into something of a routine for you two; every time he would visit monza, he'd stay in your hotel, take you out for a drive after your shift, and invite you to stay the night with him. every time, he'd tell you he missed you. those words awakened some sick satisfaction in you every time he uttered them- he missed you. he thought about you.

you knew nothing would ever come of it. he was rich, powerful, at the top of his game. everyone knew him. everyone loved him. and you? you were nothing. barely even a character in the background of everyone else's life. but every night you got to spend with max, you felt like the world revolved around just the two of you. then came the night he told you he loved you- you thought he'd said it as a mistake, just a slip of the tongue as his hands wandered your body. but he said it again the morning after, when he thought you were deep in sleep. maybe nothing would ever come of it. you were from two different worlds. your paths only crossing when he had business in the city. but you held on hope that next time he came, he'd whisk you away from the monotony of your life and tell you he loved you with his chest. but until then, you reveled in the fact that he thought of you when he was gone- the image of you at that lookout point in your pretty red dress staring out at the sunset was burned into the back of his mind.

YUKI TSUNODA

☆ forced proximity

you would've liked to be friends with yuki, as everyone else seemed to be. but any time the two of you were left in a room together, he'd leave as quick as he could. it was like he was avoiding you. in the heart of winter, the red bull racing team informed you that you'd be going to a conference in switzerland with the team. you were excited to be getting out of the country for a while. you'd been going through a bad breakup- the type of breakup that practically crippled you with misery. so you were willing to take any opportunity to run from your problems. the night you arrived at the giant house the team had rented for the weekend, you decided to stay in and take a nap while the rest of the team went out to explore the town. you woke up a few hours later to a dark house, the wind howling loudly outside your window. you stumbled down the stairs- nearly jumping out of your skin when you ran into (literally) none other than yuki tsunoda, who told you that he opted to stay behind and rest as well. at first, the tension in the house was palpable- the awkward air between you and yuki thick as you waited for the storm to pass. the blizzard outside lasted for two days- the rest of the team unable to come back up to the house, leaving you and yuki alone the entire time. the first several hours were awkward, his apparent aversion to you still going strong. but slowly, very slowly, you managed to wear him down- getting him to crack a few smiles, joke around with you a bit, and by the second day, you would even call yourselves friends.

the team eventually got back up to the house, apologizing profusely for having to leave you and yuki alone during that time. but neither of you minded. for some reason, the next few days at work, you avoided yuki like the plague. now it was your turn to flee the room whenever you were left together- the tension in the room immediately turning up to 100 every time you were alone with him. it was too much for you. you didn't expect yuki to show up at your apartment on a random friday night. but by the time morning came, you couldn't find it in yourself to complain. that same day, you threw out everything of your exes that you'd kept for some stupid sentimental reason- expelling his memory from your home. while your heart was heavy when you saw his coat in your closet, you grinned like a lovestruck teenager when a few days later, you saw the toothbrush yuki had left in your bathroom. just a few weeks ago, you never would've guessed that yuki tsunoda- the man who was seemingly determined to keep you as far away from his as possible- would be the one to help you finally get over the man whose memory had been holding you back.

LANDO NORRIS

☆ enemies to lovers

you hated lando norris. and lando norris hated you. despite having so many mutual friends, you always managed to rub each other the wrong way. especially recently. you'd been going through a bit of a hard time- you were an american fashion designer and stylist. that's how you and lando first crossed paths. you were the personal stylist of carlos sainz back when he and lando were teammates. you were young, eager to prove yourself, and you did just that. your styling on carlos had opened a lot of doors for you in the fashion industry- and you took every opportunity you got to move up the ranks. you kept in close contact with carlos, having become close to him over the two years you were his stylist, and even becoming close to some of his own friends. you'd been having a rough few months- a well respected fashion journalist had given your new line a horrible review, which led to half of your contracts dropping you, and hardly anyone in the industry willing to even interact with you. carlos invited you to a party one night, just to get you out of your apartment that you'd been sulking in for the past couple weeks. unfortunately, he didn't tell you that the party was a celebration. for lando. of course.

you spent the whole night avoiding him as best you could, not wanting to hear him jeer over you potentially losing your career. you ended up standing outside, the cool air helping clear your mind of every horrible thought that ran through it. you were having a pleasant time until none other than lando norris sidled up next to you, you rolled your eyes and made a move to walk away, but he reached out for you, and for some reason, you stayed. and maybe it was the alchocol, but, you confided in him, telling him your fears, your hopes, everything that you'd never thought you'd say to him. and he listened. and he didn't judge. he told you about his own life, how he felt he was on a downward spiral, the confident cocky facade he'd put on around you slipping away until all you saw was him. the real him. you blamed it on the alcohol, but something in the both of you shifted. you couldn't deny that the kiss you shared that night made you feel something you'd never felt before. you kept your relationship a secret- not wanting the tabloids and media that seemingly hated the both of you to take the knowledge of your relationship and run with it. the more time you spent with lando, the more you saw of the real him, who held you so gently, treated you like you hung the moon and the stars, instead of the lando who criticized your every move, making you want nothing more than to scream at him (which you often had). you realized that he was just like you. hurt by the world, and by himself. and now, you were helping each other heal.

OSCAR PIASTRI

☆ opposites attract

oscar wasn't a party person. hell, he wasn't even really a people person. but you were. so he forced himself to be. you had met at an afterparty that you were dj-ing years ago. neither of you ever thought that you'd end up where you were- you were loud, excitable, a total social butterfly. and he was anything but that. he liked to keep to himself, holding his real thoughts and feeling close to his chest. but you took pleasure in breaking down walls, getting people to say what they really felt. he didn't like partying- but he loved watching you have fun. he was content to watch from the sidelines as you danced with your friends, approached complete strangers to strike up conversation, enjoying being the center of the universe. at the beginning of your relationship, it took you a while to understand each other- you didn't really get why oscar preferred to stand in the back of the room, just observing, and he didn't really understand how you had the energy to party so long, how you were able to talk to anyone and everyone so effortlessly. it took a lot time time and patience, but you grew to love and appreciate those differences.

both of your favorite moments together were in the back of the cab after the parties- your head resting on your shoulder, his hand on your knee. you were always so tired after the parties, just wanting to go home with oscar, take a warm bath, and sleep soundly wrapped in his arms. and he loved to take care of you, washing your hair, setting a big cup of water and bottle of aspirin of your bedside table for your inevitable hangover. or the aftermath of the parties you'd throw at your shared apartment; the quiet music still playing through the speakers as you cleaned up the half-empty discarded bottle on the tables. oscar taking your hand and pulling you close, taking his turn to dance with you now that everyone else had left. everybody questioned how the two of you managed to stay together- your lifestyles seemingly complete opposites of each other. they didn't see the way you brought oscar out of his shell, bringing out the goofy personality he hid under that nonchalant persona. and they didn't see the way oscar taught you to appreciate the quiet moments, like cooking together or staying in and watching tv. they didn't understand that if you really love someone, you find a way to make it work. and you and oscar definitely made it work.

GEORGE RUSSELL

☆ high school sweethearts

you couldn't count on both hands the years that you and george had been together. your relationship was practically perfect by almost every mean. you started dating when you were both sixteen. going from sitting next to each other in biology to cheering him on at his races. you supported george through every step in his racing career, form f4 all the way to f1. through all the traveling, stress, and high emotions, you and george stuck together. you often felt out of place amongst the people that had become george's peers; the billionaires, the models, the politicians- but george never made you feel like you didn't belong with him in his world. it wasn't like you needed constant reassurance that he wouldn't leave you for some model- but he gave it to you anyway. telling you that there's no one else he'd rather come home to. you shared a pretty apartment with an even prettier view, often spending your evenings on the balcony with a glass of wine, watching the sun set over the water. it was simple. it was lovely.

of course, no relationship comes without its ups and downs. and while it was mostly ups, the downs were...pretty down. you knew george supported you in your career just as you did him. always cheering you on during your final exams or whenever you got a promotion. you knew he supported you. but he said something in a post-race interview that just made you feel distinctly unimportant. like he didn't even care about you or your aspirations. you knew that he could say some pretty dumb stuff due to the post-race adrenaline and general stress of race week. he'd said a lot of things he didn't mean over the years. but this really set you off. you were packing your bags in the hotel, getting ready to go home early. you didn't want to be around him at the moment. but you never could stay mad at him for long. he was practically (literally) in tears as he explained himself- the shame of his words flooding over him as you begged you not to leave. of course you would never leave him. the two of you went home together early, dodging the parties and interviews for the comfort of your home. at home, he listened when you told him how his words made you feel, and he explained what he really meant by his words. as the two of you ended the night as you always did- sharing a bottle of wine on your balcony- you found yourself counting your blessings. you didn't know what you did to deserve such a beautiful, healthy, perfectly imperfect relationship, but you knew you'd never take it for granted. and neither would he.

KIMI ANTONELLI

☆ fake relationship

you swore it started as a joke. ollie had made a stupid bet that kimi wouldn't be able to find a girlfriend before the summer ended- he was right, of course. which is why kimi asked you- one of his oldest friends- to help him out. was it cheating? sure. but kimi couldn't let ollie win that bet. it was fun at first; trying to trick ollie into believing that you two were actually dating. you and kimi went on "dates" so you could post them on instagram to make it more believable. you held hands in public, after every race, kimi would rush over to you first, and you'd hug him tightly, leaning your forehead against where his would be under his helmet. you giggled while reading the comments about how cute of a couple you were. because there was no way you two would actually date. you were friends. best friends. and this was all just an elaborate joke.

and then came the night at the bar. kimi and ollie had a couple of weeks before their next race, and wanted to celebrate their break along with some of the other rookies and their girlfriends. you, being kimi's "girlfriend" were invited along as well. it was all fine. really, it was. even though kimi was seemingly flirting with another girl right in front of you and all your friends. it hurt. you knew it shouldn't have, but it did. and you knew why. you always knew. but as soon as the tears in your eyes started shedding without warning, kimi noticed immediately and whisked you away. you cried the whole drive home, continuously telling him that you were fine- but of course you weren't. you didn't remember asking him to stay- or maybe you didn't ask. but when you walked into the living room of your apartment the next morning to find kimi asleep on the couch, you knew you needed to talk. you thought he'd leave the second you told him you loved him- but he stayed, and told you the same. guess it never really was a joke, after all

CHARLES LECLERC

☆ starcrossed lovers

it seemed as though no matter how hard you tried, things never seemed to work out between you and charles. schedules never aligning, families never approving, media never leaving you alone. you'd been with charles for six years- more or less. it felt like fate when you first met. despite your drastically different lives, it seemed like the universe just kept drawing you two together- bumping into each other in the most random places. you first met while you were working at a coffee shop in your final year at university- and then again while you were vacationing in italy during your celebratory graduation trip- and he remembered you. you didn't know anything about him, or who he was, but it just felt right. the first several months of your relationship were difficult. you'd just started grad school, and were fully committed to continuing your education- which he understood. and your parents were vehemently against your relationship, stating that he was a distraction from your studies, that you two were rushing into things, and that given his career, he'd surely be unfaithful to you. things only got harder after you went public with your relationship. you'd been together in private for a little over a year- flying out to see each other whenever you could, nightly video calls, and constant texting had long been the norm in your relationship. but charles wanted you to really be a part of his life. so you agreed to attend one of his races, and make your first public appearance as his girlfriend.

the articles were written practically the second you stepped foot in the paddock. tabloids digging into your family history and questioning why charles leclerc- the prince of monaco- one of the most famous men in the history of the sport- would be with you, who was by all means, nobody. it felt as though things were on a constant downward spiral after that. of course, you and charles loved each other, there was no doubt about that. but you weren't used to this life. you weren't used to people with cameras waiting for you outside of class, customers taking pictures of you working to post online, stumbling across random hate posts while peacefully scrolling through social media. despite charles constant reassurance that he loved you, tha he supported you, that you were all he ever wanted, you just couldn't handle the pressure. that was the first time the two of you broke up. but like i said earlier, it was as though the universe was intent on making your paths cross. maybe it was intentional on his part- the panel he held at your university one year after your breakup, and of course, you just couldn't stay away from each other. but that didn't last for long- your second breakup came not long after. you'd gotten your masters degree, and wanted to focus on your career. you somehow managed to stay away from him for two years after that. until you were invited to speak at a conference in monaco, that charles was the guest of honor at. there was no denying that you missed each other. and when you ended up going home with him that night, you were determined to stay this time. fuck the tabloids, fuck your parents. he was yours. always had been, and always would be.

LEWIS HAMILTON

☆ second chance

ten years. that's how many years you'd dedicated to lewis hamilton. you started dating right out of high school, after having been friends for years. you supported lewis throughout his entire career, all his ups and downs. you were always there, cheering him on no matter what. when lewis signed to mclaren for his first ever f1 season, you couldn't have been prouder. he'd been working towards formula 1 for such a long time, and it was finally happening. at first, you loved going to all the parties with lewis. you were never much of a party person, but you went for him, just proud to see him being recognized for the talented man you always knew he was. but after the first couple seasons, his new lifestyle had just gotten to be...too much for you. you of course were so proud of him in all his success, but all the parties, the practices, the traveling, all that was enough in and of itself. but you just felt so...out of place in his life. now instead of celebrating his wins with his friends from home, he was celebrating with celebrities; models, actors, musicians, all the people you saw on tv that seemed so unattainable were now falling over themselves to talk to your boyfriend at the afterparties. you were never an insecure person- but that realization made you feel so small. when you first shared your feeling to lewis, he assured you that those people meant nothing to him- that all he really wanted at the end of the day was to come home to you. that he'd miss every single party if it meant being able to watch tv on the couch in your shared apartment. but the question burned in the back of your mind; if that was all he really wanted, why was he even at the parties?

the breakup was gradual. lewis would come home from the races and accuse you of being unsupportive, and you'd accuse him of not caring about you now that he was famous. you weren't really sure who was in the wrong, but after ten years of commitment, ten years of love, of support, of being family, you were done. he was the one to tell you that it was over, but you both knew it was only a matter of time. and now, almost a decade later, you were certain you'd fully moved on. you were sure that lewis had forgotten all about you. he went on to date models and actresses, while you focused on your career. you certainly hadn't expected to see him at the charity gala that your boss had invited you to, but here he was. he'd somehow changed so much in the past ten years, and not at all. he was older, more poised, but his face was practically the exact same. like he hadn't aged a day since you last saw him. he was talking to some politician when he saw you, jaw immediately dropping once he noticed your presence. you don't know why you followed him when he silently asked you with a tilt of his head to meet you out on the balcony, but you did. the conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, and the tearful apology followed soon after. you took his offer to take you out for dinner the following night. it was like you were meant to follow him up to his penthouse with how naturally it felt. you stayed the night with him, and the night after, and the night after, when suddenly, you realized that weeks had passed without even realizing it. falling so easily back into your old routine that you'd broken out of over a decade ago. it all just felt so natural, so right, so perfect. maybe time really does bring you closer.

CARLOS SAINZ

☆ unrequited to requited love

you were everything to carlos. his oldest friend, his closest confidant, his lifeline. you'd known each other for almost as long as he could remember- you karted together as kids until an injury prevented you from furthering your career. after that, you just kind of stuck with carlos, which he was thankful for. he loved having you around, always there to cheer him on for every win, and pick him back up after every loss. as you got older, you followed him less and less, focusing on your newfound passion in journalism- but the bond between you remained stronger than ever. a few years after he joined the formula 1 grid, you became a presenter for the sport, your previous experience in karting and constant exposure due to your best friends career coming in handy. carlos had always admired your way with people, with speaking, able to speak to eloquently even under intense pressure. truth be told, carlos could listen to you speak for hours and never get bored. he had listened to you speak for hours and not gotten bored. carlos loved everything about you, really. always had. in fact, he'd been in love with you for nearly as long as he could remember. he'd drunkenly confessed to you the night he finished his first f1 race- and you let him down easy. because you didn't love him the same way. he pretended to not remember what he said the morning after, and you were content thinking he really didn't.

before that night, you somehow hadn't picked up on the fact that carlos was in love with you- despite it apparently being painfully obvious to everyone else. maybe you just didn't want to think that your best friend saw you in that way- because you really didn't see him in that way. at least, you didn't before that night. but after his confession, you started seeing carlos in a new light- the way his big brown eyes focused on you so intently whenever you spoke, the way he ran his hands through his thick hair whenever he was frustrated, the way he would squeeze your hand before the two of you parted ways for your separate jobs on the track. they were all habits you'd noticed before, but for some reason, your started stuttering whenever you met his eyes when you spoke, your stomach fluttering whenever he ran his hands through his hair, your hand felt empty as his left yours. you pushed those feelings down- thinking that surely after his drunken confession wasn't how he truly felt. it had been a couple years, after all. surely if it was real, he didn't feel that way anymore. until one night, the two of you were celebrating his first win with ferrari- a huge achievement for your friend. something about the way the dim lighting of your apartment made his skin glow, his eyes soft as you drunkenly giggled at a lame joke he'd made. he just looked so perfect. you hadn't intended to tell him you loved him- but you did. immediately regretting it when he froze, telling you that you'd had too much to drink. he helped you into bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving your room. the following morning, you went into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. you attempted to explain yourself, but he stopped you. simply asking if what you said was true. of course, it was. and of course, he still loved you. as he always did.

ALEX ALBON

☆ soulmates

somehow, it had always been you and alex. it was like your lives were intwined from the moment you were born. there were so many coincidences throughout the course of your lives- somehow often being in the same place at the same time without even knowing. you were literally born at the same hospital, two years apart, delivered by the same doctor. him and your brother had karted together for a brief time as kids- alex had even found a picture of the two of them together, with you looking on in the background, buried deep in a box in his parents basement. you wouldn't realize it until years later, but the two of you even shared a math tutor, occasionally passing by each other as your sessions ended and his began. when you got older, you and your brother decided to move to monaco- your brother had long retired from karting and turned towards engineering, managing to snag a role as an engineer for none other than the atlassian williams formula 1 team. you were really just along for the ride. you'd always followed your brother wherever he went, and he hadn't led you astray yet. his work at williams was enough to cover the rent for your little apartment, but you decided to pick up a job on the side as a barista at an aesthetic little cafe while you did online university classes.

you loved your job as a barista. especially since you were in monaco. all the random celebrities and politicians you met in your day-to-day life was something you never even dreamed of. and now you were a background character in their lives. it was fun! you enjoyed being an observer, watching these seemingly untouchable people live somewhat "normal" lives, ordering coffee like your average person. your cafe was right on the route of alex's morning runs, but he didn't ever go in. not until over a year of you working there. you had no idea who he was. despite the fact that your brother worked closely with him as an engineer for his team, and the fact they they karted together as kids (a fact that neither of them remembered), you didn't even really watch f1. only really knowing the most famous racers. your interaction at the cafe was like literally any other- no more than a few words on each side exchanged, and then he was off. but you would see him again just a few months later during the monaco grand prix. your brother had managed to snag you a pass for the race, able to get you inside the williams garage for you to see his job up close. when he introduced you to the racers, the chemistry between you and alex was immediate. it was like the two of you had known each other your whole lives (totally unaware that you sort of had). he asked for your number as soon as your brother was out of earshot, and not even a week after that, you were officially dating. the realization of how entwined your lives were came slowly, childhood stories lining up weirdly perfectly, joking about how odd it was until realizing that you were telling the same story. you never felt a connection with anyone else the way you felt it with alex. it was as if there was an invisible string that had been drawing you together your whole lives- and you wouldn't have it any other way.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

☆ meet cute

you weren't quite sure how you ended up alone at a wine-tasting event at a winery in australia- several thousand miles away from home. you knew nothing about wine. or alcohol in general, really. but here you were. you weren't the type to go to events alone- or to go to events at all. you were a bit of a homebody, but you'd made a new years resolution to go on a spontaneous solo trip. which you were starting to really really regret. despite almost regretting the thousands of dollars and time that you'd spent to come here, you decided that if you were going to be here, you were going to get at least a little bit tipsy. you were a big introvert, and you were completely content just standing in the corner not talking to anyone, and not having anyone come up and talk to you. but as you got your third fourth glass of wine and went to retreat back to your corner, you found yourself colliding with what, in your inebriated state, felt like a brick wall. looking up, you quickly realized that it was not in fact a brick wall, but a very handsome man, in a very expensive looking suit- that you had just spilled red wine all over. you stuttered out an apology, embarrassed tears threatening to spill from your eyes before you looked up and saw the man...grinning? a chuckle escaping his lips as you fumbled over your words. he told you it was no big deal, that suit was old anyway. he helped you dust yourself off, inquiring about where you were from, your accent piquing his interest.

you weren't quite sure how you ended up spending the rest of your trip to australia with daniel ricciardo- but here you were, in the passenger seat of his car, singing along to an american country song. daniel was almost your complete opposite; he was charismatic, cool, friendly, practically magnetic. you were...definitely none of those things. fumbling through life as an awkward introvert, letting people walk all over you- until you met daniel. he clocked you immediately, from the second you met. he was determined to get you out of your shell, make you live life a little, and just enjoy the little things. he was dead set on making sure that your time in australia was the best time of your life. and it definitely was that. he took you sand duning, rock climbing, cliff diving, salsa dancing- things you could never see yourself doing in a million years. things you never would have done without daniel. at the beginning of your trip, you almost immediately regretting going in the first place- but as daniel drove you to the airport on your last day, you found yourself not wanting to leave. sitting in the parking lot of the airport, you and daniel sat in silence, just looking at each other. no words were exchanged, but the look in his eyes begged you to stay- and so you did. you didn't have much keeping you in your home country- your job was remote, your family lived across the country anyway, you had few (if any) friends. and if you went back, you wouldn't have daniel. maybe you were making a mistake, leaving your entire life behind for a man you met two weeks ago- but you weren't leaving your life behind, because your life was just starting.

OLLIE BEARMAN

☆ friends to strangers to lovers

you missed him. you had been best friends when you were kids- practically attached at the hip since you were born. you grew up right across the street from each other. your parents were best friends since before you were born, so naturally, the two of you were inseparable growing up. you of course supported ollie through his whole career, you were his most avid fan. it was blatantly obvious to everyone except him that you were completely in love with him. you should have told him. the night before he left, before he moved to italy forever, leaving everyone and everything behind for his career, the two of you were walking down the old streets of your neighborhood as you always did. you were looking up at him- he'd just gone through a growth spurt, you weren't quite used to it yet, and he looked down at you. you knew you should've told him then, but you didn't. you just let him go. you didn't know if you'd ever get to say it to him. after he moved, he was busy nearly 100% of the time. you tried to keep in contact at first, but it was hard. slowly but surely, the two of you fell out of contact. you kept an eye on his career, watching all his races, no matter what odd hours of the night you had to wake up for them, reading every article about him, practically stalking the instagrams of all his new friends. you wondered if he did the same for you. while you were proud of him, it sucked to see him living such a cool life. rather, it sucked to see him live such a cool life without you.

you weren't surprised at the people that ollie ended up around- especially after he managed to get the second haas seat. now that he was in f1, he was going to fancy parties, surrounded by the most rich and glamourous people out there. you didn't expect his parents to bring you out for one of his races- you weren't sure if you even wanted to go. you hadn't seen him for years, now. hadn't spoken to him for almost as long. you really wish you hadn't gone. it was so painfully awkward seeing him again- the weird side-hug, the fact that he'd gotten even taller, his accent had even changed. he didn't even sound like the same person you used to know. the next few days weren't much better; the weird tension between you two hadn't dissipated at all. it broke your heart that the boy who used to be your favorite person in the world now just felt like another stranger. the night before you and his parents went back home, you and ollie were alone for the first time in literal years. you hadn't really made much conversation in the past few days, the tension in the air between you too thick for much of that. the awkwardness came to a head when you realized that the two of you were sitting on complete opposite sides of the room from each other, staring at your phones. you were sick of it. you used to be best friends, you could talk about anything, literally anything. and now, it was like you didn't exist to each other. you were done with it. you crossed the room, stopping right in front of him, his brown eyes looking up to meet yours, confusion evident in his face. you laid it all on him- all your frustrations over the past few years and come spilling out without filter- and in those frustrations, was your confession. he sat still, mouth agape. you regretted it immediately, turning around to leave the room and hide from your shame- but he grabbed your wrist and turned you around, you both stood still for a moment, eye contact unwavering before he pulled you in. all those years spent thinking he'd forgotten about you, he was thinking the same about you.

ISACK HADJAR

☆ childhood friends to lovers

everyone you met thought that you and isack were a couple. he brought you practically everywhere with him, his hand a constant presence in yours. you always laughed at them, at the way everyone was so sure that there was something more between the two of you. clearly the two of you were best friends- practically since birth. obviously there was nothing more between you. you were just close. very very close. you never batted an eye the way you were the first person he ran to after a race, the way he placed his hand on the small of your back while walking through a crowd, or the way he took every opportunity to touch your face; brushing your hair behind your ear or wiping some invisible food from the corner of your mouth. and he never minded the way you would plant a kiss on his cheek- dangerously close to his lips after every race, good or bad. he never minded the way you not so subtly admired the slope of his nose and the freckles that adorned it, or the way your face flushed whenever he helped you with your bags, his biceps showing clearly through the fabric of his shirt. and neither of you paid any mind to the way you got a little too close while watching tv in your apartment, his arms wrapped tightly around your back as you both laid on the couch. or the way your lips got as close as they could without actually touching when you would turn in his arms to face him. you were friends. best friends. of course you were close...

you loved isack. of course you did, how could you not? he was funny, determined, passionate, yet so gentle and sweet. of course you loved isack. the two of you were at a party- he was never much for parties, but all the other drivers and their friends would be there. you figured it'd be good for him. you got a little drunk- not drunk enough to be delirious, but drunk enough to become the most confident you'd ever been in your life. and you were jealous. very jealous. you were proud of isack for fulfilling his lifelong dream of becoming a real formula 1 driver, but that meant he was getting a lot more...attention. normally, you'd cheer him on, be proud of him, maybe tease him a little bit in the car after the event. but tonight was different. there was a pit in your stomach eating away at you. all because of the way he laughed. you were across the room, standing between kimi and ollie, no longer paying attention to the conversation. because your attention was on him- or rather, on the girl that was making him laugh. you didn't even realize you were glaring at the pair until ollie asked if you were okay. you didn't answer- instead, you marched across the room with purpose, stopping right in front of the two. isack turned to you with a smile that quickly faded as soon as he saw the look on your face. you told him you were going home. it wasn't a question. he nodded and apologized to the girl, who, on any other day, you would have felt bad for. but you took isack's hand and marched him outside to his car. he drove you home without question, and when you turned to him after he stopped outside your apartment building and asked him to come in, he said yes without hesitation. nothing happened after that, you both just laid atop the covers on your bed, eyes gazing over each others features as if you were trying to memorize the placement of every freckle, every line, every perfect imperfection. you woke up the next morning to a headache and the smell of eggs wafting in from the kitchen. when your eyes landed on isack standing over the stove, cooking breakfast for you so dutifully- you felt it. you didn't remember telling him you loved him the night before, and you didn't remember him telling you the same- but you felt it in the way he looked up at you with that pretty smile, and that little gleam in his eye. it didn't need to be said with words, you could both feel it in the way you wrapped your arms around him from behind. you loved isack hadjar. and he loved you.

JACK DOOHAN

☆ best friend's brother

you never saw jack coming. his sister had been your best friend since you started school, so jack was always just kind of...there. he was your best friend's annoying older brother- that was really it. whenever you'd stay at the doohan's house, he would barge into his sister's room just to annoy the two of you- laughing when you both yelled and pushed him out of the room. whenever you were at their house sitting on the couch watching tv with your friend, overpriced smoothie in hand, he'd descend from his upstairs room and plop down next to you, snatching your smoothie from you hand and taking a sip before you yelled at him, taking the drink back and attempting to lay a hit on him. he'd just laugh and swat your hands away before going into the kitchen and returning with snacks for you and his sister. it wasn't like you had a crush on him growing up- you really didn't. you just couldn't see him that way. he was jack. your best friend's older brother who stole your food and made fun of your clothes. you could never like jack. that was at least, until you started university. you decided to go overseas for university- leaving australia and all that came with it behind as you started this new chapter of life. italy seemed like the best bet- far enough away from home to basically start fresh, but italy was a hub for both formula 1 and motogp, so you'd still get to see your best friends whenever she'd come to the country to support her dad and brother. you'd rarely seen jack over the past couple of years, his racing career had started taking off and consuming all his time. not that you minded, of course. you were friends with his sister anyway, not him. but something shifted the first time you saw him after your big move. something was different about him- or maybe about you. either way...it was weird.

you'd come home for christmas break, excited to see your family and friends after months of awkward communication through time zones and differing schedules. you decided to visit the doohan household. like old times, you let yourself in, calling out to see if anyone was home. the house seemed empty so you kicked your shoes off and made a beeline for the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of juice that you knew your friend always had stockpiled. you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard jack's voice behind you. your jaw dropped as your turned to look at him- he was different than last time you saw him. not even really in looks, just his energy. you held an awkward conversation in the kitchen before jack rolled his eyes and invited you to his room to watch a movie until his sister got home. you swallowed the lump in your throat and followed him without question. the tension in the air was thick as you both sat stiffly on opposite sides of the bed, determined to not look at each other. it was an accident when you did- but once your eyes locked, neither of you could look away. you never saw it coming- jack doohan; your best friends brother, who poked fun at your haircuts, rolled his eyes whenever you spoke, and ruffled your hair when he passed by. somehow, at the drop of a dime, you were in love with jack doohan. if you'd have told your middle school self that you'd end up making out with jack- your best friend's older brother, jack- on his bed, you'd have wrinkled your nose in disgust and called yourself a liar. but here you were, with your hands in his hair and his on your waist, and it was no lie. you loved jack doohan.

taglist: @revelauver @bear-yawns

[tom-whore-dleston]

Better Boyfriend

Pairing: Void!Bob Reynolds x f. reader

Word Count: 1.8k

This fic includes: spoilers from Thunderbolts*, angst, flashbacks of past relationships, arguments between reader and exes, cursing, minor violence?, drowning, unedited writing

Summary: You encounter Void and revisit ex-relationships you never recovered from.

Notes: The fact this is the second piece I wrote in a row just shows how I am soo back!! I feel like this character is really challenging me as a writer and I love it! With that said, I am still gonna take whatever y'all throw at me that's Bob related. On a more serious note, I should mention that the flashbacks are based on my real life experiences so writing about them felt like lifting a huge weight off my chest. Dove Cameron's Boyfriend was used as loose inspiration for the fic.

request: KINDA NEED SOMETHING FOR VOID !!! LIKE WANT HIM OBSESSED OR SOMETHING PLEASE PLEASE -Anon

The day you got trapped in the void was like any other day. 

You were taking a walk in the city, coffee in hand, when you noticed a crowd of bystanders staring up in the sky. Your curiosity got the best of you as the crowd began gasping with frightened looks on their faces. Head tilting towards the sky, you found a shadow-like figure floating in mid-air. All of a sudden, some people in the crowd turned to black shadows, causing everyone to panic and run in the opposite direction of the floating figure. One by one, civilians turned to dark shadows, yet you remained calm and unphased by the chaos around you. After being a victim of the snap, you were numb to encounters with out of this world evil.

The shadowy figure descended from the sky, landing slowly in front of you. He had these intense illuminating eyes, a huge contrast from the literal darkness that consumed his form. An arm reached out towards your face. 

You should have been afraid. You should have screamed and ran away. Anything for the sake of your life. Instead, you let this human-esque darkness touch you, caress your cheek, and you clasped your own hand over his.

Then, everything went black.

You were unsure of how long you had been asleep. You couldn’t even recognize where you were upon waking up. It felt like you had woken up from an awful hangover, except you don’t recall drinking at all.

Actually, everything looked strangely familiar. You blinked before realizing you were in the backseat of the first car you had ever owned. The leather of the interior was still brand new, the inside smelt like pineapples and coconuts. You looked forward, seeing who was in the driver and passenger seat, gasping when you realized it was your high school self with your first ever boyfriend, Neil.

“I think we should take a break,” Neil solemnly stated. 

Your high school self stuttered, “What? W-why? Did I do something wrong?” Tears began to form in your eyes as your voice started to crack. You felt your stomach churn, remembering your first heartbreak. Meanwhile, neither your younger self nor your ex paid any mind to you in the backseat. It was as if you were invisible to them. This had to have been a dream, a really horrible one.

“I’m going to the Navy, babe. I need to learn how to be without you.” Neil bowed his head down in sorrow.

“What about me, huh? Was this all a part of your plan? Join the Navy so you could leave me and forget all about me. Is there someone else? Are you in love with someone else?” You remembered every word you screamed at your ex-boyfriend as he sat there in silence, not making any attempts to calm you down, reassure you that he loved you. It was as if he had given up without a fight. The silence angered your high school self, but angered you even more that you were watching this terrible memory like it was on a movie screen.

“Get out! Get out of my fuckin car, asshole!” Your past self shouted, hot tears streaming down your face. Right on cue, Neil left the vehicle without as much as an apology nor goodbye. As the passenger door slammed after him, you violently screamed, slamming your fists against the driving wheel. It was all too much for you.

As you climbed out of the backseat, you fell down a pit of darkness, yelling out in terror. For the first time today, you experienced genuine fear as you had no idea what was happening or where this never ending pit would lead you to. The moment you landed on a hard surface, you grunted in pain.

You crawled on the carpeted floor, searching for clues as to where you ended up next. You felt like Alice in Wonderland, growing madder by the second. Your head banged against a bed frame, quietly yelping in hopes whoever occupied the bed did not hear you. Slowly getting up, you scan the scene, vividly remembering the trip you took with your second ex-boyfriend from college, Max.

That unsettling feeling your stomach returned as you peered down at you and Max lying in a queen size hotel bed. There was a space between you and him on the bed, enough to fit another person. You recalled traveling to Hawaii in hopes it would salvage your relationship. However, not even paradise could fix what was long broken. Something you and Max constantly fought about was having kids. After working in childcare for a year, you had expressed disinterest in having kids, but Max refused to accept your stance. Before he fell asleep, he brought up the topic again.

“I can just imagine us having all daughters. I’d love to be a girl dad that raises them to be basketball players. Like Kobe Bryant or something. I’d love and protect our daughters with all my might and I hope that one day you would learn to love basketball the way we all do. We could be a basketball family.” Max continued to go on about this fantasy that you could not provide for him until the blabbing turned to equally obnoxious snores. However, you couldn’t fall asleep.

The past you watched the minutes turn to hours until you couldn’t stand being in the same bed as the man you were supposed to love, but secretly resented to your core. Younger you walked ahead of you, and you followed right behind her. The Hawaiian waves crashed onto the shore, and the breeze tickled your skin as you began sobbing into the sleeve of a hotel bathrobe. Your present self tried to hug this younger version of you. Once you wrapped your arms around her, or you, the younger you snapped her head towards you, yanking you off her. Before you could react, you were pushed off the balcony, tumbling towards the beach.

You belly-flopped into the water, slowly sinking from the surface. You swam with all your might towards the light but it faded from your view. As your lungs and muscles began to give out, the darkness grew and everything turned black again.

Suddenly, you were scooped into a pair of strong arms, and you felt yourself approaching the surface at an atomic speed. As you emerged from the sea, you gasped a breath of fresh air before coughing out salt water. You were laid out on the sand, flipping over to catch your breath. Once you were breathing normally, you turned towards your savior, and you jumped back upon meeting that same dark shadow that stared into your soul.

“You!” You pointed with a trembling finger. “W-What did you do to me?” 

The dark figure chuckled. “I am The Void. I am that emptiness you try so hard to hide from the world and yourself.” 

It all made sense now. The flashbacks of your past exes were all memories you shoved to the back of your mind and eventually deep in the center of your being. You’ve conditioned yourself to believe you were the reason Neil left you and that you were the reason you couldn’t give Max what he wanted.

“I know what you're thinking, my dear,” The Void started, interrupting your thoughts. “You believe you are the reason all these relationships failed.” He smoothed a leather-clad hand over your hair and then rested it on your jaw. “However, I know that’s not true. These pathetic excuses of men failed you! And don’t get me started on the ones that you never actually dated.”

“Yeah, you know what, I’ve revisited enough of my past relationships, I would like to not dig into those now…or ever.”

The Void chuckled again, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You couldn’t help but shiver at his touch. He didn’t even have a face you could make out, yet you found yourself intrigued with him, dare you say attracted even. Well, it’s no wonder people have claimed you have questionable taste.

“I like you, little one.” Jeez, even his voice was hot. “I can’t help but be fascinated by you.”

You scoffed. “Says the one that basically forced me to watch my buried trauma like it was a goddamn soap opera.” You sat up, curling your legs towards your chest. “What about me makes you so fascinated by me anyway.” The Void loomed over you like a ghost.

“You’re not afraid of me. Or the darkness.”

“True, but I am pissed off at you.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms against your knees. The Void nodded, as if he was listening to you. He was even facing his body towards you. Something no normal guy has ever done with you. You may be angry with this super being, but at least he validated your anger. 

The Void continued, “I am curious about you, little one, and I know that despite your anger, you are curious about me too.” You wanted to add a sarcastic comment, but he stopped you. “You can hide behind your sass and sarcasm all you want, but eventually, you will see me for who I really am.”

Finally, you turned towards him, meeting that empty yet alluring gaze. “And who are you?”

“I am better than any man you have ever been with...because I am more than a man. I have the powers of a god. I can make you feel better, treat you better, than any other man has before. I can love you better than any man has before.” You didn’t realize how close he was to you until the last sentence fell from his lips and you could almost taste it straight from the source. Your body ached with desire and your eyes grew heavy with need. You craved to know what this being looked like behind the darkness. That darkness was only a shell of a man you yearned for.

“Show me,” you whispered, inches away from what could be his mouth. “Please.”

“I will, my dear.” You could hear the smile in his sultry voice. “But first, you must give in to me.”

With that, you pulled him by what felt like a suit, crushing your lips against him. Without hesitation, he deepened the kiss, tangling one hand into your hair while the other clasped behind your neck. In an instant, you began to levitate off the ground, still indulging in the kiss with your bodies pressed against one another. The sunrise from your Hawaii vacation transformed into the same darkness you were previously consumed by. 

All of a sudden, it was as if you found solace in the emptiness with The Void. You swore you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Navigation | Fic Masterlist | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds Masterlist

[hanniebaeee]

Call Me Yours

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: established relationship, soft fluffy smut

Summary: Just you and your boyfriend needing each other on a quiet night.

a/n: I think I may be experiencing a writer's block. Please forgive me if this is a mess! Also I love my frat boy Jinnie from Call It What You Want, so this is the same couple from that fic. You can read it here:

Call It What You Want

It was a quiet night, and your bedroom was bathed in the golden glow of the fairy lights hanging above the headboard. You were lying on your bed, propped up on pillows, wearing one of Hyunjin’s shirts - a little too big for you, slipping down your shoulder. Your eyes were fixed on your phone, occasionally glancing up to peek at your boyfriend, who was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, sketchbook in his lap. The charcoal pencil in his hand moved in slow, deliberate strokes - he was drawing you, as he often did, his eyes flicking between the paper and your form with a soft smile that made your heart ache.

“You’re staring,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your voice was teasing, but there was a flush creeping up your neck under his gaze.

“Can’t help it,” Hyunjin replied, his voice a low hum, like he was confessing a sin. 

He bit his lower lip, and looked back into his sketchbook, hair falling into his eyes. And it made him look like a damn dream.

“It’s literally your fault for being so beautiful.” 

You rolled your eyes, but the compliment settled in your chest, warm and heavy.

“Flatterer," you quipped. 

“Truth-teller,” he countered, setting the sketchbook aside.

The pencil rolled onto the bed, forgotten, as he crawled toward you, slowly. He stopped when he was hovering over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other reaching to trace the exposed curve of your shoulder where his shirt had slipped. His fingers were warm and featherlight, and you shivered despite the heat in the room.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, your hands finding his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He was so close that you could feel his breath, sweet from the peach tea you two had shared earlier.

“I love you,” he said, simple and raw, the words slipping out smoothly, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours - not quite a kiss but a promise for more. 

And that little smirk on his face was all it took for you to close the distance, kissing him softly. His lips moved with a gentleness that stoked the heat building between you. The kiss deepened, unhurried, his tongue brushing yours, coaxing a quiet whimper from your throat.

Hyunjin shifted, guiding you to lie back fully, his body following yours until he was half-draped over you. The weight of him is comforting, grounding, but the way his hands roamed, sliding under the shirt to trace your ribs, grazing the sensitive skin just below your bra - set your nerves on fire. His touch was soft, like he was mapping every inch of you. 

“You feel so good,” he murmured, lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat. “Like you were made for me.”

He kissed the hollow of your collarbone, lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. Your hands slipped under his t-shirt, fingers splaying across the smooth expanse of his back, feeling the subtle flex of muscle as he moves.

“You’re so sappy,” you teased, but your voice was shaky, betraying how much he was unraveling you.

“Sappy?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, one eyebrow raised, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m romantic, babe. There’s a difference.”

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, swallowing your laughter as his hands slid higher, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra, making you arch into him. He took the cue, his kisses trailing lower, following the open V of the shirt. He nudged the fabric aside with his nose, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses on your breasts - and it was like he was worshipping you, like he was painting you with every touch. 

“Jinnie,” you breathed, tugging gently at his hair, and he groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. He looked up at you, eyes heavy-lidded, lips pink and swollen from kissing, and the sight alone was enough to make your stomach flip.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice husky but laced with that same tenderness, like he’d give you the moon if you asked. His hand rested on your hip, fingers dipping just under the waistband of your shorts, pausing there, warm and patient.

“You,” you said simply, because it was the truth, and it was enough. His smile was radiant, soft and sharp all at once, and he kissed you like he was sealing a vow, his body pressing closer until there’s no space left between you.

His hands slid down, cupping your ass to pull you closer, and you whimpered as you felt the hard outline of him through his sweatpants. 

You were too gone by that point, lifting your hips just enough for him to shove the shirt up, and pull your shorts and panties down.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, fumbling with his own pants, and sliding into you in a single push, stretching you completely. You both moaned with pleasure, but then, neither of you moved.

Because for once, this wasn't about sex. It really wasn't. It was about the comfort of being together - you felt him pulsing deep inside you, like he was home. And he pulled you closer, chest to chest, your legs tangled, his lips brushing your forehead.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, sighing as you nuzzled into his neck, mumbling a “Love you too.”

You inhaled his scent as your walls clenched lazily around him. No orgasm-chasing, no urgency. You both were just there, so warm and intimate as he filled you so perfectly - like you were made for each other.

You could feel the slow, unconscious rocking of his hips, your clit brushing his pelvis, sending tiny jolts of pleasure through you, and you held on tight, just feeling him and it was the most safest you've ever felt. 

Hyunjin’s hands slid under your shirt again, squeezing your breasts, thumbs grazing your nipples, and you gasped, your walls fluttering around him.

“Sensitive,” you whined. 

“Good,” he slurred, kissing you again, all wet and sloppy. “Wanna stay inside you forever. Just like this.”

You were both drifting, so cosy in each other’s arms. This moment was too perfect, and you smiled as he whispered a sleepy, “Love you.” 

“Love you too, baby,” you said, fingers carding through his short hair. 

And you fell asleep like that, bodies joined, hearts entwined, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

[notreallythatlost]

LITERALLY ME SEEING THE NOTIFICATION AND THAT IT IS A VAMPIRE BUCKY FIC:

Not in water — in silk, in smoke, in heat. In him.

god, it hasn’t even started and i’m already lying on the floor in ecstasy

Tall. Broad. Dressed in black like the night belonged to him.

HOLY SHIT CAN IT GET ANY HOTTER?? (and i’m only at the beginning)

“Yours.”

Your therapist could not find out about this. 

the therapist wouldn’t even believe a word

A scar split his eyebrow. Another carved through the side of his throat.

damn rach, you really want me to die over here, right??

“I’ve had many names,”

THE SAURON REFERENCE I’M SCREAMING

When he broke away, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and his fangs were showing.

when i tell you my whole body is shaking

No — hunted.

goosebumps. goosebumps all over my body.

I’ve been waiting for you. — James Buchanan Barnes.

oh damn you, JAMES FUCKING BARNES

“Every time you dreamed of me. Every time you whispered my name. Every time your hand slipped beneath your sheets with me in your head—you called me.”

“I won’t,” he said, eyes glowing. “But I’m not going to be gentle either.”

OH GOD PLEASE DONT BE GENTLE

..it’s blackened steel, marked with strange golden runes and claw-like scars etched deep into the plating.

FUCK THE ARM IM SHAKING

“So wet for me,” he muttered, voice guttural, feral. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

DRIPPING WET—LIKE THE PACIFIC OCEAN

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Could only feel him splitting you open and filling you, claiming every inch like it belonged to him.

i ummm… i didn’t realize i was drooling holy shit

Warmth, pressure, ecstasy. Your second orgasm tore through you as he drank — deep and reverent, like a man starved of salvation.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT OF THE HOLIEST SHIT (i know, i know… language)

this was the HOTTEST thing EVER. okay that’s a lie, everything you write is hot but this—this is a new level of it. and i’m completely obsessed. so now excuse me, i gotta go. reading it over and over again until i’m a puddle on the floor (as if i wasn’t already lol)

taste of you [vampire!bucky barnes x f!reader]

Synopsis: You’ve always dreamed of him—ice blue eyes, a dangerous smile, and a hunger that feels too real to forget. But when dreams slip into reality, you find yourself caught between desire and damnation. He’s waited a century for you… and he won’t wait another night.

Rating/Warnings: 18+ explicit content, smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, public sex, dub-con (?), biting, horror elements, vampires obvs— mentions of blood, dream walking, allusions to stalking, allusions to murder, Possessive!Bucky, you are desperate, dark romance, alternate universe

Word count: 3600>

Author’s Note: My first ever supernatural themed fic? I don’t think I’ve ever wrote anything like this before so, I’m feeling super nervous to share. Vampire!Bucky was something @ava-starrs-girlfriend put into my head, and gave me the green light to share my idea on it!

── .✦ Bucky Barnes Masterlist

The first time you dreamed of him, it felt like drowning.

Not in water — in silk, in smoke, in heat. In him.

You were in a room that wasn’t yours. High ceilings, windows that bled moonlight, a bed draped in red velvet. Somewhere far off, a record hissed low, a mournful jazz tune threading through the air like incense. The kind of place that clung to you. The kind of place you'd never been, but somehow knew.

You stood barefoot on cold stone, your breath misting like winter. The air tasted of copper and something sweet — like wine on someone else's lips. Every hair on your body stood on end.

And then he stepped out of the shadows.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in black like the night belonged to him.

You couldn’t see his face — not really — just a glint of silver at his hand, and the glimmer of eyes too blue to be real. They raked over you with heat, dragging up from your ankles, your hips, your chest. Not leering. Claiming.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You should have run. Instead, you stood there, heart galloping, blood roaring in your ears — because something inside you whispered you know him. Your soul reacted before your brain could. The fear melted beneath the heat curling low in your stomach.

His footsteps echoed softly as he crossed the room.

You didn’t breathe until he was right in front of you — close enough to smell. Spice and ash. Rain and old paper. Something ancient. Something wrong. Something perfect.

He raised a hand and ghosted his knuckles down your cheek. Cold skin that left a trail of fire. You shivered, and he smiled.

“Been a long time,” he murmured.

His voice was dark velvet — old-world charm stretched over something rougher, deeper, dangerous. Your lips parted, but no words came. His thumb traced your bottom lip, slow and reverent.

“Do you know why you dream of me?” he asked.

You swallowed. Shook your head.

He stepped closer, chest brushing yours. “Because I’ve been dreaming of you, too.”

Then his hand slid to your neck — not choking, just resting, his thumb pressed to your fluttering pulse. You tilted your chin without meaning to. His mouth hovered over yours, and the moment stretched — hot and thick and unbearable.

You whispered, “Who are you?”

His lips brushed your jaw. His breath stirred your hair. And he said, low and dangerous:

“Yours.”

You woke with a gasp, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, thighs clenched, heart pounding.

And still — still — you swore you could feel his hand on your throat.

It had been weeks since this man had started visiting you in your dreams, and now it was a nightly thing. Routine. Too much to be a coincidence. Hell, you’d hate to admit it, but part of you looked forward to it. His lingering touch and his words laced with honey. Your therapist could not find out about this. 

But your hand had drifted to your neck sometime after midnight — to that same spot where he’d touched you in the very first dream. You didn’t remember closing your eyes.

You didn’t remember slipping under.

But you remembered him.

The room was the same as always. Cold stone, velvet sheets, soft shadows stretching like fingers across the floor. But this time, there was no distance between you.

He was already there.

Behind you.

You felt him before you saw him — a presence at your back, heat pouring off him in waves. His breath ghosted over your bare shoulder, and you shuddered.

“You came back,” he murmured.

“I didn’t mean to.”

His chuckle was soft. Amused. “No one ever does.”

He didn’t touch you — not yet — but you felt the space between you shrink. Your body lit up like it was wired to his, like his nearness alone could bend your spine, tilt your head, open your mouth.

“I still don’t know your name,” you whispered.

“You will.”

You closed your eyes. “Are you real?”

That question hung between you, thick as smoke. He didn’t answer. Instead, you felt the press of his hand — low on your abdomen, fingers splayed just beneath your navel, grounding you, possessive without being forceful.

“I shouldn’t let you come back,” he said softly, lips at your ear now. “It gets harder to stay away.”

He dragged his hand upward, slow, slow, until your breath caught in your throat. When it reached your sternum, he splayed it flat, just over your heart. His touch was cold, but it burned. Everything in you turned molten.

Your body was betraying you.

“I wake up aching,” you breathed. “Why do I feel you after I wake?”

“Because I leave pieces of myself behind,” he said.

He turned you slowly to face him.

This time, you saw him.

Blue eyes, impossibly blue. Long lashes, dark brows pulled into a faint furrow — like he was constantly torn between tenderness and hunger. His mouth was plush and unsmiling. A scar split his eyebrow. Another carved through the side of his throat.

“Who are you?” you asked again.

He cupped your face with both hands, and this time his voice was hoarse, almost reverent.

“I’ve had many names,” he said. “But yours is the only one I crave on my tongue.”

Then he kissed you.

And it was nothing like you’d imagined. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet.

It was starving.

He kissed you like he needed it to live. Like you were something vital, something he’d been denied for too long. His lips claimed yours, his tongue slid deep, his hand twisted into your hair. You clung to him like gravity had failed, and only he could anchor you.

When he broke away, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and his fangs were showing.

Not fully.

Just enough.

“I shouldn’t touch you yet,” he whispered. “You’re not ready.”

Your voice was hoarse when you said, “For what?”

His eyes darkened. He leaned down, kissed the side of your neck — just a brush — and your knees almost buckled.

“To be mine.”

You woke with a moan caught in your throat, blankets kicked to the floor, skin flushed and slick with sweat.

And your neck?

Still tingled.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You weren’t planning on going out.

You hadn’t slept properly in days. The dreams were getting worse — or better, depending on how you looked at them. Last night, you woke up gasping his name. You didn’t even know his name. And yet it was on your lips like a prayer, or a curse.

So when your friend dragged you out to a downtown club, you figured a little noise, a little vodka, and a lot of distraction might snap you out of it.

But the second you walked through the doors, your skin prickled.

Something was off.

It wasn’t the music — a throbbing bass-heavy track that vibrated in your chest — or the lights, which flickered in pulsing shades of red. It wasn’t the crowd either, though they pressed in tight, loud and laughing and drunk on Saturday-night sin.

It was the feeling.

Like you were being watched.

No — hunted.

You brushed it off. Dismissed the chill. Ordered a drink. Laughed when your friend pulled you toward the dance floor.

But that feeling stayed — low in your spine, coiled around your ribs. Like a string was tied to your chest, tugging you toward something you couldn’t see.

And then you did see him.

At first, he blended into the shadows above the main floor, just another dark figure in the mezzanine. But the moment your eyes locked, the rest of the world fell away.

Time stopped.

He wasn’t dancing.

He wasn’t drinking.

He just stood there — still as stone — with one hand resting on the brass railing, the other tucked into the pocket of a long black coat. His face was half-cast in shadow, but his eyes… those eyes.

They glowed faintly in the red strobe light. Icy blue. Familiar.

Dream-blue.

Your stomach dropped. You blinked hard.

No. No way.

He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. He was just a figment — a fever dream stitched together by sleepless nights and too much alcohol and your traitorous imagination.

And yet…

He didn’t look away.

You did. You had to.

Your breath came shallow as you turned back to the bar, heart racing. You tossed back your drink like it could burn him out of your system. When your friend leaned in to say something, you barely heard her.

Because you could feel him still.

Watching.

Claiming.

Like you’d walked into his territory, not the other way around.

You turned back to the mezzanine.

He was gone.

A soft thud startled you — the bartender setting another glass in front of you. You shook your head. “I didn’t order—”

“It’s already paid for,” he said. “Guy said to give you this, too.”

A folded scrap of thick black paper.

You unfolded it slowly. Your hands trembled.

I’ve been waiting for you. — James Buchanan Barnes.

Your pulse stuttered.

And somewhere deep inside you, something clicked into place. The name. You knew it.

Not from this world.

But from your dreams.

You pushed the note into your bra and with shaky hands, whipped out your phone, the bright white light illuminating your face in the dark club. Sipping on your drink that the ghost had bought for you, you narrowed your eyes, focusing on the Google search.

James Buchanan Barnes. Brooklyn, NY.

No relevant searches. Just the obituaries for a man who died in 1945. Disappeared before the war could end. Left a surviving sister. Never seen again. That would make him at least 100 years old now. It couldn’t be…

That would be impossible.

You left the club before midnight.

Told your friend you had a headache. Lied through your teeth. You couldn’t tell her the truth — that the air in there felt too heavy, too thick with him. That you kept seeing those blue eyes everywhere. That you could still feel his gaze, sliding over your skin like a velvet rope.

You just needed air.

Needed to forget.

But the moment you stepped into the alley behind the club, the night folded in around you like a trap.

The city was loud on the other side of the brick wall — traffic, shouting, laughter — but here, in the narrow space between the buildings, everything went still.

You turned right.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall beneath a broken red light, half-shadowed. Waiting.

Just waiting.

Your breath caught. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

His coat was open now, revealing a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hands were in his pockets. His head tilted slightly to one side, like he was studying you.

“Don’t scream,” he said softly.

You didn’t plan to.

Your body betrayed you instantly — pulse fluttering, mouth parting, that now-familiar ache building low and hot. Even your dreams hadn’t prepared you for how devastating he was in the flesh. Older than he looked. Timeless. Unnerving. Beautiful in a way that felt unnatural.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

You took a step back anyway. “Who are you?”

He didn’t move from the wall. Didn’t smile.

“You already know.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. You’re—this isn’t real.”

“I’ve been in your dreams for weeks.”

His voice was calm. Deep. That dark velvet again. “You’ve felt me watching you. Craving you.”

Your back hit the opposite wall. The cold brick grounded you.

“What do you want from me?” you whispered.

His gaze dropped — slowly — from your eyes to your lips, then lower. Taking you in, like he’d done from the shadows. Like he’d done every night.

“I want you to stop pretending you don’t want this too.”

You swallowed hard. Heat coiled in your gut. “You’re not—human.”

He stepped closer now, finally pushing off the wall. His boots were silent on the pavement.

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

He moved like liquid shadow, fluid and controlled. When he reached you, he didn’t touch you. He just stood there, close enough to taste. The scent of him hit you — leather, smoke, something cold and earthy like a forest at night.

You tilted your chin defiantly. “You’ve been haunting me.”

His eyes darkened. “You called me.”

A beat of silence. Then:

“Every time you dreamed of me. Every time you whispered my name. Every time your hand slipped beneath your sheets with me in your head—you called me.”

Your cheeks burned.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “And now I’m here.”

Still, he didn’t touch you.

He just watched as you trembled beneath his gaze. As your body betrayed your fear — and your hunger.

“I should let you go,” he said, almost to himself. “You don’t know what I am. What I’ve done. I kill men who look at you the wrong way.”

Your breath hitched. Your thighs pressed together. A horrible, horrible part of you liked the way he said it. Like he’d already done it.

You took a step back, your gut telling you to run.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, voice low, smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous.

Your back hit the brick wall. You weren’t sure if it was fear or desire — maybe both — but your breath stuttered.

“You—” you began.

“I know,” he said.

He was in front of you now. Cornering you. Close. So close. The scent of him hit you — woodsmoke, leather, the faintest copper note that made your stomach twist with something primal.

“You shouldn’t be real,” you whispered.

He smiled then. A slow, devastating curve of his lips. He pressed forward — one hand gripping your hip, the other braced against the wall beside your head. Your gasp escaped before you could catch it, heat flooding your body.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, mouth ghosting your jaw.

You didn’t.

His lips trailed lower, to your neck, and lingered. He didn’t bite. Not yet. But you felt his breath there, the drag of his nose along your pulse.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he rasped. “Watched you. Hungered for you.”

His hand slid down your side, slow, claiming. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging up your thigh until you whimpered.

Your voice trembled. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I won’t,” he said, eyes glowing. “But I’m not going to be gentle either.”

His mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really — it was a claim. All teeth and tongue, rough and demanding, like he meant to consume you. You moaned into it, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as your body arched into his.

He groaned, low in his throat. Like the taste of you had undone him.

“Fuck,” he growled against your mouth. “You taste— exactly like I knew you would.”

Then he dragged your leg up around his hip, pressing you harder into the wall, the sharp bite of brick against your back barely registering over the dizzying heat flooding your core. His hand found its way to your thighs, his touch teasing, skilled, possessive.

You gasped at the sound: a faint, mechanical whir, like gears shifting. Metal. You blinked. The arm holding you up wasn’t flesh—it’s blackened steel, marked with strange golden runes and claw-like scars etched deep into the plating.

He saw the question on your face. The way your eyes flicked down to where his hand gripped your thigh like it was made for nothing else.

“They didn’t just turn me,” he growls. “They rebuilt me.”

His voice is like gravel dragged through blood.

“Who?” you breathe.

His mouth brushes your jaw, your throat. Not biting—savoring. His voice is low, hateful.

“Hydra. They called it an enhancement. A fusion of sorcery and science. Said a soldier like me deserved to live forever.” His nose skims your skin. “Didn’t tell me I’d have to feed to stay sane.”

Your breath stutters. “And now?”

His lips hover over the pulse in your neck.

“Now I’ve gone longer than I should. And you—” his hand slides between your thighs, metal fingers dragging over your panties like he’s memorizing you— “you’ve been dreaming of this. Of me.”

You whimper, hips lifting into the pressure.

His flesh hand slid up under your dress like he had every right to be there, dragging hot fingers along your thigh until they met your underwear. He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask.

Just hooked a finger under the soaked fabric and tore it aside.

A sharp gasp escaped you. His gaze darkened.

“I’ve imagined you like this,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw. “Begging. Wet. Mine.”

He was everywhere — his mouth at your throat, his voice in your ear, his fingers pushing you toward the edge. Your body betrayed you with every sound, every roll of your hips into his palm.

And as the tension inside you snapped — as he held you through it, murmuring your name like a vow — you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t the end of a dream.

It was the beginning of something you wouldn’t be able to walk away from.

He kissed like a man who was finally touching what he’d starved for, and you couldn’t keep up. Your body just responded, thighs trembling, hands in his hair, heart galloping like prey.

“So wet for me,” he muttered, voice guttural, feral. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Two fingers slid between your folds — slow, hot, claiming. He growled low at the way you clenched around him, like he felt how long you’d been dreaming of this. Of him.

“Is this what you needed?” he rasped, pumping them deeper. “When you touched yourself at night? You wanted this?”

You moaned — high and breathless — as his thumb found your clit and circled hard. He fingered you fast, rough, filthy, like he couldn’t get deep enough, fast enough. Like he needed to brand you from the inside out.

“Say it,” he demanded, his lips against your jaw. “Tell me you wanted me.”

“I wanted you,” you gasped, hips grinding into his palm. “I want you.”

He groaned — a broken, inhuman sound — and curled his fingers just right. You cried out, clinging to him as your orgasm built with terrifying speed.

“Come for me,” he hissed. “Let me feel it.”

You shattered in his hands — body jerking, thighs trembling, cries muffled by his mouth as he swallowed every sound, devoured your pleasure like it was blood on his tongue.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled back — barely — just enough to undo his belt with shaking hands, shoving his pants low enough to free himself. You barely had time to register the size of him before he gripped your hips and slammed into you in one long, brutal thrust.

Your gasp turned into a cry.

“Fuck,” he snarled. “Fuck, yes. You were made for this.”

He fucked you hard, fast, grinding you into the brick with every thrust. One hand on your ass, the other in your hair, keeping you where he wanted you — pinned, shaking, his. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Could only feel him splitting you open and filling you, claiming every inch like it belonged to him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, forehead pressed to yours. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you whispered, dazed. “I’m yours.”

His rhythm faltered — something primal tearing through him. His face buried in your neck, lips brushing your pulse point.

“You don’t know what that means to me,” he breathed. “I’ve waited so long to find you. To touch you. To drink you.”

He hovered there, teeth scraping your throat — holding back with every ounce of strength he had.

“I want to bite you,” he confessed, voice trembling. “But not without you saying yes.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Do it.”

And that was all it took.

He drove into you one last time, groaning as he came — thick, hot, possessive. His hips stuttered, cock pulsing inside you — and then you felt the sharp sting of his fangs piercing your throat.

The pain was white-hot for a heartbeat.

Then it melted into pleasure.

Warmth, pressure, ecstasy. Your second orgasm tore through you as he drank — deep and reverent, like a man starved of salvation.

He held you through it, arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go, mouth sealed to your neck like you were his altar.

And when he finally pulled back, blood on his lips, eyes glowing with something ancient and broken — he kissed your mouth again, slow and deep.

You weren’t dreaming anymore.

You were his.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

[boopiemadz]

okay this literally came to me in a dream but like lowkey pre crash travis and (fem) reader r like best friends and go to one of lotties houseparties and trav ends up getting way too drunk and emotional so reader has to drive him to her house and take care of him (and maybe tells reader he has feelings for her 🫢🫢) because i just know this man YAPS when he’s drunk

TS IS SO CUTE OML. I might combust reading this back bro, I love a good drunk confession 🤭🤭🤭. I cant put effort into adding warnings anymore so, just dont read if sensitive ig... anyways here u go bae!

[Drunk words are sober thoughts]

You and Travis weren't the kind of best friends who told each other everything. You were the kind that didn’t talk about feelings, because if you did, the whole thing might shatter.

You’d met in middle school during a group project. Ever since, there was this weird, stubborn loyalty between you. You were one of the only people who saw the soft, quietly funny, sometimes-stupid version of Travis that lived underneath all the brooding.

Now, in senior year, nothing had changed, except that everything had. Every brush of his hand against yours stuck in your head for days. Every time you made him laugh, it lit you up like a light switch.

But you didn’t talk about that. That would ruin everything.

“Lottie’s throwing one of her weird mansion parties tonight.”

You glance up from your locker. He’s leaning against the one next to yours, arms crossed, doing that thing where he looks anywhere but at you when he’s trying to sound casual.

“So?”

“So,” he shrugs, “you’re going, right?”

“Do I look like I want to get wine drunk next to Jackie and her cocky boyfriend?”

Travis snorts. “Kinda. Yeah.”

You squint at him. “Wait, do you want to go?”

“I mean... if you go.”

And there it is, one of those sentences that hovers in the air, daring you to make it mean more than it does.

You lean your shoulder into your locker and smirk. “Wow. You’re inviting yourself to hang out with me?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. Barely. “I’m just saying. Could be fun.”

You pretend not to notice how his voice goes soft when he says that. How he never uses that tone with anyone else.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

By the time the sun starts to set, you’re regretting your outfit and the fact that you even agreed. Lottie’s house is the kind of place where even the people who hate each other pose for pictures together.

You pull into Travis’s driveway and honk once. He jogs out a second later, unzipped carhartt jacket over a worn tee, hair still wet from a rushed shower.

“Hey,” he says, climbing in. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you say, a little too quickly. “You look like... you.”

“Wow. That’s flattering.”

You grin as you pull back onto the street. “You’re welcome.”

The ride is quiet after that, but not uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that’s normal for you two, like pressing pause on the world before walking into the chaos together.

When you get to Lottie’s house, the party is already alive, music pulsing, kids swarming the porch, smoke curling out from the side yard.

Travis hangs back a step as you approach the door. “If I end up getting alcohol poisoning,” he mutters, “you better not leave me for dead.”

You nudge his arm. “I’d drag your half-conscious body to safety. Maybe.”

“You’re such a good friend.”

But he says it in a weird voice. Half-teasing, half-sincere.

---

After a while, Travis disappears, something about needing another drink, or maybe just needing a breather. Either way, he slips off into the crowd, and you don’t follow.

You find the girls again, this time in the living room where someone’s pushed the coffee table against the wall and turned the place into a dance floor. Music blasts through the speakers. Van grabs your hand before you can second guess it. “Get over here, party girl!”

You laugh, already pulled into the middle of the room, where Jackie and Taissa are dancing like they don’t care who’s watching. Natalie’s nearby too, drink in hand, swaying lazily with a detached kind of rhythm.

“Where’s your brooding boyfriend?” Van shouts over the music, still holding onto your wrist.

“He’s not my…” You try to yell back, but Jackie cuts you off by spinning into you, hands on your hips, eyes gleaming.

“Oh my god, shut up. Just dance!”

You do.

At first it’s just goofy, half-dancing, half-laughing, letting go of whatever weird weight’s been hanging around your neck all night. Suddenly, you’re pressed between Tai and Van, all hips and hair and the kind of reckless freedom that only happens at house parties hosted by girls with no limits.

Taissa’s behind you in a second, grinning against your shoulder. “Look at you! Who is she?”

You laugh so hard it burns, head tipped back, hands in the air. Someone’s grinding against you, one of the girls, and for a second you stop thinking about Travis entirely.

You feel electric. Unstoppable.

“Holy shit,” Natalie says from the couch, watching the chaos unfold. “You’re like... five seconds away from making that boy combust.”

You slow a little, breath catching. “What boy?”

She just raises an eyebrow. “You know exactly which one.”

But before you can reply, someone stumbles past, and your heart lurches a little.

Because it’s Travis.

He’s across the room now, red Solo cup in hand, hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes scan the crowd like he’s trying to find something, or someone. But he doesn’t see you yet.

When he does, he stops dead.

You freeze, too.

And for a second, the noise fades.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something.

But then someone calls his name, probably one of the guys, and he vanishes again, swallowed back into the crowd like he was never there.

You stay rooted in place, pulse loud in your ears, warmth still buzzing from the dancing, but now with a different kind of burn.

Mari leans in, hair stuck to her cheek. “You should probably go find your boy.”

You pretend not to hear her.

But your feet are already moving.

---

The air upstairs feels hotter, heavier, like the party's heat and sweat followed you up. You weave through the crowd, past couples pressed against walls and kids laughing too loudly, until you finally spot him, slumped sideways in an armchair in what looks like some weirdly formal sitting room.

Travis has his legs sprawled out in front of him, drink in hand, jacket missing, hair a mess. He’s flushed and a little glassy-eyed, talking to someone who’s not even listening anymore, some JV soccer girl already halfway out the door.

“Hey,” you say, stepping inside. “Are you alive?”

He blinks like it takes him a second to recognize you. Then he grins. “There she is.” You fold your arms. “I turn my back for five minutes and you vanish.”

He holds up his cup like it explains everything. “Hydration.”

“Right. Is that what we’re calling vodka now?”

“Could be,” he says with a crooked smile. “Also could be tequila. I genuinely don’t know.” You step closer, studying him. “You look like you’re losing a very polite fight with gravity.”

“I’m winning, actually. This chair loves me.” You raise an eyebrow. “That why you’re trying to flirt with underclassmen now?”

He snorts. “She started it.”

You smirk. “So what, you rebounding from something?”

Travis shrugs, a little too dramatically. “Maybe I’m just putting myself out there. Y’know, seeing what happens. Might hook up with someone. Who’s to say?”

You stare at him, and for a second you’re not sure if you want to laugh or drag him out by the collar of his T-shirt. “Really?”

He shrugs again, all fake casualness. “It’s a party. People do stuff.”

“You’re so bad at pretending not to care.”

That gets him. His grin falters just slightly, and he looks down at his cup. “I’m great at not caring, actually.” You sigh. “Okay, come on.”

He glances up. “What?”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“What? No, I’m thriving.”

“You’re slurring your words, and I think that chair is the only thing keeping you vertical.”

You offer him your hand. “Come on. You’re not hooking up with anyone tonight. I’m taking you home.”

“Home-home or like... your house home?” You snort. “You think your parents would be okay with this?”

He pauses. “Okay. Yeah. Fair.”

Travis grabs your hand, warm and heavier than usual, and lets you pull him up, wobbly on his feet. “This is, like, deeply embarrassing,” he mumbles.

You grin. “Nah. This is just very on-brand for you.”

As you guide him through the hallway, you hear him mutter under his breath: “At least it’s you.”

You don’t ask what he means.

---

The drive home is quiet at first, aside from the low hum of your car’s old speakers. His window is cracked, letting in the cool night air, and he’s slouched low in the seat with one leg bent up awkwardly, head leaning against the door.

After a few minutes, he speaks.

“You’re, like... such a good driver.”

You glance at him. “Thanks?”

“Like, I feel very safe right now,” he adds, dramatically patting the dashboard. “This car? Sanctuary.”

He turns his head toward you slowly, like it takes effort. “Did you know you’re my best friend?”

You blink. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“Yeah, but like...” He pauses, squinting out the windshield. “I mean it. You’re, like, my actual best friend. Not a fake one. Like... the real-deal, ride-or-die, would-hide-a-body kind.”

You smirk. “I’d bury a body for you, but only if you stop talking like you’re in a soap opera.”

“I’m being serious.”

You glance over. He’s staring at you with his cheeks pink from the alcohol and honesty, head still tilted, curls falling into his eyes. “If I was gonna kiss anyone,” he says suddenly, “like, tonight? At that party? It’d be you.”

You nearly swerve.

“I didn’t,” he adds quickly, hands up like you’re about to arrest him. “I’m not. I just... thought about it.”

You grip the wheel tighter. “Okay. Time to shut your mouth, Romeo.”

He snorts, slumping back again, grinning. “Whatever. You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists, half-asleep now. “It’s cute.”

You roll your eyes and flick the turn signal. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Aw, come on…”

“Nope.”

“But I said something sweet…”

“Exactly.”

---

Inside, you flick on the dim kitchen light so the house doesn’t feel too silent, then walk back and sit down in the middle of the couch with a sigh, expecting him to collapse beside you.

Travis follows like a puppy, blinking at you as if trying to calculate something complicated with his very alcohol-slowed brain… and then promptly drops down sideways, head landing in your lap with a muffled, content groan.

“Seriously?” you ask, freezing.

“Mmhm.” His eyes flutter shut. “This is good. You’re warm. Don’t move.”

You glance down at the mop of dark curls now sprawled over your legs. “You’re literally using me as a human pillow.”

“You’re the softest thing in this house.”

“That is not true. We have like a million blankets.” He grins, eyes still shut. “They don’t smell like you.”

Your heart does something dumb and weird.

You huff a breath, trying to ignore the way he’s curling in slightly, knees bent over the armrest like he lives here, like this happens all the time. One of your hands hovers awkwardly in the air before giving up and settling on his shoulder.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re drunk,” you mutter.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

There’s a beat of quiet. His breathing slows a little, not asleep, but closer to peaceful. He shifts just enough to glance up at you through heavy lids.

“You were dancing with Jackie.”

“Yeah?”

“Grinding,” he says, a little accusatory.

You smirk. “A little.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hot.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe I got jealous,” he mumbles.

“Oh yeah?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Was that before or after you tried to flirt with that sophomore?”

“I wasn’t flirting. She offered me a Capri Sun.”

You snort. “Right. Seduction by juice pouch.”

You sit there, fingers gently brushing through his dark hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sound in the room. The silence stretches, stretching tighter as the alcohol slowly fades from his system, leaving something raw in its wake. Travis shifts again, his hand grazing your leg as he adjusts himself in your lap.

You glance down at him, his eyes still hazy but now more focused, an intensity in them that makes your pulse quicken.

"Hang on," you mutter, breaking the silence. "I’ll grab you some water."

You slide off the couch, careful not to disturb him, but he lets out a soft groan of protest, his arm reaching out to catch your wrist.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, eyes barely open.

“I’m just getting you some water,” you reassure him, offering a small smile as you tug gently out of his grasp. “I’ll be right back.”

You leave the couch and walk to the kitchen, the soft sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness of the house. You open the cabinet, fill a glass with water, and take a deep breath. Something about this night, about the way things have shifted between you two, is weighing heavily on your mind. You can't shake the feeling that something is about to change.

You return to the living room, the cool glass of water in your hand. Travis is sitting up now, his gaze fixed on the floor, but you can see the way his hands twitch with restlessness.

“Here,” you hand him the glass, your voice a little more unsure than you’d like. “Drink.”

He takes the water from you, fingers brushing yours for a split second. He’s quiet for a moment, drinking deeply, before he sets the glass down and meets your eyes again. There’s something different in his gaze now, something more vulnerable.

"You know," Travis says, his voice low, hesitant, "I don't really... know how to say this."

You frown, stepping a little closer. "Say what?"

He shifts slightly, his eyes flickering to your face and then away, almost like he’s battling with himself to find the right words. The tension is thick, the air between you both charged with something unspoken.

He exhales, a sharp breath, and finally says, “I don’t know how to act around you sometimes. I try to keep it cool, but… I can’t. You’re my best friend, and I think about you all the time. More than I should. More than I want to, really.”

Your heart skips, but you stay quiet, your chest tight as you try to make sense of his words. There’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that tugs at you. It’s not like him to be this open, this raw.

“I don’t wanna mess things up, but I can’t help it,” he continues, his voice soft, almost like he’s confessing something he’s been carrying for too long. “If I were gonna kiss anyone tonight, it would be you, I meant that when I said it. I’ve wanted to for a while now.”

The words hit you like a wave, catching you off guard. Your breath catches in your throat, your hands suddenly cold as they hang limply by your sides. The air feels thick, suffocating, and for a moment, you wonder if you heard him right. You try to step back, your heart racing.

“Travis, I…” You stammer, the room spinning slightly as your thoughts scramble to catch up with his confession.

He quickly notices the hesitation in your face and his expression falters, turning slightly panicked. “Look, I know this sounds crazy, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I needed to tell you. I don’t want to just hide it anymore. You deserve to know.”

You take a deep breath, your mind racing. “But you’re drunk. This isn’t…”

“I’m not just drunk,” he interrupts, his voice steadier now, more intense. “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I’m not just saying this because of tonight. I’ve been trying to ignore it, pretend like it’s not there. But it is. And I can’t just go on like everything’s normal when it’s not. Not anymore.”

His eyes are searching yours, so deep, so desperate for an answer, and in that moment, everything feels too much. You take a step back, unsure of what to do with the knot in your stomach, the confusion swirling inside you.

He lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with the way this is going. “I’m not expecting anything from you,” he says, his voice quieter now, a little sadder. “I just needed to tell you.”

The silence stretches between you both, heavy and thick. You feel the weight of his words sitting in your chest, and despite the way your mind is spinning, you can’t ignore the pull in your stomach, the way your heart aches with something you can’t quite name.

You finally move toward him again, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You sit beside him. He looks up at you, eyes soft, his vulnerability almost unbearable to witness.

“I don’t want you to regret this,” you whisper, your voice shaking slightly. “I don’t want to be a mistake.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not a mistake,” he says firmly, his voice low and full of certainty. The words hang in the air, thick and charged with tension, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then, slowly, carefully, you close the distance between you both, your lips meeting his in a tentative kiss.

At first, it’s soft, careful, like both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what this will mean. But then, as the tension breaks, the kiss deepens, and suddenly it feels like everything falls into place. His hands move to your back, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your hands threading through his hair as you kiss him with everything you’ve been holding back.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, hearts pounding in your chests.

“I’ve wanted this too,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling as the weight of your own confession settles in.

He smiles, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

You close your eyes and let yourself relax into his arms, knowing that this isn’t just a drunken mistake. This is real, this is happening, and for the first time, you both feel like you can finally be honest.

As you both slowly pull back and settle down on the couch, your heads finding a comfortable position against the cushions, you slip your hand into his, your fingers entwining naturally. You close your eyes, your heart still racing from everything that just happened, but it’s not scary anymore. It feels right.

Travis’s voice breaks the silence, soft and full of contentment. “I’m glad I finally told you.”

“Me too,” you reply, letting out a sigh of relief as you snuggle closer to him.

With his arm around you, you both finally drift off to sleep, your hearts beating in sync, leaving nothing left unsaid.

[captainsophiestark]

Better Than I Dreamed

Azriel x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for day four of the @sjmxreaderweek event!

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Day Two Prompt: Villain/Heroes

Summary: The Autumn Court's only female spy has officially defected to the Night Court to start a new life that's more than she ever could've imagined.

Word Count: 1,768

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cauldron boil me, I love this song!"

I laughed as Cassian, the feared general of the Night Court's armies, shouted to be heard over the music from the middle of the dance floor at Rita's. It shouldn't have been possible, but he managed to up the energy by another level as he danced and jumped around, Mor doing the same right beside him. I grinned and followed suit.

Six months ago, I'd been the only female spy in the Autumn Court. I'd worked my ass off to gather secrets and protect that absolute asshole Beron, despite constant danger and disrespect even from within my own court. It had been hell, but I'd been so deep in the middle of it, I hadn't even noticed.

Four months ago, I'd officially decided to defect from the only home I'd ever known, to the Night Court of all places. I'd run into Azriel on a mission two weeks before, and even though we were quite literally enemies, he'd saved my life. It had been the first crack in the foundations of my loyalty to the Autumn Court, which had quickly come tumbling down. Even though he had no reason to do so, Az had helped me through everything. He'd been my lifeline when I needed him, and we'd been almost inseparable ever since.

Last week, I'd finally passed the final test from Rhys and the rest of his Inner Circle to prove my loyalty and trustworthiness to the Night Court. I'd been allowed to relocate here, in Velaris, with the help of all my new friends. It came after working shoulder to shoulder with all of them on a dangerous, high-stakes intelligence mission, which we'd barely managed to pull off. But barely still counted as a success!

Which was why we all now found ourselves at Rita's, celebrating both my clearing of the final security checks and our success on the mission.

I laughed as Cassian and Mor linked arms and swung each other around the dance floor, picking up enough velocity to be a threat to anybody standing too close. I shifted back slightly to give them more space without having to slow down my own manic dancing energy levels.

No sooner had I shifted back than I felt a looming, shadowy presence directly behind me. I turned to find none other than Azriel, the fearsome Spymaster of the Night Court, staring me down. I smiled.

"Hey. I was wondering where you'd disappeared to."

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting into the barest hint of a smile.

"I had something to take care of."

I frowned, but before I could get out a clarifying question, the band changed the song they were playing to my absolute favorite song of all time. I'd first heard it on the first day I'd been allowed in Velaris, walking through the streets with Azriel and Mor. The smile returned in a split second, bigger and brighter than ever.

"May I have this dance?" Azriel asked, extending one hand to me. I took it without hesitation.

"Like you even have to ask."

Az pulled me closer to him, and the two of us started bouncing and moving with the rhythm of the music. I'd heard this song plenty of times since coming to the Night Court, alone and in the company of the member's of Rhysand's inner circle. But nothing stood out quite as much as the few different times I'd heard it in the company of Az, and just Az. It had sort of become our unofficial song.

My heart felt the lightest it had, possibly ever, as Az and I danced together, chest to chest. Our song ended, but we didn't slow down, carving out our own space just the two of us in the middle of the crowded Rita's dancefloor. A dazey smile floated onto my face, and a happy laugh literally bubbled out of me on our fifth or sixth song.

"What?" asked Az, a bemused smile on his own face. I shook my head and laughed again.

"Nothing. It's just... I kind of can't believe this is my real life. You know, if anybody I worked with in the Autumn Court could see me right now, they'd be absolutely shaking in their boots, head to toe."

"...Why?"

"Well, you're... you! You must know what your reputation is in the other courts. The terrifying, all-seeing spymaster of the Night Court, thought to perfectly resemble and maybe actually be the Shadow of Death. You were the number one fear of every spy in that court, and now..." A smile pulled onto my face, slightly delirious, and I shook my head. "Now I'm here, dancing with you in a club, feeling safer and more comfortable and at home than I ever have in my life."

A strange look flickered across Azriel's face which I couldn't quite decipher. Some day, I hoped I'd be able to read all the microexpressions that flickered across his face. I wanted to stay as close as possible to the shadowsinger, for as long as he'd let me.

The realization sent another wave of giddiness flooding through me, especially as Azriel tentatively reached out to put his hands on my waist, our dancing shifting to something a little slower and more intimate. I leaned into him. I knew I was beaming like an idiot, but I just couldn't bring myself to care.

"You're like... you're like a scary teddy bear, or like a wolf that only you are friends with who would shred anyone else. And I just... I feel so fucking lucky that I'm one of the people who gets to be here, with you, like this. Especially after everything that happened and where I came from."

Az gently squeezed my sides, but when I looked back at him after staring off into space as I tried to get my thoughts together, I found him carefully scanning my face with an eyebrow raised. I thought the corner of his mouth might just be twitching up towards a smile, but I might've been imagining it.

"...Are you drunk?"

"No!" I cried, whacking him on the arm. "Just... happy. I... I didn't realize how unhappy I was, how much I was missing critical components of my life, until I got here, with you all. I'm a little giddy about being here, I'll admit."

Az's mouth really did pull up into a smile at that, and he pulled me even closer to him, until our chests were pressed against each other. My heart sped up.

"I can't say I can ever remember being giddy, but... I'm damn happy that you're here right now, too."

I grinned at Azriel, and I got a rare, bright smile back from him. A magnetic force seemed to pull me closer to him, and him closer to me, and the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine as my hands moved across his shoulders and up to tangle into his hair.

Fireworks exploded in my chest and in my mind. The entire world narrowed down to just me and Azriel, and all of a sudden, an invisible string I hadn't even been aware of snapped taught, connecting my heart to the heart of the male holding me in his arms. Azriel held me tighter and deepened the kiss, but I pulled back after a moment, unable to stop a laugh of absolute joy from bubbling out of me.

"This doesn't feel real," I said, my smile starting to hurt as I shook my head, still gazing at Azriel and holding onto him for dear life.

"I know what you mean."

His gave me a little squeeze, and as the reality of the moment started to really sink in, I put my hands on either side of his face and pulled him back in for another kiss. I'd completely lost all sense of the world around us, and I knew Az had, too. For better or worse, however, we had friends in the vicinity who weren't so oblivious.

"Woo! About time!" cheered Cassian loudly. He and Mor had moved to stand right beside us, and Azriel and I shot them matching glares as we reluctantly broke apart.

"Pay up, Cassian," said Mor with a grin. He rolled his eyes, but I saw him slip Mor some kind of payment. Apparently, they'd bet on this outcome, and Mor had been right.

Azriel huffed and shot the two of them a particularly strong glare, which was enough to snap Cassian back to the moment.

"Look, I'm not gonna judge either of you if you want to celebrate the moment right here and now, but I thought it might be nice to give you both a reminder that we're still at Rita's, in the middle of the dance floor. Not exactly private, if that's something you're after."

Azriel huffed again, wasting no time before turning to walk us both out of the bar. I waved to Cassian and Mor and called back a "Thank you!", to which they just nodded before going back to bickering over whatever Cassian had just been required to pay up. I quickly forgot all about the both of them, though, as Azriel and I cleared the door to Rita's and he lifted me into his arms before launching off into the sky.

I shrieked and laughed again, the wind whipping at my clothes and the strong arms of Azriel—of my mate—supporting me bringing back that delirious, giddy feeling I'd had in the bar. I rested my head on his shoulder, bringing one hand up to brush some of the hair back from his face.

"I love you, Az," I said. My voice was quiet, but I knew Az well enough to know he'd be able to hear me over the wind. "This still feels like a dream, but it's one I don't want to wake up from. Ever. I love you so much."

"...I love you too. More than-" Azriel's voice actually broke, and I saw his jaw clench tight to hold back whatever emotion was about to break through. He took a deep breath, holding me tighter to him. When he spoke again, his voice was strong and set in a way I hadn't heard before. "I love you too."

I curled into Azriel's chest, no more words needed as we sailed above the city of Velaris together. I had no idea where we were going, but I trusted that Azriel would find us somewhere perfect. My new life in Velaris and with him had just begun, and already it was better than anything I'd ever known. I couldn't wait to see where it went next.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21 @diego42

Maasverse: @lilah-asteria

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

OKOK HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUUUTTT dream bbq ena x fem!buff reader. and the reader tries to maybe fluster ena from time to time, offering help carrying things or even lifting ena up.. giggling nd kicking my feet

I'm all ears <3

.........

You were strong. There were no doubts about that. For most of your life, you enjoyed doing heavy labor and shattering stereotypes.

But after getting roped up in Ena and Froggy's line of work, the jobs you did grew rather odd, although they were done nevertheless.

If you had to lift something that's heavy even for Froggy? You're on it.

Did you have to carry Ena away from situations that Meanie was escalating? Only a handful of times.

But you still remember how flustered she got whenever that happened.

It used to be awkward having to hold her upper and lower torso, although now you figured out a way so it's comfortable for her...and as much as Meanie wants to hate it she can't find it in herself to.

When you both started dating, now you'd have to sweep her away from someone if she's ready to fight them because they made a comment about you being "unladylike".

You've heard those insults a lot throughout your life, and you grew a tough shell so they didn't bother you as much. But it's still sweet having a partner who defends you tooth and nail...even though you don't wanna see her get hurt.

"Your deescalation tactics are most impressive, dear--but this still counts as PDA on the clock!!! Unhand me before anyone sees-!!"

But she immediately shuts up when you give her a kiss, her eyes bluescreening.

"You still want me to let go?"

"...do that and I'll push you into the ocean." She wraps her arms around you tightly, as if almost daring you to try.

Somedays, you can tell she wants to be carried without her needing to say a word. Like when her discombobulated limbs just....don't feel like working for whatever reason.

During one bad shift, she's literally falling apart and cracking under pressure, but you're there to hold her and put her back together.

In her hangover/humanoid form, she just clings to you, nuzzling her face into your neck while the orange projection of Meanie disappears for some time.

You could feel how weak she is--physically and emotionally--and so you treat her very delicately when she's in this state.

Thankfully, she's easier to hold since she has a more complete body, but you'd rather have your girlfriend back to her normal polygonal-self. So you'll stay and wait as long as it takes, protecting her from everything bad.

[quasarwake]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!Reader, Ch. 23

Cadet AU belongs to @radioactiverats, Echo belongs (mostly) to me. I say mostly cuz, well, we've really been cooking with grease when it comes to Seeker stuff. I hope you guys like Echo!

Trining instincts are hard to deal with, especially when there's a big Warframe that needs his wings preened.

I suck at summaries but this is about 3500~ words of horny wing-preening for Cadet au, I hope y'all enjoy~

Close Quarters Preening

It had started off as a simple annoyance, you seeing Echo looking so...

Unpolished.

Literally, it looked like he had flown through some kind of tree, leaves and moss clinging to his plates. And yet, there was Sunstorm, quite obviously flirting with Echo. You see a green flier roll his optics and feel some level of validation for your frustration.

And that buzzing energy hadn’t ever gone away- you felt your hackles raise every time you saw Echo, nowadays, every time he brought you the reports you had told him to bring. Dreaming in the night had you drawing claws down the berth hard enough to scrape it- Starscream ordering you to buff it out yourself and very obviously trying to conceal his annoyance, his concern at your actions.

You could feel it whenever Echo looked at you. His eyes would still trail over your wings, but it was... different, than the looks had been before. More appraising, cherry optics following the lines over your wings before roving them to your shoulders, following lines up to the points of your audials. He wasn't even subtle about it, his own wings rolling, twitching, stopping as he allowed himself to look.

You felt the join of your wings on your back and they felt… less heavy, each time you see him. This fire beneath your plates didn’t feel unpleasant, either- there was something to it that wanted you to fuel it, breathe more life into it.

Seeing Sunstorm talking to him in the energon bay, visibly flirting with the larger mech? That felt like fuel enough.

It seemed that Sunstorm had inherited some of his source-code's tastes in larger bots, standing like some harsh parody of Starscream against the wall as his optics dragged lazily over Echo’s frame. The loading bay is filled with all kinds of cons doing their work, unloading energon cubes after a hard mission, and Sunstorm is speaking with him, fluttering his wings in a way that was uncannily similar to Starscream's.

But there was no real edge to his smirks or smiles, the loose way he held himself not coming from self-practiced ease or bitterly won survival, but a harsh imitation.

And he was fluttering at Echo and you couldn't really understand why it made your panels burn.

Why it had you storming up to the two, the air shivering with the noise of your EM field as you look at Sunstorm, your optics bright enough that you can see them on his polished canopy.

Fire.

Twin suns in a blue sky.

You can feel the way Sunstorm’s EM field fluctuates in surprise, see his intake open to speak-

But you turn sharply on your heel to look at Echo, your back to the brightly coloured mech, and latch a servo onto one of those prettily rolling wings, wings that showed the hard work of a flier of the field.

Fluttering away like that, and your wings look like this-

Shaking your helm, you tug at Echo's wing, feeling the other mech allow for that grip, that surge of rightness between your fields as he moves with you.

"Do you realise what your wings look like? You look like you flew through a swamp." It came out harsher than you'd meant for it, and you felt a wash of self-disgust at that anger, a wave of guilt, before tamping it down as solidly as you could. "You're due your reports on the energon mines anyways. You're coming with me."

You also can feel the rise in radiation from Sunstorm, his bright wings flaring at you, and you can feel his interest in waves. And there was that annoyance you felt rise in you that you felt less guilty over, looking over your shoulder as Sunstorm moved his servos while he talked.

"Cadet," he intoned smoothly. He was so careful, to hold in his Vosian accent, wasn't he? You found it more than a little annoying. "So nice to see you again... how have you adapted to your wings~?"

You feel his optics on them and flare your wings indignantly, deliberately, and nearly say something-

But Echo simply turns a wing on Sunstorm, his focus on you, his frame towering over both you and the other mech.

Unimportant.

That brushing of his EM fields- your optics brightened with surprise, feeling Echo’s active disinterest in Sunstorm- the way it so calmed you, your wings shifting more comfortably on your back.

His optics weren’t just looking for details in your wings anymore.

You could feel them trailing your audials, too. Watched them, as they circled your helm, before settling back to look you in the eye.

"We’d stay to chat, but… the energon mine reports are due, sir," Echo stated, voice soft but tone firm, grounding you back into the moment. It occurred to you- he and Sunstorm couldn't be too different in rank, could they? Sunstorm was bristling, the radiation… unpleasant, prickling at your plates. But you stand your ground, cocking a brow-plate at the taller mech as he forced a smile onto his face.

“Of course,” he dripped. “And I only hope that Starscream receives them well.” You were reminded of the exact ugly tone used by Starscream on Megatron.

You felt the bubbling of anger and frustration build up in you, your plates visibly flaring, and nearly snap back-

And then there was that wave of Echo’s EM field, brushing against, around yours, his servo on your back. The tips of his digits were careful, finding a spot between your wings, extended clawtips working gently into the grooves.

No need.

No need, it felt like that wave of energy was saying, to get so annoyed over Sunstorm- and his touch felt good, deft digits finding their way into a spot that had been sore for Primus knows how long.

You see and feel Sunstorm’s optics drawn down at the contact. Your grip on Echo’s wing tightens, and you feel your EM field flare, but not with the same rage as before, Echo’s own energies flowing into yours and smoothing those sharp edges, a communication of frustration and gentle assurance. He wanted to leave with you, so why not leave with him?

Was that a settling sensation in your spark? Something you hadn’t felt in weeks without exhaustion, overstimulation, a blanket over your head to block out all light and sound-

Your frame creaks slightly at the change in temperature as you in-vent, cooling quickly, before turning to Echo again. “Let’s go, then.”

~

Starscream was not yet back at your habsuite, busy with collecting reports from other mechs around the ship. You’d feel guilty not helping more if the last mission hadn’t gone so well- and there was something of another need you were trying to fill right now, anyways.

And at least it gave the two of you some… privacy.

It was almost comical, the difference in size between you and Echo. Your wing-spans were fairly comparable, but he did have to sit on the floor in front of you while you sat on the berth to reach his wings properly.

In spite of his size, this almost felt… easy. Soothing, to work your claws into dark grooves in metal, feeling the way his frame shivered while cleaning grime out of spoilers, scraping moss from a plate to a pleased shudder. His finish was matte, but there were fine details both etched and painted into him, smooth indigo lending to hints of purple and navy over the otherwise stealth-black. You feel yourself calm as you clean through patterns, optics trailing over them as he ex-vented softly, wings shifting into your touch.

Your digits work carefully into his plates- it’d been so hard to retract your claws lately, anxiety and frustration keeping you too on edge to relax them back in. But right now, they were perfect for scraping away that bit of debris lodged in Echo's wings, panels lifting to your careful touch. You could still feel that flair of annoyance towards Sunstorm, towards everything, towards yourself and towards nothing-

But Echo was harder to be frustrated over, his EM field flowing back towards you in soft waves, the air humming with the low thrum of you both in the low-frequency communication. Your legs settle on either side of him as he leans back, and you get to appreciate the feeling of his frame against yours, moving from the rudders that fluttered at the base of his spine up to the wings proper, your knees pressing to either side of his waist between them and feeling every little motion. For a moment, you let your servos lay flat against his wings, watching them, feeling them move- he was huge, a different size-class, wings built to cut smoothly through the sky.

Your optics trail along the long spikes along his spinal strut, and you remember your dream. You remember how you had trailed your glossa along those spikes, and heat spikes through your EM field, Echo’s only reaction a small twitch in his shoulders. You don’t quite notice how your legs tighten against Echo’s sides, but you do feel how he shudders between them, his wings flicking high before he very deliberately stills them.

“...you can get closer, you know,” he murmurs, his voice only low but not quiet, the sound of it thrumming through his whole body. With how you were nearly pressed against his back, your frame shivered at the vibrations it caused.

And you remembered your dream again.

Those spikes on either side of his spine twitched almost invitingly, their own motion rippling down through his wings.

And that flare of heat in your spark felt less like anxiety, and more like…

Excitement.

Clearing your vocals, you try to take control of your free-wheeling processor, shaking it slightly, before firmly gripping his wings.

You feel your jaw clench with the urge to bite arise as you lean closer.

“You’re sure?”

Your tone is sharper than intended, but he doesn’t flinch- his wings pressing closer to you, closing you off from the rest of the room.

“Sure enough. You said it looked like I flew through a swamp.”

Not so much anymore, he didn’t. You’d done a good job- a pile of detritus and debris on a tarp on the floor the only evidence that his wings were ever the mess you’d found them in. What was left behind was the artwork beneath, the dark matte black that blended in with his frame, the smell of the solvent you had used in tougher areas.

His chassis is warm against your frame. Warmer than it had been when you’d started. And his wings were moving beneath your servos, as still as he tried to keep them.

And there was the slightest- the faintest brushing of his EM fields against yours.

Please?

It was hard to feel that anger that edged your energies when somebody so gently asked you to touch them.

It pulls you in, as much as the need to claim had drawn you in in that dream- and you press your intake gently to one long spine, digits gripping into his ailerons as you run your lips along it. You hear the way he draws in air through his intake, the soft whirring of fans as he ex-vented, and feel your own wings twitch. Your lips close against the sharp accent to his wing, and you let your optics shutter, letting yourself take in the feeling of smooth metal in your mouth.

More?

Your processor buzzes, and you feel your canopy press against Echo’s air-brake, your servos sliding down his wings to grip at where they joined to his back. His EM field brushes against yours insistently as you gently drag denta over his spines.

And you could feel your own, like a closed servo opening, weaving together into his energies slowly. Your claws draw lines down his spinal strut, your legs tightening around his waist as you press yourself firmly to his back.

More.

A feeling less than a word, shared between the two of you as Echo’s wings began to roll, flick, flutter slowly, fanning out on either side of you and drawing in more of that warm air around you. They move you against him, and you feel your own wings- heavy, but not unwelcome- roll in a slow mirror of Echo’s, their weight pushing you closer to him. Your flick your glossa out against his neck, working it firmly over the mesh, and you hear him sharply in-vent, his wings jolting upright-

And there’s something soft, a whining whistle to his ex-vent, his legs jolting slightly, the surge of warmth and then heat and then good washing over you, collecting in your canopy.

Primus, this had been just a preening, hadn’t it? And now, you were pressing your face against Echo’s neck, nipping and biting along the mesh of it as he panted in front of you.

More!

Your wings twitch with the electricity of it, and you feel the heat that builds behind your array panels, clawtips digging into his wings as your denta sink further into the mesh of his neck, savouring the way cables give way beneath your fangs. Echo presses back- and you feel his whole frame jolt when your overheating array panel settles into the base of his spinal strut.

Contact.

You shudder against his back and you can feel the way his body jolts, a low moan slipping from his intake before he could stop it, and you can’t ignore the spread of heat up your chassis, gripping into your spark. The way that Echo’s soft voice bounces in the room fills your audials, your processor buzzing with the soft roll of low vibrations. It was good, it felt good, to have something to hold, wrap around, your EM fields merging at the edges as you press your panels into the ridges of his spine. You push closer, intake opening wide over his wing as your glossa finds new grooves to work into, your denta finding panels to catch against. You start to roll your hips against his back, hot array panels finding that dip against his spinal strut between his rudders, feeling how it slid right into place, locking together into the grooves of his back.

You hear him cry out- at first, wordless, before his helm falls back with a soft cry of “Yes!”, his EM field flaring and spiking in waves, and there was something different-

Like there was something in your very spark that responded, burning down your chassis as you rolled your hips into his back.

Yes.

Heat burnt paths down from your hips as you tighten your knees against his waist. You sink your denta into his wing, uncaring of how harshly you bit this time, only feeling the way that heat spread through your chassis, your wings flaring wide behind you as all of that frustration and anger and rage you had felt bled away into excitement, claiming-

The singing warmth of pleasure coursing its way through your frame as the two of you moan together, your intake firmly on his wing, denta sinking into derma, energon staining your tongue as his frame shudders against yours.

You nearly don’t hear the door slide open, barely reacting to it anyways, optics brightening lazily as they flick up-

And of course, it’s Starscream, a pile of datapads in his arms.

You immediately still, but there was something about the burning in your chassis that had you tightening your hold on Echo, the other mech venting heat loudly, your own fans adding to the noise in the room.

There were a dozen expressions that flash across Starscream’s faceplates, and you could read only so many-

Shock, astonishment, you got that easily enough, and could understand. What you hadn't expected, though, was how Starscream's face seemed to settle, his intake pulling smoothly into a smirk, his optics narrowing slowly as his helm angled to the side.

In front of you, Echo’s wings continue to roll, his venting quieting slowly.

And as Starscream watched, your jaw tightened on Echo’s wing, metal creaking, your processor buzzing to come up with something, anything for an explanation, an excuse-

But the smile on Starscream's face remained, and before you can say anything, he's already stepped back over the threshold, servo on the doorframe as he leaned against it, hip popping. Red optics find yours, and you do your best to hold his gaze even as Echo's shoulder, your denta still sunk firmly into his wing.

Your spark pulsed, your wings flared high- and as you watch Starscream, your claws tighten ever so slightly on Echo’s wings, a possessive buzzing running beneath your plates.

"...I think I forgot a few datapads," he stated, his voice taking on that whistling accent that was shared between the three of you, the air humming with the satisfaction in his EM field. “Cadet, make sure you’re finished by the time I return, yes~?”

You feel Echo’s wing jolt in your intake and let go- finally seeing the way your denta had dented the metal. Nothing that would impede flight, nor transformation- and there was something that looked right about it, like until now-

Until now, he had been missing something you had seen in other Seeker’s wings, other trine-bound Seeker’s wings.

You feel a trembling in your frame, your wings, as you pull back from Echo, feeling the stain of energon against the corner of your intake.

“I. I think we’re done,” you manage, staring over the marks you had left with a feeling of… satisfaction, of rightness. But your buzzing processor was growing overwhelmed with sensation, your hips pulling back from Echo’s body, your EM field retreating from his. You feel his confusion for a moment- his disappointment.

But it’s quickly smoothed over as he stands, saluting quickly to Starscream.

“I can retrieve them, sir,” he stated, his voice more level than you’d expected possible- his fans having quieted. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to you, and there’s a wave of gentle, sincere sympathy that you feel oddly privy to-

His wings roll at a soft angle towards you, open, giving you room, giving you space to move yourself.

Stepping out of the room, he’s followed by Starscream’s surprised optics- all three of you had known he was lying about other data-pads, Echo’s own resting neatly on Starscream’s desk, and Starscream turns his puzzled look to you.

It didn’t occur to either of you that you and Echo had just shared a private communication between your fields.

He pointed down the hall. “Shall I call him back?” He asked, but you were shaking your helm. He then pointed at the tarp covered in debris on the floor- mostly, on the floor, some leaves having shifted in your… activities, with Echo.

“Then I suppose you’ll be cleaning that up, Cadet?”

Your vocal processor yet to properly reset, you nod your helm weakly, moving to stand on shaky struts.

There was a scent in the air, where Echo had been-

It soothed your racing spark, just a touch.

~

"Did you know what you were doing?"

It was later, the two of you in berth together, the habsuite tidied of all mess from the preening. You feel that rise in irritation, tempered sure, but it still prickles beneath your plates. That you were new to something, and everyone else around you was so privy to all of this secret language. "...no. I just. Did what felt... good." Starscream's thoughtful hum beside you had your wings twitch, before he tightens his arm ever so slightly around you, his chassis pressing to the space between your wings. "I think the big guy thought it felt good too~"

You try to squirm away at first, a growl in your throat, but he laughs- the sound warm in your audials, his EM field washing over yours in that oddly deep way it had been recently.

“...his name is Echo,” you mutter, letting that little bit of defensiveness win out, your servos resting over Starscream’s arms.

He rests his helm against yours and you let that warmth blend into your field, your wings losing that stiff feeling to them as he hums against you.

“Echo, eh? I hope I haven’t scared him off~”

Pleased.

He was pleased with you, with… whatever he had seen, the realisation of it prickling under your plates.

Your claws sink into the grooves of his arms, and you hear that comfortable purr behind you.

“...I don’t think he’s that easily scared off,” you murmur back, relaxing back into Starscream.

And his arms were wrapped so tightly around you.

Previous/

[whimsiwitchy]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 (part two)

Pedro Pascal x singer!reader

series masterlist & series playlist

summary: you're a hot singer that has hot older men falling at her feet. pedro becomes one of them. (literally my cyg hughxreader fic but for pedro)

warnings: age gap (23/49), use of y/n, swearing, sexual themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, verbal fighting, pedro is a smoker, cheating, Hugh Jackman is your ex (oops), he also pops up a few times and is mentioned, grammar is fake to me srry <3

warnings may change as the story progresses. all descriptions of real people in this story are fake! I don't know these people and this all for funsies. let me know if I missed anything!

author's note: hi everyone! since part one and two are a little shorter, I wanted to go ahead and give you part two. i'm trying to figure out a posting schedule so once that's put together, i'll update the masterlist with the dates! Alsooo, there's an extras section on the masterlist where you can find random things such as a picture of the dress that was mentioned in this chapter!! okie enough yapping, enjoy!!

part two: sparkle in your eyes

London was beautiful. You’d always dreamed of coming here, seeing the historical sights you grew up looking at through photos and hearing the accents you’ve always wanted. The overcast reminded you of home. Of when a sudden storm would roll in, hiding the summer sun in an instant. You found it funny how the Earth was so big yet felt so small, similarities in different cities, countries, continents showing the truth behind what it means to be human. The thought grounded you when the fame felt too suffocating.

Fame

It was a word you were still getting used to, a word you weren’t sure if you loathed or loved. It made you feel distant and disconnected from the world around you, creating a barrier between yourself and every ‘normal’ person. The word was true though, you were indeed famous. You were known around the world for your music and people gave you a job through their endless support. Moments like yesterday were a reminder of just how different your life was now. Moments where Pedro Pascal came to see you after only meeting you once before, like he was a friend and not some insanely famous actor. He hadn’t left your mind since the interaction. It was honestly pissing you off. 

When you told Stacy that you wanted to take a break from men, you weren’t lying. You wanted nothing more than to focus on yourself and your career…but those dark brown eyes that sparkled when he smiled made it so hard to care about anything else. They were a hypnotizing color, a striking contrast from the bright blue eyes you looked into just a few months prior. Pedro was everything you found attractive in a man: tall, dark, handsome with a godly personality. His emotional intelligence was a trait you picked up on the moment you met him and it was refreshing to hear a man be so willingly open on important matters. 

“Helloooo…earth to y/n.” Stacy says as she snaps her acrylic adorned fingers in your face. “Are you gonna tell me what has you all spaced out or can I take a guess? Because I’m pretty sure his name starts with a P.” Her gum pops as she closes her glossed lips, a smirk sat smugly on her face. 

“Shh. Could you be any louder!?” The two of you were sitting in a cafe that was packed with people with wandering ears. You would have spilled every thought racing your mind if you weren’t so worried about someone listening to your every word. It was another aspect of fame you had to get used to. It wasn’t always bad. For instance, sometimes you could sit in a cafe with your best friend and other times you can’t even walk down the street without having a horde of people rush towards you. 

“Plus, I'm not thinking of him.” You say defensively. 

“Whatever you say girl.” The same smirk still sits pretty on her face before gently falling into a smile. “Anyways, I got tickets for the London Eye at 2pm. Then, I thought it would be nice to go grab lunch somewhere. I have a few places picked out-” You’re looking at her, nodding every once and a while to allude that you’re listening to her but you aren’t. Your mind is occupied by those stupid brown eyes again. 

—

The two of you didn’t end up getting on the London Eye at 2pm. There was a delay, causing a wait of an extra 45 minutes and Stacy was pissed. Other than the fact she was your assistant, she was also a lot more organized than you. She plans each trip you’ve been on, including itineraries for days you don’t have to work. She also has bad time anxiety. The smallest change in time has her stressed out, even if it’s off by a minute. Once the anxiety wears off, the anger creeps in. She complained at the latter end of the wait and would have had the king on the line if you hadn’t confiscated her phone until she cooled off a bit. Her mood was unchanged by the time you stepped into the private car. 

“If I tell you something boy related will it make you calm down and enjoy the ride?” You ask softly as you look down at the water, the wheel slowly moving the bubble higher. 

“What happened to swearing off men? I told you that you wouldn’t last that long.” She scoffs with a slight irritation in her voice but you can tell she’s itching to know more. 

“I know but Pedro had really bad timing so it’s not really my fault.” She’s quick to respond. 

“AHA! So you were thinking of him earlier.” The smirk from earlier makes a return and you’re pretty sure it would become a permanent part of her face from now on.

“It’s kind of hard not to when he came down a few floors down just to see me again.” You dramatically lean back and throw your forearm over your forehead. The poor attempt at acting like a damsel in distress earns a cackle from Stacy. 

“You’re insane.” She leans against the rail and looks at the view. “How’d you two even meet anyways? I feel like I would have been there.” Her brow lifts in confusion. 

“It was when you were sick and Hugh insisted on accompanying me to the sag awards when my song was in that one show.” Her eyes light up. 

“Ohhh yea. I do remember you telling me that. Didn’t you say he was drunk or something? I’m surprised he remembered you.” It’s your turn to scoff. 

“Drunk or not, who could forget a face like this.” Your hands shoot up to frame your face as you dramatically blink your eyes. Stacy rolls her eyes at the gesture. “But yea he was pretty drunk. He called Hugh my old man, which caught me off guard. I do remember him looking hot as fuck though. His stylist did him good with that look.” You nod, thinking about the white button up that was thankfully not buttoned up all the way, giving you a great view of his upper chest. 

“You’re such a slut.” She lets out a light laugh. 

“Am not.” You turn away from her to look at the view, the bubble finally reaching the top of the wheel. 

“You so are. You literally checked out Pedro when your boyfriend was right next to you and now that you’re broken up, you’re openly admitting that he’s hot. That kinda fits the definition of slut.” You know she’s joking but it stings nonetheless. 

“Whatever. I probably won’t even see him anytime soon so there’s no use in doting on the fact that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Stacy hums. 

“I think he might like you.” You glare at her.

“Stacy please don’t feed into my delusion right now.” She laughs.

“I’m not trying to but he was giving you major goo goo eyes yesterday. It was kinda gross.” She shakes her head. “And he followed you on instagram. I don’t know, but it seems like he might like you.” 

—

Turns out one of the places Stacy had picked out for dinner was one of the most prestigious and hard to get into restaurants in London. The reservation list was years long and impossible to get on. When Stacy told you about it, you ensured her that there were plenty of other places you two could go eat at that didn’t require a fight just for a seat. She wouldn’t listen though and insisted that she would make sure the two of you would get in. When she told you she got a table, you never asked how but now that she was calling the front of house to let them know ‘ms.y/l/n would be arriving soon’, you wish you would have. You hated having the status of your name to get you things.

You were sprawled out across your hotel bed as you waited for Stacy to finish getting ready. You weren’t very fashion forward and often opted for a simple look. You threw on a black a-line dress that had ruffled tulle down the middle. It was something your stylist helped pick out when you first started going to events and it quickly became one of your favorites. You opted for a bit of dark purple shimmer on your eyes and a small winged liner. After doing a quick touch up on your brows and throwing on a layer of mascara you were done, shying away from the full beat that Stacy was currently applying to herself. 

You were scrolling through instagram when your mind wandered to Pedro again. Before you could even think twice about it, your fingers were flying to the search bar and typing in his user name. Last night after you saw his comment, you were tempted to take a peek at his page but you knew it would keep you up all night. You didn’t have to scroll far into his page for your heart to start racing. There was a short gif-like video of him in his costume for Gladiator, twirling a sword around. You’re not sure how long you were staring at it, watching it, but you snapped out of your daze due to a loud noise that came from the bathroom. You feel something trickle down your chin and move your hand up to wipe it. Drool. You close the app and lock your phone in shame. You can’t believe you were actually drooling over an eight second video of Pedro. God you were pathetic. 

“Sorry about that, I dropped my blush and it went all over the place.” Stacy says as she exits the bathroom wearing a floor length dark red gown. “You ready to head out?” She asks, slipping on a pair of black heels. You nod and do the same. You both take a moment to look at yourselves in the large mirror that covers most of the hallway wall. 

“Mhm, we look good as fuck.” She licks her finger and makes a sizzle sound as she places the wet finger on the curve of her butt. You giggle and grab your phone from the entryway table. “Let’s take a pic for insta.” You say excitedly. You both pick a pose and you snap the picture, posting it on your story with a simple caption: ‘dinner time 😋’. 

One of the things you adored about Stacy is that she didn’t care about your status in the world outside of her job. She let you enjoy the simple things in life when it was possible. When you wanted to uber or take a taxi, she never complained. You got tired of always taking private cars when it wasn’t necessary, you craved normality. The uber ride to the restaurant was a quiet one, each of you staring out of your respected window, soaking in the reality of being in London. 

The restaurant was gorgeous with high painted ceilings resembling the ones found in the Sistine Chapel and you now understood why this place was so booked. Outside of the beautiful interior, the service and drinks were phenomenal. As the waiter was walking away from taking your food order, you sipped on a perfectly sweet martini. Stacy and yourself were making light conversation about a meeting you had with a brand when her eyes caught onto something behind you. 

“You’re not gonna believe who is walking over here right now.” Stacy says with a hint of mischief in her eyes. Before you can question her, there’s a familiar voice behind you. 

“Good Evening ladies.” There’s a warm hand on your bare shoulder and when you look up, Pedro is already looking down at you. 

“Hi Pedro, it’s funny running into you again.. or rather you running into me, I should say.” You joke and move a hand to meet him on your shoulder for a moment before both hands return to their person. “Oh! Pedro, this is Stacy, my assistant slash best friend.” You look over to Stacy for a moment. 

“Hi. It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you recently.” Stacy says while shaking Pedro’s hand. If looks could kill, the one you were giving Stacy would have made her explode. 

“Oh, have you now?” Pedro glances down at you and lets out a small chuckle. “It’s nice meeting you as well.” There’s a brief pause in conversation. 

“You know, I’m kinda offended that you just now followed me on instagram and not when we first met.” You regret your words as soon as you say them but your mouth always works faster than your brain. It earns a small laugh. 

“Hm, I should have then. Guess I just didn’t wanna step on anyone’s toes darlin’.” You want to ask him what he means but he’s already speaking again before you get the chance to. “Well, I should get out of your hair. I recognized your dress and wanted to come say hi. It was really nice seeing you again…again.” He laughs after adding the second again, joking about the fact he said the exact same thing to you just over 24 hours ago. You blush. 

“It was nice seeing you again…again as well.” You add, letting your own laugh slip out. He gives Stacy and yourself a small ‘bye’ before returning to his table. Once he’s out of earshot, Stacy is quick to burst out laughing. 

“He’s so fucking into you. God…I mean he said he memorized your dress from your 15 second long story for fucks sake.” The tables close by give her a few rude looks from her outburst but you could care less, the realization of Stacy’s words settling in. 

The rest of the dinner was very tame, the food was good and you felt woozy from the martinis you’d been downing. Stacy let you know half way through the dinner that she had a perfect view of Pedro from her seat and that he kept glancing over every few minutes. It made you giddy to think that he might have been looking at you and if you begged Stacy to trade seats, that’s nobody's business. 

When you got back to the hotel, you immediately stripped from your heels and dress. Laying in bed, you opened instagram one more time and scrolled through all the likes on the story. As you scrolled nothing really caught your eye until you saw that username and the words from earlier rang in your ear. 

“I recognized your dress and wanted to come say hi.”

You got up and went across the hallways towards Stacy’s room door in your shared hotel suite. You knock softly. 

“Hey Stacy…” Your voice is shy, feeling bad about disturbing her so late. 

“What’s up babe?” She’s leaning back on a mountain of pillows as she scrolls on her phone and eats a bag of chips. You lean into the doorframe. 

“What do you think Pedro meant when he said he didn’t follow me because he didn’t wanna step on anyone’s toes?” You had a feeling you knew what he meant but you needed a second opinion before you spiraled. Stacy smiles and laughs a bit. 

“Hugh, babe. He didn’t follow you because of Hugh. He didn’t wanna feel like a threat to your relationship.”

thank you for reading! feel free to leave feedback in a comment, private message, or in my ask box!

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*pls comment on series masterlist comment section to be added to taglist. comments on this post will not be added!*

[mononijikayu]

almost like being in love — nanami kento.

“You know, baby. People are intrigued about you.” you said, voice light, teasing. “I think you’re starting to develop a fan club in my silly circles.” He looked over, one eyebrow rising the tiniest bit. “Oh really? Do share.” “After the show, a girl in the bathroom asked if you were single. I told her you were married. To your job. And possibly to me, if I ever get you drunk enough near a temple.” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a polite cough. Hard to tell with Kento. “Was she disappointed?” he asked after a beat. “Crushed. Said you had the quiet mystery of a yakuza lieutenant and the haircut of a disappointed private school teacher.” “I’ll take that as a compliment, darling.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Actor’s AU (AU of the AU);

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Pretty Woman, Pretty Boy, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap Relationship (Reader is 30s, Nanami is late 40s), Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Post–Separation/Divorce, Dating, Feeling, Light–Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Soft Smut, Actor! Nanami, Comedian! Reader;

Words: 17k words.

Note: this was a fic that was once again commissioned by @nanamin-chan, so please thank them!!! this was so fun to write because this is just another continuation of the nanami au in the actor's au. this is just romance, everyone. this is just fluff. so, enjoy it!!! i love you all!!!

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the good life ― masterlist.

THIS IS NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND’S SORT OF PLACE. But he likes seeing you perform, more so now that you finally were a full–time comic. He told you before, together means together.

Nanami Kento meant that quite literally, and rather seriously. After all, he meant it when he said he’d be happy to be the concept of every other joke you write and make. 

The jazz bar in Shibuya was its usual dim-lit self, smelling of shochu, yakitori grease, and dreams deferred by too many company meetings. A place where lost all the poets and tired office workers gathered to forget the trains they'd already missed, to drink themselves to a pounding headache in the morning.

You were on stage for the nth time this week, by a great popular demand no less. Beautifully poised in heels you hated but wore religiously, gripping the mic felt like a second pair of chopsticks. 

It looked almost like you belonged there. You stood there like you belonged there, stood there like you were a shining star leading the way into this world. Ever so natural. Familiar. Slightly dangerous when misused.

There he was, as present as ever. Your boyfriend, Nanami Kento. Front row. Always in that tan suit, always punctual. Like time owed him something.

Your boyfriend looked expensive, as always. You didn’t know if he was wearing Gucci or Dior, though. And in some ways, it made him look out of place in such a rowdy space.

He sat with that straight–backed posture, like he’d come straight from a boardroom and not from filming some drama where he played yet another emotionally constipated genius detective.

He was sipping another shot of highball. Untouched plate of edamame. Watching you like you was a particularly intricate Noh performance.

You exhaled into the mic, smiling brightly. "Good evening, everyone. Hope you’re all enjoying your drinks and your snacks. And for the salarymen here tonight—don’t worry, I’m not about to talk about your boss with the beer bill on the company tab. That’s what group dinners are for.”

Light laughter. A few heads bowed knowingly. Kento didn’t laugh. But his caramel eyes merely shifted as much as the edge of his lips did. That was his version of clapping, you’ve learned. In public, your boyfriend has a lot of need to maintain appearances, after all.

“There’s this guy I know." you tilted your head slightly toward the front row. “Someone who comes to every single one of my sets. Every single one. Quite the dedication, no? It doesn’t matter if he’s been working for twenty hours straight or covered in fake blood from a shoot. Tan suit. Scotch in hand. Expression like a banker attending a funeral.”

The audience chuckled, and someone in the back shouted “kakkoii na!” which made you grin.

“I asked him once, ‘Why do you keep coming?’ You know what he said? ‘Because it's the only time I see you exactly as you are.’ Which is either the most romantic thing ever said in this country... or a veiled insult. Still undecided about that, folks.”

Kento raised his glass slightly, just once. A toast? A warning? Hard to say. But you do know it attracts you more to him than before. 

“But honestly….” you went on to say. “Being with someone who’s so calm, so steady, so… emotionally economical… It's terrifying. Like dating the concept of wa itself. Harmony, order, beige interiors.  It’s a whole thing.”

That got them. A big laugh, especially from the women. “You start thinking you’re the chaotic one. You drop your train card, misplace your umbrella, say something vaguely inappropriate in front of his co–stars. And he just blinks like you’re an unexpected side dish. Not unwelcome. Just… surprising.”

Now even your boyfriend Kento smiled. At least barely. The audience didn’t see it. But you did. And it was better than a standing ovation. That made you realize your set is pretty good. You tailored it to intrigue him after all.

“And yet, you should know, he’s dedicated.” you said, the laughter softening. “He never misses a show. Not one. I told him once he was my emotional support audience member. He just nodded, like I’d finally said something worth filing away.”

The crowd was quiet in that rare, good way. Not awkward. Reverent. Like they'd just been handed a small truth wrapped in a joke. You tilted the mic slightly. “If he ever does miss a show, you’ll know. Either I’ve finally pushed him too far... or he’s dead. Which, knowing him, is the more acceptable excuse.”

Roaring laughter. Applause. Even Kento laughed. Though he did so ever soundlessly, shoulders shifted once. You filed that moment away like a pressed flower between the pages of your memory.

You wrapped up the set with a joke you made up on the train and stepped off the stage. The bar noise rushed back in. The clatter of ice, the low thrum of jazz, someone arguing with the bartender about plum wine.

And there he was. Waiting, as he always did. Glass in hand. Tie slightly loosened but still too perfect. He didn’t go and immediately praised you. He never did, that just isn’t his personality. Instead, he handed you a bottle of water, gently tapped the top of your head.

He murmured to you lovingly. “You paused too long before the wa joke, you know that?”

You smiled. “It was still funny, wasn't it? You smiled!”

“Now, now, a lip ticking up isn’t always a smile, darling.”

“I’m still counting it to be one. That’s my rule!”

He shakes his head at you, finally smiling. “Little dominatrix, you.”

“As I should.” You winked at him, drinking the water.

The evening streets of Shibuya were still humming by the time you stepped outside. Neon signs flickered like cigarette lighters in the dark, and couples passed by hand in hand. You were sure some were freshly in love, others just trying not to argue before the last train. 

The night air had that specific Tokyo chill to it: clean, quiet, and filled with possibility if you let it in deep enough through your lungs. Nanami Kento walked beside you, not behind, not ahead. Beside. Just like always.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you didn’t need him to. His presence was its own conversation. You could hear the rustle of his coat as he adjusted the collar, the soft clink of the ice in his highball glass still echoing in your memory.

He was warm and quiet, and the silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things he would never say unless prompted like a reluctant contestant on a quiz show.

You reached the corner near the bookstore that stayed open too late, the one you both liked, him for the solitude, you for the gossip magazines. He glanced at the window but didn’t stop. You didn’t either.

“You know, baby. People are intrigued about you.” you said, voice light, teasing. “I think you’re starting to develop a fan club in my silly circles.”

He looked over, one eyebrow rising the tiniest bit. “Oh really? Do share.”

“After the show, a girl in the bathroom asked if you were single. I told her you were married. To your job. And possibly to me, if I ever get you drunk enough near a temple.”

He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a polite cough. Hard to tell with Kento. “Was she disappointed?” he asked after a beat.

“Crushed. Said you had the quiet mystery of a yakuza lieutenant and the haircut of a disappointed private school teacher.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, darling.”

You both turned the corner. The convenience store buzzed behind you like a cicada that didn’t know it was out of season. The conversation faded again, but not awkwardly. Kento had a way of folding you into the quiet. 

With him, you didn’t need to fill every space with words. Sometimes just walking next to him made you feel whole. With your arms almost brushing, your strides naturally in sync. It was enough to make the whole day feel worth it.

Then, after a while, he said, “You write your set differently when you know I’ll be there.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He looked straight ahead, not even a hint of a smirk. “There are lines you hesitate on. Jokes you aim directly at me. You don’t do that when I’m out of town.”

“So… you do watch the recordings.” Your brows furrowed, intrigued. “Did you subscribe to receive my content? If so, thank you for the money, baby.”

“I like to study my blind spots.”

You stared at him. He didn’t flinch. “I can’t tell if that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” you murmured. “Or the most Kento thing.”

“Both.”

You stopped walking almost instantaneously. He took a few more steps before realizing you’d not been walking with him and instead, paused a few steps away.  When he turned back, you were smiling, crooked and full of disbelief.

“I write differently because you’re the only person I’m scared to lie to, baby.” you said. “Even on stage.”

He tilted his head slightly, then stepped back toward you. Not dramatically. Just... close enough.

“I like the truth, my darling.” he said with suave. “You know this.”

“Even when it’s messy?”

He nodded. “Of course, I do.”

“Even when it’s about you?”

“I prefer it.”

You let out a breath, unsure if you were annoyed or completely undone by him. “You are quite a man.”

“I’m glad you like that.”

“Hm…You are truly….” you said, stopping yourself as you smiled, shaking your head. “You are the most frustratingly stable man I’ve ever met.”

“And yet.”

“And yet, my baby…..You’re amazing.” you echoed, stepping forward to walk again. “You never miss a show.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked beside you, as always. But this time, his pinky brushed yours. Deliberately. Barely. Like a secret. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks turn red at how tightly his touch brushed on you.

And you thought, Maybe love in Tokyo doesn’t need grand gestures. Maybe it just needs presence. Precision. And a man who never misses a show. Even when the train’s delayed, the shoot runs long, or the punchline might cut a little too close to home.

You laced your pinky with his.

He didn’t look at you.

But he didn’t let go.

IT’S INTERESTING HOW YOUR HOME HAS BECOME MORE HOMELY SINCE YOU STARTED DATING KENTO. Your apartment smelled faintly of citrus-scented floor cleaner. It was sharp and clean in that way that almost tricked you into thinking everything was under control. That tricks you into thinking that chaos was not born in your life. That there was something softer beneath it.

The ghost of the candles you’d lit two nights ago remained unsettled in the abstract goo against the current flames that burned. They’d burned down unevenly on the kitchen counter, flickering over your half–hearted bowl of instant ramen, a quiet, silly attempt to romanticize solitude. 

The scent still lingered ever so flagrantly, so still like a flower undoubtedly strident against the wind. Something so acutely warm and vaguely floral, like amber and smoke, clinging to the air like memory.

The lights were low, dim enough to soften the edges of the space, to make the piles of mail on the counter and the dishes in the sink blur into obscurity. Shadows pooled gently at the corners of the room. 

Jazz murmured lazily from the Bluetooth speaker, the saxophone winding through the quiet like a thought you couldn’t quite hold on to. Mingus, maybe. Or Coltrane. Something you’d put on because it made the silence feel less lonely.

Your shoes were kicked off in the genkan, one lying half-turned on its side, the other nudged against the wall like it had simply given up halfway to the rack. It was the kind of careless placement that said: I live here.

Not performatively. Not as a curated space for guests or social media. But really live here, feel it with all the life it could offer, all the life you could give it. With all the uneven rhythms and soft chaos that came with it, of course.  

The couch was slightly dented where you’d spent the last few nights curled up in the same corner, laptop balanced precariously on your knees, sometimes writing, sometimes watching old films you'd seen too many times before. 

A rather comfortable blanket was thrown across the cushions in that deliberate yet accidental way. It was the kind of arrangement that only looks artful when you’re too tired to care.

Kento’s coat was folded over the back of your far flung armchair, ever so meticulously, of course. You could see his suit tie was draped over the edge of your couch, hanging like it had fallen asleep halfway through trying to relax. 

He sat beside you, one arm stretched along the back of the massive sofa, a glass of Nikka whisky in his hand, fingers curled around it the way he did everything. It was quietly ever so controlled, and restrained, perhaps measured even. Just like your boyfriend’s entire person was.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked comfortably under you, your own glass resting lazily on your knee. The precious ice had long melted, leaving behind a diluted pool of amber at the bottom. The music from the party had faded into a distant hum through the walls, but neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

There was a kind of peace in it that only the two of you would understand. In the way you simply were together, no demands, no expectations. Just two people sharing the same breath, the same silence. 

You could feel his presence more than see him, the quiet gravity of Nanami Kento seated beside you, close enough that the air between you seemed to pulse with unspoken words.

It started slow. Barely anything, at first. A brush of his long fingers against your shoulder. It was casual, almost accidental. Your hand slid down, fingertips grazing the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat steady and sure. 

The small, almost imperceptible movements spoke volumes, sentences of longing written skin to skin, against yours. It was too strong, too magnetic. It was something that even all the words in the world can’t explain to you or him.

Everything about your chemistry was as boundless as the deep expanse of the sea, thunderous in the world of troubles. Nothing else could matter in that, even if you were caught in the most dangerous beaconings of a troublesome storm. 

Your desire, your pleasure, your need for each other was far more loud than all of it, far more powerful than what they think they could put between you or him. Nothing could separate you, you knew that. If anything, you could only want to stay stronger, beside each other. On each other.

A glance a little while later and then it became more than that. You found him looking at you like you were the only person in the world worth seeing.  Like you were the only person that could ever be the apple of his eye. You felt your lips part for a moment, looking back at him.

In an instant, your lips melted against his in an outstanding kiss. At first, it was soft. It always starts out that way. It was like a whisper, a question neither of you had the courage to ask aloud. His lips met yours with the kind of careful tenderness that made your heart stumble. 

But the second your hand threaded lightly into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the slow flex of muscle beneath, the kiss deepened. Firmer. Hungrier. It always ends up being something that drives you both to drown in the pleasure of the other.

Like every kiss you'd shared before, it built the way an argument does when neither side wants to win. If anything, pleasure dictates that both of you must lose. In this quiet battle of rhythm and stubborn, aching affection, there must always be surrender to the wiles of desire. 

And desire between the two of you, it was subtle, magnetic, and once it started, there was simply no stopping it. That’s just how it was when two people are willing to love each other into the depths of pleasurable madness. 

Your mouth tasted faintly of whisky and laughter, the easy, sun-warm kind that only ever happened when you were around him. His tasted like patience, like something deeper and more endless than you could ever hope to name. It was smoky and sweet all at once, carrying the faint, intoxicating notes of the highballs he'd sipped earlier at the bar.

When he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further, you caught that ghost of flavor again. All too smooth, warm, and utterly Kento. You made a soft, involuntary sound against him, and he responded in kind, a low hum deep in his chest that you could feel rumbling against your palms as you clutched at him.

One kiss turned into another. And another. It was an endless loop that you both couldn’t stop. Nothing was going to stop you both from taking and taking. Each one of those kisses saying more than words ever could: Stay. Want you. Need you. I love you.

Your glass slid forgotten to the side, a soft clink against the table as your hands found their way up his chest, memorizing the shape of him again, grounding yourself in the solid, steady reality of Kento.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction of an inch, his forehead resting lightly against yours, both of you breathing each other in. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone in a silent promise.

"You’re dangerous, aren’t you, pretty woman?" he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers dancing down your spine.

You smiled, breathless and a little dizzy. "Only for you."

He kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to show you exactly what you meant to him and you realized, in a quiet, resounding way, that he really did.

But you knew that it was not going to last long. But even in the dullness, you know that your boyfriend liked having something intriguing, to keep the flames of passion burning.

Soon enough, it was messy in the way only sober-enough kissing is, all too intentional, all too knowing. His hand slipped under your shirt, not greedy, just certain. Yours tangled in his hair, already a little mussed from the night. You tugged lightly. He hummed, pleased with it all. You’d forgotten the song still playing.

You could barely come up for air. But when you finally did, your faces were beautifully flushed towards each other, your breath falling into his collarbone like a confession. Your lover leaned his head back, caramel eyes closed, chest rising slowly. He was a happy, fulfilled man indeed. And you liked seeing that.

And then, just like that, he asked, “Would you like to move in together?”

You blinked. Pulled back just enough to see his face. No smirk. No nerves. Just that classic Nanami Kento stillness with a dash of nonchalant. Like he’d asked if you wanted to order another drink to be poured on his drink.

“Did you hit your head on something when I wasn’t looking?” you asked, eyes narrowed. “Because that was a tone shift.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, darling.” he said simply. “For a while. It just….makes sense.”

You sat up, heart thudding now. Certainly not from the kissing, not from the whisky but from the quiet way he said for a while. Like it had been living in him. Like it wasn’t a sudden idea, but a decision that had already been made. He was just offering it to you now, carefully wrapped in calm.

“You don’t joke about things like this, Nanami Kento.” you said, half–teasing, half–terrified. “You’re going to be talking about what my shoe closet looks like.”

“I don’t joke about something this serious, darling. You know. Especially about the shoe closet.”

You stared at him. He stared back. You looked away from him, pursing your lips as you began to daydream about what he was saying. You don’t daydream too much, for your own sake, of course. But when you do now, it consumes you.

You begin to think of what your days could look like. Your shirt was crooked, and his button–up was half undone, and the air was thick with possibility and the slight scent of his cologne. You thought about your small closet. 

His endless collection of ties. Your bright violet toothpaste. His expensive golden razor. The quiet mornings. The very occasional arguments that always ended in silence and leaning in. The space between you and him, shrinking.

You bit your lip. “If I say yes, will you be freakishly neat and reorganize my spice rack alphabetically once again?”

“Only if you want me to.”

You paused. “...And you’re sure you’re not asking because the whisky made me seem extra charming tonight?”

“You are always charming, my precious darling.” he said, with no irony. “And I’m asking because I want to come home to you. I mean, it’s nice to see you when I get home.”

You tilted your head at him, studying his face in the low light. You always did that when you didn’t quite trust the size of the moment. You held it up to the light like jewelry, trying to see if it caught the right kind of sparkle.

And then, as naturally as anything, you looked at him and sighed. “Well….you’re already always in my apartment anyway. Unless you’re sleeping in your trailer.”

That got him. He laughed. You could hear it reverberating in your ear. It was a soft, deep thing that cracked through the room like thunder far away, the kind that rolls more than it rumbles. Kento didn’t laugh easily. So when he did, it always felt like it belonged to you.

“Yeah, exactly.” he said, tilting his glass, warm caramel eyes still on yours. “It’s more homely than mine, comfortable beyond words.”

You smirked. “Homely? That’s a diplomatic way to describe the leaning bookshelf, the chipped kettle, and the constant state of sock–on–floor.”

“I like it here, darling.” he said. Simple. No room for embellishment. “It’s…..way more sunlight than my godawful apartment.”

You laughed at him. You leaned forward and plucked his glass gently from his hand, setting it down with yours on the coffee table. Then you tucked your legs under his, leaned against his shoulder.

“That's an interesting form of thought.” you said, playing with the hem of his shirt. “You’re saying all this time you’ve been camping out here like some beautifully stoic squatter, and now you’re just formalizing the situation?”

“I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial merger.”

You laughed into his shoulder. “That’s the most you thing you could possibly say, baby.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he murmured. “You have all the good coffee. And a much better pillow.”

“Obviously, I splurge on myself.” you said, chin tilted up to meet his gaze. “I have taste, after all.”

He nodded, slow and serious. “I did notice. You chose me.”

You paused. Damn him. You weren’t the romantic one. Not really. Perhaps that’s why none of your relationships have panned out the way you wanted it to. You were the wisecrack. The getaway car. The girl with the enraging punchline. 

But the way he said things, there was just enough softness behind the deadpan, like the words had passed a board meeting of his thoughts before being released and you couldn’t dodge it. It’s also safe to say that you didn’t want to. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” you whispered. “Let’s do it. Let’s live together.”

He didn’t smile wide at those words. Kento didn’t go wide all the time, you knew that. But there was a shift in his bright eyes, a stillness behind them that deepened the more he looked at you. It was like a weight over his shoulder had dropped at anchor.

He squeezed your hand once and started caressing your fingers. Kento then leaned in, his mouth brushing yours. It was slower than the first time you’ve made out tonight. It was passionate but it was more reverent. It was like he was kissing the idea of a home rather than a person. 

You deepened the kiss this time. Not messy. Not urgent. Just right. And somewhere between the quiet of the room and the cool press of his palm against your lower back, it dawned on you now.

Kento hadn’t missed a show, he never had any intention of doing something like that. And now, he wasn’t going to miss the mornings after, either. All at once, you found yourself falling in love all over again with him. 

Later, the jazz music had slowly faded into silence, and the only sound was the rustle of his shirt as he took it off, careful, like he was folding it at the dry cleaners. He never left clothes in a heap. Even here, even now. You found that annoying once. Now it made your chest ache a little.

The two of you now laid there together on the couch soon after your joyous kissing, your legs tangled, your head tucked under his chin, the quiet holding you both like an extra blanket. This sort of silence comes ever so many times after blissful desires being fulfilled between the two of you.

“Where would we live?” you murmured, voice soft from the edge of sleep. “Here? Yours? Or are we doing the whole… new place, new life thing?”

He was quiet for a moment, long enough you thought maybe he’d dozed off.“Here, if you’re comfortable. Your place feels lived in.”

You chuckled. “That’s a poetic way of saying cluttered, don’t you think?”

He didn’t deny it. “But it’s better here despite that.” he added, looking at you tenderly. “You laugh here. And I adore that.”

You blinked, suddenly too awake. You tilted your face up to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You laugh the most in this space, darling.” he said. “You’re yourself. You come home and sigh, and drop your keys like you’re shedding a persona. It’s honest.”

Your throat tightened, because it was true. And because you hadn’t even realized he noticed. You were always laughing, but this doesn’t mean it’s always as genuine as people think. But when you’re here in this space, comfortable and without prying eyes — only Kento’s eyes watching you, you become the truest form of yourself. 

“I can bring my coffee maker too.” he offered to you. “And we can trade the bookshelf for one that doesn’t threaten to collapse every time you breathe near it.”

You snorted, pushing lightly at his chest. “Don’t touch my bookshelf.”

“But it leans like it’s in debt.”

“It’s got character!” You defended. “Besides, I got it for free.”

“$500 dollars is not free.” He raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And so do unstable men, darling. Doesn’t mean you bring them home.”

You laughed at these words, louder this time. It echoed even towards the  other side of the kitchen walls. He smiled for real then, the kind he didn’t give to paparazzi or co-stars or anyone on set. The one he saved for you.

You shifted up to straddle his lap, your hands settling on his chest, warm and solid beneath you. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” you whispered, more a realization than a question.

He nodded. “I’ve never been more certain.”

“And what if I’m a terrible roommate?”

“You already are.”

You gasped, dramatic. “Rude.”

“But, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” he said, brushing his thumb against your jaw. “ I like that you’re my terrible roommate. And I’d rather trip over your shoes for the rest of my life than spend another night in a trailer with lukewarm green tea and no you.”

You stared at him. “You know you just tricked me into a lifelong lease, right?”

He kissed your temple. “No trick. Just a very long–term investment.”

You sighed. Surrendered. Sank into him. “You’re too much for your own good, you know that?”

“So are you.” He says, amused, eyes full of love. “But I love you anyway.”

Outside, Tokyo city central buzzed on with its neon lights, distant traffic, another weekend folding itself into the city’s rhythm. But inside, your little apartment held a different kind of electricity. The kind that came not from what was said, but from what had already been decided.

And if love wasn’t about staying through the chaos, the mismatched cups, the jokes that landed late and the ones that cut too deep, then what was it, really? 

YOU WERE SATISFIED WITH THIS CURRENT SITUATION. Finally you and Kento got a day off where your schedules aligned. So, on this random day, you both embarked onto every facet of Tokyo Metropolitan in order to go house hunting together. 

The real estate agent you got was all perfect. Too perfect, actually. Dressed in that crisp, tailored suit that looked like it came straight out of a movie. His hair was combed back like he was auditioning for a role in a historical drama about upper–class finance bros. 

You had half a mind to ask if the place came with a butler who could direct you to your inevitable panic attack. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself trying to lock in and focus on making sure you had good water heating for your showers.

“You two are looking for something cozy?” the agent asked, smiling so professionally it made you suspicious.

“Cozy and comfortable.” Kento said, cool as ever. “But with enough space to store all her shoes.”

“I don’t have that many, baby.” you shot back, nudging his arm.

He gave you that tiny, unspoken smile, one that the agent can’t see. Only you saw it. It was the kind that you couldn’t figure out if it was because he was genuinely amused or because he had found a way to subtly insult you without actually saying anything. Either way, it was frustratingly attractive.

The agent beamed. “Ah, yes, of course. We’ll aim for something with great closet space then, yes? A walk–in? Maybe two?”

You looked at Kento. “Are we living in L.A. now? Do I need to start measuring the walk–in closet for a vanity?”

Kento was silent for a beat. Then, with the kind of dry humor only he could pull off.“You could definitely use a vanity. I’ve seen your makeup bag.”

“I heard that.” you muttered.

Meanwhile, the agent was nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. A vanity. We can definitely make that happen. What about an open-concept kitchen? Something with a large island? Perfect for cooking together.”

You and Kento exchanged a look. A silent agreement passed between you. “Yes, that would be good.” Kento said smoothly, “I’ll do the cooking, she’ll do the eating. Well, when we have the time.”

“Hey!” you protested.

“I’m just saying, darling.” he continued, mirth in the corner of his eyes. “You’re more of a ‘delivery’ person.”

You threw a playful punch at his shoulder, but the agent didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy mentally planning the layout of your future life in a house that, as of right now, was just a pile of well-choreographed words.

“So, here’s the first place for you both to view.” the agent said, gesturing grandly as if he was presenting you with the last plot of land on Earth. “A beautiful two–bedroom townhouse, open space, natural light pouring in through those big windows. I know you both like that.”

You stepped inside. The place was nice, in that “too perfect, too clean, not a single imperfection anywhere” kind of way. The walls were white, the floors were polished wood, and there was one of those fancy glass showers with no curtain, because apparently, that’s a thing now. There was a room that could be a study, but you both knew it would be more of a “catch–all for all your stuff you don’t want anyone to see” room.

“It’s……interesting.” you started, trying to be diplomatic. “Very... minimalist.”

“Minimalist?” Kento raised an eyebrow, stepping into the living room. “It’s like they took everything from a showroom and put it into a place with no soul.”

The agent smiled, clearly too trained to let the comment rattle him. “Ah, yes. We can certainly add some personal touches. But the layout is ideal.”

You looked at Kento, who was already over by the window, staring out at the view like he was plotting a great escape. “It’s fine, really.” you said, but there was a hesitation in your voice. “It’s just... not us, you know?”

“Yeah, I agree.” Kento said, voice low but sharp. “It feels like someone else’s idea of a home. Not ours.”

You didn’t even have to say anything. You just knew. He knew. This was a ‘try again’ kind of place. The agent was already leading you to the next property, which was thirty minutes away from this place.

Neighborhood was quiet so far, which Kento liked. You just don’t know how they’ll like you afterwards when you make ridiculous jokes out loud to practice your sets. You were very loud after all. And that also happens more so, when Kento becomes too enamoured with you.

“We’ll have to move fast here.” he said, eager, “I’ve had quite a bit of interest in this one. A lot of competition.”

Kento turned to you, eyes twinkling with barely-contained sarcasm. “Oh good, maybe we can start fighting for it. Really amp up the drama.”

“Great, great.” you said, just as mischievously sarcastic. “I can finally get that dramatic screaming match in before we settle in. A few raised voices, maybe throw in a wine glass for good measure.”

Kento chuckled. “Perfect. Maybe the house will actually start to feel like home then.”

The agent led you to the next house, which was a bit further from Tokyo Metropolitan. But it’s not too bad. It was a slightly less–polished version of the first, but with more charm.

A real fireplace instead of the fake one that gave you heartburn just by looking at it. It felt... real in a way the last one didn’t. It was imperfect. But it had character. The kind of character you could shape, add to, make your own.

“Now this one, it's intriguing.” Kento said, the corners of his mouth turning up. “This feels like it could work.”

You walked through the rooms together, each step you took feeling a little more like it was yours. The light was warm. The space felt like it could hold both of you for as long as you both lived. It could fit your shoes, his ties, your inevitable pile of random things that just seemed to find their way into your life.

And when you looked at him, when you caught his bright caramel eyes across the room as he traced his finger along the edge of the counter, you realized something important.

You weren’t looking for perfection, that was for sure. You weren’t looking for minimalist or an open–concept kitchen with a huge island. You were looking for something that felt like it would fit you both. Something you could grow into, something that would hold your laughter, your fights, your quiet mornings.

“So, baby…..what’s on your mind?” you said, slipping your hand into his. “What do you think? Are you willing to share a closet with me?”

Kento looked at you for a long beat, then cracked the smallest smile. “I already do.”

“Well, that settles it.” you said, “I’m sold then.”

The agent looked confused, probably waiting for some big, final decision or maybe an overexcited explosion from both of you. But you and Kento were more calm about this than he probably thought. Yet you know that sometimes it’s not about the house or the grandeur of it all. It’s about what you bring into it.

You turned to the agent, smiling. “We’ll take it!”

“Do you not want to hear about the amenities—”

“Your pamphlet had the information and I read it on the way here.” Kento says, cutting the agent off with a suave look. “We’ll take it.”

“A–ah, I see….well, alright.” The agent rubbed the back of his head, flustered and confused.

You turned to the agent, who was still awkwardly waiting for some sort of real answer, and grinned. “Wrap it up for us, okay?” you said, voice as sweet as it could be. “We’ll take it. Seriously.”

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting you to make the decision so quickly. “You’re... sure?”

You nodded, a little too casually. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not perfect—but it’s good. It feels right. Right, Kento?”

Kento, who had been silently nodding in agreement for the past minute, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. It’s got potential. And I like that I won’t have to climb over a pile of shoes every time I come through the door.”

You shot him a look. “You’re one to talk. Your shoes multiply like they have a life of their own.”

He shrugged with that calm, nonchalant smile of his. “What can I say? I’m a high-maintenance guy.”

The agent was looking between the two of you, still a little confused but clearly relieved that you were on the same page. “Well, in that case, I’ll start drawing up the paperwork.”

You smiled, standing a little straighter now that the weight of the decision had settled into your chest. “Great. Let’s get this over with so we can go drink to our terrible, amazing decision-making skills.”

Kento leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as reality settled in. “We own a house together now.”

You beamed at him, almost jumping in his arms, giggling. “We own a house together! Oh, I’m so happy, Kento!”

“I think I’d rather make this place a home with you than spend one more minute pretending that’s what that other place was.” He says, placing a kiss on the temple of your head. “This is our home now.”

You sighed dreamingly, smiling. “Our home….”

“The packing is going to be crazy, though.” You whistled, looking around. “Oh, that’s where the bookshelves could be!”

Kento chuckled beside you. “You’re going to need a lot of whiskey for that.”

“I’ll bring the whiskey if you bring the moving boxes, baby.” you quipped, playfully nudging his side.

He grinned. “Deal. But you know, you’ll be the one organizing everything, right?”

You gave him a look of mock horror. “Are you trying to start a war, Kento? Because that’s how wars start.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Fine. But I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you say now…”

Kento’s eyes twinkled with a touch of mischief. “I’m a man of my word.”

The agent watched you both banter, clearly fascinated by the easy chemistry between you two. He cleared his throat, snapping you back to the task at hand. “I’ll get everything started for you. You’ll have the paperwork to sign by tomorrow. Congratulations, you two. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Thanks so much.” you said with a smile, “We’re excited. It’s gonna be great.”

As the agent left, you both stood in the empty living room for a few moments, letting the reality of it all sink in. “You know, baby. Half of this was a nightmare.” you said, finally breaking the silence. “When I woke up this morning, I was kind of dreading this whole process. But now that it’s over, it feels…” You trailed off, glancing around the room.

“Easy?” Kento offered, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah.” You nodded, leaning against him. “Easy.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next?”

“Next?” You raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’ll need to unpack. And then maybe—”

“Then maybe we can do something.” he interrupted with a soft laugh. “You know, we can  celebrate with a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine and a night on the couch, just the two of us. No packing. No organizing. Just... us.”

You looked up at him, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “That sounds perfect.”

And for once, you didn’t think about anything else. No performances, no deadlines, no next steps in the grand plan. It was just him, and the apartment, and the future you two had already started building, one whiskey-fueled kiss at a time.

“Alright, alright.” you said, looping your arm through his. “Let’s go home.”

“Home….together.” Kento repeated softly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like the two of you were just visiting your lives. You were living them. Together. Forever and forever. 

YOU ALWAYS ENJOY VISITING THEM. Regular people will think that it’s weird that you enjoy the company of Kento’s family, especially his ex–wife’s presence. But you do, you do enjoy it. And you aren’t ashamed of it. They loved you just as much as you loved them, after all.

The moment you stepped into his ex–wife’s house, you knew it was going to be a night. Not a “pass the soy sauce and let’s be civil” night—no, this was shaping up to be a “smile through the tension, eat too much, and pray no one brings up that thing from 2018” kind of evening.

The air smelled like grilled miso eggplant and inevitable chaos. Gojo Satoru answered the door in socks that said “Sexiest Dad Alive” and a kimono robe that was 100% not his. He still looked like a beautiful man, a ridiculous man just the same. And not your type. 

But you know you can’t judge that much. You’re dating a man with a reputation like Kento as well. You smiled at him, greeting him. He grinned like a man who just knew he was going to stir the pot and was already preheating the spoon.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the power couple of the year.” Gojo declared, smiling brightly. “Come in! We’ve been emotionally preparing.”

Kento rolled his eyes so hard you heard it. “Can we go one night without theatrics?”

“You married a woman who schedules her sarcasm, Kento–kun.” Gojo shot back. “Clearly, you like theatrics.”

You patted Kento’s arm. “He has a point.”

“He spent years yearning for her too, you know.” Kento whispers.

“But you married her first, so….” You snicker at your boyfriend.

“Okay, what is this topic?”

Kenshin and Keiko were already on the couch, each with a plate of food and an expression that screamed, “We are only here for the drama.” Nanami Keiko was mid–bite with her lasagna bowl when she spotted you both.

“Oh god, you’re here for dinner!” Keiko said through a mouthful of snacks, eyes widening as you and Kento stepped into the living room. “Is this the dinner where you announce you’re getting a dog? Because I’m prepared to cry.”

“Is that how you greet your father?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow at her, all dry patience and faint exasperation.

“Hey, it’s not too bad, Dad.” Keiko said, grinning as she brushed crumbs off her sweatshirt and stood up from the couch, “I thought it was just going to be a regular dinner, Dad. You didn’t say there’d be announcements. You’ve trained me to expect stoic silence and miso soup.”

You bit back a laugh, shrugging out of your coat as Kento exchanged a long-suffering look with the ceiling. “She’s gotten more dramatic since the last time.” he muttered. “My daughter, a doctor at the hospital but a menace at home.”

“It’s in the blood, isn’t it?” you said, grinning at him. “Just like her father.”

“Don’t encourage her, darling.” he replied, but the twitch of a smile betrayed him.

Keiko walked over and gave him a quick hug, the kind that started sarcastic but ended sincere. “How was your trip here?”

“Rather long, really.” he said, placing a hand on her back briefly. 

Kenshin raised a brow. “But isn’t the trip only one hour max? I mean, even shorter if there was a bullet train.”

“Someone on the train was watching a drama at full volume.”

“Ah.” Keiko nodded. “Yeah, Dad hates that.”

“Dad’s better than me, I would have been crashing out.” Kenshin retorted, shaking his head.

“Did you ask them to turn it down?” she asked.

“I put in earplugs, [name] gave it to me on the way.” he said flatly. “And mentally rewrote the last act.”

Kenshin raised a brow. “What was the show?”

“I don’t remember.”

��You just saw the show an hour ago!”

“Well, it was that forgettable.”

“You’re such a dad.” Keiko said with a sigh.

“I am your dad.”

“I know. That’s why I said that.”

In the corner, Gojo Satoru popped his head into the room, already holding a beer and smiling like he knew exactly what chaos was about to happen. “Is this the dinner where you tell us you’re engaged? Or moving to Okinawa to open a soba shop? I need to mentally prepare.”

“It’s not that dramatic, you know.” you said quickly, laughing.

Gojo tilted his head. “You sure? Because Kento–kun here looks like he practiced something in the mirror.”

“He always looks like that, Gojo.” Keiko said. “Even when we were kids he was like that!”

Kento sighed. “Can we just sit down for dinner like normal people?”

“Sure, sure.” Gojo said, winking as he took a sip of his beer. “Right after you make your Very Important Announcement.”

Kenshin, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop from behind his phone screen, immediately perked up. “Wait, no, no. This feels bigger. This feels like living together level big.”

Keiko gasped, dramatically clutching her chest like a kabuki actress mid-tragedy. “You’re moving in together?! That is a dog-level announcement!”

Gojo pointed at her with his beer. “Told you. I can smell news. I’ve been around press conferences.”

Kento sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can everyone please stop shouting?”

“Seriously, Dad?” Kenshin’s eyes widened. “You’re moving in together? Wait, [name], are you pregnant?”

You and Kento froze in sync like a badly rehearsed improv duo at Kenshin’s statement. You were about to say something after recovering from shock but Kento’s ex–wife, bless her well–moisturized soul, appeared in the doorway with a bowl of tsukemono and the timing of a sitcom character.

“What’s this about living together?” she asked with a smirk that said I already know but I want to see him squirm.

You cleared your throat and elbowed Kento gently. “Well, funny you should mention it…”

Kento, ever the man of zero dramatic flair, stood up, adjusted his sleeves, and said flatly, “We’re moving in together.”

You turned to all of them, with wide eyes. "But not pregnant! Just clearing this out now. Not pregnant!"

Keiko blinked. “Wait, is this serious this time? Like genuinely, seriously happening?”

Kenshin choked on his drink. “Does that mean I can have Dad’s place?”

“Absolutely not, Kenshin.” Kento deadpanned. “You have your own place.”

“Wait, wait.” Gojo said, grinning like a man who just got handed a new toy. “You’re officially cohabiting? As in, toothbrushes next to each other? As in, shared Netflix password?”

“I’ve had his Netflix password for months, don’t worry about that.” you said sweetly. “But thank you for your concern.”

Kento gave you a look. “That explains the K-dramas in my watch history.”

His ex–wife laughed, which might’ve been the most surprising part of the night. “Honestly, I’m thrilled for you. He’s less grumpy since you started dating. Which is a miracle, because I thought his base setting was ‘dissatisfied salaryman.’”

“Still is, if we’re being honest.” Gojo Satoru whispered behind his hand, then dodged a kick from Kento under the table. “That sorcerer salaryman role never left your head!”

“Did you guys buy a new place or is one of you moving in together?” His ex–wife asked.

“Well, we decided that it was going to be my place originally but…..we’ve discovered we’re two maximalists with a dream and my apartment is not gonna fit all the shoes and his ties.” You say, with a grin on your face as she laughed. “We got a new place.”

Keiko grinned. “I’m just glad you got a new place. Dad’s current place sucks, you know? It’s basically a makeover show waiting to happen.”

“You’re right, it definitely sucks!” 

“Seriously, though.” Kenshin added. “If you live in Dad’s apartment, you’ll come home one day and your books will be alphabetized by emotional trauma.”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Kento muttered, setting down his chopsticks. “Can we eat without treating this like a roast?”

“No, never.” everyone, including you, replied in unison. Kento rolls his eyes as everyone giggles.

You leaned into Kento, whispering, “You know, for a guy with two kids, an ex-wife, and a Gojo in his life, you’re taking this really well.”

He sighed. “This was a mistake.”

You smiled, kissed his cheek, and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Too late. I’ve got the closet rights now.”

Gojo raised his glass. “Well, we should celebrate. Go on, raise your glasses! To shared closets and questionable life choices!”

And just like that, the tension broke. Laughter filled the room. Food was passed. Kenshin asked if he could borrow your air fryer. Keiko tried to sell you on a shared Spotify family plan. Gojo tried to emotionally adopt you again.

And Kento, stoic, stable, secretly soft Kento. He just smiled that small, rare smile he saved for moments like this. Surrounded by family, chaos, and a woman who laughed too loud and wouldn’t let him alphabetize her spice rack.

Home wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t calm.

But it was his.

And now, officially, it was yours too.

Later that night, full of soy sauce and feelings, you found yourself wedged between Keiko and Gojo on the couch like some unwilling member of a variety show panel. Gojo was enthusiastically showing you a video montage of Kenshin’s high school stage play performance. Kenshin, from across the room, was groaning into a decorative pillow.

“Stop acting like you weren’t brilliant.” Gojo said proudly, pointing at the screen where Kenshin delivered Hamlet’s soliloquy with all the intensity of someone discovering existential dread and acne at the same time. “I mean, for an information science major, this is not half bad!”

“I think I stuttered somewhere around here….”

“But that really doesn’t matter in the long run, anyway! You held off your own despite that. Good job!”

“Though, the wig looks off.” Keiko whispered under her breath. “Where did you buy it?”

You nodded at her. “Yeah, this looks like you pulled it together from the shower drain!”

Kenshin blushed. “Look, I tried to style it myself but failed!”

Meanwhile, Kento stood in the corner of the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and looking like a man watching his dignity dissolve into miso soup. His ex–wife leaned against the counter beside him, sipping her wine and trying not to laugh too obviously.

“You look like you’re regretting life choices.” she said, sipping with a knowing smile.

“I’m not, I promise.” Kento replied quietly. “I just didn’t realize how... loud everything was.”

“You always forget.” she said, nudging his arm. “Then you end up in a room with all of us and remember why noise–canceling headphones were the best thing you ever bought.”

“I guess.” 

“I’m glad for you taking this next step, you know?” She says to him with earnest eyes. “It’s good that you finally got your shit together.”

“Hm, I’m glad for that too.” He crossed his arms, whispering under his breath. 

Across the room, you were now trying to explain to Keiko and Gojo how you and Kento managed to choose an apartment without passive-aggressively breaking up at IKEA. For a moment, Kento and his ex–wife stopped what they were doing and looked at you.

“This was for the best.” Kento whispered, almost breathlessly. “I’m happy we’re friends, our kids are alright with this. And we’re happy.”

His ex–wife smiled. “I’m glad we feel all the same things.”

Keiko looked genuinely impressed. “You mean you agreed on furniture? Like, voluntarily?”

“Well, not really.” you said, “I said mid-century modern, and he said, ‘functional’ and then we bickered like children. But, we finally met somewhere between emotionally repressed and tragically tasteful.”

Gojo snorted. “So, beige.”

“Very beige, unfortunately.” you said to him.. “But with the possibility of color. Eventually. If Kento has a glass of wine and I cry about the lighting.”

Kenshin piped up from the other couch. “So basically, you guys are domestic now. Gross.”

You shrugged. “Deeply domestic. I saw him fold laundry last night with reverence.”

Kento, hearing that, called out: “Because you washed a red sock with my white dress shirts.”

“Oh please,” you said. “They’re barely pink. They're a millennial blush.”

Keiko whispered, “God, you guys are already like an old married couple.”

“We’re working on it even more than before.” you said proudly, raising your tea like a trophy. “Just watch!”

Eventually, the night started to wind down. The kids cleaned up dishes without being asked (a rare planetary alignment), Gojo offered to pack you both some leftover tamagoyaki “for energy” and Kento's ex–wife hugged you warmly by the door.

“I’m happy for you, both of you.” she said again, softer now, so only you could hear. “He’s better with you. Not different—just...better.”

You blinked, a little surprised by the lump in your throat. “Thanks. That means a lot. I really love him.”

“I know, I know.” she said. “So do I. Just... in a way that makes me happy he’s yours now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just squeezed her hand and tried not to get weepy over pickled vegetables.

Kento reappeared with both your coats and your leftovers packed like they’d been engineered by a Tetris champion. He kissed the top of your head. “Ready?”

You nodded. “Always.”

Gojo shouted from the living room, “Text me when you get home so I know he didn’t alphabetize your bookshelf while you weren’t looking!”

“He already did!” you yelled back.

Kento groaned. “You said it looked better.”

"It's not like I'm denying that, baby."

"Well, you might as well have."

You waved goodnight, stepped out into the chilly Tokyo evening, and slipped your hand into his. And for all the teasing, the noise, the unsolicited parenting advice from Gojo Satoru. This was what it came down to. Two people, moving in together. No fanfare. Just leftovers, pink shirts, and shared keys.

Home was no longer a place. It was walking down the street with him beside you, bickering about sock colors and furniture shapes, and knowing—without a doubt—you’d do it all again tomorrow.

YOUR SET WAS PRETTY GOOD TODAY. No, no. Scratch that. It was great. One of those rare, glittering Tokyo nights when everything just clicked. The mic felt like an extension of your arm, the spotlight hit you like a confession from someone you’ve secretly hoped would crack, and the crowd? 

The crowd was yours. Eating out of your hand like you were handing out free matcha Kit Kats and emotionally healthy communication. You were flying. Every punchline landed smoother than a shinkansen on a clear track. 

Your timing was tighter than your vintage Levi’s after a full wash and a late-night conbini run. Even the new material hit, especially the one about Kento’s deep, unsettlingly sexy relationship with organization.

You leaned into the mic, grinning. “So I live with this man now—yes, thank you, I know, I deserve a medal. And I’ve learned something: he doesn’t just organize the fridge. He curates it."

People start to laugh, but you shush them. "Oh, this is no joke, people. The soy sauce is labeled ‘fermented umami solution’ and it’s filled next to a vision board and a bottle of yuzu that has better lighting than I’ve ever had on a Zoom call.”

That earned a full-blown ripple of laughter. Someone in the front row clapped spontaneously, which was a bit much, but you’d allow it. You were willing to get what you were gonna get with that joke, you knew.

You pushed on. “And I opened the vegetable drawer, once—and found a mood calendar. With stickers. Stickers! Tuesday’s daikon was feeling introspective, Thursday’s was gassy but resilient. The carrots were listed as ‘optimistic but emotionally reserved.’ I haven’t touched a vegetable since. I’m afraid I’ll mess up the vibe.”

There was a sputtering sound from somewhere in the back, someone choking on their highball. You paused dramatically, then dropped the kicker. “And he doesn’t just store things, okay? He gives them purpose. I caught him whispering to a bottle of sesame oil. I said, ‘What are you doing?’ He goes—dead serious—‘Encouraging it to fulfill its potential.’”

The room exploded with that one. Even someone at the bar had to steady themselves on a stool. That has pleased you quite a lot. You giggled, moving about to reset in order to get into  another joke.

You glanced sideways, second stool from the left. There he was once again. Nanami Kento. One elbow on the bar, tie slightly loosened, whisky in hand, that signature calm stretched across his face. 

He wasn’t laughing out loud, as always, because of course not. But there was the twitch. The barest hint of amusement tugging at his mouth like a secret only the two of you shared. You’d hit the mark. The audience knew it. You knew it. And Kento? Kento knew it before you even picked up the mic.

The set closed with a bang. Applause burst like confetti. You bowed to everyone, continuing to thank them. You were glowing, buzzing, alive as you waved back away to them.  And then you saw him.

Near the exit. Holding a bouquet of slightly wilted pink roses like a man hoping flowers could make up for... well, everything. You feel like you are gonna puke. Why would he even be here? Your stupid ex. “There she is!” came a voice behind you. 

You turned to where you heard the sound, and there he stood now. Your ex, this close to you. Everything felt like this was the human version of a paper cut that never quite heals. Holding flowers, because of course he was.

You remember why he was the Ex, with a capital E. The guy who once ghosted you after introducing you to his cat like that was a serious milestone. The one who once told you your ambition was “charming but exhausting” which is exactly what people say right before they buy a motorcycle and move to Kyoto to "find himself."

He was standing there. Holding flowers. Actual flowers. Like it was a school recital or a K-drama. Roses, of course, classic, dramatic, and completely impractical. You hated how you had no way around him on this stage design.

“Hey.” he said, with that familiar crooked smile that used to make your knees weak but now just made you want to check your emotional firewall.

You blinked. “You lost? Because I know a good therapist who can help you find closure.”

He laughed. “I came to see your set. You were great. Really. Like... better than I remembered.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks…..Are you still ghosting your therapist or have you finally learned how to communicate in full sentences?”

Behind him, like a silent film villain with perfect posture, Nanami Kento was watching. Calm. Cool. And terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that said I am not jealous, I am just evaluating the best time to throw this man into the river without disrupting public peace.

The Ex offered the flowers. “Thought I’d bring these. To say I’m proud of you. And sorry. For… y’know. Stuff.”

You crossed your arms. “Stuff? Wow. Really digging deep into that emotional vocabulary, huh?”

Kento finally walked over, not fast, just… decisively. Like a slow-motion threat in a beige trench coat. “Evening to you.” he said to the Ex, voice polite but with the undertone of someone who can fold a person like laundry. “Can I help you?”

The Ex straightened up, suddenly remembering that Kento existed and that he was, in fact, built like the kind of man who can deadlift emotional baggage and you, if necessary. Unfortunately, he is still a man who wants a woman.

“Just dropping off some flowers.” the Ex said quickly. “Friendly gesture, if you will.”

Kento nodded slowly. “They’re nice. But she’s allergic to cheap apologies and filler greens.”

You nearly choked on your laugh. But you knew you couldn’t stop it for so long. So you try to make it about coughing. The Ex looked between you two, clearly realizing he was very much not the main character anymore. 

“Who are you anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious who I am?” Kento retorted back at him. “I’m the guy she’s using as her material. That means I’m her boyfriend.”

“O–oh….wait, you’re dating this guy? And you moved in together?”

You nodded at him, snickering. “Hm. Why, you want him? I’m sorry, he’s one of a kind. I cannot share.”

“That’s—”

“Is there a problem with that?” Kento asked, raising a brow.

“No, no…not at all……Right. Well… good luck with the whole moving-in thing. Hope it works out.”

“It already is.” you said, plucking one of the roses and handing the rest back to him. “Here. Take these home. Maybe give one to that rice cooker you never committed to.”

He walked off, bouquet tucked awkwardly under his arm like regret wrapped in cellophane. You turned to Kento, who hadn’t said much after your former lover left, but you knew he didn’t have to. His hand brushed yours, tenderly touching you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You smiled. “Better than okay. That was almost fun.”

Kento raised an eyebrow. “You call that fun?”

You slipped your arm through his. “I call you fun. That counts, right?”

He looked at the rose in your hand. “You know that doesn’t match the rest of the flowers I got you last week.”

“I know, I know.” you said, smirking. “Yours will always be the prettiest, baby.”

Later that night, after your ex had limped out of the club like a man who’d just realized he’d missed the last train of a relationship he never really understood, you and Kento were back at your apartment, settling into the warm, familiar space that had become yours.

Kento poured the sake into the cup. He poured it ever so slowly, deliberately, as if he was pretending to focus on the glass in his hand, but you knew better. You could see the slight furrow in his brow, the way his fingers were wrapped around the glass, not in their usual composed manner, but a little... tighter. A little more tense.

You raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He didn’t look at you, still focused on the sake, as if contemplating its entire existence. "I'm fine."

You leaned in, amused. "Sure? Because I’ve known you long enough to know that ‘fine’ is a word you only use when you're pretending everything's fine, and we both know that's never true."

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. "It’s just… you’re not really the only one with an ex who’s got unfinished business."

You blinked, surprised. "What does that mean?"

He gave a half-laugh, half-grumble. "I just think it’s… interesting, that’s all. How he—" He gestured vaguely with his glass, "—just shows up like that. After everything. And, I mean, flowers? Really?"

You couldn't help but smile, trying to mask the laugh bubbling up. "Are you jealous, Kento?"

He shot you a side-eye. "No."

"Uh-huh."

He looked away again, his tone cool but laced with something slightly irked. "I just think it's... unnecessary. All that 'sorry' talk. Like he’s trying to rewrite history, thinking he can come back in with flowers and make up for all of it. It's... a bit much."

You raised an eyebrow. "It’s flowers, Kento. Bad ones too, if I’m being honest. You know the kind you give when you’ve ruined someone's day. He was just trying to do something... nice."

He paused, then, slowly, as if to measure his words, he added, "Yeah, I just… didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like you were his."

You blinked. “You’re seriously telling me you’re jealous of my ex right now? He’s an ex for a reason.”

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "I’m not jealous, okay? I’m just saying it felt… off. Like he thought he had some claim over you. And you’re mine. You’re with me."

The way he said it, in the quiet, intense conviction in his voice had all but sent a little shiver through you. Nanami Kento, the man who was always the picture of control and composure, suddenly looked... vulnerable.

You set your glass down and leaned toward him, giving him a teasing smile. “You know, for a man who’s so secure, you’re acting like a guy who’s a little nervous.”

Kento didn’t look at you this time, his eyes focused firmly on the bottle of sake as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. "I’m not nervous. Just… protective, I guess."

“Protective?” You laughed softly, though there was a warmth in your voice. “You? The guy who’s basically a walking Zen garden?”

“Even Zen gardens need boundaries, you know.” he shot back, finally meeting your gaze.

That made you pause, the playfulness fading into something a little deeper, a little more real. Kento was never the type to show this side of himself. Not to you. Not about him. But here it was, this quiet, unspoken vulnerability, wrapping around the edges of his usual stoic demeanor.

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand gently. "Kento… you don’t have to worry about my ex. He’s history. The past. You're my future. You’ve been that since the first time we walked into a room together and you didn’t even flinch when I accidentally spilled coffee all over your suit."

He half-smiled at that, the edge of tension softening. "That was a lot of coffee, and you did look very sorry about it."

"I did. But the thing is…" you trailed off, leaning closer to him, your voice soft but clear. “You’re the one I’m with now. You’re the one who’s here. The only one I need to see at the bar. The only one I need to come home to. So, please don’t start getting territorial over cheap stupid bouquets. They’re not worth the drama.”

Kento’s eyes softened, and he took your hand, squeezing it lightly. “I know. It’s just… I’ve never been good at sharing what’s mine.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth spread through you. "Well, good thing I’m not his to share anymore, right?"

“Right, alright….” he muttered, still a little grumpy but now, with that tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Just don’t expect me to be the one handing out flowers when you’re on stage next time. I’d rather just sit there and admire you from the back of the room.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, a little teasing, a little sweet. "I like it when you're watching me. But just so we’re clear, you’re the only one who gets to see me like this. No bouquets necessary."

Kento’s expression softened, that flicker of possessiveness melting into something more tender. “I’ll hold you to that.”

And as you both settled back into the quiet of your apartment, the soft sound of jazz filling the air, you realized that maybe Kento's little moment of jealousy wasn’t insecurity at all. It was just another layer of how deeply he cared.

Maybe next time you’d share a toast to that.

SO FAR IT WAS A SUCCESS. The housewarming party was everything you’d dreamed of and more. Or, more accurately, everything you didn’t know you needed. Nanami Kento and you had put so much thought into the place. Well, mostly Kento had, with his meticulous nature and borderline obsessive attention to detail. 

There were minimalist touches everywhere, but it still felt warm. Your bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from manga to self–help books you’d never read.

There were candles, of course, because Kento liked them in a very “this is an art form” way. Even your kitchen, where you both spent more time than you probably should have lately, was a model of perfect order with an impressively organized spice rack.

Still, there was a sense of life in the place. It wasn’t just a showroom. You live here now. Together. For as long as you both are together, this was now home.The thought sent a little rush through you every time you passed by the key bowl by the door, or caught sight of Kento, elbow-deep in the fridge, reorganizing a jar of miso.

And now, you were standing in your brand new living room, a smile on your face wider than you could ever remember. The champagne flute in hand, bare feet on the cool marble, loud bright music echoing through the marble. You were surrounded by a familiar chaos of castmates, ex-co-stars, and industry friends who had somehow become real friends. Maybe even family.

Gojo Satoru, in a linen shirt so white it probably had its own lighting crew, was dramatically trying to convince Kenshin and Keiko, fresh from their busy days at their workplace, that you'd installed a karaoke machine just for tonight.

“I’m telling you, it’s voice–activated. You just say ‘Whitney’ and it boots right into I Will Always Love You.”

“That’s a lie, Gojo–san.” Keiko said flatly, sipping from her spritzer. “You know that Dad isn’t a big fan of karaoke.”

“Bold accusation for someone who couldn’t hit the bridge in ‘Chandelier’ last Christmas party, kid.” Gojo shot back with a wink. “At least I hit the high note in ‘Rolling In The Deep’ beautifully.”

 Kenshin snorted. “She did better than you trying to moonwalk in socks.”

“Hey! That moonwalk was really damn good, you know that!”

The blonde young woman snickers into her drink. “Yeah, good enough to burn your eyes out.”

A few feet away, Nanami Kento’s ex-wife, now a working chemist, was diplomatically trying to keep her boyfriend Gojo Satoru from hyping up Yaga Masamichi’s children into performing a full musical number before bedtime.

“Satoru. They just finished preschool. Let’s not start casting Matilda tonight.”

Kento himself leaned casually against your kitchen island, deep in conversation with Ayaka, your friend from college who’d gone on to become a theater critic with a cult podcast following. The two of them looked like they were comparing notes on a Shakespeare revival no one had asked for.

Meanwhile, your next-door neighbor, whom you met literally five minutes ago when he showed up uninvited and somehow on the VIP list, was explaining, unsolicited, the real top five sushi places within the Tokyo Metropolitan. Loudly. To no one.

“I’m telling you, Sushi Marufuku is good. You wanna eat fish that changes your life? You go to this little spot in Hakkoku. That’s even better! But of course, Harukata is better! The chef doesn’t even speak, he just stares at you until you cry.”

You offered a vague smile and politely drifted away. You caught sight of Kento again, now at the bar, his tall frame still and watchful, a glass of something amber in hand. That familiar, quiet smile tugged at his mouth as he scanned the room, equal parts fond and faintly exhausted.

You made your way to him, pausing just long enough to catch Gojo Satoru once again. You found him amid a debate with your older brother, who had somehow become his favorite person to antagonize at this moment. But you were sure it was because of the alcohol. Most definitely.

“What do you mean ‘No one’s seen her perform in weeks’? She’s a comedian, not a shaman!”

Your brother arched an eyebrow. “Same thing, isn’t it? Both deal in spirits.”

Gojo cackled, practically doubled over. “Okay, that’s good. Write that down. I’m using it for my new comedy.”

Finally, you reached Kento. He turned as you approached, giving you a small, secret smile. “Are you surviving this, baby?” you asked, tipping your glass toward him.

He clinked it on his own. “Just barely. Your friends are… vibrant.”

“You are about to definitely more certainly marry into it, I fear.” you teased him. “Though, I’m the same with your family, don’t you think?”

“True enough, I suppose.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as Gojo’s voice rose again, daring your brother to duet with him on Total Eclipse of the Heart, Kento’s ex–wife trying to calm him down. Keiko is trying to stay away from the drama, while Kenshin was having fun playing with the little kids of your other neighbors. 

“This is our life now, huh?”

Kento glanced around at the glittering mayhem, then down at you. “Yeah, it is.” he said, brushing his thumb lightly along the rim of your glass. “And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Well. Maybe minus the other neighbors, especially the one talking about the sushi.

You nudged Kento with your elbow, leaning in close enough for only him to hear. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, this?” You gestured around the party with a grin, voice teasing. “All the people who’ve seen us at our worst?”

He raised an eyebrow, his usual composure settling into something lighter. “I’m fine. They’re your friends. And I’m pretty sure they like me.”

“Just pretty sure?” You shot him a look.

Kento gave a mock shrug, then smirked, his eyes softening. “Okay, I’m sure. But I’ll never tell Gojo that. He’ll start calling me ‘Best Man’ at every event and then we’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s already gotten my family’s approval. Can’t take it back now.”

That’s when your cue hit. You had promised a little something extra for the evening, and you’d already prepared. You grabbed the mic that you’d had set up in the corner earlier and called out to the crowd. 

"Alright, everyone! Time for a little entertainment. Get ready to experience what you didn’t sign up for!"

The room went quiet like someone hit a mute button on a particularly rowdy dinner party. Everyone turned their attention to you. The wine glasses half–raised, chopsticks mid–air, Your brother and Gojo stopped bickering, your future step–children turned to pay attention. Kento’s ex–wife was already smiling from ear to ear about this.

You glanced over at Kento, who raised his glass to you with that signature Kento nod: respectful, restrained, and just the tiniest bit indulgent. You winked at him and stepped into the spotlight, or well, the stretch of living room rug between the couch and the bookshelf that you had declared your “stage” for the night. Your mic was a pair of chopsticks. Commitment.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here until Keiko decides we’re too embarrassing to be seen in public with.”

She booed from the couch. “Too late!”

“Alright, alright.” you said, tightening your grip on the chopsticks like they held the key to comedic transcendence. “Let’s ease into this. Like Japanese politics.”

Kenshin snorted. “This is gonna be so funny.”

“So I walked past a konbini the other day because obviously, I needed a snack, some affirmation, and maybe a reason to keep going and I saw an entire aisle dedicated to face masks. Not the regular kind. Skincare masks.” You say, motioning to it as if trying to get them to imagine it all. 

“I mean imagine it. A whole aisle. One promised to make me look like a dewy beautiful drama lead who cries aesthetically in the rain. Another one said it was infused with horse oil. Horse. Oil. I held it up and said—out loud, to no one in particular. ‘I am not emotionally stable enough to glow like a racehorse.’”

Snickers could be heard from the corner of the room, giggles being heard in small echoes. “And this obaachan is next to me. She has this full perm, orthopedic sneakers, not a hint of irony—she nods solemnly, like I had just spoken her truth. She goes, ‘Hai ne… too powerful.’”

“That feels like a fever dream!” Kenshin suddenly said, way too loudly.

“Yes, it did feel like that. I was slapping myself, trying to think about how this is just some imagination.” You immediately sprung to reply to his sudden words. “But she handed me a juice box, so it was real. So now I guess we’re friends. We didn’t exchange numbers, but I feel like if I ever get arrested, she’ll be there. Just slowly walking into the police station with a hot pack and a sense of purpose.”

A few laughs. Gojo Satoru clapped once, dramatically. Kento was sipping his wine, not laughing, but you could see the smile lurking at the edge of his mouth. Like your jokes were a private show only he had the key to.

“Recently, though, I’m gonna tell you something that isn’t a fever dream. And it’s my ex showing up to a show, you guys.” you continued. “Which I usually try to avoid mentioning, but listen, when your ex shows up to your show with flowers like he’s the emotionally repressed lead in a Taiga drama, you have to mention it.”

Keiko whispered something to Gojo and they both cackled to each other. “He stood there like, ‘Hey, remember me? I was once almost good at loving you but got distracted by kombucha brewing and fear of commitment.’ — ladies, don’t lower your standards! You deserve better than this!”

More laughter. Your brother raised his beer in salute, as if he was happy about the fact that you were trashing your ex. He does in fact hate your exes more than you did. He doesn’t think anyone is worthy of you, after all.

“And now, let’s talk about my current, well beloved boyfriend. You know who he is.” you said, pausing for effect, nodding at Kento’s direction which earns some whistles and laughter. “I live with a man who arranges the fridge like a Zen garden. Like, there is intention behind the yogurt placement. Once, I moved a bottle of mirin and he looked at me like I had kicked a bonsai tree.”

Kento’s lips twitched. The corner of his eye creased. “I’m serious!” you said. “Last week I asked him why the carrots were stacked like architectural models and he said, and I quote, ‘They deserve a sense of structure.’ I live with a man who gives motivational speeches to root vegetables.”

The laughter rolled now, warm, loving, the kind of laugh that knew you and loved you anyway. You turned to Kento, your voice softening just enough for him to hear over the ripple of joy in the room. You smiled at him.

“But here’s the thing, everyone.” you said. “I’ve never been more grateful to live with someone who takes the time to make sure everything has a place. Even when I’m a mess, even when life’s messy. Because when everything’s upside down, he’s still there, calmly rearranging chaos into something beautiful.”

Kento didn’t smile. He didn’t have to. He just raised his glass again. Ever so silent, certain, his gaze steady and full of that quiet, impossible affection that said, I know you. And I’m not going anywhere. And for once, you didn’t need a punchline.

Laughter trickled out as you glanced over at Kento. “But he’s a silly man, I should let you know. I caught him one time whispering to a bottle of soy milk. I asked him what he was doing. He looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I’m encouraging it to taste better.’”

Laughs were echoing in the living room harder than the first time. “I know, I know, that’s going to hit hard for many of you. But he adores cow milk better. That’s my boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. Every time I buy groceries, it’s like I’m attending a TED talk on cow milk and soy milk, which is better. And you know what,  I’m not even mad about it."

The room was laughing now, everyone relaxed, including Kento, who had an amused glint in his eyes. You leaned into the mic and continued as you looked him in the eye. You smiled into the mic and moved to the center.

"But you know what? It’s cute. I mean, yes, I could get used to it, but at least it’s not like my ex, who once called my fridge a ‘cold cave of disappointment.’ I mean, yes, maybe my ramen wasn’t art, but come on, cold cave of disappointment? I’m not keeping a shrine to my failed relationships, but if I did, that’s where he’d live. But of course, no offerings. He doesn’t deserve it—no, no, the ramen. He deserves the ramen!”

The laughter of the guests continued to spread through the room, with even Gojo cracking up in the back. You glanced over, and there he was, leaning casually against the wall, wearing that too-cool-for-school grin of his.

“But seriously, it’s great." you said, softening a bit. "This house? This life? I couldn’t imagine it with anyone else. My heart’s here. In every perfectly organized drawer, in every misused soy sauce label, in every meal we eat, misaligned veggies and all."

Kento’s smile softened, and you could see the pride in his eyes, like he was somehow more in love with you than he was five minutes ago. That look? The one that said this is everything? Yeah, it was one of your favorites.

You finished your set with a wink, your voice light. "So, that’s my set tonight, folks. I hope you like it. And if you ever need a tour of my fridge or a lesson on how to turn miso soup into a vision board….Hit me up!"

Applause rang out. The room cheered, and Kento raised his glass in your direction, a little glint of admiration in his eyes. You’d killed it and even better, you were doing it together. Your home. Your life. His subtle, hilarious quirks. Your set. It was yours.

As the cheers faded, Gojo grabbed a mic from the corner of the room, grinning wide. "Alright, alright, but can we all agree that Kento’s spice rack deserves its own reality show?"

People started to laugh and clap about that. Soon after, your brother and Gojo had taken over the high platform with their ridiculous conversation and soon enough, they were going bar for bar with their little jokes. You were certain you had to step in, but people were entertained by it. You were sure you didn’t need to go and butt in.  

The party carried on long into the night, the music louder, the laughter thicker, the drinks more free–flowing. People drifted in and out, some chatting, others getting a little too competitive over the karaoke machine Gojo Satoru had definitely bribed someone to set up.

But, in the end, it was the kind of evening that didn’t require anything more than what was already there: good friends, good vibes, and, for once, a sense of complete contentment.

You and Kento found a quiet spot near the window, where you could see the city lights flicker in the distance and settled in with a couple of fresh drinks, just the two of you. You propped your feet up on the coffee table, your glass in hand, and looked over at him. He was still wearing that little smirk, the one that said, I’m happy, but I won’t admit it out loud unless you make me.

“Not bad for our first official housewarming, huh?” you said, nudging him with your foot.

Kento looked over at you, his expression softening. “It’s perfect.” he agreed quietly, his voice just loud enough to reach you over the hum of the party. “I never thought I’d end up with a karaoke machine in my living room, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.”

You laughed, your gaze flicking over to where Gojo and your brother were holding court near the mic stand, belting out some questionable rendition of an '80s ballad. “Yeah, well, you know Gojo. He probably brought it as a gift so he could claim he gave it to us. I’m just surprised my brother’s ended up galavanting with this too.”

Kento snorted. “I can’t believe you let him talk you into letting him sing.”

“Let him?” You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t let him. I was overruled. My brother, the kids, that weird sushi neighbor. Besides, people don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes softened, his focus shifting slightly, like he was remembering something in that quiet way he did. “It feels… good, though. You know? Having everyone here. Having a place of our own.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “It really does. It’s like this little world we’ve built. I know it’s only been a few months, but it already feels like home.”

“It is home.” Kento said, taking a sip of his drink. His bright caramel eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “No matter how many parties we throw or who shows up, this? You and me? This is it.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently. The kind of kiss that lingered, not out of need, but out of sheer love and comfort. It was quiet, soft, and full of the promise that came with being exactly where you were meant to be.

The sound of Gojo’s off–key singing drifted over to you, and you pulled away with a playful groan. “I don’t think he’s ever going to stop, is he?”

Kento chuckled softly. “No, I don’t think so. Not with your brother matching his energy.”

You grinned, settling back into your seat and stretching your legs out again. “Well, as long as he doesn’t try to sing the theme song from Titanic again, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Famous last words, darling.” Kento teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

But the night was still young. The kind of young that shimmered on the edge of something golden and half-remembered, perhaps even half–scripted, half–spontaneous. Outside, the city blinked against the horizon like a marquee of dreams. 

Inside, your living room was pulsing with off–key harmony and champagne bubbles. Gojo Satoru and your brother had officially hijacked the room fully and were deep into a dramatic duet of “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey.

Gojo Satoru crooning with Broadway flair, your brother several beats behind but making up for it in raw enthusiasm. Their voices rose and fell, mercifully more passionate than precise, echoing through the high ceilings and off the framed posters from shows you’d done, characters you’d once been, versions of yourself you’d already shed. 

You looked around for a moment. You saw the laughter, the glasses raised in mid-toast, the glittering sprawl of people who had seen you fail, fly, weep in dressing rooms, triumph at wrap parties and realized it didn’t matter how loud the music got. Or how chaotic the night became. Or how many costume changes life had in store.

What mattered was this: you were here. With Kento. With your people. In a home that wasn’t just beautiful, but real.  A home that felt like the beginning of something lasting. A home where you were truly, eagerly, happily, loved.

You turned, catching Kento's profile in the warm light. You could see his brow relaxed, his lips curved just slightly in that soft, almost secret smile he reserved for private moments. His glass was nearly empty, but he hadn’t moved to refill it. He was simply… still. Watching you.

“Kento…” you breathed, your voice so low it was almost lost in the noise.

He looked at you immediately, like your voice was a cue only he could hear. Your eyes locked with his, and something inside you lit up. Something you always felt when he looked at you like this. Like he saw you, not just the version that ended up on screen or the one polished for press tours. Just you.

“Let’s escape this little madness.” you said, eyes wide and shining. “For a little while.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, slow and sure. There was laughter in his mischievous caramel eyes now, but something else too, something quieter, warmer. He knew that look in your face.

“And what do you want to do instead?” he asked, voice low and intimate, meant only for you.

You looked away, your cheeks blooming pink under the chandelier light. “You know that already, baby.” you murmured, bashful. “You know I don’t have to say anything.”

There was a beat, a pause in the air, in your breath, in everything. And then he stepped closer. He closed the space between you like it was the easiest thing in the world. His arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you. His other hand rose gently, fingertips brushing under your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

His voice was velvet. Firm, but tender. “Then use your words, my darling.”

Time stopped. It always did, when he looked at you like that. And maybe the music was still playing, maybe Gojo was now standing on your coffee table yelling about encores while across your brother, who was banging his head, maybe someone had just broken a glass in the kitchen. But all of it faded.

Because Nanami Kento was looking at you like he already knew the words you hadn’t said yet but was going to make sure you said them anyway. He knew you too well, your lover. He knew too well that your desires for him will never change.

EVERYTHING FELT SO DESPERATE. Nanami Kento kicks the bedroom door shut behind you, his hands already tugging at your clothes. He pushes you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. You respond eagerly, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

His mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks on your skin. You gasp, your head falling back against the wall, giving him better access. His hands roam your body, squeezing and caressing, leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

Your loving boyfriend lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, his body covering yours as he settles between your thighs. You groaned at him in pleasure.

"I've been wanting to do this all night, my darling." he murmurs, his lips trailing down your chest. "To strip you bare and worship every inch of you."He looks up at you, his caramel eyes dark with desire. "Tell me you want this, pretty, pretty darling.”

"I want this, I want……" you breathe, your voice heavy with desire. "I want you, Kento. All of you."

Kento's eyes flash with hunger at your words. He sits back on his heels, his hands going to the hem of your shirt. He pulls it off slowly, his eagerly hot gaze roaming over your exposed skin like a fire burning ever so vibrantly in the moonlight. 

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, his fingers tracing the swell of your breasts. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, your sternum, the valley between your breasts.

His hands slide up your sides, pushing your lace bra straps down your arms. He unhooks the clasp with a flick of his fingers, freeing your breasts to his greedy gaze. He takes a moment to admire them, before looking into the other diverse essence of your precious skin. 

"Perfect, utterly perfect." he whispers, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them pebble. He takes one into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the hardened peak. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips.

Kento's mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention. His hand slides down your stomach, popping the button on your jeans and tugging the zipper down. He slips his hand inside, his fingers brushing against your core through your underwear. You gasp, your hips lifting off the bed, seeking more contact.

"So wet already, my……" He murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. 

He pushes your jeans and underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. His fingers trace your folds, parting you, exploring you. He circles your clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm.

"Kento, my baby…..please…." you beg, your voice strained with need. He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Please what, pretty darling? Tell me what you need."

Kento lays back on the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. "Come here, my pretty woman." he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. 

You crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands grip your waist, guiding you onto his erection. You sink down slowly, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you completely. His fingers dig into your hips as he helps you find a rhythm, lifting and lowering yourself onto his length. 

From this angle, you can feel every inch of him, hitting places that make your toes curl. You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, your hair falling around you like a curtain. Kento's hands roam your back, your sides, squeezing and caressing. 

He leans up, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. The dual sensations send shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building the tension in your core. You could only feel yourself losing it, mewls leaving your lips little by little.

Kento's hands slide down to your bottom, squeezing and kneading the flesh. He helps you move faster, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, you look so hot like this, pretty." he pants, his eyes glued to where you're joined. "Riding me like you own me."

His words send a thrill through you, emboldening you. You could only try to sit up straight, arching your back, your hands sliding up to cup your breasts. Moans drifted from your lips, over and over as you grinded against him. Kento's eyes widened, his pupils dilating with lust.

"Yes, just like that, pretty darling." he encourages, his voice hoarse. "Show me how much you want it."

You circle your hips, grinding down onto him, chasing your own pleasure. Kento's fingers dig into your hips, his grip bruising as he meets your movements thrust for thrust. You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to a crescendo. 

Kento's movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he's chasing his own release. His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in firm, deliberate strokes. The added stimulation sends you hurtling towards the edge.

"Kento!" you cry out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner walls clamp down on him, pulsing and squeezing as waves of ecstasy wash through you. Kento follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside you. 

He groaned your name, the sound rugged and raw, his body shuddering beneath you as he found his release, every muscle in his body drawn tight before he finally surrendered to the moment. The world blurred at the edges. 

All that remained of the two of you was just heat and the desire to keep each other close to touch. It was the breathless way he clung to you as if he never wanted to let you go that felt almost like a drug to you.

You collapsed against his chest, utterly spent, your limbs tangled with his. Your skin was slick with sweat, every inch of you humming with the fading embers of pleasure. Your heart hammered wildly against his, the two of you breathing in tandem, the rise and fall of your bodies syncing like the closing lines of a well-rehearsed scene. It was all too perfect, all too inevitable.

Kento’s arms immediately wrapped around you, strong and steady, pulling you even closer, as if to shield you from the world beyond this bed, this night, this feeling. His palm found the small of your back, his touch tender now, his fingers tracing slow, grounding circles against your skin. You could hear the soft rush of his breath in your ear, feel the thrum of his heart still racing beneath your cheek.

For a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved. There were no words needed, at least not yet. Just the silent conversation of two bodies finally still, two souls finally at peace. In a little while Kento pressed a kiss to the top of your head, slow and reverent, like you were something sacred.

“You’re incredible, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough from exertion but so full of affection it made your chest ache. He tightened his arms just slightly, as if to reassure himself you were still real, still his.

You smiled against his skin, your lashes fluttering shut. “So are you.” you whispered back, your voice thick with sleepy warmth. 

Your face is buried in the crook of his neck. Kento's hand traces lazy patterns on your back, his touch gentle and soothing. The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

You can feel Kento's heartbeat slowing beneath your ear, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He shifts slightly, pulling the blankets up over you both, tucking you in securely. His arms wrap themselves around you even tighter. Exhausted, you let him.

“I really love you so much, you know that right?”

You could feel Kento’s heartbeat slowing beneath your ear, the frantic rhythm easing into something steady, calm — like a lullaby meant just for you. His chest rose and fell in a soothing cadence, and when he shifted slightly, it was only to tug the blankets up around you both, cocooning you against the cool night air. His arms tightened around you, firm and protective, like he was anchoring you to him.

Exhaustion tugged at your limbs, but you let him do it, let yourself be held, let yourself rest in the certainty of him.

For a moment, the only sounds were the distant, muffled laughter still echoing from the party downstairs, and the soft, rhythmic hush of Kento’s breathing. The world beyond this room — the chaos, the music, the endless expectations — felt a million miles away.

Then his voice broke the quiet, low and rough with honesty:

“I really love you so much, you know that, right?”

The words were simple, almost casual  but they landed with the weight of something life-altering. You blinked slowly against his skin, your chest tightening, not in fear, but in the overwhelming vastness of what you felt for him in return.

You nodded against him first, too full to speak for a second. Then you tilted your head up, catching his gaze in the dim light and god, the way he was looking at you, like you hung every constellation he’d ever wished on.

“I know.” you whispered back, your fingers tracing soft, aimless patterns along his forearm where it wrapped around you. “And I love you, too. So much.”

A slow, genuine smile broke across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, made him look younger than his years, almost boyish in his relief. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he was breathing the moment in, letting it fill every empty space inside him.

“Good…..That’s good to hear.” he murmured against your skin. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”

You chuckled softly, feeling yourself melt even further into him. “Good.” you echoed, your voice small and sure. “Because I don’t want you to.”

He pulled you closer still, if that was even possible, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head like something precious. Like you were the beginning and end of his whole world. Like you were everything to him.

“Go and sleep now, my darling. Let them all party their hearts out.” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you did. Because he did. As the moonlit night continued to drift into the brightness of a city that does not sleep, you both found yourselves the ones asleep. You both happily drifted off to dreamland, wrapped up in each other and the quiet, unshakable promise of everything you were building together.

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → Smut, 18+, fingering, thigh riding, dirty talk, soft dom!Peter, overstimulation, wet dream, NSFW, explicit content.

Summary → After a wet dream, you wake up needy and Peter helps you find release.

It was the soft hum of the fan that brought you back to consciousness. The way the air barely moved over your flushed skin, sticky with sweat, body thrumming with the remnants of something sinfully good.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, lazily, as if waking up from some sort of dreamscape. And in a way, you were.

You turned your head slightly, gaze landing on the small digital clock on the bedside table. 5:23 PM. Damn. That nap hit hard.

And then the memory of why your body felt like it was on fire slammed into you. You exhaled sharply, a shaky sound that sounded too much like a whimper for comfort. Your thighs instinctively pressed together as the memory of the dream—you riding Peter in your shared bed, his head thrown back, his moans broken and desperate—sent a shiver down your spine.

Your panties were damp. Uncomfortably so. The kind of wetness that left no doubt what your brain had been conjuring in your sleep.

You sat up with a groan, dragging a hand down your face.

What the hell, brain? At 5 PM in the afternoon?!

But at the same time…

You couldn’t help but wonder if Peter was around. Your body still buzzed with need, like your dream hadn’t ended. It had just... paused.

You slipped out of bed and padded out into the apartment in your sleep shirt and shorts, trying not to think about how your thighs were sticking together or how sensitive you felt all over. The faint sound of music and clicking buttons reached your ears.

You peeked into the living room.

There he was.

Your boyfriend, Peter Parker, in all his soft-boy glory, lounging on the couch in gray sweatpants and a worn Midtown High hoodie, completely immersed in his game of Mario Kart. His brows were furrowed in concentration, mouth slightly parted as he tried to beat whoever the game had pitted him against this time. He looked ridiculously cozy—and criminally hot.

You didn’t even think. You just moved.

With purpose.

“Whoa—!” Peter barely managed to pause the game as you straddled his lap, arms around his neck, legs bracketing his hips like you owned him. Because right now? You kinda did.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted with a soft grin, clearly amused. “You’re awake.”

But the playful look on his face faltered when you started grinding on him.

Slow, deliberate, needy.

His eyes widened slightly. “Y/N...?”

You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him—deep and eager and just a little bit desperate. You moaned into his mouth, your hips working over the bulge forming under you. Peter's hands found your hips, gripping instinctively, but his body tensed.

His lips slowed before pulling away slightly, breathless and flushed, brows scrunching up in concern.

“Wait, baby. Hold on,” he panted, his voice low and husky but tinged with guilt. “I—I’m really sorry, but I just ate. Like, literally just finished the sandwich you made before your nap. I’m so full I might actually explode.”

You blinked, flustered, the haze lifting just slightly. “Oh. Oh God, I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking, Peter, I’m sorry—” You started to move off him, mortified, but his hands tightened around your waist.

“No, wait—don’t go,” he said quickly. “I mean, I can’t do the whole... you know...” He gave a helpless little shrug. “But I still wanna help.”

Your brows furrowed. “How...?”

Peter smirked. That infuriatingly hot, smug little shit smirk.

“You can ride my thigh,” he offered casually, like it was the most normal thing to suggest in the world.

Your brain short-circuited.

“I—what?”

“You heard me,” he said, leaning back with one arm slung over the back of the couch, all relaxed confidence. “You can ride my thigh if you want, baby.”

Your cheeks burned, and your thighs clenched involuntarily. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You swallowed. “Yes please,” you whispered, voice small and breathy.

That smirk grew into a grin. “Thought so.”

Peter helped shift you on his thigh, adjusting you gently. He tugged your shorts down and off, his hands warm and slow, eyes drinking in every inch of you like he was memorizing it. Then he slid your panties to the side with two fingers, brushing briefly over your soaked folds.

“God, you’re already this wet?” He breathed, eyes wide. “Were you dreaming or something?”

You buried your face in his shoulder, whining. “Peter... don’t make it worse.”

He chuckled, low and fond, and rubbed gentle circles over your clit for a second before guiding your hips to his thigh—thick and firm beneath soft sweatpants.

“Okay, baby. Show me.”

You started to move slowly, dragging yourself across the muscle. The friction was perfect. The pressure, the heat—everything you needed. Peter flexed his thigh every few seconds, giving you more, grounding you.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, moans slipping past your lips as you rocked faster, chasing that high that had been teasing you since the moment you woke up.

Peter watched you like he was witnessing a miracle, his free hand rubbing up and down your back, whispering filth-soft things in your ear:

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this.”

“I love watching you fall apart.”

Your climax built fast—shameless, messy, intense.

Your hips moved in slow, desperate grinds, dragging your soaked core along Peter’s flexing thigh. Every shift of your weight sent sparks shooting up your spine. Your moans were getting louder, needier, less controlled. You were trying to keep it together—but he was just watching you like you were some damn art exhibit, eyes dark and hungry.

“God, look at you,” Peter murmured, voice low and full of heat. “So needy. You’re drenching my sweatpants, babe.”

You whimpered, clutching his hoodie like a lifeline. “Shut up.”

“I mean,” he continued, way too pleased with himself, “you could’ve just asked for help, and I’d have given it to you. But nope. You had to climb into my lap like some desperate little bunny in heat.”

“Peter!” You gasped, scandalized and turned on beyond reason.

“What? Am I wrong?” His hand slipped between your thighs again. He rubbed two fingers in tight, slow circles over your clit, making your hips jerk. “You’re soaking wet, babe. And all from a nap? Damn. I must be doing something right in your dreams.”

You bit his shoulder, half in revenge, half because you couldn’t help it.

Peter just laughed, and his hand slipped lower. “Okay, okay. Let me take care of you, baby.”

Then—without warning—he pushed two fingers inside you.

You choked on a moan, your body arching against him.

“Fuck—Peter—”

“You’re so tight,” he whispered against your ear, his voice shaky but reverent. “And warm. Shit. You feel so good.”

He started pumping them slowly, deep and rhythmic, curling them just right, like he knew exactly where your buttons were. Spoiler: he did. He was your boyfriend, after all. This wasn’t his first time wrecking you.

But today felt... different. More intense. More desperate.

You were grinding on his thigh, riding his fingers, completely at his mercy. And he was watching all of it unfold, eyes wide and hungry, flushed from arousal even though he wasn’t the one being touched.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cooed, nuzzling your neck between kisses. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Please,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Please what?” He teased, slowing down the thrust of his fingers, rubbing your clit with the heel of his palm.

You cried out in frustration. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

Peter kissed your cheek. “Then cum for me, sweetheart.”

He sped up his fingers again, thumb circling your clit in tandem. The noises—wet, slick, obscene—filled the room alongside your moans.

Your climax hit you like a freight train.

Your whole body shook, your vision whiting out for a second as pleasure tore through you. You let out a broken, choked cry as you came hard, hips bucking against Peter’s hand. Your thighs trembled violently, face buried in his neck, panting and whimpering as aftershocks rolled through you.

Peter held you through it, whispering soft praise into your hair.

“Good girl... that’s it, baby. Ride it out.”

He didn’t move his fingers right away, just kept them buried in you while his thumb lazily circled your clit, dragging every last drop of pleasure from you until you were sobbing into his hoodie.

You finally pulled back, face flushed, eyes glassy.

“Y-you’re evil,” you muttered weakly, still trembling.

Peter just beamed. “You say that, but you literally just came harder than I’ve ever seen in my life. You almost passed out on me.”

You smacked his chest. “Don’t be smug.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I’ll stop being smug when I stop being proud.”

You melted into him, legs still wrapped around his hips, too blissed out to move.

“...Also,” Peter added sheepishly, “I may need new sweatpants.”

You both looked down.

Yeah. Soaked.

You groaned. “I’ll do the laundry.”

He grinned, brushing your hair back. “I’ll help. But first... wanna take a shower together?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were too full?”

Peter smirked. “I said I couldn’t fuck. Helping you again doesn’t require a full stomach.”

“Peter.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and carry me.”

He stood up immediately.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[radioactivatedspider]

Grease, Beer, and Something Like Love.

Main Masterlist Supernatural Masterlist

Pairings; Dean Winchester x Wife!reader

Genre; romance, domestic fluff, comedy

Warnings; none

Summary: Dean come's home to find his wife fixing Baby, and maybe is mood too.

823 words

Dean slammed the bunker door shut with more force than necessary, boots hitting the floor like thunder. His flannel clung to his sweat-slicked back, and the plastic bag in his right hand rustled with the weight of burgers, fries, and two slices of pie he damn near had to threaten a teenager for. The six-pack of beer dug into his left palm, the condensation slick against his fingers.

The walk back had been long. Annoyingly long.

And humiliating.

Because Baby—his Baby—had broken down.

It wasn't the first time, sure, but it always stung like a personal betrayal when she did. That car had been through hell and back with him. Demons. Angels. The damn apocalypse. But she picked today to crap out on him.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, heading straight for the garage.

His shoulders sagged as he made his way to the garage, a food bag rustling in one hand. All he wanted was to sit in Baby’s front seat, pop a cold one, and sulk. Maybe eat some pie. Mourn the betrayal of his one true love.

But as he opened the garage door, Dean froze.

There she was.

Yn.

His wife.

They’d only been married two months, which still sounded surreal in his head, like something out of a dream he hadn’t quite earned. But there she was, tangled up with his Baby—quite literally, half her body under the hood, tools scattered across the garage floor, grease smeared on her arms and streaked across one cheek.

She was cussing softly under her breath, wrench in hand, frowning at the engine like it had insulted her.

Dean blinked.

She wasn’t a great mechanic. Not by a long shot. She knew that, he knew that—hell, the car probably knew that. But she'd been eager to learn, and between his lessons and Bobby's tough-love training, she'd picked up enough to tinker with confidence.

Still, this?

This was bold.

He cleared his throat, setting the food and beer down on the workbench with a thunk.

“Sweetheart,” he said slowly, voice low and a little dangerous. “You touchin’ my carburetor?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up at first.

“Relax, Winchester,” she muttered. “I didn’t break her.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no.’”

Now she looked up, forehead shining with sweat, eyes flashing under the garage light. “Okay. Maybe I touched it. A little.”

Dean took a slow breath through his nose, trying to temper the combination of affection and alarm coiling in his chest.

“Yn. Babe. Love of my life. You’re covered in grease. There are at least three of my socket wrenches on the floor. And—” he bent closer to inspect “—is that… duct tape on the air intake?”

“It’s temporary,” she said defensively. “I was improvising.”

Dean made a strangled sound in his throat.

“Bobby told me once,” she continued, unfazed, “that half the battle is confidence. The rest is not setting anything on fire.”

Dean blinked slowly. “Did he tell you that before or after you tried to jumpstart the lawnmower with holy water?”

She grinned. “Before. I learned my lesson.”

He gave a slow shake of his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Damn it. She was ridiculous. She was messy and stubborn and didn't know half of what she was doing under that hood—but she was trying.

For him.

And he couldn’t lie—seeing her there, hair tied up in a loose bun, grease on her face, wearing one of his ratty old t-shirts knotted at the waist like she didn’t even notice… it did something to him. Twisted something warm and dangerous in his chest.

“You really care about her, huh?” she asked suddenly, softer now.

Dean looked up at Baby, then at Yn.

“Yeah,” he said, honest. “She’s been with me through everything. She’s not just a car.”

“I know,” she murmured. “That’s why I wanted to help. Thought maybe if I fixed her… you’d smile again.”

Dean stared at her for a long moment. Then, without a word, he leaned forward, cupped her greasy cheek, and kissed her—slow, firm, a little rough around the edges, just like him.

When he pulled back, he kept his forehead pressed to hers.

“You wanna help me fix her right?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded.

“Alright then,” he said, brushing a smudge of oil from her cheek. “Lesson one: never, ever use duct tape on a classic Chevy unless you want the ghost of my dad to haunt both our asses.”

She laughed, the sound echoing off the garage walls.

He handed her the wrench, popped open a beer for himself, and reached into the food bag.

“You get her running again,” he said, handing her a fry, “and I’ll let you drive her.”

Yn raised a brow. “You’re lying.”

“Damn straight,” Dean said with a grin. “But I’ll think about it.”

And just like that, surrounded by grease, beer, and half-eaten pie, Dean and Yn started to fix their baby.

[hedwig221b]

The the wig that it Hed, can I get some fic recs where Stiles 'dies', not like for real but I read one you recommended, 'Betrayal' by littleredridinghunter where the pack thinks he died but they later find him in a fighting ring. Any chance you know of others like this? Where everyone thinks he's dead but he reappears as a bamf?

You quite literally don't have to go far, Littleredridinghunter has similar fics. Just a few for example (but def check out their profile):

The Ultimate Sacrifice by Littleredridinghunter

The Darach has a plan. One that may cost one pack member their life. When the worst happens can the pack move on? Can Derek? Four years later with Fae murdering in Beacon Hills, a powerful mage may be their only hope. Only it might not be the hope they are expecting.

Set your wolves on me by Littleredridinghunter

Kate set the Hale house on fire, killing most of the pack, their emissary Claudia Stilinski and her child, Stiles. Thirteen years later and Kate is back in town, planning something that Derek is sure will end in disaster for them. Good job he decides to kidnap the gorgeous teenager who smells like her and beat some information out of him. Probably not the smartest move Derek's ever had!

Remedy For Memory by aerowyn

Derek knows he should accept that Stiles is gone; everyone else has and is grieving. But he just can’t escape all the memories of Stiles that follow him wherever he goes. He even dreams in memories these days. He keeps thinking about all the things that might have been, all the missed opportunities that he let pass by because he was waiting for the right moment to finally give in to his feelings for Stiles. And now that Stiles is gone, there isn’t any time left. When Derek starts dreaming about an abandoned warehouse, he thinks he’s going crazy at first. But then he starts to notice that things in his dreams aren’t exactly like he remembered. And he doesn’t know why, maybe he’s delusional, but he just can’t shake the feeling that Stiles really isn’t dead.

this one with Derek presumed dead

The Decay of a Cosmos by Dexterous_Sinistrous

The memory of Derek confessing to him in the quiet of their shared resignation sparked from her words–“A child is leverage to my mother.” Derek knew what Talia wanted. And he refused to give it to her. Stiles’ hands tightened into fists. This was a gift, but not one Derek had given him willingly. He would live with that knowledge each time he held their son close. ~*~ A tale as old as arranged marriage, with a space opera twist.

Ten Years Hiatus (in our love story) by bistiles (alis)

Derek was many things, most of them not at all flattering, but the one thing Derek never considered himself was insane. Stiles though. Stiles was the very reason why Derek was, right in that moment, questioning his sanity. Because after ten long, painful years, he could smell Stiles outside his apartment and that was driving Derek right into the madness alley.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Please forgive yourself. For what? For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out. Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

Bad Blood by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles Stilinski was taken from Beacon Hills when he was ten years old. Now, six years later, he’s a trained hunter, and he’s back to help the Argents finish the job they started.

and, of course, linking the fic anon mentioned:

Betrayal by Littleredridinghunter

Gerard does something despicable and the pack are left shattered after Stiles is killed…. or is he?? Set at the end of season 2 because honestly I have a fascination with that episode! Canon compliant up until then but then everything goes a little crazy! Do not read if you don't like Hurt or kidnapped Stiles because there is a lot of it….

[masterlist link]

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

One Night, One Chance.

note: I won't lie, this is my first fic in nearly two months and I'm shitting myself to release this. Thank you to everyone who is still around and gave me time to find my way back to writing again. I'm not entirely there yet, but I did feel good creating this one and I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. A thank you to @andakth for her encouraging messages which kickstarted me to write again.

warnings: 18+! lowkey enemies to lovers with some smut and some light angst. Mention of alcohol and dead bodies.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x Reader (f) (no use of Y/N)

extra note: The Danish word Skat is used a few times in this fic, which means honey/sweetie/treasure.

summary: Being the younger sister of two hitmen was the reason for you to live a secluded life, being kept prisoner in your own home out of brotherly love. Until you snuck out one night and ran into Sihtric, the man you had been secretly dreaming of for years, who was also one of your brothers' shady employees.

word count: 7,1k

Masterlist

Reblogs & comments are immensely appreciated.

Being the little sister of two infamous men wasn't pleasant. Erik and Sigefrid were harmless to you, for the most part at least, instead they were extremely overprotective to the point it embarrassed and frustrated you. All your life you had missed out on school parties and fun nights with friends, as you grew up in their secluded bubble after your parents had died. Your brothers were always afraid something would happen to you, and the list of somethings that could happen to you was seemingly endless. All because your brothers were well known hitmen in the underworld. They were equally feared and hated by most of those who knew them, and being the innocent sister to the deadly duo meant you'd make for good ransom. 

You were heavily shielded from their dirty work; the people they dealt with and the shady worlds they dabbled in, but you weren't blind nor stupid. You knew exactly what they did to earn their money, which was partly used to take care of you and give you basically everything you desired, except for one thing; a normal life. You loved your brothers dearly and you understood the need to be kept safe, even if you had nothing directly to do with their business. But being a grown lady and still trapped under their protection was truly taking its toll. You craved to go out and explore the world, to have fun and make stupid drunken mistakes, to fall in love and to have all your desires come true. But you knew your chances of ever experiencing true freedom like that were slim.

Although you were sheltered but not a stranger to the world entirely. You had some close friends and even had some boyfriends through the years, although no relationship ever lasted very long because those boys always ran away. Literally, by moving to different towns and cutting all forms of communication with you. You had been heartbroken so many times, and although your brothers would never admit it, you knew it was always their doing. Because 'no man will ever be good enough for you,' as Erik once said. And Sigefrid's 'I will gut the bastard who even thinks of proposing to you,' wasn't very reassuring of a happy love life in your future either.

Nonetheless, you had gone to public schools and volunteered at animal shelters and care homes as you grew up, which you always loved because you got to talk to people that weren't your two short-sentenced brothers. But after those scheduled hours were over, you were always picked up by one of your security guards to escort you home. 

Even now, when you were old enough to look after yourself you still weren't able to escape your brothers' grasp on your life. You weren't even allowed to get a real job. Sure, your brothers made fortunes by taking out people, so you didn't even need a job, but you just wanted a life of your own instead of being trapped in a prison that was built with brotherly love and concern.

And you were sick of it. For once you just wanted to have fun with your friends, who you barely saw. You knew your friends were well aware of why you had such a restricted life, but they also couldn't stop themselves from trying to get you out every now and then. So when your friend Eadith texted you about a party that was happening downtown the upcoming weekend, while your brothers were out of town for a job, you set up a plan to sneak out of the house, being well aware of the consequences if your brothers found out.

Saturday night.

You checked yourself in your bedroom mirror, pushing a hand through your hair while your navy blue cocktail dress hugged your figure. Your knee high black heel boots finished the look, with your make-up simple but on point and matching your outfit. You were ready for a party. Eadith had texted you the address after she nearly cried on the phone out of happiness when you told her you were coming. You felt bad about the little white lie you told her though, because she fully believed your brothers had given you permission to leave the house. If you were to get caught, you weren't dragging her down with you. She didn't need to know you were about to climb out of your window and duck from the multiple security cameras which covered the property, not to mention the handful of guards who patrolled the lands around your castle of a home.

You awkwardly jogged away from your house, marching through the bushes and trees before climbing over the brick wall, and you landed smoothly like a cat on the opposite side. You quickly booked an uber after you managed to sneak out successfully. Well, successfully apart from that moment when you tumbled over in your heels after jumping from your window, and landed nearly face first into a flower bed. Luckily your dress was dark enough that if any dirt stuck to it you'd have to squint to see it. And besides, the party was at Ragnar's house, so everyone would be drunk off their face anyway and wouldn't care or even notice if you smelled like freshly watered lavender and moist soil. 

You had never been to Ragnar's place, but you had heard of his parties and that the amount of alcohol served there was downright insane. Something you were dying to see for yourself. Your brothers were on decent terms with Ragnar, who was also into some shady business you didn't know the details about. But you knew enough to figure that Erik and Sigefrid would be livid when they'd find out you had been over at Ragnar's. Your brothers did whatever they could to keep you away from any bad guys, Ragnar included, and they had succeeded… for the most part. The only teeny tiny problem being that you had a massive crush on one of those guys your brothers wanted you to stay clear of. His name was Sihtric, and you had been head over heels for him for years now.

You had first seen him years ago when he came over with Uhtred, Finan and Osferth, some guys your brothers did business with from time to time, and you had been nearly obsessed with Sihtric ever since. In the years that followed, Sihtric always subtly gazed at you whenever he came around to meet your brothers, and he always flashed you a sweet smile before looking away, and he always departed with a wink that made you blush and run up the stairs to your bedroom. You basically stalked his social media daily ever since and swooned over his selfies. And although he didn't post a whole lot, it had kept the fire inside you for him roaring all this time.

When you first met Sihtric he was at the end of his teen years, like you. He had been rather shy but was already incredibly well built and criminally handsome, the two latter facts still remain to be true now. Quite some years had passed since your first encounter, and you knew he was a confident and matured man now, who did shady shit too for a living and was seemingly successful and respected too. You weren't sure exactly what he did, but you suspected he had something to do with getting rid of the bodies of those who were killed by your brothers. Which didn't exactly make Sihtric one of the good guys. So needless to say, Sihtric would most likely never get permission from your brothers to propose to you, or even take you out on a date. But a girl can dream, right? 

And dreaming you surely did when you found yourself at Ragnar's party, downing a shot with Eadith and turning around only to see Sihtric, the one and only man of your dreams, descending the grand marble stairs of Ragnar's home. Uhtred was next to him and they seemed in deep conversation, with Finan and Osferth following behind them after Ragnar had shook their hands before they departed. Your heart nearly stopped as you stared at Sihtric while he came down. His dark hair was short and shaved on the sides, he was dressed in all black with a leather jacket on top, and he had some rather fresh busted up knuckles. Sihtric looked like the stereotypical bad guy your brothers wanted you to stay clear of. But hey, you couldn't help that you had a type. Because you knew that your brothers were considered to be bad guys too, and you also knew how big their hearts were and how they would do anything to keep you safe. And you did long for that feeling of safety, just not from your brothers.

You held your drink tightly, nearly squashing the red plastic cup as your hands trembled upon seeing Sihtric, and you tried to be as invisible as you could. You weren't a fool. You knew that if any of those guys would see you they'd alert your brothers, because they'd figure you weren't supposed to be there, and they wanted no beef with your family in case something were to happen to you and they'd turned a blind eye to your presence. So it would be in everyone's best interest to bring you home, and that was the last thing you wanted, which made everything even worse. Because you desperately wanted to approach Sihtric, to talk to him and just be in his presence. He was so magnetic, you couldn't keep your eyes off him and your feet wanted to shuffle closer and closer to him. Especially after Eadith, your only friend at the party, had left your side to take shots with Finan and eventually wandered off with the Irish man. But you knew that talking to Sihtric would end up with him either calling your brothers on the spot, which would most likely cause some chaos, or him taking you to your home and informing your brothers of where he found you. Neither of those options would have a happy ending, and so you avoided him while you lurked from a distance, because he was too handsome to ignore, and your heart ached too much for him to turn away.

You had a couple more drinks but made sure you weren't drunk or even tipsy, you needed to stay clear of Sihtric and anyone else who may recognise you. You still hadn't found Eadith, and it had been at least an hour already. You assumed she was somewhere having fun with Finan or Uhtred, or maybe both, and it was best to just give up on her. You knew those guys would make sure she'd get home safely, so you texted her that you were going to leave soon. The party was fun, but the effort to keep yourself mainly hidden all night had become exhausting. Also knowing that your friend was most likely having the time of her life with one or two guys made you a little jealous. You hated feeling like that, but you couldn't help the slight envy you felt towards her. She lived that life you longed for, that life of freedom and fun with cute guys. You wished you could just have one night like that with Sihtric, and that thought made your eyes blurry with stinging tears.

On top of all your emotions, the loud music and the amount of people at the party made you feel rather anxious too. You really had been living quite isolated for far too long if a simple house party was already too much for you, but you couldn't help it either and wish you felt different. You somewhat had a good time while it lasted, but it was time to at least take a breather before calling an uber to get you home. You snuck outside the house and into the massive yard. You crossed the rather empty terrace and walked down the impressive stairs that led to the huge field of well kept grass which surrounded the place. You nearly tripped in your heels as you walked around the corner of the stairs, the cobblestones making you lose your balance. It was best to sneak out of the property here too, you figured, so you wouldn't walk into anyone at the front door. You ventured further into the almost pitch black shadows as the music faded in the night, and you came to an abrupt halt when you suddenly walked into a brick wall. You yelped but quickly realised you hadn't actually run into a brick wall. Instead you had walked into a person who was simply built like a brick wall, and felt like one too. The collision made you stumble backwards, but a big and warm hand grabbed your wrist before you could land harshly on your behind.

'Woah, there,' a smooth male voice sounded. 'Careful, darling,' he chuckled as he stabilised you, 'you should always be aware of the monsters that lurk in the shadows and will knock pretty ladies off their feet.'

'What the hell?' you breathed and quickly adjusted your dress, which had crept up your thighs during the collision. 'I'm sorry,' you blurted out when you forgot you were supposed to be invisible tonight. 

You wanted to run and hide when the one lantern above you lit up your appearance, but it was already too late for that as you suddenly stared up into Sihtric's duo-coloured eyes, and they widened upon seeing you.

'What the fuck?' Sihtric hissed and grabbed your wrist again, pulling you back into the shadows with him. The smooth playfulness in his voice from before entirely disappeared when he snarled, 'What are you doing here?!'

You knew Sihtric had recognized you immediately, and you panicked.

'I… I'm with my brothers,' you lied quickly.

'Bullshit,' Sihtric snapped, his grip on your wrist becoming tighter, 'they are on a job this weekend.'

Well, fuck. How did Sihtric know of your brothers' whereabouts? And as if he could read your mind, he said, 'I work for them, remember? I know their schedules and am actually meeting them tomorrow night to deal with their aftermath. And therefore I know you are lying through your teeth right now, miss. So you better get straight with me before I call them.'

He shoved his free hand into the pocket of his jacket to grab his phone, and you gasped.

'No! Please!' you begged. 'Please don't call them! I was about to go home, I swear!'

'How convenient you were on your way out after bumping into me, huh? Tell that to your brothers-'

'I'm telling you the truth! I was about to call an uber! Please, don't call my brothers, you know what they are like.'

'Exactly,' Sihtric agreed, 'and I know how they will be if something happens to you. How did you get here in the first place?'

'I snuck out of the house,' you confessed immediately, 'a friend texted me-'

'A friend?' Sihtric scowled. 'Who? A guy? Are you here with a guy?' Fire seemed to burn in his eyes. He was going to have a field day telling your brothers about all this.

'No! I'm not here with a guy, I swear! My friend Eadith, she texted me! And I knew my brothers were out of town, so I snuck out of my bedroom window and avoided the cameras and the guards. And then I ran out of my street, and I called an uber to pick me up.'

You groaned. Shit. Why were you such a mess around him? A simple look in his eyes made you spill all your secrets to him, it was pathetic. You'd almost let him rat you out to your brothers if that meant you could be in his presence a little longer.

'You snuck out?' Sihtric repeated and shook his head, then sighed, 'Skat, do you have a death wish?'

'I know it was stupid!' you hissed and finally pulled away from his grasp, rubbing your wrist which still burned with his touch. Just like his term of endearment burned in your mind. 'But…but I'm going home now, and they won't have to know I was out here.'

Sihtric's eyes became furious as he stepped closer again and towered over you.

'Hell if you think I-,' he stopped talking abruptly when he heard people descend the stairs, and he pulled you with him further into the dark corner.

He pushed your back against the cool wall and trapped you with his body, shielding you from whoever walked past as he knew your presence could unchain a war between Ragnar and your brothers. A war nobody wanted, a war that could come with a high cost. The cost of your life.

'Listen to me,' he said, his voice low and threatening while still setting your insides on fire, 'if you really think I'm not letting your brothers know you are here, then you are insane. If anyone here sees you tonight, the peace between all our families will be over, and you know that!'

His warm body pressed firmly against yours, and you smelled his minty cologne along with the scent of his leather jacket. He was so close, his lips nearly touched yours when he spoke, and he didn't back away from you. Not even when the other party goers had long passed without even noticing the two of you.

'I didn't mean any trouble,' you almost whispered, fully aware of the deep shit you were in.

'You are trouble,' Sihtric sighed, calmer now. 'You know there's a price on your head because of your brothers. And the wrong person seeing you here today can cause a lot of trouble. People will know you are either roaming freely now, which will unleash an army of hungry men chasing after you, believe me. Or people will think your brothers have lost their authority over you, which will make them look like fools. And we both know that's not good for their line of work, and they will punish you accordingly to show their power. Who knows what could have happened to you if I hadn't found you.'

'Just let me go,' your voice was suddenly hoarse, 'please. I'll go home-'

'And do what? You're just going to sneak back inside your house? Well, if you don't get kidnapped on your way home that is. Look, you do realise there is no way you can get back inside your room undetected, right?'

'What do you mean?' you scoffed, 'I'll just take the same way-'

'You can jump out of your window, yes,' Sihtric interrupted again, then finally took a step back from you as he groaned softly. You immediately missed his warmth and scent, and you almost whined at the loss. But it was what he said next that snapped you out of your foolish thoughts again. 'You can't climb back in that way,' he said.

You frowned, but dread washed over you when you suddenly realised he was right. Fuck. Your window was indeed too high to climb up to, and you really hadn't thought about that before. How embarrassing. An employee of your brothers knew your house better than you did. You didn't even know the tower you were trapped in. You exhaled defeatedly when you let that fact soak in. You stared silently at your feet, not wanting to look Sihtric in his eyes, and the silence was suffocating. You suddenly shivered, the adrenaline of the whole night had left your body and you were freezing. Sihtric took off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders, and after that he began to write a text to your brothers.

'Okay,' Sihtric muttered after a moment and shoved his phone in his back pocket, and he took your arm again, 'let's go. You're getting out of here.'

His grip was firm again as he somewhat dragged you across the large field and to his car, avoiding as many people as possible. There was no point arguing anymore, you knew you weren't going to win this, and so you stumbled behind him as he pulled you with him. Sihtric opened the car door for you and put the seatbelt on for you as well. He locked the car doors after slamming yours shut, as if afraid you'd make a run for it while he walked over to the driver's side. You felt so stupid and embarrassed that you still couldn't look at him when he sat next to you in the driver's seat, and you felt your lower lip tremble as tears welled up in your eyes. You figured he had texted your brothers, and you'd never leave the house ever again. The thought was overwhelming and you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Sihtric started his car but froze in his place when he heard some kind of screeching noise as his engine roared to life.

'What the fuck!' he said, 'that didn't sound right,' he muttered, concerned about the noise his car just made. But he then realised the sound was actually you.

You had bursted into tears. Full on ugly crying with shaky shoulders, while the man of your dreams just stared at you with horror on his face and his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. This went on for a very long minute, until Sihtric finally cleared his throat awkwardly while you still sobbed and blubbered next to him.

'Are… you okay?' he asked hesitantly, and he internally groaned at the stupidity of his question.

Of course you weren't okay, he could see that too, but what else was he supposed to say? This was the first time a girl in his car had a full on mental breakdown. And not just any girl, but the little sister of his two bosses. And he was never told what to do in a situation like this.

'I'm fine,' you bawled and sucked in a breath, but immediately broke down again as you looked at him and said, 'no, I'm not.' 

You inhaled sharply again before you unleashed your entire issues on the poor man next to you. 'I just wanted a night out, a night of fun. I can never go anywhere or meet anyone. My brothers control every move I make and I understand they do it because they love me but it's suffocating me! I want to live and be free, but I can't go anywhere. All because they have some stupid ass alpha male job that forces them to trap the women in their lives behind doors and guards! I am trapped in a damn mansion and it's hell! I just wanted one night!'

Sihtric stared at you, barely able to understand what you were saying because of your high pitched voice and loudly gross sobs in between it all. But he did understand that you felt trapped because of your brothers, and he felt for you. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own home, as he hadn't known much freedom himself when his father was still alive. He felt like a jerk now, for threatening to rat you out to your brothers when all you wanted was to just… have a normal night.

'I… I'm sorry,' Sihtric whispered when your rant was over and you somewhat calmed down. He then hesitantly took your hand in his. 'You may not believe me, but I understand how you feel. I wish I could make it better for you, but I can't change the way your brothers treat you. You are right, they do it because they love you, but that doesn't make it any less suffocating and I get that. I'm sorry, darling, I really wish I could help,' he said and wiped away your tears.

'I just wanted one night,' you sniffled, 'one chance to have fun.'

Sihtric looked at you while his heart broke in his chest. He never told anyone, but he had loved you ever since he first met you, but he also knew better than to chase after you. He understood your brothers didn't want you near the dark worlds they roamed around in, but that didn't make his longing for you any easier. He was shattered to pieces every time he saw you, knowing you would never be his because for all he knew you weren't even into him. If you were, then maybe there was a shot at being with you, because your brothers trusted him. 

He knew the right thing to do would be to bring you back home now, but he also knew that just driving up to the security at your home to drop you off wasn't going to work. You were in trouble either way, so he might just as well give you that chance of freedom tonight, before you would be locked away for who knows how long.

'You know,' he said carefully, 'the night is not quite over yet.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' you said and dried your eyes, 'you already texted my brothers.'

'I didn't,' he confessed, 'I never pressed send. And I meant that we can still have fun,' he shrugged lightly and took his chance, 'well, if you want to spend the night with me, at least.'

Hope blossomed in your eyes and your heart skipped a few beats as you looked at him. Was he really asking you to spend the night with him? Was this actually happening?

'I do,' you smiled faintly, 'believe me, Sihtric, I do want to spend the night with you.'

You watched Sihtric drive as he toured the dark and almost deserted city for a while. He looked so handsome driving, his hawk eyes fully focused on the road and his jaw slightly clenched while he sat back rather relaxed, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your knee. He had stopped by a gas station to get you some water and snacks, and you felt so much better already that you had almost forgotten about your emotional breakdown earlier. And luckily Sihtric wasn't weird about it and also acted as if none of that had ever happened. 

Sihtric was mainly quiet, but his silence was comforting and you felt at ease. You weren't sure why his tattooed fingers were faintly caressing your knee though, but you were too melted in your seat to even care. Whether he was actually into you or just wanted to give you a comfortable night, it was all the same to you anyway because you knew nothing could ever become of you and him. Not while your brothers lived, at least.

'You smell nice,' Sihtric said, snapping you out of your dazed state, 'like… lavender and fresh earth or something, it's nice.'

'Oh,' you blushed heavily, remembering when you fell into your garden, 'yeah, it's, uh… natural.'

'Hm,' he hummed and squeezed your knee slightly as his eyes remained on the road.

You tensed, hating that you lied to him again, and before you could stop yourself you told him what had happened.

'Actually,' you blurted out, 'after I climbed out my window I fell into the flower bed. I'm pretty sure my dress is stained, but it's too dark to really tell. I probably crushed the lavender though.'

'You… fell into the flowers?' Sihtric frowned and looked at you for a moment, then a smile fought its way on his face.

'What?' you half snarled, embarrassed, 'god forbid a girl trips in her heels.'

'Gods forbid a girl covered those tracks on her way out too?' Sihtric chuckled, 'I'm starting to see why your brothers shield you from the world, Skat, you're too clumsy and impulsive.'

'Shut up!' you slapped his bicep but couldn't fight your own chuckle either.

You knew you had been reckless, and in hindsight it was kind of funny. Until you remembered the consequences that would follow.

'As if you aren't impulsive,' you then shrugged.

'What do you mean?'

'You dragged me to your car, remember? Rather harshly too. I'm sure that's on camera somewhere. How do you think my brothers would feel about that?'

'As if you would show them,' Sihtric rolled his eyes.

'I might,' you bluffed.

'You won't,' he said sternly and halted at a red light, then looked at you with those intense eyes again, 'you'll be telling on yourself too if you did, and getting Ragnar involved too.'

'I could tell them I snuck out but then got kidnapped by you.'

'I kidnapped you to a party?'

'No, you kidnapped me after the party.'

'Hey,' he laughed and took his hand off your knee, 'you are free to leave whenever you want, princess, but you know the risks. I just wanted to give you that one night, but if you don't want to be around me...'

'I appreciate the snacks,' you said, almost whimpering at the loss of his touch, 'but driving me around town for an hour isn't exactly what I had in mind for my one night.'

'Who said this is it? Who said I'm not taking you home?'

'Jesus,' you scoffed, angrily, 'you really are going to take me back home and rat me out after buying me some food, huh? What a night.'

'No, not your home, darling,' Sihtric shook his head and laughed, 'my home.'

Sihtric was right. He took you home, to his home. It was a long drive indeed, because he lived a few towns further to keep 'business and pleasure separated,' as he said.

'You don't shit where you eat, or whatever the saying is,' he said as he pulled up to the parking garage under his apartment building, 'I mainly do business with people in your town, and I have no desire to walk into them when I'm not working.'

'Why?'

'In my line of work people always need a favour or ask stupid questions,' he sighed, then continued in a mocking tone, 'can you get rid of this body for me? In how many pieces do you chop someone up? What tools do you use? Where do you dispose of them? If I vomit on the body, is my DNA in there?'

'Oh,' you said, a little startled, 'so… you… really do get rid of the bodies.'

'I thought you knew?'

'Well, I had a hunch.'

'Well now you know for sure,' Sihtric said and leaned in to release your seatbelt.

'Yeah,' you breathed as he leaned further to open your door, 'I- I guess so.'

You followed him out of the garage, into a fancy lift, and only in the bright lights and surrounding mirrors did you realise how trashy you looked. Your make-up was waterproof but couldn't hide your slightly puffy eyes from all the crying, and your dress was dark, but not dark enough to blend the mud stains in from your clumsy fall. To make it worse, your hair was messy too and a thread of your skirt had caught on something, and it had started to unravel at the seam, causing half a split in your dress which ran up the side of your thigh, exposing half of your lace panties, which you hadn't realised up until this very moment.

'Fucking hell,' you blushed, desperately clawing at your skirt to cover the lingerie underneath, 'I'm a fucking disaster.'

'A perfect fucking disaster,' Sihtric mumbled as he leaned back against a mirrored wall and looked at you.

He smiled lazily as he eyed you up and down and subtly bit down on his lower lip.

'What did you say?' you gasped and turned to face him.

'You heard me,' he said as the lift dinged, and he brushed past you when the doors opened.

You took off your heels and ran after him, through the long hallway with only a few doors left and right, until you were caught up as he opened the door to his penthouse. He took your shoes and held the door open for you.

'After you,' he said.

You fought the blush on your face and stepped into his apartment, finding a tidy and cosy place despite the size of it. He gave you a quick tour and offered you a drink in his kitchen, but he did ask if you wanted to freshen up first by taking a shower before you made yourself more comfortable.

'I do not wish to remove mud stains from my couch,' Sihtric chuckled and looked at your ruined dress.

'I understand,' you laughed, eyeing the pristine looking white couch in his living room.

He handed you a few towels and a clean shirt, which was so oversized on you that it was hardly any longer than your cocktail dress had been. You took a quick shower and then found Sihtric standing in his living room, staring out his massive windows overlooking the darkened city while he sipped a drink, wearing nothing but black sweats which hung low on his hips. You took in the sight of his bare back as you tiptoed into the dimly lit room. His back was perfectly muscular but scarred, gruesome tales of both his past and line of work decorating his skin.

He turned as he heard you approach, and so revealed that his chest was equally as impressive and scarred as his back was. He smiled when he saw how perfect his black shirt looked on you. It looked even better on you than it looked on him, he thought. He held his hand out when you were in reach, and he intertwined his fingers with yours to pull you in his arms. He wrapped his arms around your waist, your back pressed against his chest, and you both looked out of the window in silence for a moment.

'Tell me what you want, angel,' Sihtric whispered in your ear, his lips grazing your skin lightly, 'tell me what you want tonight and I'll give it to you. Anything.'

'Anything?' you said softly, your fingers trailing mindlessly over his arms around you.

'Anything, darling.'

'You,' you breathed and turned to face him, 'I just want you, Sihtric. I've always wanted you. From the moment I first saw you, the only thing I've ever wanted more than maybe my freedom was to have you. To be yours. Or… or to have one night with you.'

'Why did you never tell me?' he cupped your cheeks as he stared down into your eyes.

'How could I?' you whispered, your hands slowly sliding up his bare chest, 'we both know I'm doomed to live alone. My brothers chase away any guy that I'm interested in, and they chase away every guy who is considered a bad guy.'

'Your brothers won't chase me away if you are really interested in me,' Sihtric murmured against your lips, 'believe me.'

'Are you a good guy then?'

'No, I'm not a good guy,' he whispered, then lightly pinched your lower lip between his teeth before he flicked his tongue over it, 'shadows live with me, just like they live with your brothers.'

Knowing that you wanted him changed everything. Sihtric knew he had no chance with you if you weren't into him, your brothers would never approve. But if you were serious about him and truly wanted to be with him, then there might be a way for Sihtric to persuade your brothers. But that was a conversation for later. Now, all he wanted was to make your night worth the hassle you had gone through.

'I'm not afraid of your shadows,' you whispered against his lips.

'Are you sure?' Sihtric asked, his voice low while his hand snuck up to wrap around your throat, holding you gently but firm enough to get his point across, 'are you sure you're not afraid of my shadows? Not afraid of me? Your brothers call me the butcher, you know?'

'I'm not scared of you,' you said, enjoying the way he held you close and pressed your back up against the window, 'I don't know what will happen to me after tonight, but I do know that I don't want the last remaining light in me to die out before I know what you feel like. I might never see you again after tonight, Siht,' you breathed, 'and I don't want this moment to go to waste. I want you, shadows and all. I want all of you.'

Sihtric's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving up and down with slow in- and exhales, and then he pulled you in by your throat to crash his lips against yours. Your hands flew into his hair, pulling him closer with each stroke of his tongue against yours while he kissed you slow and deep. His kiss was drugging, making you crave more and more with each second that passed. You rolled your hips against his, feeling his hardened arousal poking against your panties and desperately needing more friction. He hooked his arms under your knees to lift you up, and he carried you into his bedroom while you kissed him like you needed it to breathe. You got lost in each other quickly, while continuing the slow kisses as you undressed each other until you were both naked and under the warm covers.

Rain tapped lightly against the bedroom windows while Sihtric lazily kissed his way down your body in between his murmurs of sweet nothings. He was taking his time, making you nearly tremble with anticipation. He wouldn't rush this moment, and he wanted you to enjoy it as much as he did while he savoured it. Sihtric had longed for you for years too, silently, secretly. And now that you were at the tip of his fingers and in his bed, completely at his mercy, he was going to worship you and prove to you that he was the one and only man for you. He'd make you forget every other guy who ever touched you, because from now on, it would only be him. 

He kissed you wherever he could, wet and open-mouth kisses in between soft bites of his teeth and slow strokes of his tongue on your skin, and he only stopped when he was settled between your thighs, he slid off your panties and kissed your legs on his way back, leaving faint love bites all over. Once between your thighs, he didn't kiss you, instead he teased you for a moment with his facial hair and warm breath touching your core, almost ticklishly. He then hooked his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he slowly licked your wetted folds, before he gently devoured you with his mouth and tongue and brought you to your climax so fast you were almost embarrassed. But he didn't care that you hadn't lasted long, because he still had the rest of the night with you, and most likely the rest of his life too. And he would make love to you until you simply couldn't take it anymore, by denying your orgasm over and over again while thrusting into you so slowly and sweetly, hitting all those right spots while you cried out his name and raked your nails down his back. 

He'd go on until you would beg for him to make you come.

You woke up when rays of sunshine crept up on your face, and for a moment you were completely disorientated. You didn't recognise the bed nor room you were in, until you felt Sihtric's arms around you. You smiled with your eyes closed and buried your face in his neck as he held you a little tighter, and you remembered all the things you had done the night before. It was worth it, you thought. Whatever happens today when you get home, it will be worth it. You had your night with him, your one chance. And even if it had been a one time thing only, it had been worth it, no matter how terrible your heartbreak would be in a few days. You just dreaded the moment to face your brothers. You dreaded that car ride, when Sihtric would take you back to your place and you dreaded losing him forever. You dreaded it all.

And as if Sihtric could sense what you were thinking, he mumbled, 'We'll figure it out, love.'

You fought a sudden urge to cry and turned to face him.

'But how?' you sighed, 'My brothers-'

'I know,' Sihtric hushed you. 'But I promise, darling, we can make this work. Your brothers need me to do a job for them, always. And the amount of shit I have on them,' he whistled and then chuckled, 'you wouldn't believe how I could blackmail them if I wanted to.'

'They'll just shoot you,' you groaned, knowing it wouldn't be this easy.

'They won't,' he grinned, 'because who is going to clean up their bloody mess when the guy who is supposed to do that has become their bloody mess? There is no replacement for me, no one as trusted and secure as me, and they know that. And if you are serious about me,' he said and kissed the tip of your nose, 'if you are as serious about me as I am about you, we can make a deal with your brothers. I know for a fact they'd rather have you with me, than with someone they don't know. All they want is for you to have someone who will treat you right. Someone who will protect you and provide for you. And they know what kind of a guy I am, they know I am all that and more. They can't get rid of me because of the work I do for them, and I'm not planning to get rid of you. So they'll have to accept us being together, there is no other way for them. So trust me, my love,' he smiled, 'we will make this work. If we'd get married then you'd take my name, so you'd be far less of an interesting target for your brothers' enemies. Soon, I will officially propose and then you'll come live with me… if you want all of this, of course.'

'I do!' you rushed to say, 'of course I do. I've always wanted you.' 

'Then you're mine now, love,' Sihtric smiled and kissed your lips, 'you're mine, but your freedom will be yours, I promise.'

@mrsarnasdelicious @neonhairspray @sihtricsafin @errruvande @penumbrie @lexeirikrleif @diiickbrainn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @bubblyabs @dixie-elocin @alexagirlie @stupiddarkkside @urmomsgirlfriend1 @gemini-mama @foxyanon @man-i-be-that-pretty-motherfuckr @thenameswinter99 @m-a-s-h-k-a @superblyzanynight @hernakedmuse @ewanmitchellfanatic @lady-targaryens-world @cosmosnkaz @stronger-than-steel @cheesesandwichsanto

[candywife333]

You Could Never

Pairing: Jungkook singer x chubby y/n

PART 1 of Places You Never Were

Not edited as usual and should end with part 2. Really poured my heart out in this one, hope you like it!

Triggers: sad feelings, crude words and description, intense unrequited love, heart break

She had loved him in the silent ways. And he had simply let her, as though he was doing her a favor.

He never asked for anything but he always accepted. The hearty home cooked meals , the cheerful messages reminding him to sleep early and take a break when he needed it, the silence when resounding echoes of the world around him got too loud. When he needed an escape. Always there.

Foolish girl. I was always there. Invisible, woven into the tapestry of his life --a single seamless thread overarching the entire narrative. Always there, but never seen.

Too trivial to be seen. To be seen with. In the background of his life like a never ending tune.

Even the way he broke up with me was trivial. Like I held no meaning to him after 5 long years of holding him down. It was a text, after he had left for one of his international tours with the rest of his group.

I never told him about what I saw in the studio that day. I simply bottled it up, the grief and then the rage, rocking myself to sleep in tears -dwelling on things of the past that would haunt me.

That night was when they all hitched a late night flight to America from South Korea. It was 5 AM when I received the text, "Let's take a break Y/N. I know this feels like it came out of nowhere, but come on. You know that we haven't been the same since a while now. It's best for me and you , so we can stay focused on our professional goals".

I read the text, a manic, dry laugh escaping my throat. Like something in me had cracked. Permanently. Focused on professional goals. So that was what he was doing with that dancer in that studio late into the evening. Pursuing professional goals. I see, I guess that's what they called whoring around nowadays.

We both knew whose goals he truly cared about. His. Because, even though I had been transforming his career and his life selflessly, mine had changed very little. I was still under-study to a producer, not even an official one. That's what happens when you take shit. From everyone. Including people at work. I guess my relationship dynamics had translated into my work as well.

Days evolved into weeks.

Weeks of unwashed, crusty dishes and funky smelling, dirty hair. But if I didn't show up for any more days- I would be unemployed. So I went back to work. The producer I worked under, Kang, still forgot my name though I had been working with him for a number of years. Still getting his dry wash, still making his piss water coffee, still organizing messy shelves-fixing his life instead of mine. Still unnoticed.

But the world doesn't wait for you. Even when you are decaying and decomposing inside. The machine of the industry won't ever stop. For anyone. The world wouldn't let me recover, headlines flooded with rumors of his projects, his hook-ups, his relationships, collaborations, him.

The text still reverberated in my ears, as if he had spoke it out loud , "Let's take a break". Five years down the drain. Spilled milk. And maybe that's why they call these things break-ups. Because it literally breaks you from the inside out... corroding parts of you that you tend to take for granted. Trust and optimism in the world gone in the blink of an eye.

Those were the days I wish my love was unrequited. If it had just stayed a pipe dream, at least it wouldn't have broken me like this.

I still didn't know where I went wrong. I still didn't as I went through the motions of my monotonous life. He had been warm to me. Kind and considerate, loving. He had called me his rock, his calm in the storm that was his life. All lies. I should've known that I was just a phase in his life. A passing summer rain. We were too different to work in reality.

His life is noisy and vibrant. He lives in stages and luxury hotel rooms. Rented Villas. He passes through places, nothing ever permanent. I live in the embrace of soft blankets worn out by the passage of time and faded covers of books I have thumbed through the pages of a million times. In an apartment I had stayed in for 6 years now.

My eyes fall on memories--all too painful. I try not to think of them, to not see them. Mementos of times gone by. A backstage pass, a hoodie he left behind, a birthday card signed in his messy loopy signature. The pain never dulls, even though its been a few months since the fall out. He has been jet-setting across the globe for his tour.

And just when I thought it could not hurt anymore than it already did. I saw them at the award show. The dancer and him. Walking hand in hand. The dancer was dressed in a golden shimmery fabric, floating across with floor with her lengthy, frail arm on his buff, tuxedo clad shoulder. My producer had told me to come, a networking event from hell.

I was dressed in black, as most of the junior crew were. A drab black shirt and pants that couldn't cover my hefty frame well enough. As if it wasn't enough to see him with her, his speech poured salt on the raw edges of my wounds. "Thank you to our fans, our team, our families", he drawled smoothly. "And to all the people behind the scenes who have seen all versions of me and still helped me to walk this path and achieve so much when I was lost. You are all part of my journey and I am forever grateful".

I felt like I had been sharply slapped on my cheek. I had been relegated to the supporting cast in his life, the side character, the background. It seemed to me, that's all I ever was. The supporting character in someone else's life. He looked through the crowd, his gaze fixing on me - a flicker of recognition. A momentary lapse in his nonchalant composure.

I look forward at him as though he was immaterial, as though he was invisible. Because to me in that moment that was what he had become. He had erased my existence from his life. And he did so proudly.

I didn't win anything that night.

But I sure as hell was done losing.

________________________________________________________

The studio looked different now that it had nothing to do with him. I had purged all signs of him from the studio. The ones that I could anyway. Gone were the days were I scurried around like a mouse, silent and hesitant to pitch in ideas.

I stayed longer than everyone else. I was building myself. Something I should have done from the beginning. Instead of building up someone else. Learning and absorbing all the skills of the producers and engineers around me. Fine-tuning layered vocals, manipulating sample sounds to fit in with a track. Lacing together vocals with syncopated beats.

I asked. Something I never did before. I let them take a risk on me, trying the controls myself when they offered. I worked on demos on my own and one day when I was busy munching on a veggie sandwich , my boss came in, a wry smile on his face , crooning melodically, "You've got it".

I stared at him confused. Stuttering, "Sss...ir what do you mean"? He went on resolutely as though he had made up his mind, "You got it kid. The gumption and the genius. Drop all the projects you are working on as of today. You will be working for a solo artist, crafting together their title tracks".

I sat there completely mind-blown as he walked away as fluidly as he had come in, just as silently.

I worked on the tracks day and night. The rough work schedule and my disinterest in food making me lose weight and gain skills I never thought I had. I thought I didn't have it in me. But I layered every track, made every decision regarding arrangements- no matter how minute. I could hear a hint of the insertion of one trumpet and the chords of one piano piece and know which part of which track I was in. I was obsessive. It had to be how I envisioned it.

The room was silent the day of the title track recording. "Alright", I said to the awaiting room, all head producers and boss in to hear the recording. "Let's make sure the verses for track 3 are minimal , raw, with low reverb. Pull in the strings, and build the tension . Make sure to make it sharp in terms of enunciation of lyrics because once we break the tension... there will be silence in the track ".

The young soloist frantically noted it down, teaming with fear and wide eyes as I explained how it should progress.

One of the senior producers who wouldn't even have acknowledged me before raised his hand. "Are you certain that such a drop, with silence, wouldn't be too precarious. Don't you think it would lose the interest of listeners"?

This time was not the time I doubted myself. I had slowly stopped doing that as I had crafted these tracks together. "I am sure", I firmly responded. " There are too many ballads-especially pop ballads nowadays with the same over produced noises. Silence occasionally would do the audience some good".

There was a brief overture of silence in the room till another producer sighed.

"Let's give it a go".

In the booth, the artist sang the song over the arrangement, and as i sat in the control room--I felt so joyous. Something I hadn't felt in a while. The tracks with the voice sounded honest...truthful... and so beautiful. I let his voice crack because that brought beauty to some tracks. The rawness with the music arrangements enveloping them, even brought tears to a few producers in the room.

When the artist came out of the booth, he fearfully looked at me, "I am so sorry... for my voice cracking. I promise I will do better. Please let me record them again". He looked at me, like I would take away everything he worked for. But I am not that type of person...I don't take people away from their dreams.

I whispered back to him, "We are keeping the tracks as is. If your voice didn't crack, I would feel like you were singing lies. But you can't lie on these tracks... they have to be honest , even if they are painful. Thanks for lending your voice and bringing them to life".

He smiled back at me, his pink bangs fringing his watery, teary eyes. And you know what, I was not at all close to this guy. But I could feel my eyes tear up too. Some bonds are forged differently. We laughed at each other , leaky eyes meeting as the rest of the producers clapped me on the back, exiting the room.

It was the birth of something new.

______________________________________________

The track dropped 2 months later. No heavy marketing circuit. Just a midnight release and accompanying dance performance done by the artist to certain tracks on music bank and other channels.

It was everywhere by that morning. Flooding the radio, in all stores, in clubs, cafes , playing everywhere--even in a few ads and the central track anticipated to be in one long awaited korean drama which had already included it in its trailer .

The title track dominated the charts with its "charming simplicity" and "devastating lyrics and arrangement". Even the most astringent of critics lauded it as a "heart wrenching series of compositions that mimicked the death of love". Artists used it in edits and sang along to it. Even avid indie lovers who tended to harp on mostly overproduced pop songs spelled it out to be " the sound of scratching your soul on glass shards , melancholy and akin to slowly bleeding to death".

Placed in cursive handwriting below the title, in credits was my first name. Embossed in red script on the bottom of the album. Something for once, in its entirety, belonged to me.

The artist, Jimin, blew up overnight as well. He was a part of Jungkook's group and a lesser known member. He had been struggling til now to make an identity for himself, to distinguish himself as he had what some considered " weaker vocals" and only dance skills to show. But with this album, he ascended into the ranks. Showing up on billboard, even getting international acclaim. Invited to perform at the VMAs.

With my production and lyrics, and his innate talent, he beat out Jungkook's solo for the No. 1 spot on the Korean Hot 100- and stayed there for 4 weeks straight.

His fans argued that it was a fluke, a temporary deviation. Nothing to write home about.

But the talents and the machinery of the industry knew better.

Jungkook may have been spectacular, but he lacked depth. Depth and soul that the newcomer had. Singing that sounded like crying... that resounded in the souls of everyone who heard the artist live. And now the soul had someone's name encrypted into it, one that the industry couldn't afford to pretend away any longer.

Headlines ravaged the press, "Rookie member Dethrones Veteran Soloist in Weekly Chart", "Clash of Members due to Superior Skills ", "The Death and Birth of Pop".

All dramatic titles that reached me. I laughed dryly at the soap opera that was being played out in the headlines.

My life sure was changing quickly. I was being fought over...artists wanted me to direct and produce their albums. I had moved out of my apartment into a cozy house that I had always wanted, since I was a little girl. A homey, spacious cottage with a massive garden filled with fruit and flower trees.

My earnings were sky-rocketing and I bought properties to ensure that in case something happened, I still had the means to stay in my new house (that I now never wanted to leave).

At work I felt like I belonged. The other producers listened to my thoughts and took it seriously. I had my hands in a lot of projects. And it was all working out.

I showed up on my first talk show , a panel named "The Sound of Music". It was an entire show talking about female empowerment through music as a medium. The host of the show asked, "You have been behind the scenes for the longest time. Was your success something you expected"?

I pondered the question for a bit. "No, definitely not. But I built it , thinking that the outcome was inevitable . That there is no way I could possibly fail".

And that is how I continued my work. My newfound stability was reflected in my appearance. I had lost some weight from following a healthy lifestyle and my curves that had at one point made me look frumpy, now looked well-proportioned on my frame. No way would I be a model by any means, but my figure suited my frame. I was feeling more active than ever.

But life can't stay perfect like that now, can it? A headline dominated the frame of the news articles, "Idol involved in DUI, severely injured. Can he survive this"?

I stared at the title in bewilderment. Can he? Did he survive? I guess we'll find out.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Garden | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Heyyyy yall guess who's finally back because a hispanic man had me barking at my TV again?! That's right, oh so secksi big lexi is here with a novel of a fic. Also big shoutout and thank you to my lover @love-chx for beta-ing this and just being a thirsty freak with me over this man. I wouldn't have finished this fic without u bb <3 Anyways if yall wanna thirst ab this man with me my inbox is always open to fellow whores like myself. Also CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO ENEMIES TO LOVERS BOOM SHAKA LAKA YES GOD!!! This is also canon-divergent with a few small CABNW references, also this is named after Garden by SZA tee hee

Summary: Y/n Y/l/n and Joaquin Torres had spent their entire childhood together, but growing up meant growing apart, and when travesty after travesty struck the world, their paths couldn't have been more polarized. But sometimes paths are meant to be crossed again, and there's always a chance for change

Warnings: angst, THIRD PERSON POV, use of Y/N, forced super soldier serum injections (scene not depicted), mentions of murder, mentions of war crimes (not explicitly stated), readers kind of a bitch ngl, cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of burns/Joaquin literally being shot out of the sky, SMUT: hair pulling, minor neck grabbing/choking, spitting, hickies, bruises, kissing (with tongue omg), oral (m receiving + a lil ball worship if you squint), handjobs, unprotected P in V, creampie, swallowing, handj*bs, dirty talk, lowkey sub!joaquin dom!reader vibes

Word Count: 20.8k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader (reader has vague descriptions regarding having long-ish hair, but it's typically described to be braided/blown out/wavy post-braids, Joaquin does in fact stare at the reader's ass, but all booties matter purr, reader's great grandparents are also immigrants, non specified)

(Given the opportunity I'd kiss him on the mouth) AS ALWAYS MINORS DNI!!!

Miami, circa 2005-2006

Summers in Miami were anything but forgiving, filled with the kind of heat that made people question their own sanity, in combination with high levels of humidity that left an almost sticky film on one’s skin. It was like hell sometimes.

Hurricane season was always rough too, storms that would rock through cities and towns along the coast.

The nicer neighborhoods always seemed better off after the Hurricanes, meanwhile smaller, poverty stricken areas were always left in the dust to fend for themselves. Sure the city and counties had done their best, but power outages lasted days, sometimes weeks, and entire businesses would be destroyed, and communities were left to rebuild things together.

That same sense of community is what had brought Y/n Y/l/n and Joaquin Torres together. He moved to Miami from Mexico a little over a year ago, coming to the United States in May of 2005 with his grandmother and mother. They’d left in hopes of finding something better for him, chasing the American Dream like many migrants south of the border often did.

It wasn’t an easy process, but with family and an established sense of structure in Miami, it made the process a bit smoother for the family.

The y/l/n family had been living in Miami for decades, having genuine roots and history in the neighborhood, they had always been strong community leaders. Constantly volunteering to help at the schools, preparing meals for their neighbors, hosting several block parties and barbecues throughout the summers, and most notably, always lending a helping hand when it came to anyone’s children.

They embodied the saying ‘it takes a village’. 

When the Torres family moved to the neighborhood, y/n’s mother was the first to introduce herself to them, offering to send her eldest sons over to help them move in, and even inviting them over for dinner ten minutes into meeting them.

That single action led Joaquin Torres to Y/n Y/l/n two days following his move, and it led to the both of them being inseparable for years, a friendship that started with her shoving him into the asphalt when he’d clearly cheated at street hockey then proceeded to lie about it.

She was the one to knock him down, and she was also the one to help him up and drag him up the street to her house, mumbling about how she was sorry for shoving him, and muttering to herself about him being a ‘wimp’ for ending up with bloody scrapes along his legs.

He also had watched her mother lecture her about how it was wrong of her to push him, and the moment he’d laughed, her mother started lecturing him. The concern laced harsh words easily flowing from the older woman’s mouth had his eyes wide, she’d even managed to throw a few Spanish words in the mix.

Sure he knew that she spoke Spanish, but he didn’t quite understand where her family was from. That was also another conversation her mother had with him a few months later when he’d pestered Y/n about why her family spoke Spanish if they didn’t exactly look hispanic. 

They’d been in Miami for generations, it made perfect sense that they’d known Spanish. 

She had also yelled at him, but to be completely honest, she wasn’t exactly the sweetest girl on the planet.

As a six year old, she was mean. Meaner than most, yet somehow she possessed her mother’s caring spirit, which led to her showing anyone she cared for the epitome of tough love.

The summer of 2006, the both of them had spent most of their time outside together, walking through the neighborhood, talking about anything and everything that would interest two seven year olds. She’d pestered him about his hair, stating that he needed a haircut because he looked like her Tia’s new puppy (the woman had been gifted a white fluffy terrier by her most recent boyfriend), and he’d responded by saying she looked like a tree from ‘Horton Hears a Who’ due to her large frizzy hair. 

Humidity was not a friend to either of them.

They’d also made a friendship pact that summer, they’d seen it in some random movie that his Abuela had rented from the local Blockbuster, and had decided that since they were already good friends, they’d both slice their palms with one of her dad’s razors, then shake.

Except they both ended up with deep cuts and had to be taken to the emergency room, where they had to foolishly explain that they’d not only schemed to steal her father’s razor, but had also gone through the process of cleaning it with a random bottle of isopropyl alcohol before slicing their palms to imitate a blood pact from a movie that they were probably too young to be watching.

Both of their mother’s yelled at them that night, at the same time. Then her father yelled at them both.

When they thought they were done being lectured, his Abuela yelled at them in Spanish.

That Summer they’d also gone to the beach with their families together, and her father had buried them both in the sand, leading to a photo of their heads and portions of their upper bodies sticking out while they both glared at the camera. 

When school had started back up, they were in the same class, which meant they’d caused quite the ruckus together, either laughing too loudly, talking way too much, or throwing things at one another. It was worse when their teacher tried to separate them, leading them to throw crumpled up paper balls at one another followed by miniature paper airplanes.

He’d also gotten into his first real fight with another boy two months into the school year, he’d called her names, pulled on one of her braids, and usually she would’ve responded, but her mother had recently told her that she needed to stop acting out in school.

So, like the good best friend he was, Joaquin didn’t hesitate to punch the other boy in the face at recess when he’d caught the kid pestering her. That decision also led to her high fiving him, and the both of them getting sent home and placed on a two day suspension.

Summer of 2017

The end of high school is a major milestone for many. Getting the opportunity to not only graduate, but graduate with honors was something that Y/n and Joaquin had worked incredibly hard to achieve, sure the both of them did run into several hiccups along the way, mainly surrounding Y/n’s need to get into fights and Joaquin’s need to constantly and consistently defend her. WAIT DONT FOCUS ON THAT HAHA I WASNT SURE IF THE COMMA WENT THERE

Most thought the two would’ve been together by now, having been friends for nearly ten years, not only friends, but the best of friends and practically inseparable, and yet they’d never crossed the line between friendship and something more. It wasn’t something that they’d planned on doing either.

Anytime their parents would talk about it, the both of them would swiftly deny the suggestion, looks of disgust on their faces as they looked at one another, then back at their families. It wasn’t until prom night that they’d both even considered seeing one another romantically.

They hadn’t acted on it, nor had they ever shared the thought with each other.

They’d gone together, mostly because his girlfriend had broken up with him at the last minute, or rather, y/n had forced her to break up with him after finding out that Julia had been cheating on him for a few weeks. She’d also threatened to ‘knock her front teeth in’ if she refused to do so. She’d also made sure that Joaquin knew that his now ex-girlfriend had been cheating on him, showing him a series of screenshots that a mutual friend had sent her.

When he showed up at her house in an all black tux, she’d been caught off guard. It was rare that Joaquin was dressed up, so rare that she almost didn’t recognize him, brows knit together as she stared at him from the front porch of her family’s home. 

She thought that he actually looked handsome. Sure, she’d always known that Joaquin wasn’t ugly, that much was obvious, but she’d never really given it a second thought. Not even when all of her friends would rant and rave about how ‘hot’ he was, or how he was super attractive and she was an idiot for not ‘jumping his bones’. 

He’d been growing his hair out a bit. It was slightly slicked back, but the curls along the back of his head were still defined. He held a corsage in his hand, the vibrant red roses sat in a sealed clear plastic box, and it matched the rose pin to his suit. Srry im changing some of the sentences so they dont run on </3 but tbh i also love run on sentences so if u dont wanna change thats 100% valid 

He’d been staring at her, his lips slightly parted, brows raised. At that exact moment he finally understood what all of his friends had said about her. The guys had always given him shit, saying that he was an absolute idiot for ignoring what was right in front of him. Some guys on the team had even asked him for his approval to ask her out; he’d always shrugged them off and said something along  the lines of ‘go for it, but good luck’.

She’d never really given anyone a chance, sure there were a few guys here and there, and that douchebag lifeguard last summer, but outside of that, Y/n rejected pretty much everyone.

It got to the point where their mothers had asked if she was gay, which was an incredibly uncomfortable conversation, to say the least.

He was still staring, he knew she’d be wearing black, which had made coordinating with her at the last minute a lot easier since he already had a black suit. But he didn’t know that she’d be wearing a satin black dress with a neckline that plunged enough to make him blush, the fabric itself hugging all of her curves, and her hair that was typically braided, was now blown out and framing her face perfectly.

He dropped the corsage, then scrambled to pick it back up.

Things had gone back to normal the second she’d mocked him for dropping it; they’d both snapped out of their own trances, and had taken a myriad of photos. Then they’d been off.

The dance was fine, it wasn’t spectacular, but it was fun enough. They’d jumped up and down and screamed random party songs together, laughing with one another and their shared friends.

Then the slow songs started, and at first she’d decided to sit things out while he spoke with one of his friends, but after a few minutes, he had asked her to dance.

The moment their eyes met during the slow dance was the moment they’d both been dreading their entire lives. They’d realized that maybe everyone else was right about them, and maybe they’d just been too stupid to notice.

But they’d brushed it off when the song changed, awkwardly laughing together while nodding their heads, ignoring the fact that a few seconds ago they were a little too close with his forehead resting against hers and their lips millimeters apart.

Both of them had internally vowed to never speak of that night again.

Then graduation happened. After getting their diplomas, they’d posed for more photos, laughed with one another, and ended up taking one of their favorite pictures together. Joaquin’s hand was around her waist as they both held up a singular middle finger while making a similar face—one eye shut with their tongue out. 

She’d gotten into Florida State University, and Joaquin decided to go to the Air Force. Of course Joaquin applied to college, but he wasn’t like Y/n, he hadn’t received a multitude of scholarships with different choices and the last thing he wanted to do was take out a series of loans that would leave him in thousands in debt, especially considering he’d wanted to do his best to avoid putting any other financial pressure on his family.

They’d spent most of that summer together, both with the knowledge that it’d truly be their last real summer together, at home, with one another.

He was set to go to basic training the same day that she’d be moving into her dorm.

So the night before they’d gone to the beach together, both sitting side by side on the sand, watching the sunset.

“Quino, things are gonna be different now, aren’t they?” she leaned into him, her head against his shoulder while she gazed forward. Meanwhile he’d gone from looking at the skyline, to looking down at her as he nodded his head.

“We can’t exactly be kids forever, Sunshine.”

he scoffed, lifting her head to look at him, eyes trailing along his features as if she was trying to commit this moment to memory, taking in every single detail as if she’d be able to remember this in fifteen years.

“We’re eighteen, it’s not like we have to have it all figured out y’know. We could pack everything up and run away.” 

He smiled, laughing at her while rolling his eyes slightly.

“Yeah, but we’d have to flee the country. I signed a contract with the Air Force. Maybe we run off to somewhere small, off grid.” 

She nodded along, elbowing him slightly, while holding back her smile. 

They both knew that wasn’t possible. It really was time to grow up, time to part ways, at least temporarily.

“You still gonna write to me?” 

He nodded his head at that. “Why wouldn’t I? Who’s gonna laugh at me suffering through basic training? Besides, y’know I write killer letters.” 

She shook her head at that, shoving some sand in his direction.“You have shit grammar, Quino.” 

He smiled at her, shrugging. “So? You still know what I mean!” 

She laughed again, now standing up and brushing her thighs off before giving him an expectant look. Joaquin nodded along as he got up off the sand, then she kicked off her shoes, and grabbed his hand, already running towards the water.

“Hell no! That water’s freezing!” 

She glanced over her shoulder at him. In that moment, at the sight of the golden hue reflecting against her skin, and the outline of the orange, purple, and pink skyline surrounding her figure like an aura from the heavens, he realized that he might’ve been in love with her. 

It was truly a terrible moment to realize that.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. C’mon, it’s our last real night as teenagers. Embrace it you doofus!”

Then she was pulling him along again, and somewhere along the way, he’d managed to kick his shoes off and toss his phone in a pile with their shared belongings before getting pulled into the water. 

They’d stayed out until two in the morning that night, and on their walk back through the neighborhood together, she wrapped her pinky around his as they moved in sync, trudging through the long sidewalks in their damp clothes together, knowing that in a few hours he’d be setting course to the airport then he’d be en route to San Antonio.

Meanwhile, she’d be starting the seven hour road trip to Florida State University with her parents while her dad towed a mini U-haul trailer on the back of his truck.

He always walked her to her door, even though they only lived a few houses apart and his house was the first they’d passed. She stood on the small front porch, key in the door as she faced away from him. A singular sniffle was what made him realize she’d been crying. 

“Hey, hey, Sunshine look at me.” 

She shook her head, looking down at the dimly lit door knob illuminated by the old porch light. The bulb nearly dead at this rate. Her father always said he’d get around to changing it, but it had been sitting the same way for the entire summer.

He was quick to move behind her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist as he slowly turned her to face him. She tried to shove him off, but his grip was firm, and he’d managed to spin her toward him despite her resistance

“Things are gonna be fine. I’ll write to you, you’ll write to me. We’ll still be friends, still get to come home to the same neighborhood with our families, alright? Still gonna be best friends—” He raised his palm, showing the near identical scar that they’d both shared “—see? Friends for life, made a shitty blood pact and everything.”

She nodded at him, sniffling before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m gonna miss you, you idiot.” he laughed at her, easily hugging her back, slightly squeezing as he nodded. 

“I’ll miss you too, Sunshine. Don’t forget about me when you’re over there in enemy territory, got it?” 

She laughed, shoving him away, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes.“I would’ve picked Miami if they’d given me more money. I guess the Seminoles just got better funding, huh?” she teased him, sniffling again as she smiled, the both of them still holding onto each other, as they held eye contact.

Then, they were both leaning in, and slowly but surely, their lips were millimeters apart again—just like prom night.

The door opening had them pulling apart harshly, practically tripping over one another as her father stared at them through the screen door, blinking several times, brows knit together as he unlocked the door.

“I don’t know what the hell you two are doing out here, but finish your goodbyes, and Joaquin, go the hell home. I’ll miss you kid.” 

He nodded at her father, laughing at his somewhat stern tone before facing her again. Then Joaquin raised both brows, tilting his head before lifting up a singular pinky.“Promise me you’ll write?” 

She smiled, nodding at that before locking her pinky with his. “Promise me you’ll respond when you’re not busy getting your ass kicked?” 

He nodded.

Then Joaquin said goodbye to her father and made his way down the porch steps, walking along the sidewalk.Glancing back, he to offer another wave before making his way back to his house.

The next morning, they’d both gone their separate ways, one to college, the other to the Air Force.

Washington D.C. 2027, Six Weeks Prior

The interrogation room was cold, colder than it should’ve been for the middle of the summer in Washington D.C. of all places. Hell, half of the city didn’t have working air conditioners, but it made sense that a police precinct less than twenty minutes from the Capitol building would have an air conditioning system that actually worked.

That’s how it was now;where there was money, there were luxuries.

Y/n sat in the uncomfortable metal chair situated in the middle of the room, hands cuffed to the  large metallic table in front of her with her ankles stuck to the legs of the chair. They’d known she would be able to break free at any second, but she wasn’t an animal, or some monster, and she wouldn’t be portrayed as such.

A criminal? Yes. But a monster? Never.

She was wearing a black leather jacket, and clearly it wasn’t warm enough, because she’d had goosebumps along her skin, and her nose burned at the feeling of the cold air. Then again, anything cold had a tendency to bother her, side effects of the bootleg black market serum that’d been forcefully injected into her somewhere between Europe and Madripoor.

Everything from that period was a bit fuzzy.

They’d had her in this room for nearly two hours. For the first twenty minutes, they’d tried to question her, and she simply ignored them or answered them solely in Spanish. When they’d found someone who did speak Spanish fluently, she started speaking French.

Then everyone had left, leaving her like an animal in a zoo exhibit, the bright fluorescent lights shining down on her while they watched from behind the one-way mirror. Three cameras in the room, all with a flashing red light, letting her know that they’d been recording the entire time. 

She was a few minutes away from breaking out of the cuffs and throwing them at one of the cameras, but then the door opened. She scoffed at the sight of Sam Wilson: the new Captain America.f she was honest, she liked the guy and she hadn’t heard anything negative about him…well,  from anyone who actually had any sense.

The negatives were usually from racist morons, but Sam Wilson was a great Captain America.. He fit the morals and values, and from what she’d heard, he was genuinely a good person, and those were very rare these days.

She would’ve been perfectly fine if it was just Sam, but when his new protege walked in behind him, she couldn’t hold back the scoff of annoyance.

It’d been years since she’d actually seen him in person.

She’d unconsciously squeezed her right hand, the same hand that a thin horizontal scar sat on— the same scar that he had on his right hand.

Sam’s gaze was focused on the file in hand so he’d missed the glare that she was shooting at Joaquin, and his sudden stiff demeanor. They’d both sat across from her, and the sounds of metal scraping against the tiled floors made her cringe. Then, Sam tossed the file on the table, the papers sliding out of the manilla folder and towards her.

Different criminal charges, alleged photographs of her at global crime scenes, a series of witness descriptions—anything and everything that could possibly incriminate her, outside of genuine substantial evidence.

“Didn’t know Captain America did jail calls, thought that was reserved for the Raft.” 

Sam shook his head at that, raising a single brow as he looked at her.

He knew she hadn’t even hit thirty yet. The girl was still young, and from her records, she’d had so much potential, potential to do good. Yet here she was. Not only did she graduate with honors from Florida State University, she was a Stark scholar her freshman year, having interned directly for Tony at one point, president of several campus organizations, had not only a full ride to the university, but was also given several merit based scholarships during her time there, had significant research that was involved in several scientific journal publications, and she had even been an intern for the department of defense.

He also knew that the world wasn’t the best place following the Snap in 2018; it impacted everyone drastically. Some vouched that it was a great time, but a lot of people had suffered, and the world was left to grieve and mourn for five years.

“Well, now you do know that. Care to share how you’re involved with Serpent?” 

She rolled her eyes at that, shaking her head and letting out a sigh. “I’m not.” 

Sam raised a brow, opening the file and pointing at not one, but two images of Y/N very clearly speaking with one of Serpent’s main shot callers, Sidewinder himself. “Then explain your relation to Sidewinder”

“That’s not me in the photo.” She blinked several times, clearly bored of the conversation.

Joaquin just stared in silence, it was probably the most quiet he’d been in years, staring at his childhood best friend turned wanted criminal. He never understood what happened to her. They’d kept in touch when he’d gone to boot camp, and even after that, when she was in college and he was getting his deployment orders, she always wrote to him.

They’d written to one another, even after the Blip.

He knew her family had been blipped away, and he also knew that was a major turning point for her. She’d spent most of her time on her studies, overworking herself to the point of exhaustion, distracting herself from the truth.

Two years into the Blip they lost contact. He knew she was still in school, but he was stationed overseas, and the time zones, plus the stress of life had gotten to them both.

He tried to find her again when he was stateside, tried to got to the neighborhood, only to find new families living in the house that had been in her family for decades. He’d also found out that the county government had forcefully repossessed the house. They’d gone to court over it and she’d lost.

All he’d known was that she did end up graduating, and as a last ditch effort, she invited him to her graduation. She’d written to him a lot, but turns out most of those letters had gotten lost along the way. The Blip had left several economic issues, and had impacted a multitude of different industries, which accounted for the loss of most of her letters. The ones he’d finally gotten from her were all stacked up, scattered thoughts throughout three years—references to things he didn’t really get, random bits and pieces from stories he’d assumed he would never get to read, and most importantly, the invitation to her graduation.

Typically he would’ve been able to request time for that andhe wished he got the letter on time, wished that he would’ve been able to go to Florida State (although begrudgingly) and watch his best friend cross the stage and get her degree, especially considering he’d be one of the few people there for her after what happened to her family.

Seeing her was like seeing a ghost, except now he was seeing the ghost of who she was, of who she could’ve been. The woman across from him wasn’t the same girl that he’d seen all those years ago.

It’d been almost nine years. Nine years since he’d properly gotten to see her. He still remembers the way her voice sounded that night, the last night they were genuinely together. 

“Stop staring, Torres” 

His eyes widened at the sound of her voice, or rather, the sound of his name leaving her lips, because it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his first name, or one of the several different nicknames she’d granted him over the years; there was no friendly tone, just venom.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together as he glanced at Sam, who was already looking at him with a curious expression.Sam looked between the both of them, glancing between the woman across from them, then back to Joaquin.

“Wait a goddamn minute, you two know each other?!” 

She scoffed at that, shaking her head. 

“Not anymore.” 

It was cold. Deep down, she knew that the response hurt Joaquin, but when she needed him, he wasn’t there. She hadn’t heard back from him in years. All she could do was sit and bury herself into her academics, striving to be the best of the best in hopes of becoming something or make her family proud.

She remembered the heartbreak she’d felt each time she hadn’t gotten a letter back. Then she sent him her graduation date, an invitation, and had even included a ticket.

He didn’t show up. 

She was alone in the world, left with no family, and she was hurt. Her home was gone, her family was missing, disappearing for what could’ve been forever, and she had nothing but a college degree and the few bins of stuff she’d had left.

The Blip had led to several criminal organizations skyrocketing, and it just so happened that Florida was home to a few of them, organizations that were using illegal alien technology to create weapons of destruction, organizations that had focuses in overthrowing minor governments, organizations that went hand in hand with any and all underground and black market affairs. 

So she’d taken advantage of that, used her brains to actually prove herself, and once they’d found a good use for her, she was helping engineer weapons. Thenshe was helping with mass production on a global front and she’d spent time traveling, doing illegal arms deals, and even wooing other crime bosses. 

That’s how she ended up tied in with Serpent, it wasn’t exactly difficult to hack into their secure systems, nor was it hard to convince them that they needed her, villains without real weapons couldn’t actually do much. Things had gone pretty smoothly until she’d been practically kidnapped, taken to a remote space, and used as a test subject for a new brand of super soldier serum following the arrest of the Flag Smashers.

She wasn’t proud of her actions following the injection, she knew she had blood on her hands, but it wasn’t her fault, not when they’d treated her like a lab rat.

“Okay, we’ll talk about whatever history you two have later. Right now, you need to come clean about your involvement with Serpent, or you’re looking at thirty years in the Raft.” 

She simply shrugged again, raising a brow before glancing down at the photos again. It was very apparent that it was her, and she had been mid argument with Sidewinder, who she should’ve just killed—another regret truly.

Then she lifted her wrists, and the cuffs snapped as if they’d been made of paper.

“That answer your question, Cap?” 

His eyes widened t, glancing from her wrists to the broken steel on the table. Sam watched as she pulled the documents closer, raising a single brow at the different photos and angles from the conversation.

“So it’s true then, they’re still experimenting on people?” 

Sshe laughed at that, nodding her head.

“Sure are, now can we get to the Raft already?, Pretty sure I can break out.-Ddefinitely not as secure as some would believe. I’ll take that sentence now.” She looked at the one way mirror, snapping her fingers a few times, as if she was summoning the cops to arrest her yet again.

“You’re not going to the Raft Sun- Uh- Y/l/n.” 

Sshe glanced back at Joaquin now, shaking her head at him. Any semblance of a smirk had left her face, now it was as if she’d been devoid of any emotion.

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore.” She clenched her jaw, looking away from him and towards Sam. 

“I can help you. I know you’ve got a plethora of connections in the realm of illegal arms dealing, not to mention you’ve also been the brains behind a lot of the weapons that we’ve found, confiscated, and examined. I like your signature that you leave on them, too.” 

She smirked at that, nodding her head, then sifted through the photos, finding the close up of one of the larger automatic rifles she’d built, except this one relied solely on Chitauri energy-based ammunition. It didn’t need bullets, and she’d engraved the outline of a small bird onto the handle. 

“What can I say? It’s part of the brand. Now, I don’t need help Cap, what I need is to get the hell out of the U.S.” 

He nodded his head at that, pulling some folder papers out of his jacket pocket. Unfolding them, he slid the documents across the table.

“Here are my terms. I can get you a presidential pardon for your crimes, a pardon that would allow you to be back in the states without hiding out. A pardon that would get you a fresh start. But you’re gonna need to start being honest here.” 

Her brows were knit together as she slowly grasped the papers, eyes scanning along the different legal terms as she flipped through the pages.

It was clear that she had to cooperate with Sam if she wanted the pardon. It guaranteed that she’d no longer be deemed as a war criminal ora domestic terrorist. That would also ensure that she’d be able to go back home, to see her family, to be someone else, to be anyone but the person she’d become. 

“If I agree to this, you promise my family’s gonna be alright?” She looked up at Sam. 

 In that moment, he could see through her walls. He could see a scared girl that had lost everyone to the Blip, a girl that had fallen into this lifestyle because it was her only real choice. 

Sam nodded at her, handing her a pen. “If you sign them now, you have my word.” 

She took the pen slowly, jaw clenched as she stared at the pages. It was almost too good to be true. However, a clause that stated any divergence from the very clearly outlined plan, which included court mandated therapy sessions, would result in her imprisonment, bringing her back to reality.

“What the hell do you need from me anyways? I’m not some hero, I don’t even think I count as a good person anymore. Don’t you have more happy and hopeful people like him to recruit?” She motioned towards Joaquin without even looking at him.

Joaquin was dealing with his own inner turmoil, there were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many things that he hadn’t gotten the chance to express. He’d waited years to see her again, and now, even if she was a bit rough around the edges, he felt almost happy to see her and know that she was alright—even if she was a wanted criminal.

But he was disappointed that she’d managed to become what she was now.

“Well, truthfully, you’re smart. Smarter than most. And with your network, we could do a lot of good, starting stateside, and moving from there. Besides, not everyone that does good has to be a hero. Just like not everyone who’s done bad shit, is a bad person.” 

She nodded slowly, then glanced back at the files.

“Sidewinder has a bounty on his head.Some big crime boss in Madripoor is pissed that Serpent didn’t deliver on their end of a large weapons deal a few months back. It was supposed to be some covert scam. They’d get the wired funds, stay stateside, or really anywhere other than Madripoor—y’know places that have real laws, and they’d be able to avoid the consequences.”

She sighed, glancing at the photo. “Tried to get me to speed a few manufacturing processes up.ell, no first he practically threatened me. but y'know the whole serum thing kinda reduces any real threat at this rate. Told me that if I helped him out, I’d get seven million.”

Sam nodded at the information. “Did you take the deal?” 

She simply shrugged then shook her head.“And have a ten million dollar bounty on my head? Hell no. I told him I was out of the business.Besides, can’t really have any high paying deals with shady government officials if I’m legally not supposed to be seen within the United States, or any U.S. territories.” 

Then she signed the contract, putting the pen on top of the indented papers and slide them back to Sam. She still avoided Joaquin’s stare, she had nothing positive to say to him, and the last thing she wanted to hear was a lecture about the person she’d become from the one person that had abandoned her.

Maybe if she wasn’t aware that he didn’t blip, then maybe she wouldn’t have held the grudge. But one of the last letters she’d gotten from him was after the Blip, so she knew he was okay, she knew he was alive.

“Welcome to the team, kid.” Sam placed his right hand out, and she easily grasped it, shaking on the deal.

Baltimore MD, 2027 Five Weeks Prior

If there was a word that could fully describe the relationship between the two former best friends, it would be strained, but that was a severe understatement. Over the past week they’d been staying in the same house in the suburbs of Baltimore county. Sam had stated that Y/n needed to be under constant supervision, mainly because part of him was still a bit weary with her.

He hadn’t given her a reason not to trust her, not yet at least. But with a criminal record as substantial as hers, within the short time span of about four years, she was definitely someone to keep an eye on. 

It wasn’t the first time Sam had opted to help in the rehabilitation of a criminal. To be fair, he’d placed a lot of hope in several different people, and most of the time, they truly did change. There were people like Karli Morgenthau, the former leader of the Flag Smashers that had been victim to the circumstance of the Blip, followed by the reversal of it all.She was willing to do better, willing to change, but it was too late for her.

Sam wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he held a lot of regret whenever he thought of the girl, even if it was several years ago. Some deaths weren’t easily let go of, especially those that could’ve been prevented. 

Maybe that was why he’d had so much faith in Y/n, he knew she wasn’t always the way she is now, that much was confirmed by the long winded rant that Joaquin had gone on the second they were out of the precinct.He’d spoken for what felt like hours about his former childhood best friend, and at some point, Sam had started tuning him out.

Of course Sam was going to be there to support Joaquin, who was clearly in love with his former friend, but at some point in time, he naturally tuned out the constant chatter. 

Things hadn’t gone smoothly whatsoever at the house, mainly because when Joaquin had tried to speak with her, she’d quite literally thrown a pan at him, slammed several doors in his face, sprayed him with a water hose, and had even opted to fully abandon her meals just to get away from him. She did eventually come back and clean up after herself, but at the moment, she wanted nothing to do with him.

When he tried to sit with her in silence, she’d roll her eyes and storm off. 

She hadn’t said a single word to him, and he was still doing his best to make amends with her, even though he really didn’t know what he had to make up for.

Today was no different, she’d ignored him and acted as if he didn’t exist, any time he’d enter a shared common space, she’d leave. It didn’t matter if she was in the middle of doing something, she’d find a way to leave as swiftly as possible.

Joaquin was over it, completely and utterly over it.

But before he could attempt to be confrontational and most likely get his ass kicked, there were several knocks at the front door, and of course, he was the one to open it.

In the doorway stood Dr. Christina Raynor, the same therapist that had worked with Bucky Barnes following his presidential pardon journey. It had taken several phone calls, and a lot of flaunting the title of Captain America for Sam to actually get her to do house calls for Y/n. It wasn’t exactly easy, and he didn’t trust that she’d be able to go to her appointments on a consistent basis. 

So he brought the appointments to her.

“Ah, Captain Torres. You’re not the person I’m here for, but a lovely surprise nonetheless.” She motioned for him to step aside, and when he did, she entered the home.

She’d taken a few minutes to look around. It wasn’t the fanciest of homes, but it was a nice house to live in, with three bedrooms total, a few bathrooms, and two floors, not including the basement. The place was small, but it didn’t feel small, it was nice, cozy even. 

It made sense why Sam chose a place like this for her. 

“So where is she? I’m sure she’s well aware of our appointment today.” Joaquin’s brows knit together. Truthfully, he wasn’t even aware of the appointment. Then again, it’s not like Y/n had said a single word to him over the past seven days. If her nonverbal communication said anything, it was that she didn’t want a single thing to do with him.

“Uh, upstairs, probably. We don’t really talk much.” 

She slowly nodded her head at him.“And why is that? Sam said the two of you knew each other well.” 

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing towards the staircase, then back at Dr. Raynor.

“Well, we did.We grew up together in Miami, but then she went to college and I enlisted, and then the Blip happened, and it’s been a while. So, we know each other, but I don’t think well would be the right way to describe it.”

She observed him as if she was taking note of everything he’d been saying. It gave Joaquin a minor spark of anxiety, but he chose to ignore it, closing the front door, then proceeding to guide her in the direction of the room that Y/n had occupied.

He knocked on the door several times, and the silence that followed was mildly concerning.

“Hello, it’s Dr. Raynor, here for our three o’ clock appointment.” 

The door opened, and at the sight of Joaquin, she rolled her eyes, but then she glanced at Dr. Raynor.  The older woman stared directly at her, so Y/n stepped to the side, motioning for her to come in before slamming the door in Joaquin’s face. 

“So, Joaquin tells me that you two grew up together. I think for today’s sessions, we should start there.” Y/n blinked a few times, watching as Dr. Raynor moved towards the windows, pulling one of the few chairs in the room with her, leaving it closest to the window, then took another and left it across the room.She took a seat at the one furthest from the window, opting to cross one leg over the other. 

Y/n was hesitant as she sat down, arms crossed in front of her chest, a look of irritation on her features.“We grew up together. A lot of people grow up together, what's the big deal?” The negativity in her tone was unmistakable, that in combination with her clenched jaw, stiff posture, and now shaking leg, emphasized not only the anger in her words, but the stress in her body.

“Well, Sam tells me that you’ve pretty recently started going downhill, sorry, not really a better way to say that. Don’t worry I won’t make you make amends with the people you’ve wronged and go through some long winded process to make things better. Truthfully, most of the time, you can’t make things from the past better, but you can work on the future. But, that does rely on looking back a bit, pinpointing the start of all of this.”

She groaned, shaking her head.“I know how it all started, I don’t need a shrink to psychoanalyze me and tell me when I turned into a shitty person.” 

Dr. Raynor nodded, watching as Y/n glanced outside, her gaze focused on the neighborhood around them.“Okay, so tell me about that then.” 

She thought the girl would fight, but she didn't; she just took a deep breath and nodded her head.

Joaquin stood outside of the room, hesitating as he debated leaving or eavesdropping, he knew it was wrong of him to stay, but he also wanted to know what went wrong, what caused all of this. More importantly, he wanted to know how to fix it. 

But he knew this wasn’t the right way to fix things, so he headed down the hall, opting to go back downstairs and get back to work. He had a few systems that needed some adjustments, so he’d occupy himself with that for now.

Her eyes traced the skyline, taking in the angular tilts of every rooftop against the soft blue hues of the sky. She hated talking about the Blip, she hated even thinking about it. There wasn’t a time that she’d ever felt so lost and so alone.

“After the Blip, I mean, to be fair I was okayish the first year, but my family was blipped away, and with my shit luck, all of my friends were also blipped away. Well, except for Torres, but at that point he’d already been deployed. We still talked for a while at least, he wrote me and I wrote him, then maybe two years in, he uh, he stopped writing Or maybe he didn’t, but I stopped getting them.” 

She blinked a few times, trying to ignore the burn of tears welling in her eyes as she avoided Dr. Raynor’s gaze.

“I dunno, I was just alone. I did keep writing though, and I drowned myself in my academics. I interned for all of the big major hard hitters, I had merit scholarships that I was positive I didn’t really deserve because someone more capable was most likely blipped away. But y’know, it was a good distraction.”

She paused again, this time wiping a few tears away, Dr. Raynor took minimal notes, mostly on her mannerisms rather than her history.

“Then I graduated, and no one was there, and I went back home, and no one was there either, then the county took my family’s house. I went to court, but I was poor and I couldn’t afford a good lawyer, so they won. They won and they took my family’s house.” 

Raynor nodded her head, raising a single brow at the very clear emotion. Prior to this, based on her file, the few interrogation tapes she’d viewed, and what she’d gathered from Sam, the girl in front of her wasn’t very emotional. She was meticulous, logical, and a complete smart ass.

This was a good sign.

“Tell me about the house.” 

She nodded, eyes still focused outside.“My great grandfather had purchased the land when they migrated over, it took him decades to buy it. He’d worked for twenty years before he was able to afford it. Even back then, when inflation wasn’t kicking everyone’s ass, it was still hard for an immigrant to get something as solid as land. Over the years my family has always lived in that house. It’s been passed down through the generations. Or at least, it was until they took it from us.”

She let out a deep breath, wiping away a few more tears.

“I grew up there y’know, my brothers are all older than me by at least eight years, then I met Quino, and we spent years causing a ruckus there. I don’t think I really have a singular bad memory being there, from being home.”

She sighed, running a hand along her face for a moment before turning to face Dr. Raynor.

“My parents got the house back, and this time I had the money, sure it was dirty money, but I got them the lawyer after the blip, I couldn’t even go see them physically, I’d already had too many warrants in the U.S., but I made sure we had what was ours again.”

Dr. Raynor nodded her head, glancing down at her watch for a moment.

“I want you to tell me about your family.” 

The two spent the next thirty minutes speaking about Y/n’s family, starting from her grandparents who were both deceased, to her parents, to her siblings that she hadn’t spoken to in years. She’d even mentioned Joaquin’s family, stating that they weren’t blood relatives, but they were still family nonetheless.

That’s also how Dr. Raynor found out that Joaquin’s mother had been Blipped away.

By the time that the session was over, Y/n had cried more than she’d cried in the past three years, and she actually felt a little better about the world, maybe therapy wasn’t just some ‘mumbo jumbo’ that they tried to force onto people. Then again, it could’ve also been the simple act of having the opportunity to actually speak with someone about her issues that had made her feel better.

She was quick to walk Dr. Raynor out, but when heading downstairs, she realized that Joaquin was no longer alone.Based on the loud voices and laughter, Sam was also present, along with someone else.

Sam rounded the corner, a wide smile on his face as he said his hellos to Dr. Raynor, shaking her hand for a moment before glancing at Y/n, taking in her bloodshot eyes

“Session go well then?”

“As well as pouring my heart and soul out to a complete stranger can go.”

Washington D.C., 2027, Four Weeks Prior

“Sam this is stupid, I’m not gonna waltz into the White House and ask for a damn expedite on a pardon from the Hulk Hunter of all people!” 

He shushed her, making eye contact through the rear view mirror as he drove. She sighed, brows knit together, frustration evident in her features.

It was bad enough he had her wearing business professional attire. There was nothing that she hated more than dressing up, especially in blazers and button ups, not to mention the obnoxious pencil skirt that he insisted she wear. This had to have been her own personal hell.

Maybe that was it, she’d died and was forced to live in this lifetime as a karmic cycle.

Then, to make matters worse, Joaquin was currently sitting in the front seat of the SUV, doing his best not to look back at her, knowing she’d probably find something to throw at him, or worse, she’d curse at him again.

Over the past few days she’d moved on from giving him the complete silent treatment, which might’ve been nice if she wasn’t verbally assaulting him any chance she’d get. It made sense that she would want to push him away, but being cursed out constantly was the last thing he needed.

Joaquin was getting tired of it. 

He was beyond frustrated with her, especially given the fact that Sam had practically dropped him off with her and stated that he was the best bet for ‘fixing her’ as if she needed to be fixed. What she needed was a hug, or maybe a xanax, he had no idea, but Joaquin knew the last thing she needed was him.

Sure they’d grown up together, but they were drastically different at this point.

“Well, you can’t start on a new foot if you’re dragging a ball and chain the size of Australia with you everywhere you go.” 

Y/n knew that Sam had a point, but she didn’t want to accept that.She was looking down at her hands, her left thumb nervously running along the thin scar decorating her right palm.“I didn’t even do anything that bad.” 

Sam laughed at that, shaking his head.“Yes, because contributing to several global wars by distributing biomechanical alien tech based weapons isn’t anything bad. Not to mention working with several major underground crime families.” 

She shushed him, kneeing his chair like an angry little kid on a long car ride.

“To be fair, at least you didn’t really kill anyone.” 

She rolled her eyes at Joaquin’s input, glaring at him from her seat.

“Also, not technically true, Joaquin.” Sam nodded as he spoke, finally making it through the plethora of security gates and guards, being able to actually park the car in the underground garage that was typically utilized for staff-only vehicles. 

Y/n was relatively silent as she got out of the car, adjusting her skirt uncomfortably before following Sam’s lead, rolling her eyes at Joaquin when he walked beside her.

When they were younger, they always walked together, and she remembered the way that she’d gravitate towards Joaquin, linking her pinky with his, especially when she was nervous about something. She felt as if she was fighting that part of herself, doing her best to ignore what was probably her inner child—or at least that’s what Dr. Raynor described it as.

He chose the worst time to extend an olive branch, she flinched the second his hand brushed against hers. At first she assumed it was an accident, but the second time she took a few steps away from him, putting some distance between them both.

She hated being patted down, but , it was part of the process, and as the security did so all she could do was roll her eyes and hold her arms up. 

Sam gave her a pointed look when they stood in front of the oval office doors.

“It’s now or never kid, time to right your wrongs.ell, at least start righting your wrongs.”

She nodded slowly, running her thumb along the scar on her palm again as she followed Sam and Joaquin inside.

Truthfully, the entire time that President Ross spoke, she simply nodded her head, offering faint and forced smiles, doing her best not to have a fully fledged panic attack. She could practically feel the anxiety thrumming through her heart, and it was getting harder to breathe, she needed to relax, needed to calm down.

Then the President shook her hand and she had no idea what he was saying, she just nodded her head at him, eyes a bit glossy as she fought the nervous tears.

Joaquin noticed it first, he could see how stiff she was. It wasn’t normal, or at least, it wasn’t what he was now used to. She looked almost afraid, or maybe it was panic. Then he noticed her rubbing her palm, and he knew it was panic, she’d always done that, it started when they were kids, and now it was resurfacing.

He excused himself, and in the process, also excused her, a single hand on her lower back, guiding her with him as they stepped out of the office, leaving Sam and President Ross to speak with one another. 

She didn’t have the energy to curse at him, she needed some air.

Joaquin guided her movements, taking her to one of the smaller more secluded gardens outside, a place that most of the public wasn’t allowed.

“Sunshine, you need to breathe.” 

She nodded her head at him, vision a bit hazy as she tried to focus on breathing. She hadn’t realized that her panicking had gotten this bad, the anxiety practically surging through her, she was too busy overthinking about everything she’d done over the past four years, trying to piece together the fuzzy pieces, trying to remember who she really was.

It was clear that just talking to her wasn’t helping, so he stepped forward, gently placing one hand on the side of her face, practically caressing her warm skin as he held eye contact with her.

“I need you to breathe. You’re okay, everythings okay. Ross approved the pardon, you just need to follow through with Dr. Raynor. You’ll be alright, Sunshine”. He spoke slowly and quietly, and for the first time in a long time, he felt as if he was really seeing her.“Take a deep breath. Exactly, in and out—just like that.” 

She nodded along, following his lead until she finally felt like her heart wasn’t going to beat out of her own chest. 

There was something calming about Joaquin, and maybe if she’d genuinely let him in again, she would know that it was just his presence overall that calmed her down. 

But it was never that easy.

Then she was shoving him away from her, blinking a few times when she finally realized how close they were.

She let out a cynical laugh, shaking her head at him. “Can’t you just leave me the hell alone?!” He stared for a moment, face void of any emotion for a few seconds.

“What the hell is your problem, Sunshine! I mean come on, I’ve been trying to talk to you for two weeks.I haven’t seen you in almost ten years at this point, and God, I’m so tired of this weird silent treatment, oh lets be mean as hell to Joaquin fiasco. I just want to be there for you!” his voice was getting louder as he ranted to her. 

“Seriously?!” she raised both brows at his outburst, rolling her eyes.

When she tried to walk away, he stepped in front of her, blocking her way, knowing she couldn’t exactly shove him. They were at the White House for her presidential pardon, any and everything that she did could easily get it ripped away from her.

“Stop calling me that! It’s not my freaking name!” Her voice was loud as she yelled at him, swatting his extended arm away from her, he rolled his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s your name, I’ve always called you Sunshine! What the hell is so different now?!” 

She let out another cynical laugh at that, fighting the urge to shove him away from her.

“Everything is different Torres! Every single fucking thing is different! You’re arguing with me in a garden outside of the damn White House where I have to get a fucking presidential pardon because I’m a god damn criminal. But you…Torres, you’re a freakin Avenger! We’ve never been more different!” Her voice cracked as she yelled back at him, her eyes burned as she felt them start to water, and she did her best to make sure she wouldn’t shed a single tear around him.

“It doesn’t have to be! You don’t have to be like that anymore! It’s a fresh start for a reason! You’re so god damn stubborn that you refuse to see yourself as anything but what you’ve been over the past few years. Newsflash,Sunshine, the Blip wasn’t good to all of us.It brought out the worst in a lot of people! You don’t have to be that same person anymore!” 

She shook her head at that.“What the hell would you know about what happened to me? You weren’t even there. Do you know how many times I wrote to you?! How many days I stayed up hoping that maybe I’d hear back from the one person I knew was still around?” Her voice cracked again as she spoke, her bottom lip quivering by the time she’d finished shouting at him. Her heart was practically pounding and her ears were ringing, her skin was flushed and all she could focus on was trying not to cry, trying to hold it all in.

She hated crying.

Once the first tear fell, it was as if the floodgates had been unleashed. She couldn’t hold it in, but she wouldn’t allow herself to break down, not like this. So she turned on her heel, hands clenched in fists as she started walking down the stone path, steadying her breath as she shook her head.

But his voice had her stopping in her tracks, still turned away from him. 

“You think I didn’t write you? Do you know the kind of shit I had to see when I was overseas, the shit I wished I had someone to talk to about?! I never stopped writing to you! Then I waited and waited for your letters! They were the only thing that got me through in the beginning, you were the only one.” 

He was exhausted, he’d been exhausted for years. Sure he’d found productive distractions, he’d even found parts of himself he’d thought he lost after the Blip. But there was always something missing, and that something had been her. She’d always been there, she was one of the largest constants in his life, then suddenly, things got hard, and she’d been gone.

She wasn’t the only one who had felt loss, that had felt that sense of loneliness.

But he didn’t know how to say that, he didn’t know how to let her know that he’d been hurting too, that the hurt hadn’t just gone away. But it wasn’t numbing, not like it had been that first year they’d lost contact. He’d managed to stay busy, working his ass off in the Air Force, using his own skill set, and expanding on it. 

He’d spent years drowning himself in work, sure he still had family back home, but it wasn’t easy going home, it wasn’t feasible for the most part. He’d been overseas for years, and in all of that time, he’d hardly gotten to speak to any of his family or friends. But he did his best to not let that loneliness overcome him.

So he’d done his best to show his superiors that he wasn’t just intelligent and athletic, but also diligent, committed, and useful.

That’s how he’d ended up meeting Sam that day in Tunisia, after years of climbing the ranks. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much that she wouldn’t hear.

His voice cracked as he spoke “You act like I forgot you, I’ve never forgotten you, Sunshine.” 

She shook her head at that. Looking down at the ground, feeling the tears falling faster.“I don’t wanna hear that from you. Now leave me the hell alone Torres”

Then she walked away, heels clicking against the pavement as she walked through the lush space, shaking her head while wiping away her tears.

Baltimore M.D., Three Weeks Prior

“I’m not avoiding the question!” Y/n shook her head, jaw clenched as she stared at Dr. Raynor. They were currently sitting in the living room of the house that Sam had called her ‘new temporary home’. 

She was seated on the large burnt orange sofa in the middle of the room, one leg crossed on the oversized cushion she sat on, the other extended in front of her, foot resting on the edge of the small glass coffee table in the room. She held a throw pillow in her lap, glaring at Dr. Raynor who sat across from her, except in the room itself, she was technically diagonal as the recliner she sat in was angled away.

Of course the small brown leather bound notebook was still in her hand alongside a black ink pen that she jotted down notes with.

The woman sighed, adjusting her glasses as she glanced back down at the notebook, clearly making a note of Y/n’s defensive behavior.

“Yes, yes you are avoiding the question, It was a simple ask, what do you think your genuine purpose is? I’m not asking for an essay, most people have some kind of answer, some would say to work, others would say to help, I’ve even had clients say their last purpose is to make amends. If you don’t have an answer—then that itself is an answer as well. But you? You’ve completely disregarded the question”.

Y/n sighed, shaking her head again as she glanced down at her hands, the skin around her cuticles were peeling, some of it red, some of it scabbed, from her constant need to pick or fidget. 

The question was simple in thought. Dr. Raynor had asked the question ten minutes ago, and for the past ten minutes, Y/n had done her best to avoid it, opting to bring up random thoughts, extend on previous things, and ask her therapist questions instead. 

She knew for a fact she’d been avoiding the doctor’s question. 

Mainly because she’d always thought her purpose would be to do something good, something great even. To find the next biggest scientific discovery, to use her smarts for the benefit of helpful research, to engineer something substantial, to expand upon biomedical sciences and studies. 

Instead she was technically an ex-arms dealer, the engineer behind a series of potentially country-ending-weapons and machinery, a contributor to several global wars, and a literal felon with a criminal record. Not to mention the fact that she couldn’t leave the jurisdiction of the State of Maryland or Washington D.C. without pre-approved supervision.

She used to believe that maybe, on the simplest level, her purpose was to help those in need. To help those who were sick, those who were wounded, those injured in wars, but instead, she was part of the reason for those injuries in wars.

“Okay, so I don’t have an answer then.” 

Dr. Raynor shook her head “now you’re just lying to me, y’know for a global criminal considered a national threat, you’re a horrible liar” she took a note of that as well.

Y/n sighed, looking up at Dr. Raynor then back down at her hands, specifically at her right palm, running her left thumb over it again. Tracing the scar, back and forth, several times over. 

The only reason they’d had today’s therapy session in the living room was because Joaquin had been called into work late last night, some local mission that Sam needed intelligence backup on. It worked out perfectly, she’d finally gotten a day of peace and quiet.

That and her usual therapy session didn’t need to be in the mess that was her room, and Dr. Raynor wouldn’t be able to jot down any notes about the disastrous state that the bedroom was in.

“Fine. When I was a kid, I wanted to help people. Do something good y’know, my mom always said with as smart as I was, I’d be able to find the cure to the most untreatable diseases. I uh, I remember when Quin—Torres, uh yeah, Torres, would tell me that I’d be able to make a real difference for people like us y’know, people who grew up in poor areas with shit access to things like health care and real genuine medical treatments. But it all seems so far-fetched now.”

She took a deep breath after that, finally looking over at Dr. Raynor, who’s brows were knit together as she listened, then she took another note, it was short, and quick.

“You do know that you still have time to do that, right? In a world like this, where aliens, gods, and superheros are all real, there’s really no such thing as an aspiration that’s far-fetched,”

“That’s what Quino used to say to me, said we could be anything since aliens were real,” she smiled, shaking her head while looking down at her palms again.

“Tell me about your friendship with Joaquin.” 

She coughed at first, slightly taken aback before shaking her head at Dr. Raynor. 

“I’m being serious, I’d like to know more about your past, and he seems to be a consistent figure” 

She sighed, nodding her head “I dunno, like I said before, we grew up together, we were best friends for years, our families are friends, they always told us we’d get married someday, that way our families could just be one big family y’know. We were close for a long time, he was my closest confidant.”

The session ended shortly after that, mainly because time had run out, and Y/n had nothing to really respond with, sure the words of encouragement were nice, and even if they made complete sense from a logical perspective, morally, Y/n didn’t think she really deserved a second chance.

Maybe that was why this entire predicament was so difficult. It was hard to adjust, hard to accept that Sam Wilson had really given her a second chance, that maybe she’d actually be able to do some good and be able to actually help people instead of hurt them.

She’d sat in the living room once Dr. Raynor had left, opting to use one of the large throw blankets on the couch, covering herself to get comfortable, eventually opting to lay down, TV now on as she mindlessly scrolled through the channels, well at least, things were mindless until Y/n caught the local News.

Then her eyes widened as she sat up swiftly, a recorded footage feed showing Captain America and the Falcon mid air, both fighting what looked to be missiles over the Indian Ocean. She wasn’t even sure if they were actually fighting, it looked more like they were trying to lure them away, and at first they’d been doing a great job.

Then Joaquin had been hit, and not only had he been hit, he’d crash landed into the Indian Ocean. Based on the timestamps on the footage, that had happened almost four hours ago.

It was like she was on autopilot, immediately standing up, eyes wide as she rushed to gather her things and put on whatever clothes she could quickly find. Sam had mentioned that if anything ever happened, they’d be rushed to the hospital at the air force base twenty minutes outside of Washington D.C., so what did Y/n decide to do? 

Steal Joaquin’s keys and drive herself to that hospital.

It didn’t help that she’d been questioned at the security gate, and then they’d also tried arresting her, which did lead to a very unnecessary fight, but she defended herself by stating they’d triggered her fight or flight response by putting their hands on her first and practically ripping her out of the car that was registered in Joaquin’s name.

To be fair, she’d even told them that they’d been living together, and that he should’ve been flown in by then, or at the very least, he’d be arriving shortly. She had also tried showing them the paperwork that Sam had provided to her, all of it had been filed electronically, notarized, and in the legal sense, it was concrete proof that she was no longer a wanted criminal.

Technically, she wasn’t exactly a regular civilian either. There was some subclass that she’d fallen under after being experimented on, and then, of course, being a former enemy of the state wasn’t the best title for someone actively trying to get onto a military base, especially when they had zero military clearance or involvement.

It had taken two additional hours for her to actually get to the hospital on base, and the only reason they hadn’t fully arrested her was because Sam had managed to find her. 

The walk to the hospital, and through the halls was quiet. Sure there was the general noise and ambiance of a hospital, plus the stench of alcohol and antiseptics, and the ongoing background chatter between staff and patients, plus the beeping of different machines, but between Y/n and Sam, they were silent.

Sam felt guilty, guilty for it all, as if it was his fault that this had happened.The past twenty four hours had been miserable, everything that could’ve gone wrong, had gone wrong. He’d even gotten guidance from Bucky Barnes of all people, sure he loved Buck, but at the same time, getting guidance from one of the least level-headed people he knew was tragic.

Now he had to deal with Y/n, who he practically ripped away from several military police after she’d taken down two of their guards after claiming that they’d hit her first. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be shocked if they had acted with aggression towards the girl, her record was beyond worrisome and she did have several red flags that equated to violent tendencies.

But he also knew that she was worried, the concern was practically oozing off of her. 

She acted as if she hated Joaquin, but Sam knew that she was just hurt, and it was the kind of hurt that would take time to heal. It wasn’t exactly easy for her to go back to normal, especially when the past five years have been anything but normal.

They walked side by side, neither wanting to be the first to speak, at least until they’d reached the door to the room he was currently admitted into. It was a recovery room, he’d just gotten out of surgery about half an hour ago, his entire right shoulder had been burned and partially broken, not to mention the bits and pieces of metal that had pierced through his skin from his suit, wings, and the shrapnel from the missile. 

With the blinds to Joaquin’s room being open, Y/n could see him lying in the hospital bed, elevated, from where she stood.  His upper body had been bandaged, but she could see bits and pieces of his burnt skin along his jawline and his neck. 

He even had a few cuts and scrapes on his face, but they weren’t major, not like the burns, breaks, and fractures. 

It broke her heart to see him like that.

“Y’know, he really needs you right now. He’s probably needed you for a long time. Same way you’ve needed him.” 

She nodded her head at Sam, jaw clenched and brows knit together, as she blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears away at the sight of Joaquin unconscious in the hospital bed.

“I can’t do this Sam.” With that she’d walked off in the opposite direction, wiping her tears away as fast as possible, but it was no use, they’d kept falling.

Washington D.C. Air Force Base, Two Weeks Prior

To say that it was easy getting Y/n on and off base over the time span of a week would’ve been a bold faced lie, Sam had to pull several strings for it to happen, especially considering her not so subtle fight with several members of their military police unit. It would’ve been easier if she hadn't won the fight by a landslide. He had to pull the Captain America card several times, and even stated that he was taking her under his wing.

Once she was officially allowed on base, and considering that’s also where his main headquarters was based out of, it was much easier for her to have somewhere to be while Joaquin was in the hospital on the opposite end of the Air Force campus. She hadn’t gone to see him again, instead she’d spent her time bothering Sam, hacking into random systems, and going through their records.

She’d even managed to pull the records on the super soldier serum that she’d been injected with, she found out its origins, even found records of illegal tests, experiments, and medical data from overseas that had been discovered through a series of raids and top secret missions.

Every single day Sam would ask if she wanted to go see him, he’d try to convince her, and she’d always decline. He’d even mentioned that Joaquin had asked for her a few times. 

Although he wasn’t fully conscious. 

So she’d decided that maybe it was time to go see him, she couldn’t hide from seeing him forever.Sure she was mean to him, and she did push him away, but she’d never ever wished harm onto him, and she never would. At one point in time he’d meant the world to her, and if Dr. Raynor was right about anything, she was right about the fact that Y/n needed to work on opening up to people again, and letting them in.

So she left Sam’s office space and made her way to the hospital, glaring at a few officers that had given her questioning looks. By the time she’d made it to the hospital she was nervous, so nervous that she couldn’t bring herself to go into his room, she’d managed to get directions to his floor and now she was standing outside of the door, arms crossed as she tried to give herself a mental pep talk.

Then her soul had practically left her body the second an older woman spoke to her.

“Going inside sweetheart? You’ve been out here for about twenty two minutes now.” 

Y/n slowly shook her head at the older nurse, taking note of her badge that read ‘Shirley ICU RN’. Her hair was fully grey and pulled up into a ponytail, she couldn’t have been taller than Joaquin’s abuela—the woman standing at a whopping 5’1—and she was full of life.

“Uh no, I don’t think he’d want me in there with him, not the person I am today at least.” 

She shook her head at that, raising a single brow.“I think it sounds like you don’t want to be in there because of the person you are today, y’know, I saw the way you looked at him when you’d first came last week. I don’t know your history with Captain Torres, but I know he means a lot to you. Remember sweetheart, holding grudges only does harm in the end, it’s easier to forgive and keep moving forward.”

With that she reassuringly patted Y/n’s forearm, offered another smile, then made her way down the hall towards another room.

When Sam had gone looking for Y/n to ask if she was going to come see Joaquin today, she wasn’t there, and naturally he , but after about fifteen minutes he’d found the note that she left on his desk that read ‘Going to go see him’.

That’s how he found her sitting in the uncomfortably stiff cushioned chair beside his hospital bed, tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, looking right at Joaquin as she held his right hand with her own, or rather she held onto his right hand even though his stayed open.

She hadn’t noticed Sam at first, too busy sniffling as her eyes kept retracing the burns along his shoulder and neck, the previous dressing had been removed, the nurses stating that it would be good for the burn to ‘breathe’—whatever the hell that meant. Sam had also watched as she reached over with her left hand, slightly brushing the loose curls along his hairline back.

He was typically very put together, his hair never really fell out of place, and Y/n knew that, he’d always been particular about how he liked his hair.

She shook her head at him, eyes tracing each and every ridge, line, and curve of his face. 

“You’re such an asshole,” she’d mumbled, looking at him.

“Glad you finally gave him a visit.” 

Her eyes widened as she sat up, left hand instantly moving away from Joaquin, but she’d instinctively squeezed his right/ The moment she was about to respond to Sam with a witty remark, Joaquin had squeezed her hand.

Sam caught the movement too, his eyes widening as he approached the bed, now standing at the foot of it as he glanced at Joaquin, who’s features were slowly but surely moving, brows knit together, his eyes squeezed shut even harder, then he slowly opened them, blinking a few times, struggling to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights in combination with the sun shining in from outside.

“S-sunshine?” his voice was hoarse, throat dry, and he was confused as he started to process everything around him.

“Glad to see you’re finally waking up, kid” 

He slowly nodded his head, easily seeing Sam in front of him, however he didn’t register Y/n next to him, not until he went to move his hand and realized someone was holding it, then he shifted his head a bit, rolling it to the side, a little groggy still as his vision focused on the woman beside him.

He could feel her squeezing his hand, and he let out a slight laugh. Although it didn’t really sound like a laugh, more like a dry breathy cough.

Then one of the nurses walked into the room, she was an older woman who had taken the time to speak with Y/n before she’d gone into the hospital room, giving her a few pieces of helpful advice about actually being there for someone. 

The nurse smiled at the sight of Joaquin waking up, and she approached the bed with a small cup of water, taking the time to raise his bed, letting him sit up a bit more before helping him with the water.

The entire time Y/n didn’t let go of his hand, and he’d made the effort to hold onto hers as well.

“It’s good you’re awake Captain Torres, we were getting a bit worried about our resident hero.” 

He nodded his head groggily, smiling slightly.

Her assessment took about ten minutes, she’d asked him several questions to see what he remembered to judge his cognitive function, and she’d also asked him to move certain body parts of his, which he could mostly do. It was a bit uncomfortable, but it showed that while he was injured, it wasn’t anything debilitating.

Everyone was quiet as she took his vitals, making several notes before letting them know that she’d let his care team know that he was awake.

He finally looked over at Y/n again, a small smile on his face “Sunshine, how long was I out?” His voice was still hoarse, but it sounded a bit better, as if he was getting used to talking again.

“Consistently? A week, but they said you were in and out for the first week.” 

He nodded his head at that before looking over at Sam. “Did I at least look cool in the air?” 

She lightly slapped him on his side, meanwhile Sam shook his head, hands in his pockets with a small smile on his face.

“Yes, you looked cool in the air. Now I’m gonna give you two some time.I’ll be back in a bit, I’m sure you have a lot to talk about." With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Joaquin took a deep breath, now looking over at her again, meanwhile she did her best to avoid his stare, gaze moving around the room, taking in the small details that she truly didn’t care for such as the small crack in the drywall above the door, the several wires behind the bed, all tangled as they connected the medical machinery to the bed, a power source, and most importantly Joaquin.

She’d even realized that the table on the opposite side of him didn’t match the table closest to her, it was clearly the older version of the side table.

“Have you been crying?” 

She rolled her eyes at him, silently nodding her head 

“Why?” 

That had her looking at him as if he had three heads, eyes squinted as she craned her neck back a bit.“Why have I been crying? I dunno because I had to watch you get shot out of the air by a goddamn missile then crash land into the ocean? Plus you’ve been hospitalized for two weeks, one of which involved a medically induced coma?!” 

He slowly nodded his head, squeezing her hand again.

“I thought you hated me.” 

She took a deep breath at that, jaw clenched as she shook her head.“No you moron, I don’t hate you, I just—I dunno okay Dr. Raynor has had me thinking and I guess talking to Nurse Shirley and just—just-fuck shut up!” 

He nodded his head slowly at her frustration, he was still a little groggy, and it was clear that whatever pain medications they had him on were strong.

He looked down at himself, doing his best to see his lower chest and lower body, noticing the few wires and patches under his hospital gown, and he’d even been able to see the burn along his chest, it was clear he’d screwed up going after that missile, he just wanted to impress Sam. Hell, he wanted to impress the entire world.

“I missed you, y’know.”

She shook her head at his words, bottom lip quivering.“Of course you did” 

He nodded at that, now looking at her again, and this time, she couldn’t help but get closer, leaning into his space as she brushed his curls away from his face, doing her best to fix his hair. He smiled at her look of focus, the same concentrated look that she’d had since they were kids.

Her brows were furrowed and it was clear that she’d been biting her tongue slightly with her teeth, lips barely spread as she focused on what she was doing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to your graduation, I didn’t get the letter on time.”

His voice was quiet, and that was what finally broke her, the tears were flowing along her cheeks while she looked at him, shaking her head as she nodded.

“I’m sorry I held it against you, but Jesus, I’ve never felt more alone, I didn’t have anyone. Then I needed you and you just, you weren’t there—and it hurt so fucking bad.” 

He nodded at that, a singular tear of his own sliding down his face. “It was hard, wasn’t it?” 

She nodded at his question, sniffling, squeezing his hand a little tighter.Harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. I guess that's why it was so easy to fall into shitty habits and routines.” 

He nodded at that, eyes trailing along her figure, taking in her disheveled state. She’d been stressed, that much was obvious.“Yeah, you’ve got quite the rap sheet now.” He was teasing her, and for a second, things felt normal, it felt like they were seventeen in Miami again, going back and forth with each other while sitting outside on the hood of her dad’s truck. 

“What can I say, being a criminal mastermind was quite the regrettable career choice out of college.” 

He raises both brows.“I’d say so, too.” 

And in that moment, they’d both realized that she was still close to him, she could’ve moved at any point in time, but she didn’t. His eyes took in the details of her face, slowly but surely taking note of everything that had changed about her over the years, there wasn’t much, truthfully she looked almost the same, just a little older now.

The same way that he’d grown up, so had she.

Then he was leaning forward, ignoring the radiating pain from his shoulder and his ribcage, slowly lifting his left hand until it was resting against her face.

Neither of them had moved away.

Her gaze had shifted from his eyes to his lips, back and forth, and she wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming emotions rushing through her, or the close proximity of Joaquin, or maybe even a mixture of both, but she’d been the one to lean closer, connecting their lips.

The kiss was soft and careful, just as it was sweet and gentle. 

He smiled against her lips, they moved slowly in sync with one another, and she squeezed his right hand again, her left hand now finding its way to his jaw as she kissed him.

Once they’d finally pulled apart she rested her forehead against his.“Promise me you won’t get shot out of the fucking sky again” 

He laughed. “Only if you promise me you won’t go back to being a war criminal.” 

She rolled her eyes, giving him one last quick peck before standing up fully. “I mean, I guess I could give Sam’s plan a shot.”

Washington D.C. Air Force Base, Present Day

Joaquin’s major rehabilitation plan involved a multitude of physical therapy, specialist visits, and most importantly, he had to stay on base. Meaning, he couldn’t leave the Air Force base unless it was on a work related trip that didn’t involve being the Falcon.

Even after sustaining his injuries the doctors were a bit shocked that he was up and moving around so quickly, it’d been about two weeks since his accident, and one week since he’d been fully awake and functional. They tried to get him to stay in the hospital, stating that they would be able to move him to a more comfortable room, but he swiftly declined, stating that if he had to be on base, he’d prefer to be in his office space, considering it also had a somewhat private attached living quarters.

It wasn’t the biggest living area, it was practically the size of a studio apartment, but it was enough for him to actually have his own space. Well, almost his own space.

Instead of him being Y/n’s babysitter, she was his. 

Sam had advised her that he trusted her enough at this point to make sure Joaquin was alright, it also helped that the two of them were on a genuine speaking basis again, and following their kiss two weeks ago, they’d been friends again.

They truly were the epitome of old friends that could catch up in the time span of an hour, it was as if nothing had changed, as if they hadn’t gone nine years without seeing one another. 

The day that he’d woken up, following their kiss, they’d talked for hours about anything and everything. She’d told him about the less than legal activities that she’d been involved in, even did her best to describe her stint in Madripoor before and after being injected with the serum. That was something that did worry Joaquin, especially considering she couldn’t really piece those memories all the way together.

But she’d reassured him that there were no lasting harmful side effects of the serum, her body had adjusted to it, and now it was just a part of her whether she liked it or not.

He’d told her about his different missions, even let her know about the day that he’d met Sam, which she did tease him about, knowing that the Falcon was his childhood hero. 

Then he was moved into the lackluster studio space attached to his shared office with Sam, and Y/n had spent two days cleaning and organizing it, the first day was about cleaning, the second she’d been driving to Baltimore to get their things, then she’d practically bullied some of the men that typically worked under Joaquin into helping her move things.

Sure she could’ve done it on her own, but everything was bulky all together and it would’ve taken more than one trip.

Joaquin still hadn’t fully processed that Y/n was fully back in his life again, she’d apologized profusely for the way she’d been treating him, he knew that she was hurting, he also knew that she wasn’t the best when it came to coping with her emotions. 

He’d forgiven her a week into having her back in his life.

But she didn’t need to know that, nor did she need to know that she had him wrapped around her finger. He’d do anything and everything for her. 

He’d always been that way when it came to her.

What he hadn’t expected was the immediate resurgence of the feelings that he’d harbored for her when they were younger, the same feelings that he’d tried to rationalize the day he’d left for bootcamp. He was never able to truly define them, he couldn’t exactly let himself fully accept and acknowledge that he’d been in love with his childhood best friend.

Not now and not then, well maybe now. Things were different, they were adults now, adults who would most likely be spending a lot more time together for a while, plus she wasn’t on the run and he wasn’t somewhere overseas.

They were currently in the main office, Y/n was busy researching super soldier serum, she’d found herself heavily invested in this over the past few weeks, and in her downtime she’d take advantage of the various softwares and technologies they had. 

It was a good distraction.

She was currently reviewing the various interrogation tapes and video diaries from one of the last few hydra bases that had managed to survive well into the blip. It was remote, somewhere in the middle of Russia’s countryside, and the diaries documented failed experiments, potential recreations of the Red Skull, and even notes on how to adjust and ‘train’ soldiers like The Winter Soldier himself.

She stood in front of one of the large table-top touch screen monitors, gaze focused on different feeds, manuscripts, and translations.

Meanwhile Joaquin was seated on the large sectional, his feet propped up on the small coffee table in front of him while his laptop was in his lap where he was supposed to be doing some work and reviewing some encrypted data that Sam had sent over.

However, his gaze was held on Y/n, more specifically, on her lower half. It was hot outside, so she’d been wearing shorts a lot more often, however these shorts-if one could even call them that, were so short that anytime she bent forward he could see the bottom of her ass, and it had him biting his bottom lip while blushing. 

Not to mention they weren’t exactly fitted shorts, but they weren’t overly loose, and he was positive they were made of something soft like cotton based on the way the fabric sat. Then she’d shift and he’d see the way her thighs and ass would slightly jiggle, and at this rate, he was losing his internal battle.

They hadn’t even spoken about the kiss, maybe it was a one time thing, or maybe it was a pity kiss on her behalf. He tried to blame it on the emotions of the moment, but truly, he’d wanted to kiss her for a long time. 

Then she dropped her notebook, mumbling a quick ‘shit’ before stepping to the side, now fully bending over, back arched while she reached to grab the notebook that had slid between the desk itself and one of Sam’s large filing cabinets. 

The entire time she was mumbling curse words and his jaw was practically on the floor. The way he was looking at her was down right perverted, his entire face was on fire at this rate and he was positive he was sweating.

But he couldn’t tear his gaze away as he traced his eyes over the span of her legs, then towards her ass, and now her legs were somewhat spread and the thin little shorts she had on were riding up, meanwhile the more she moved, the more the fat of her ass moved, and the more she spread her legs, the more prevalent the outline of her cunt between her thighs became.

The fact that she had on thin little red panties wasn’t helping either, his brain was short circuiting.

Then she’d grabbed the notebook, standing back up and doing a small victory cheer, except when she turned around to check on Joaquin, his gaze was on the laptop screen in front of him and he would’ve looked normal if he hadn’t been so red and flushed.

It was somewhat concerning, especially because she’d been so involved in her own research and task at hand, that she hadn’t realized he’d been staring at her. So, she placed her notebook on the table in front of her then waltzed right towards him.

He was praying she didn’t catch him staring, and he was also angling his laptop to hide his very evident ‘issue’ that had occurred because of his staring.

“Torres, are you okay?” she blinked a few times, now looking down at him, moving while very clearly examining him. 

He nodded his head and did his best to act nonchalant, pretending to type something, meanwhile he had a small sticky note open on his laptop and was typing random letters into it. 

But then she got closer, shutting his laptop to gather his full attention, her brows were knit together, her eyes quickly scanning his figure over and over again, double checking that she hadn’t missed anything or that something wasn’t wrong. 

Then to make matters worse, she was even closer now, one of her legs brushing against his while she propped herself up with her other knee on the sofa cushion beside him, now leaning into his space, before placing the back of her hand on his forehead, then his cheek.

“Why the hell are you burning up?! Do I need to call one of the nurses?!” 

He shook his head, gently swatting her hands away while avoiding her gaze“I-I’m uh fine. Trust me I’m just a little hot—it’s fine” she squinted her eyes at him, not buying his horrible lie.

“Tell me the truth, are you feeling okay?” Then she grabbed his chin, slowly tilting his head towards her, both of her brows now raised as she looked at him with an expectant look on her face.

The motion shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did. It also didn’t help that he was already turned on.

“I’m fine, I promise, just hot ‘s all” 

She nodded.“Okay, you want me to turn the air on?” 

He shook his head at her.

“But you said you’re hot Torres” 

He groaned, nodding his head while grasping her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face slowly and carefully.“I’m fine, it’s probably a side effect from the pain meds or something.” 

She raised a single brow at that, now finally catching him in his lies. “You’re not taking any pain meds, you literally argued with me about it yesterday because you said you’re not gonna risk getting reliant on narcotics, and heat flashes sure as hell are not a side effect of ibuprofen.”

The way that she was concerned about him was also turning him on, it was so nurturing and sweet, but also a little mean, and honestly, this was the worst time for him to be acting like some kind of horny teenager. He’d always known Y/n was attractive, but this was absolutely insane to him.

It could’ve also been the fact that she was so comfortable around him too, prior to this current living arrangement, she’d never worn anything like that in the other house, not for the almost month that they’d lived together. Now she was walking around in little shorts, and he couldn’t even think about the top that she’d worn last night.

She’d been sleeping on the sectional, stating that she wasn’t going to just start sharing a bed with him, and then she’d told him that she’d slept in way worse places than their expensive ��cloud of a sofa’ when he tried to protest.

But it made sense to go to sleep comfortably, however, he hadn’t expected for her to walk into the room and give him his antibiotics for the shrapnel wounds wearing a little pair of shorts and a fitted, cropped tank top with nothing under. He’d very clearly seen the outline of her breasts, alongside her nipples poking through the thin fabric, and he did his best not to watch the way her chest bounced as she walked. 

Maybe he was acting like this because he hadn’t had sex in a while, but sex wasn’t ever a huge priority for him, sure he slept with people from time to time, but he didn’t go out of his way to seek out people to sleep with.

The last time he’d thought about Y/n like this was when they were nineteen and he’d actually managed to come home to visit for the winter holidays. She’d shown up to his family’s annual christmas party in a fitted off the shoulder red dress with a white faux fur neckline and a similar trim at the bottom of the dress.

Everyone from the neighborhood had been invited, plus his extended family, and their friends. It was always a huge deal for everyone to come together around the holidays, but what he hadn’t expected was for her to show up like a Christmas vixen.

What had gotten to him though, was when she’d bent over to grab something from the oven for his abuela, and he’d been flashed her barely-covered ass, only adorned in what he assumed was a thin black thong.

He’d also made a scene out of it, rushing behind her to pull her dress down some before harshly whispering to her that she needed to ‘put her ass away’, which led to her shooting up, nearly dropping the hot pan in her hands while she whispered that she’d forgotten to put on her shorts because she was rushing out of the house.

After that, he made sure to walk her back to her house so she could change, then they walked back together. But that night, all he could think about was how she looked bent over in her skimpy panties and her little dress, and it was sending his mind into overdrive.

“Hello, earth to Joaquin?!” She snapped her fingers a few times in front of his face, and he’d blinked and finally realized that she’d been talking to him the entire time. But now he was stuck on the sound of his name from her lips.

“What’d you say?” 

She rolled her eyes, arms crossed in front of her chest.“I said earth to Torres, I’ve been talking to you for like five minutes and you’ve been zoned out thinking about whatever the fuck.” 

He slowly nodded, brows now knit together as he stared at her before shaking his head.“No, you didn’t call me Torres.” 

She sighed, hands now on her hips, irritation evident on her features.“Okay, big deal, I called you your name, I’m trying to make sure you’re okay and you’re over here in la la land! I should kick your ass!” 

He shook his head at that, now leaning back into the couch, except usually when he’d relax, he’d move his laptop, but he made no effort to do so, so mindlessly Y/n reached forward to grab it, then he surged forward too, grasping it and holding it in place with a panicked expression.

He’d also lightly shoved her back, making her laugh as she tried to regain her footing, however she hadn’t processed that she’d still been leaning into the sofa, so when he’d pushed her, she’d started falling backwards in a fit of giggles—but instead of catching herself, she simply grasped his left arm and had managed to pull him down with her.

Both of them were now lying on the ground or rather, she was on the ground while he was above her. They were laughing at one another, except Joaquin had barely managed to balance himself on his left arm, and it was a bit wobbly, which had them even closer than before. 

Then they both suddenly got quiet, now realizing how close they’d actually been.

His gaze was glued to her lips, meanwhile her eyes were trailing his features again, then she paused on his lips, and truthfully, neither of them were sure who’d made the first move, but their lips were connected again, except this kiss wasn’t slow, soft, or sweet.

It wasn’t anything like the kiss they’d shared a few days ago.

This kiss was fueled by frustration from both ends, as if they’d been pouring years of emotion back into one another. One of her hands was now in his hair, lightly tugging at the strands while her other hand slowly slid beneath his shirt, fingers gently running along the warm ridges of skin.

They were both fighting for control, it was clear that Joaquin wanted to win, however, the second she pulled his hair with a bit more force, he groaned against her lips, and his arm wobbled.

That had her pulling back, brows knit together as she caught her breath, looking from his kiss swollen lips to his eyes, then towards his left arm. She’d then realized that his right hand had been lightly caressing her jaw, however the position looked uncomfortable for him, and she knew he was straining too hard.

“Get up.” 

He blinked a few times, caught off guard by the sudden demand, then she was shoving him, making sure it wasn’t too hard. He could feel her hesitating when her hand was closer to his right shoulder.

He slowly nodded, listening to her.

“Did I do something wrong?” 

She shook her head, now standing up before giving him an expectant look, so he slowly got off of the ground, and he also made sure to check that his laptop that had hit the floor was alright—it was okay enough.

Then she pushed him back onto the couch.

“Y’know you really shouldn’t be over extending yourself, Torres.” 

He nodded his head, watching as she easily straddled his lap—then both of their eyes widened the second she was properly situated against him. There were a few moments of silence before Y/n started laughing again.

“You’re seriously hard right now? Wait,is that why you were being so weird?!”

He groaned again, this time covering his face with his hands feeling overly embarrassed as if she wasn’t the one on his lap right now. It also didn’t help that with each movement, it was as if she was slowly grinding against him and he wanted nothing more than to moan.

She was still giggling, shaking her head while she gently pried his hands from his face.

“Oh c’mon Torres, it’s only natural, don’t be shy about it,” she smirked, her teasing tone had him nodding his head, then she leaned closer to him, trailing a few open mouthed kisses along his jaw, then moving towards the left side of his neck, lightly nipping at his skin, tongue trailing over the marks she’d left behind.

Meanwhile she slowly moved her hips against him, letting out a few gasps, enjoying the friction against her core. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin while he leaned his head back and a bit to the side, giving her more room. 

Her hands were shifting his shirt up, nails lightly tracing along his abdomen, the feeling making his mind fuzzy.

“Take it off, Torres.” 

He blinked a few times, nodding his head at her words as he scrambled to pull his shirt off, tossing it to the side somewhere, then her lips were back on him, but each time he tried to lean forward-she’d push him back against the cushions. 

Then her lips were back on him, except now she was slowly moving lower and lower, leaving a trail of minor bite marks and bruises along his skin before she was situated between his legs, now on her knees looking up at him. He hadn’t even realized that she’d been on the ground, his eyes had been shut while he leaned back, enjoying the feeling of her lips and teeth against his skin.

He’d been dreaming about this moment for years.

Seeing her looking up at him from between his legs had his mind short circuiting, then she started undoing his belt while still holding eye contact with him.

Truthfully, it was a feat in and of itself, she’d been nervous, but she was doing her best to play it off. Once she managed to undo his belt, she raised a single brow at him, as if asking for his permission, which had him practically whimpering as he nodded his head.

His eyes were slightly hooded, lips parted while he tried to steady his breathing, and he’d kept running his left hand through his hair. 

By the time that she’d undid his jeans and slid her hand into his pants, he was already biting down on his lip, chest rapidly rising and falling at the feeling of her hand against him, the only thing stopping her from actually touching him had been the thin layer of fabric separating the both of them.

She’d been palming him over his briefs, a smirk on her face at his quiet moans.

Then she tugged on his jeans a bit more and pulled his cock out, her eyes widening at the size of it, he was bigger than she’d expected, and he was certainly thicker than she’d thought. But it almost made sense, Joaquin had never really been scrawny, he’d always been broad, but now he’d filled out a lot more, the years in the Air Force had been good to his physique.

“Shit you don’t have to—” 

She cut him off, shushing him as she scooted a bit closer, now leaning over him as she slowly spit onto the tip of his cock before spreading it around with her thumb. “Let me take care of you Joaquin.” 

He nodded his head, her voice so soft and sweet, his heart was practically hammering out of his chest. 

“O-okay—” then he moaned, it wasn’t a quiet moan either, it was loud and throaty. She’d wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock, tongue swirling around the thick mushroom tip, then she pulled back, tracing her tongue along the weeping slit, the pleasure made him shudder.

She wrapped her right hand around his thick shaft, slowly raising it up and down, spitting on his cock again, using it as a lubricant to keep her motions fluid. 

“You’re always saving everyone, always being the hero, taking care of everything else. Can I take care of you this time?” 

He nodded his head, his entire body was on fire, it was as if he’d been possessed, maybe she was possessing him, maybe she was actually a witch and this is how’d she’d kill him.

Or maybe, just maybe, the love that he’d thought he’d been over, the love that he’d felt for her was making things one hundred times more intense.

“I wanna hear you say it, baby.” 

He whimpered, brows knit together as he looked down at her.“Yes-please-do it-do anything you want to me-fuck ‘m all yours, promise” 

That made her heart flutter.

Then she was taking him into her mouth again, inch by inch, and when she’d finally gagged on him, he let out another guttural moan, struggling to keep his hands still, then she’d looked back up at him and he felt like he was about to pass out.

She took her time with him, slowly bobbing her head along his cock, letting her spit trail along his thick shaft, some of it even dribbling down her chin while she used her right hand on what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. 

He finally placed his hand in her hair, it was a bit frizzy and wavy from being in braids and he’d gathered what he could, holding it in a ponytail, keeping it out of her face while she focused on sucking his cock. She’d even hollowed her cheeks, moving herself a bit faster, taking a little more of him down her throat.

This was downright sinful.

His ears were practically ringing as he fought the urge to buck his hips into her mouth, but the faster she moved her head, the closer he was to cumming.

Then she pulled back, a string of spit connecting her lips to the tip of his cock, he blinked a few times, heavy breaths leaving his lips when he watched her smirk, then she was leaning down, her tongue tracing the veins on the underside of his cock for a few seconds before she’d moved lower-that has his eyes widening.

She didn’t hesitate to trail her tongue along his balls, then she’d taken them in her mouth and he’d pulled her hair so hard it stung, but she’d just moaned, moving back up to his dick again, tongue back along the shaft before she wrapped her lips around the tip, tongue swirling around it again.

Meanwhile both of her hands were pumping and slightly twisting along his shaft, he’d bucked his hips a few times but she’d ignored it, watching as he writhed above her.

“Fuck-baby I’m gonna cum-fuck-you gotta stop before I cum-” he was borderline whining, voice a bit higher as he tried to catch his breath and tried to hold back, then she moved again.

“I want you to cum, so cum Joaquin” she’d practically demanded it, and that sent him over the edge, as her hands moved, he was cumming, thick spurts of cum shooting from his cock, trailing along her fingers, then she’d pulled the head back into her mouth, swallowing the rest of it before moving back, licking along her fingers before using her thumb to slowly drag the mixture of spit and cum along her chin into her mouth, dragging it against her bottom lip.

He thought she was done, he was already getting soft, but clearly she was a fan of torturing him.

She’d brought the sensitive tip of his cock back into her mouth, sucking on it as she stared at him, moaning around it for a few seconds, as if she was milking him dry.

The overstimulation made his eyes water as he shook his head at her.

“Baby, fuck-give me a minute-please-oh-” he whimpered when she took more of him into her mouth, lightly running her teeth along the sides of his cock before pulling away, letting him go with a ‘pop’. Then she kissed his tip, and out of everything she’d just done to him, that was downright filthy.

“You gonna let me keep goin’ Quino?” his jaw dropped at the nickname, watching as she stood up, easily slipping her shorts off, then straddled his lap again, leaving just enough room between them for her to spit on his cock and go back to fisting it. 

To say he was overly sensitive was an understatement, however that hadn’t stopped him from getting hard, not when she was on his lap making him pant like a dog. 

“Don’t call me that right now.” 

She laughed at his strained voice, leaning a little closer to him, resting her forehead against his as she kept her motions up.“Why not, Quino?” 

He moaned, shaking his head.“F-fuck, you know why.” 

She shrugged at that, moving back a little bit, she looked at him as if she was on death row and he was her last meal. “No I don’t Quino, you gonna tell me why I can’t call you that?, I’ve always called you that.” Her tone was mocking and degrading, he shook his head again, now bucking his hips into her hand, watching her bite her bottom lip, he was hard again, his head was spinning, his heart was racing, and he was five second away from telling her he’d been in love with her his entire life.

He moaned, using his left hand to grab her neck, pulling her into a kiss, practically slamming his lips into hers. 

She was surprised by the motion, especially considering she could still taste him on her tongue. 

Joaquin didn’t care about that, he was practically drowning in her. The kiss was rough, it was all teeth and tongue, the both of them swallowing one another’s moans as she ground herself against one of his thighs while slowly and lazily playing with his cock.

He pulled away first “I need to be inside of you-” and as he tried to push her off, attempting to switch positions, she used her enhanced strength to push him back into his spot while shaking her head.

“You're still hurt, or did cumming make you forget that?” 

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Sunshine” 

She shushed him again, giving him a pointed look.“No, your shoulders still hurt, you have a long recovery, no way in hell you’re about to make things worse because you want to have sex.” 

He groaned, nose scrunched with his eyebrows furrowed.“So we’re not having sex anymore?” he sounded unsure of himself, and that made her laugh again, shaking her head, their previously heated exchange now filled with a combination of their laughter. She smiled at him, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Do you trust me, Quino?” 

He groaned at the nickname, nodding his head, trying to ignore the butterflies he was feeling in his abdomen. He felt like he did the last night they’d spent together after high school, he was undoubtedly in love with her, and that love was all consuming. 

“That’s not my name.” 

She shushed him, moving her body forward now, easily sliding her panties to the side before slowly gliding his cock against her sopping cunt, practically coating him in her essence, teasing him.

“Yes it is, or would you prefer Joaquin?” She leaned closer to him, lips brushing against the shell of his ear “You want me to call you Joaquin when you’re inside of me? Tell you how good you feel against my tight little cunt, huh Joaquin?” 

He moaned again, eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of her lining his tip up with her entrance, then she was sliding down,taking all of him.

She moaned at the stretch, resting her head against his shoulder as she took him inch by inch until she was stuffed to the hilt, clenching around his thick cock,whimpering at the burning stretch.

“‘S so fuckin big-feels so fuckin good” 

He nodded at that, his hands now holding onto her waist, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise trying to keep his composure. Then she’d fluttered around him over and over again while slowly grinding herself against him-enjoying the feeling of being so full.

“Should’ve done this a long time ago-shouldn’t have let you go so easy.” Her words were quiet as she finally started moving, bringing her body upwards, then slowly back down, setting a slow pace-rambling against the crook of his neck. 

“Missed you so much, Quino” 

He moaned, nodding his head as she moved against him, hands now moving, pulling her even closer to him.“I-oh shit-missed you too-S-sunshine.” He was stuttering at this point, head thrown back as she bounced on his cock, she was gradually building her pace, doing her best to keep things gentle, to make sure he’d be okay.

She kissed along his throat again, except this time, she moved, shifting towards his right side, peppering soft open mouthed kisses along his scarred skin, the doctors had said the burns were pretty superficial around his neck and shoulders, he’d scar, but it wasn’t as major as his other injuries.

If this wasn’t genuine love, he had no idea what love was supposed to feel like.

She was moving faster now, her moans a little louder against his skin, it was as if the only sounds in the room were their shared breathy moans, the sloshing sound of her cunt, and the sound of their skin. 

Then she reached between her thighs, fingers easily finding her clit as she kissed him again, it was difficult to focus on kissing him, their lips were moving, but it was sloppy, they’d been moaning against one another while she bounced a bit faster.

He used his left hand to move hers out of the way, two fingers now focused on rubbing fast half-circles against her swollen bud-earning several high pitched whimpers as she kept her movements up, cunt clenching around his cock as she lost her rhythm.

“I’m gonna cum-fuck Quino I’m gonna cum.” She was whimpering, her forehead resting against one of his shoulders again as she grasped onto his forearms.

“Just like that, you’re doing so good-so good for me baby.”

She nodded her head, feeling herself getting closer and closer to the edge.

Meanwhile he was doing everything in his power not to cum again, his mind was hazy and his only real goal was to make her cum first, he knew she was close, so he started bucking his hips up into her-knowing she wouldn’t argue with him right now-not when she was like this.

That sent her over the edge, moaning out a string of expletives and his name, alongside a few jumbled words, begging him to cum again.

“W-where?” 

She whimpered again, hips still moving slowly, “Inside-fuck need it inside, Quino.”

That pushed him over, and in his own orgasmic haze he hadn’t realized what he’d been moaning.

“Fuck-fuck-so perfect-shit I love you-oh god love you so much” 

The both of them sat in a comfortable silence as they came down from their highs, then she slowly started sliding off of him, wincing at the soreness of her cunt, followed by the feeling of his cum leaking out of her.

She slowly stood up, and instead of saying anything, she simply gave him an expectant look, that look resulted in the both of them being in the shower together, she was washing his hair for him, the intimacy of it all made her heart flutter even if he was complaining that she was doing it wrong.

“How the hell do you wash hair wrong, Quino? I have more hair than you, I think I know what I’m doing” her response was a bit snappy, however the few giggles that left her lips after reassured him that she wasn’t mad at him, besides he wasn’t even supposed to be lifting his shoulders too much, she was doing him a favor.

“Okay, there, now rinse it pretty boy.”He nodded at that, looking back over his shoulder, smiling at her.

When he was done rinsing his hair, he’d volunteered to wash her back, it made both of them laugh, however as she stood in front of him, he took the time to glide his fingers along the deep indented scars in her skin, brows furrowed as he realized this was what she had left to show fro everything she’d been put through for years.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” 

She shook her head at that. “Don’t be, you should see the other guys,” she laughed softly, rolling her shoulders back when his touch tickled her, a smile on her face.

She turned to face him now, and they held eye contact for a few moments, as if they’d been taking one another in for the first time in a long time.“Is what you said true?” 

He blinked a few times, caught off guard by the question—trying to rack his brain to figure out what she was referring to. 

Then she raised a single brow “You don’t remember do you? Y’know it’s very in character for you to confess your love to me while literally cumming inside of me, then forgetting that you said something so major.”

His eyes widened, practically popping out of his skull.“Well- I uh, y’know we’ve known each other for a long time, and uh-well I guess old feelings uh y’know resurfaced when we were, well doing that-” 

She cut him off with a smile “Doing that huh? We’re literally butt ass naked in a shower together and you can’t say having sex? Really Quino?” 

He scoffed.“Stop making fun of me when I’m trying to explain myself to you!” 

She laughed at him, a little louder than she meant to, then she tried to hold it in, biting her bottom lip, the same way she always had when they were younger.“Okay-sheesh-sorry lover boy-go on and tell me how much you love me.” She was teasing him now, and he couldn’t help but shake his head at that, droplets of water splashing her from the motion.

Then he got closer, wrapping his arms around her waist as he looked at her, their faces only a few inches apart at this rate, the water bouncing against their skin as he pulled them closer to the shower head.“You got me okay, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, you totally broke my heart when you were all cold to me for a month even if we hadn’t seen each other in years, you’ve always been the one for me, Sunshine, even if you are a reformed war criminal.” 

Her jaw dropped at his jokes, shoving him.“You asshole!” she couldn’t hold in her fit of giggles. “Is now a bad time to say that I wanted to kiss you on prom night?” he shook his head.

“No, because I wanted to kiss you too—but we can make up for lost time. Besides Sam said I need a long term babysitter. Okay, now it’s your turn to say you love me, too.” 

She laughed again, smiling at him as she held eye contact, then she kissed him, it was practically a peck.“I guess I love you too, you loser. Although it did take you crash landing into the ocean for me to realize that. Now can we please get out of the shower before I prune up like a raisin?” 

He raised a brow before reaching back to turn off the showerhead. “You do know that prunes and raisins are two different dried fruits right?”

-

Thanks for reading secksies <3