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aleksatia · 4 days ago

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Possession, Obsession, Devotion: A Study in Five Men

Nope, I haven’t vanished. Super grateful for all your messages and the sweet support — seriously, thank you. Just swamped with work right now, so writing’s slowed down a bit. Still working on your requests, I promise! And I’m knee-deep in a pretty massive, emotionally wrecking angst based on a Songfic prompt. While that one’s cooking, I thought I’d drop another batch of my random writer notes — all bundled up in one chaotic little post.

CW/TW: Headcanons, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Love, Jealousy, Power Imbalance, Toxic Romance, Red Flags Treated as Romance, Intimacy with Control Undertones, Emotional Manipulation (Mild), Dubious Coping Mechanisms, Intense Emotional Dependency, Suggestive Themes, Mild Sexual Content, Unhealthy Attachment Framed as Devotion Genre: Romance-Infused, Erotically-Charged Drabbles with a Generous Side of Fluff Words Count: 8.6K

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Caleb’s Obsessed With You

1. You call another man “handsome” — even as a joke. You were teasing. Flirting, in that harmless, breezy way of yours. Caleb laughed. Then immediately kissed you like he needed to reassert territorial dominance with tongue and body weight. Funny how your jokes always end with your back against the wall and his hand on your throat. Lovingly.

2. You go to someone else for help instead of him. You needed tech support. A charger. Help moving the couch. And instead of calling your six-foot-two, military-trained, emotionally unstable boyfriend — you asked Xavier. Caleb didn’t say anything. Just stood in the doorway, watching, calculating how long it would take to move the entire solar system to make sure you never do that again.

3. You don’t sit on his lap when there’s clearly space.You chose the chair. Next to him. Not on him. He’s not mad. No, no. He's just questioning the entire fabric of your connection and whether you’ve lost all sense of instinct. And when you finally realize and climb into his lap? He sighs like a man being restored to life.

4. You post a photo where you're not touching him.Nice shot. Great lighting. Cute outfit. But why is he two feet away and not glued to your side like a shadow with military clearance? His arm belongs around your waist. His hand belongs on your thigh. And your caption? Should’ve been his name, followed by a possessive noun.

5. You forget to wear his dog tags. He left them for you. Carefully. On your nightstand. The same tags he’s worn through hell. And you? Walked out the door wearing a cute sweater and nothing that says “belonging to Colonel Caleb.” He’ll never say a word. He’ll just strip you slow the second you get home and fasten them back around your neck himself. With teeth.

5 Lies Caleb Tells Himself About You

1. “I don’t care that she uses my toothbrush.”You could take a fresh one. You don’t. You reach for his, same as always — like that handle belongs to you more than to him. He mutters something about germs. Then watches you rinse with that smug little smile. And later, when you're asleep, he moves it back to your side of the sink. Right where you like it.

2. “She can wear whatever she wants.”And you do. His shirt. His flight jacket. That tiny black top you swear is “practical.” He acts unbothered. Says nothing. But the second someone else looks too long? He stands behind you. One hand on your waist. That casual kind of possessive that feels like a warning wrapped in warmth.

3. “I don’t need her to text me when she gets home.”You’re a grown woman. A Hunter. You’ve neutralized things with more teeth than common sense. You say “Don’t wait up.” He says “Sure.” Then checks his phone every ten minutes like it's a heartbeat monitor and he's waiting to hear yours again.

4. “It’s fine if she flirts. I know it’s harmless.”You’re charming. It’s part of who you are. You wink. Smile. Lean in a little too close. Caleb plays it cool. Says, “She’s always like that.” Then grabs your waist in front of everyone and whispers: “Try that again, and I’ll fuck you so hard next time you won’t remember anyone else’s name.”

5. “She doesn’t need to say she loves me every day.”You say it once. In passing. A low little “love you” as you walk away, like it’s nothing. But he hears it like an oath. And that night? He holds your hand a little tighter. Pulls your body a little closer. Not because he needs to hear it again. But because if he doesn’t touch you, he might forget how to breathe.

5 Things That Make Him Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. Your hair falls in his face. Leaning over him. Stretching across the couch. Just close enough that it brushes his cheek like it has rights. You don’t even notice. But he does. Every time. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just breathes in and lets the world narrow to that one soft, smug part of you.

2. You chew on your thumb when you’re thinking. Not seductively. Not even consciously. Just a tiny bite to the edge of your nail while you’re mid-rant about your latest recon or trying to remember the name of a street vendor. It’s nothing. Stupid. Barely a gesture. And yet — he stares. Tracks it like a countdown. Fists flexing slow. Jaw tight. Because that mouth should never look that innocent.

3. You interrupt him when he’s cooking. He’s focused. Knife in hand. Half-distracted by heat and oil. And then you slide in behind him. Touch his lower back. Squeeze something you shouldn’t. Say “Smells good, chef,” with a grin that makes his whole spine forget how to hold. He curses. Tries to shoo you off. You lick something off his finger. And now dinner’s going to burn.

4. You try on his Fleet cap like it’s a joke. You lift it off the rack. Set it crooked on your head. Salute with two fingers and that smile that once made him fall off a training tower. “Colonel,” you say. And he’s gone. He should laugh. He doesn’t. He walks over, takes it off you slow, and kisses your temple like he’s reassigning you to a very different kind of mission.

5. You say “I’m yours”. Not in bed. Not in public. Just… casually. In passing. In that low voice you only use when something’s real. “I’m yours.”He looks at you like you just disarmed a bomb with your bare hands. And then he ruins you for saying it so lightly.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You’re the only one allowed to fly with him in his military jet.Clearance denied. Protocol says no. Regulations triple-confirm it. And yet — you’re in the co-pilot seat, boots up, fingers tracing buttons you’re not supposed to touch. He doesn’t stop you. Someone once asked why you get to ride with him when no one else does. He looked up from the cockpit and said, “She’s my gravity.” End of discussion.

2. You only need to place your hand on his to calm him down.No words. No pleading. No strategic de-escalation. Just your fingers, settling lightly over his, when something in him starts to coil too tight. And just like that — his spine eases. The heat in his eyes lowers by a degree. People have seen him end arguments with three words. They’ve never seen him go silent for anyone but you.

3. You’re the only person he’ll interrupt a briefing for.He’s mid-sentence. Room full of officers. Tactical projections glowing on the wall. His phone buzzes. He glances down, sees your name — and pauses. “Give me five,” he says. And walks out without waiting for permission. Someone once asked who it was. He said, “The only priority higher than this fleet.” No one asked again.

4. You walk in on his arm at the Farspace Fleet annual gala.He’s in dress whites. You’re in black. And the room — full of admirals, envoys, diplomats — parts like mist when you enter. He doesn’t introduce you. He doesn’t need to. You’re not just his date. You’re the one who makes him dangerous in silence. And everyone knows it.

5. You don’t need words to communicate.One glance. A tilt of your head. A tiny shift in posture across the room. He’s already moving. Already reading you like mission data. To others, it looks like magic. Intuition. Maybe telepathy. But for you two? It’s just muscle memory — built from years of almosts, nevers, and finallys.

5 Times Caleb Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He pulled the full personnel file on a man you once smiled at.You were being polite. Friendly. The guy asked something harmless, you laughed. By morning, Caleb had his record open on a secure datapad, scrolling like he wasn’t reading a life — just calculating the risk factor. You asked what he was doing. He said, “I like knowing who wants what’s mine.” And then kissed you like he hoped you never asked him to stop.

2. He showed up at your door at 02:03 AM. Soaking wet. Furious. Silent.You missed one message. One. He waited. Thirty minutes. An hour. And then something in him snapped. No threats. No drama. Just the sound of his knock like a warning shot. You opened the door. He didn’t speak. Just stared. And then pulled you in with a grip like survival wasn’t optional anymore.

3. He scared the hell out of a junior pilot for asking your name.The kid was fresh. Eager. Smiled a little too long. Said, “Hey, what should I call you?” You started to answer. Then turned — and saw Caleb across the room. Expression calm. Stance neutral. Eyes loaded. The pilot apologized before you even said a word.

4. He slammed his hand on the table when you joked about breaking up.Just a joke. A throwaway line. Something stupid like “Guess I’ll go find someone less intense.” And his hand hit the surface before the words fully left your mouth. Not loud. Not violent. Just final. He didn’t yell. Didn’t argue. Just looked at you like you’d put a knife in his ribs and smiled about it. You never made that joke again.

5. He called you “dangerous” — and meant it like a vow.It was late. You were arguing. You said something sharp. He caught your wrist and said it low, almost reverent: “You’re dangerous.” But not like an accusation. Like awe. Like worship. Like he’d already decided to stay, even if you wrecked him completely. Even if he’d have to protect the world from you. Or protect you from himself.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Zayne’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone else bandaged your scratch. Just a graze. A stupid piece of shrapnel across your forearm. A colleague wrapped it up. No big deal. You came home smiling. Told him it barely hurt. He nodded. Quiet. Then excused himself to the kitchen. Five minutes later, he returned with antiseptic, clean gauze, and the words: “Take it off. I’m doing it properly.” You didn’t argue. Neither did he. 2. Someone at work lent you their umbrella. A man. It was raining. You forgot yours. He offered. You accepted. Zayne didn’t say a thing when you mentioned it over dinner. Just hummed. Neutral. The next morning, you found a new umbrella in your bag. Carbon fiber. Windproof. Labeled discreetly with your initials. You didn’t ask how he knew the exact weight your bag could carry without straining your shoulder. 3. You asked the waiter to recommend a wine. It was harmless. Polite. You were curious. But Zayne was sitting right there. He didn’t blink. Just looked at the waiter, then at you. Then took the list back. “Actually,” he said, calm as glass, “she prefers reds with less acidity. I’ll order.” You nodded. The waiter nodded. And somewhere between the clink of glasses, you realized that wasn't about wine at all. 4. You didn’t invite him to your morning training. He’d had a night shift. Surgery ran late. You wanted him to rest. So you left quietly. He woke up to an empty bed, your gym bag missing, and a silence that felt like a closed door. You came back to find his routine disrupted, his pulse still too fast — and a protein shake mixed just how you like it, chilled and waiting on the table. He never mentioned it. But now, if you decide to “let him rest” again… your training starts later. And doesn’t involve clothes. 5. You called another man “smart.” It was a game show. Trivia night. Some stranger on-screen made a clever move. You smiled. “Wow. That was actually really smart.” Zayne didn’t look up from his tablet. Didn’t even shift. But ten minutes later, you found yourself in a very precise debate about probability, strategy, and why that move wasn’t that brilliant after all. You didn’t argue. You just leaned closer. He didn’t smirk, but you felt it anyway.

5 Lies Zayne Tells Himself About You

1. "I’m just your cardiologist during exams." It’s clinical. Professional. Necessary. He listens to your heartbeat, takes your vitals, asks you to breathe deeper — deeper. You unbutton your shirt. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t feel anything. Except for the part where he adjusts his gloves a little too tightly. And maybe takes one extra second to remove the stethoscope from your skin. 2. "Lunch tastes the same without you." He orders the same thing. Same café. Same tea. But the pastry tastes off. The space feels louder. The table — emptier. He tells himself it’s fine. Then brings the leftovers back to his office. Doesn’t touch them. Just leaves the box where your hand might find it later. 3. "I don’t need to pick you up." It’s logical. You’re a professional. Your job runs over sometimes. So does his. But your message was short. The streetlights are on. The buses are unreliable. He checks traffic cams. Weather. Public transit delays. Then sits very still, staring at his phone, wondering how to offer you a ride without making it sound like panic. 4. "I’m not checking. I’m sleeping." You once left while he was asleep. You thought it was kinder. Quieter. Now he says he “needed water” or “had a dream.” But every night, at 3 AM, his hand reaches. Just to feel your back. Your wrist. The smallest proof that you haven’t disappeared again. 5. "Short skirts are inefficient." He says they’re impractical. Not suited for cold weather. Definitely not for terrain with hostile wanderer activity. You raise a brow. He adds, “You’re not seventeen. Dress like it.” But the second no one’s watching, his hand is already sliding up your thigh under the table. And when you raise a brow at him, he just says, flat: “Checking for circulation.” You’re not fooled. He’s already failed the mission.

5 Things That Make Zayne Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You straighten his tie. You’re not thinking about it. Just reaching out, adjusting the knot, smoothing the line down his chest like it’s second nature. He stays still. Breath held. Eyes on your face. You step back. He doesn’t. Because now all he can think about is using that same tie to bind your wrists to the chair in his office — and how many minutes he can steal between appointments without compromising your breathing. 2. You dip your finger into the frosting of his pastry. You don’t ask. Just lean in, collect a bit of cream with your fingertip — and taste it. Oblivious. Innocent. Distracted by something else. He watches. Silently. And now the fork in his hand feels criminally unnecessary, because his mouth is dry, his mind’s gone blank, and he’s halfway to pulling you into his lap just to return the favor — with interest. 3. You take off your bra without removing your shirt. It’s casual. Automatic. You’re talking about your day, laughing, and then — One arm out. Then the other. The strap slides through the sleeve and vanishes into your laundry bag like it never existed. His brain glitches. His hands twitch. And he will absolutely spend the rest of the evening pretending to listen while picturing every technical step of reversing that maneuver with his teeth. 4. You imitate him. Badly. You’re wearing his lab coat. His glasses. Sitting at his desk, brows drawn, lips pressed tight. Your impression is awful. He should be annoyed. But instead — he watches. Sharp. Quiet. And when you finally laugh and start to take it off, he gets up. Takes the coat from your shoulders himself. And tells you, too evenly, “You forgot the gloves.” 5. You trace lazy shapes on his wrist while talking about something unrelated. You’re saying something about your neighbor’s cat. Something trivial. But your fingers are moving in a slow, absent pattern across his skin. And Zayne — who has operated on live hearts under pressure, who has held lives in one hand and death in the other — is currently struggling not to grab your wrist and drag you onto the desk. Because apparently, nothing in this galaxy has the precision impact of your fingertip.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You have a keycard to his office.Not a guest pass. Not a shared access code. A permanent, personalized, high-level card to a room most staff can’t even knock on without permission. You walked in one day mid-shift, casual, spinning the card between your fingers like it was a hairpin. Three nurses saw. One dropped her tablet. Rumors started before you even closed the door. Zayne didn’t correct them.

2. When he received a prestigious award, the first person he thanked was you.Best cardiothoracic surgeon of the year. Cameras flashing. Applause rising. Everyone expected a speech about innovation and responsibility. Instead, he said: “I’d like to thank the one person who keeps me alive enough to do this work. My partner. My favorite interruption.”Then he looked straight at you. The auditorium melted.

3. You’re both dressed like weapons. And everyone notices.He wears tailored coats, precision-cut collars, charcoal palettes like a tactical signature.You? Heels like blades. A suit that redefines “combat-ready.” And when you walk together — sharp, silent, side by side — people stop talking. Someone once tried to photograph you. The headline read: Unknown dignitaries arrive. Security does not comment.

4. You don’t argue. You duet.Someone crossed a line. Loud, drunk, smug. Zayne responded first — clean, cold, just one sentence long. The man blinked. Started to retort. You finished it for him. Elegant, sharp, no profanity required. He left. Fast. And you turned back to Zayne like nothing happened — while everyone else tried to recover from what could only be described as a linguistic orgasm.

5. He opens doors, buttons coats, and moves chairs like it’s instinct.Not performative. Not flashy. Just… precise. He adjusts your sleeve without thinking. Helps you into the car like it’s always been his hand. You barely register it. But the woman across the street? The one who saw it all from behind her coffee cup? She’s still texting her group chat about “the man in the long coat and the woman who ruined my standards.”

5 Times Zayne Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He gets live data from your heart monitor.Your Hunter’s Watch sends updates to the cloud. Zayne rerouted the feed to his private tablet. “Just in case,” he said. Now he knows when your pulse spikes. When you’re injured. When you don’t sleep. You never gave him access. You never had to. The first time he called mid-mission to say “slow your breathing” — you realized he wasn’t tracking. He was watching over.

2. He absolutely hates when you drive. Always.You're capable. Fast. Efficient. And yet — every time you take the wheel, something in him shuts down. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t protest. Just goes silent. And stares at the road like it personally offended him. He says, “It’s fine.” But he holds the dashboard too tightly for that to be true.

3. He freezes every time you say “I can handle it.”You mean well. You’re strong. You are capable. But when you brush him off with a casual “I’ve got this,” he doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smile. He just stops. Eyes unreadable. Hands still. And when you come back later — even fine — there’s already a backup plan on your datapad. Three versions. In color.

4. He never replies to emotional messages right away.You send: “I miss you. A lot.” His read receipt appears. Then… nothing. For two hours. And just when you start to spiral — he sends a photo. Of your favorite pastry. Waiting on his table. With one word: “Soon.” You hate how well it works.

5. He spoke to the man flirting with you like he was reviewing his autopsy.It was harmless. A drink. A joke. A compliment. You laughed. Zayne didn’t. He stepped in, shook the man’s hand, and said: "Tell me, has anyone ever checked your prefrontal lobe for impulse control irregularities?"The man left. Quickly. You rolled your eyes. Zayne didn’t apologize. He just took your hand. And changed the subject. Completely calm. Fully satisfied.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Rafayel’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone comments “🔥” under your photo — and you like it.He sees it. Of course he does. He sees everything. You think it’s harmless. He thinks it’s appalling that someone dared mark your beauty with an emoji better suited to grilled meat. He says nothing. But that night, you get a charcoal sketch of yourself in your favorite pose, signed with a tiny flame in the corner. When you ask about it, he hums. “Oh, just honoring your admirers’ creative input.”

2. You linger too long in front of another artist’s painting.Not just glance. Linger. Eyes soft. Head tilted. That thoughtful little breath you take when something moves you. He stands beside you, perfectly still. Smiling. Then leans in and whispers, “Cutie, if you start weeping, I may need to challenge the gallery owner to a duel.” You're not sure if he’s joking. You’re also not sure you want him to be.

3. You talk about a beautiful place you visited… without him.You’re glowing. Describing the light, the air, the view. He listens, nods, even asks questions. Then: “And did the sun taste the same without me there?” You pause. He smiles, all charm and cheekbones. “I’m just wondering how it dared rise, knowing we weren’t together.”

4. You send him a photo — and there’s someone else’s hand in the frame.You didn’t notice it. He did. He stares at the image like it’s a crime scene. Zooms in. Later, he replies: “Beautiful composition. Fascinating use of background tension. Would love to discuss the symbolism of that wrist — whose is it?” You laugh. He doesn’t.

5. You say some actor is “exactly your type.”He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just goes very still, then casually asks, “Before or after makeup?” Later, you find your datapad background changed. It’s him. In perfect lighting. Shirt unbuttoned just so. The caption reads: “Still unsure who your type is? Look into my eyes. You’ll remember.”

5 Lies Rafayel Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t paint you. It’s just resemblance.”He insists it’s a study of emotion. A symbol. A face from memory. But the tilt of the head, the mouth, the birthmark near the collarbone — they’re all yours. You ask, teasing: “Is that me?” He blinks. Smiles slowly. “Cutie,” he says, “I wouldn’t paint you without permission.” And then changes the subject. Very deliberately.

2. “I don't reread your old messages.”He’s far too elegant for that. Far too composed. Except on quiet nights. On long flights. In museums where the silence scratches at his skin. Then he opens the archive. Just for the rhythm of your words. The accidental poetry. The way you once wrote “come home soon” like it meant more than time and place. He says it’s for “emotional reference.” He lies beautifully.

3. “I don't watch your mouth when you talk.”He’s an artist. A visual thinker. Of course he looks at faces. But not like that. Not at yours. Not like he’s memorizing the shape of every syllable just to feel them later against his throat. Not like he’s fantasizing mid-conversation about shutting you up with his tongue and tasting the sentence off your lips. No. Never. He’s listening.

4. “I haven’t memorized your scent through every season.”He claims not to notice. But he knows the spring version of you — soft rain, citrus skin, the aftershock of lilac. He knows the winter version — leather gloves, cinnamon breath, quiet wool. He doesn’t name them. Doesn’t chase the memory. But when you walk past — his eyes close. Briefly. Automatically. Like he’s gathering air before going under.

5. “I don't imagine your name with mine.”He’s not that romantic. Puh-lease. Marriage is a construct, surnames are politics, and love is beyond paperwork. He says all that with a flourish. And yet — there’s a notebook. Tucked under his mattress. Full of signatures. Yours. His. Just to see how it would look. Just in case.

5 Things That Make Rafayel Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. When you eat something juicy. Fruit. Fingers. With zero awareness.You bite into it slowly, distracted. Something sweet. Ripe. Juice glides over your lower lip, and your tongue follows without thinking. He watches, motionless. Not breathing. Not blinking. You glance at him. He tilts his head. Smiles. Says lightly: "That peach is about to become my personal enemy." You laugh. He doesn’t. He’s too busy wondering how it’s possible to be jealous of the fruit.

2. When you kiss his hand instead of his mouth. He leans in, expecting lips. Contact. Heat. And instead — you take his hand. Press a kiss into his palm. Soft. Deliberate. His breath catches. His throat tightens. Because that wasn’t affection. That was submission. And now he’s wondering just how far you’d let him take it. 3. When you tease him with your voice. Not the words. The tone. The whisper. You say his name like silk sliding over glass. You ask “You think so?” like it means “prove it.” You laugh — not loudly, but just enough to make his chest hurt. He could diagram it, break it into sound waves, prove the seduction in math. But instead, he just steps closer. And says, low: "Say that again. Slower." 4. When you sit on the floor, barefoot, flipping through his sketches — looking like you belong there. You’re humming something. Knees tucked up. No shoes. No guard. You tilt your head, study a piece, murmur: “I like this one.” He doesn’t even remember drawing it. He just remembers the way your hair spills over your shoulder and how the studio feels suddenly too small for how much he wants you. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He just watches like a starving thing. Memorizing the moment in case he dies of it later. 5. When you say “more.” In any context. “More sugar.” “More time.” “More.” That’s all it takes. One syllable. One open door. You never mean it the way he hears it — but he takes it as a promise. Like permission. Like a match tossed onto something already too dry to survive. And the next time he touches you? He makes damn sure you say it again.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. He painted a self-portrait — with you reflected in his pupils. Not your full form. Not a shared composition. Just his face. Direct gaze. And in both eyes: you. Looking at him. Always. When the painting debuted in the gallery’s main hall, critics called it “a study in obsession.” He called it accurate. 2. In an interview, he said you’re the only one who gets his sketches. The host asked who his work goes to first — gallery, agent, press. He smiled lazily and answered, “Her.” The room stilled. “The raw ones. The incomplete. The brutal drafts no one else deserves to see.” He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to. The moment he said it, you were already trending. 3. He delayed his own exhibition opening because you weren’t there yet. The venue was full. Lights ready. Guests murmuring. But he stood at the entrance, fingers laced behind his back, perfectly calm. “She’s on the way,” he said. “She had a prior engagement.” No one questioned him. Later, when you finally arrived — graceful, composed, in a deep sapphire gown that matched the evening — only he noticed the tiny scratch on your knuckle. The faintest shadow of something darker, just beneath the perfume. You smiled. He took your hand. And the doors opened like they’d been waiting for you all along. 4. Someone flirted with him. He looked at you. Then said: “I’m already spoken for. Permanently.” It was charming. Playful. Someone touched his wrist, laughed softly, leaned a little too close. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t react. Just turned his head toward you. Found your eyes. Then said it — quietly, cleanly, like a closing signature on a finished masterpiece. 5. At a charity auction, he sold a painting titled: “Painted Between Her Breathing and Mine.” The crowd didn’t know what to do with that. Some laughed nervously. Some applauded. The bidding started high and ended astronomical. But as the winning guest walked past you, holding the canvas with reverent hands — he still glanced back. At you. As if to say: That canvas holds the image. But I keep the original.

5 Times Rafayel Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He can disappear for three days and return with, “I just needed to stop being jealous.” No warning. No calls. Just silence, like he fell off the planet. You panic. Rage. Rehearse five speeches. And then he walks in — composed, scented like night air and oil paint. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I was being irrational. Had to… recalibrate.” You want to scream. Instead, you breathe him in like he’s home. 2. He destroyed the career of a critic who called your photo “poorly lit.” It wasn’t even a real insult. Just a throwaway line in a blog. But Raf read it. Once. And within a week, that critic was blacklisted from three galleries, publicly corrected by five curators, and accidentally misquoted in a viral controversy. You found out much later. He just looked at you and said, “No one calls shadow a flaw when it falls across you.” 3. He faked an illness so you wouldn’t leave for a mission. Nothing dramatic. Just a cough. A warm forehead. You hesitated. Postponed. Stayed. The next morning, he was radiant. Healthy. Annoyingly smug. You narrowed your eyes. He only shrugged, kissed your wrist, and whispered, “I needed one more night. Forgive the performance.” You did. Of course you did. The guilt felt almost like foreplay. 4. He left your clothes wet in the wash so you’d wear his shirt instead. Accident, he claimed. Timing. Cycles. But somehow, your entire outfit was still in the machine — cold, damp, and useless — while his favorite linen shirt lay folded neatly on the bed. You put it on. He watched you button it. And smiled like he'd won a silent war no one else even knew was happening. 5. He reads your messages without asking. Calmly. You know it. He knows you know. He doesn’t deny it. Just traces your jaw one evening and says, “You don’t hide anything from me. That’s why it doesn’t count as intrusion.” And the worst part? He’s right. You stopped hiding a long time ago.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Xavier’s Obsessed With You

1. You nap on the wrong side of the bed.You nap on the wrong side of the bed. Not wrong, exactly. Just… not his. You’re curled up in the late-afternoon light, peaceful, quiet, unaware. He doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t move you. But when you stir, there’s a weight in the silence. His side of the bed is untouched. Pillow perfectly aligned. No warmth. No scent. And your blanket — tucked just a little tighter — like a quiet reminder that even when you’re here, something’s missing. Something he’s not sure how to ask for without sounding ridiculous. Like: your perfume. On his pillow. Where it should be.

2. You tell him about a dream. Someone else was in it.You describe it absently. A mission. A flash of danger. And a man — not him — at your side. He listens. Nods. Doesn’t blink. But that night, when he kisses you, his hand stays on the back of your neck longer than usual. And his mouth says I want you, but his grip says: you don’t forget me, even in sleep.

3. You keep something old, worn, unnamed.A keychain. A patch. A folded slip of paper. Nothing dramatic. But it’s always near. He asks, once: “What is that?” You smile. “Just something from a long time ago.” He nods. Never brings it up again. But two days later, he leaves something else beside it. Not to replace. Just to match the weight.

4. You let the barista choose your drink instead of him.You smiled. Said “sure, why not.” Took the new coffee without hesitation. He was beside you. Holding your usual. You didn’t notice. But when you left the café, his own drink sat untouched. And he walked a little faster. A little quieter. As if recalibrating the fact that maybe someone else knows your taste. Even if it’s just in coffee.

5. You close your laptop too fast when he walks in.“Just a movie,” you say. Too quickly. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t tilt his head. Just nods and sets his gloves on the table like he didn’t notice the flicker in your tone. Later, while checking your tabs, he sees the paused frame — teeth on skin, hands holding wrists, someone begging. Silently. His breath doesn’t change. His expression stays neutral. But when he finds you, hours later, he doesn’t speak. Just pins your arms above your head and kisses you until you can’t remember what the scene looked like — only what it felt like when it became real.

5 Lies Xavier Tells Himself About You

1. “I’m not jealous of whoever taught you how to fight like that.”He knows it doesn’t matter. It’s skill. It’s history. Efficiency passed from one warrior to another. He tells himself it’s irrelevant. But when he watches you move — precise, lethal, beautiful — something coils in his chest. Not because of the technique. But because someone else saw you become this version of yourself. And he didn’t.

2. “It’s logical to sleep apart sometimes.” You need rest. Space. Post-mission decompression. He understands. It’s healthy. Statistically sound. But the first night you say “I’ll sleep in my own apartment,” the bed feels wrong. His internal balance off by degrees he can’t quantify. He tells himself it’s fine. Then stares at the ceiling for hours, heart syncing to a rhythm that isn’t there.

3. “It doesn’t bother me when you keep things to yourself.” You’re independent. He respects that. Boundaries are natural. But you say “I’m fine” with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and he catalogs ten micro-expressions that say otherwise. Still, he nods. Doesn’t push. Then replays your words in his head for the next three days, trying to solve you like a puzzle that refuses to open.

4. "I could walk away, if it ever came to that." He tells himself he’s rational. Detached. If you chose something else — someone else — he would adapt. But deep down, he knows: he’s already memorized your weight in his arms, the way your name fits inside his silence. If it ever came to leaving… he wouldn’t walk. He’d stay exactly where you left him. Quiet. Waiting. Ruined.

5. "You wouldn’t lie to protect me. Would you?" You say “it was nothing,” “I’m just tired,” “I handled it.” And he accepts it. On the surface. But his mind starts building alternate versions. Safer ones. Worse ones. Ones where you bled and said nothing. He tells himself you’d never hide real danger. But he still checks your vitals in the logs. Every time.

5 Things That Make Xavier Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You walk in wearing a bright yellow duck kigurumi. Absurd. Fuzzy. Zipped up wrong. You yawn, mumble something about tea, and pad across the room like comfort incarnate. He looks up. Blinks once. And forgets what he was doing. The beak hood. The bare ankles. The way you scratch your neck, half-asleep. None of it should be seductive. But now he can’t look away. His gaze tracks you like threat assessment — only it's not danger he’s calculating. It’s proximity. Access. How long he can pretend he's unaffected… before you end up against the wall. Still wearing the duck. For now.

2. You adjust the chest plate of his armor. No rush. Just fingertips over matte metal, sliding a buckle, pressing a clasp. Your hands linger longer than they need to. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. But he does. He’s counting your seconds, your pressure, the exact placement of your thumb. If anyone asks why his next shot missed the center by half an inch, it’s because you touched him like a secret no one else was allowed to see. 3. You peel off your combat gloves with your teeth. It’s efficient. Quick. Practical. But the way your mouth closes around the strap and your fingers flex once, twice, before they’re bare — He’s staring before he knows he is. Processing nothing but the curve of your jaw and the memory of that same mouth around his length. The second glove doesn’t stand a chance. Neither does he, honestly. 4. You wear a thin black choker. No explanation. No warning. It’s not part of your gear. Has no field utility. But it’s there, snug against your throat like a promise no one else knows about. He sees it once and looks away. Sees it again and swallows too hard. The third time, he doesn’t look at all — he just shifts in his seat like everything in his world needs immediate recalibration. 5. You say “later” when he leans in. Just a little. Enough to feel the pull. And you smile, soft, apologetic, not teasing — just... not now. He nods, like he understands. He always does. But from that second forward, every calculation, every breath, every cell in his body becomes attuned to the moment you say now. And when you finally do — he doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask. He just takes, like patience was never part of the equation to begin with.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You moved in perfect sync — without saying a single word. In the training hall, you didn’t say a word — but moved like a mirrored code. You shifted, he adjusted. You reached, he passed. No signals, no commands. Just two bodies in absolute sync. Someone watching whispered, “Do they rehearse this?” Someone else muttered, “No. That’s just them.” And suddenly, no one wanted to spar with either of you. 2. Someone called him “too quiet.” You didn’t let it slide. It was a throwaway comment —“He’s so silent, it’s weird.” You didn’t even look up from your drink. “Then you’ve never heard him breathe next to you.” The room went still. Xavier didn’t react. But you felt it — how he went still too, the way his attention locked fully on you. As if your words changed the temperature. 3. He braided your hair for three weeks while your wrist healed. At your desk. Between reports. No comments. No hesitation. Just practiced hands and quiet efficiency, like it belonged in the schedule. And maybe it wasn’t romantic. Or loud. But after that, no one ever looked at you the same way — because somehow, without trying, the two of you had redefined what closeness looked like. 4. You didn’t ask for his jacket. You didn’t have to. A shift in the wind. Goosebumps on your arms. No complaint, no drama. He just stepped behind you, slid his cardigan onto your shoulders like it belonged there, and said nothing. The couple walking by paused. Stared. You didn’t. You were already reaching for his hand. 5. There’s a photo of you on his desk. Just you, caught mid-laugh, in natural light. Among tactical reports and encrypted drives. He never explains it. Never acknowledges it. But everyone who enters that room sees it. And no one ever asks if he's serious about you. They already know.

5 Times Xavier Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He monitors your meals like it’s a clinical trial. “You didn’t eat enough protein today.” “That pastry had no nutritional value.” “Are you hydrating?” He says it softly. Calmly. Like a doctor. Like someone who cares. And yet — you’ve seen him survive three days on black coffee and whatever snack bar was closest to his hand. You mention this once. He pauses. Then says, “That’s different. I’m used to operating under stress. You’re not.” End of discussion.

2. He didn’t argue. He made the argument disappear. You disagreed about something small. Nothing dramatic. Just opposing views. He didn’t push back. Just nodded, quiet. Said, “If that’s what you think.” Later, you realized the entire issue — schedule, person, condition — was gone. Resolved. Removed. Replaced. No apology. No discussion. Just silence... and a solution that left you with nothing to win.

3. He never asked where you’d been.Not once. Not even after you were late. Not even when your message came hours too late. He didn’t accuse. Didn’t guess. He already knew. Tracked your path, logged your signal drift, checked your pulse history. All without a word. And still held the door open when you arrived.

4. He always calls via video when you’re in another city.He never misses a day. Never just texts. Always video. He says he likes seeing your face. That it “grounds him.” And maybe that’s true. Maybe. But every time the screen lights up, you notice how carefully his eyes scan the room behind you. How his voice sounds different if there’s movement. How he never quite hangs up until you say, “I’m alone. It’s quiet here.” Only then does he relax. A little. Maybe.

5. You told him, “Sometimes, you scare me.” He said, “Good.”It slipped out. Low. Uncertain. Not a joke, not an accusation — just the truth. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t soften. Just met your eyes and said, calm as ever, “Good. Then you’ll stay alert.” And for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was warning you… or protecting you from something only he could see coming.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Sylus’s Obsessed With You

1. You didn’t tag him. He made sure the world knew anyway.You posted a photo. Cute. Stylish. Perfect lighting. But no mention of him. No tag. No trace. He reposted it within minutes. Same photo. New caption: “Correction: mine.” It got five times the reach. And suddenly, everyone knew better.

2. Someone else made you laugh. Sylus didn’t.The waiter was charming. A little too witty. You laughed — loud, unfiltered. Sylus just raised a brow, pulled out his wallet, and handed the man $2000. “For your last night in customer service,” he said. He smiled. You choked on your wine. The waiter never came back.

3. You called some man a friend. Sylus ran a background check.“He’s just a friend,” you said. Lightly. Barely thinking. Sylus smiled. Tilted his head. “I’m just a man with access to his tax history.”And that was the end of that conversation.

4. You said another man had a nice voice. Sylus gave you no air.It was innocent. Harmless. “His voice is kind of nice.” Sylus said nothing. Just waited. That night, he read you poetry in three languages, one line at a time — mouth against your neck, breasts, stomach, thighs — until you begged him to stop. Not because you wanted him to. Because you physically couldn’t take more.

5. You forgot to wear his ring. He didn’t forget anything.It wasn’t intentional. You were rushing. Distracted. But he noticed. Of course he did. He said nothing all day. Then, that night — when you were breathless, undone, on your knees — he took your hand, kissed your finger, and slid the ring back into place. Slowly. Deliberately. Like sealing a deal you forgot you signed.

5 Lies Sylus Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t pick your outfit to match mine. Must’ve been the stylist.”It was just coincidence. That your lipstick matched his cufflinks. That your dress followed the same line as his collarbones. That when you walked in together, people paused — like royalty had arrived. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at you once. And didn’t look away for the rest of the night.

2. “I’m not furious that I wasn’t your first.”He says it doesn’t matter. Shrugs. “I’m not a teenager.” And yet, the thought of someone else touching you before him? It coils in his chest like smoke that won’t clear. He tells himself you chose him now — and that’s what counts. But the next time you moan his name, he fucks you hard enough to make sure no one else’s ever mattered.

3. “I don’t answer your messages instantly. I’m just always holding the phone.”He just… saw it. Right away. Just happened to be holding his phone. Just happened to pause mid-meeting, mid-deal, mid-war — to write: “Be safe.” You tease him for how fast he replies. He teases back. And never mentions the part where your name makes him drop everything.

4. “I’m not obsessed with the way you say my name when you’re annoyed.”You do it without thinking. That exact tone. That breath. That syllable dipped in heat. He rolls his eyes. Says, “What now, kitten?” But every time it happens — he shifts closer. Hears it again later in his head. And stores it next to the version you whisper when you want him most.

5. “I wouldn’t beg. If it came to that. …But only for you. And only once.”He’s not that man. He doesn’t plead. Doesn’t bend. But when he thinks of you leaving — really leaving — something dark and fragile coils behind his ribs. He tells himself he’d let you go. That he wouldn’t chase. But even in the lie… he’s already halfway down the hallway.

5 Things That Make Sylus Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You ask him to zip your dress. Then don’t wear anything underneath. It’s casual. Innocent. “Help me?” You turn your back, lift your hair, and wait. He moves slow — almost reverent. But when his fingers meet bare skin where silk should be… he doesn’t finish the zip. He turns you around, steps in close, and says, “You came dressed for trouble. Good. So did I.” 2. You say “don’t be gentle” with a smile that promises you’ll say it again, louder. He always controls the pace. The heat. The rhythm. But when you lean in, lips brushing his ear, and whisper those words — something in him fractures. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He doesn’t give you time to change your mind. He just obeys. And makes sure you feel the echo for days. 3. You use his tie to pull him into a kiss. He likes power. Centered, composed. Collar straight, voice cool. But when you grab that perfect silk tie, wrap it around your fingers, and yank — he stumbles into you like a man starved. You kiss him once. He kisses you back like vengeance. 4. You say “yes, sir” in a tone that means the opposite. You drawl it. Sweet. Defiant. Like you know exactly what it does to him. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t smile. Just leans in, voice low against your throat, and says, “Keep using that tone, kitten. Let’s see how long you last when I take it seriously.” You don’t last long. Not that night. 5. You put on his ring and ask, “So what does this buy me?” It’s a joke. Almost. You twirl it on your finger, playful, reckless. He watches. Then smiles slow, wicked. “That?” he says, stepping closer. “That buys you a night where I don’t stop until you forget your own name.” And just like that, you do.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. The earring incident at the casino. You dropped it. Somewhere between the blackjack table and the bar. Nothing dramatic — until your face shifted. That quiet flicker of loss. Sylus didn’t sigh. Didn’t scold. Just raised a brow. And a dozen seasoned criminals began crawling across the velvet floor. They found it in twenty minutes. You wore it for the rest of the night. He wore the look of a man who’d moved the world back into place. 2. The arrivals are always his favorite part. You come back from missions — tired, sore, alive. And there it is: his sportscar. Engine humming. He’s waiting with a bouquet of roses so rare you don’t recognize half the species. The entire terminal watches. You don’t. You’re too busy smiling. He says, “Welcome home.” And just like that, the war disappears from your shoulders. 3. The seat at the head of the table. It was a high-stakes meeting. Old money. Dangerous names. Sylus led you in by the hand — then pulled out his chair. You blinked. He said nothing. And while you sat at the head, calm and poised, he stood behind you like a king who knows exactly where real power sits. No one even dared raise a brow. 4. The auction. Your hand. His silence. He gave you the paddle. Not instructions. You bid on instinct — numbers rising, tension thick. The item? A rare protocore with blackout-level clearance. Sylus didn’t flinch. Not once. And when the gavel dropped — he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and said, “You can spend my money however you want, kitten. Just make sure they see you doing it.” 5. The moment the room lost him to you. It was mid-negotiation. Tense. Crucial. Every word counted. But across the table, your fingers tapped. Your eyes glazed. You were bored. Sylus watched. Then stood. “Deal’s done,” he said. “You’ll take our terms.” And somehow, they did. Because the only person in the room whose attention he wanted — was already drifting.

5 Times Sylus Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He knows what’s in your delivery before you do. No one told him. But every time you order something — clothes, tech, vitamins — it’s re-screened. Not stopped. Not blocked. Just… “verified.” You only noticed when your favorite moisturizer showed up improved. New formula. Better scent. Hand-selected. Of course. 2. He said he’d put you on IV if you skip another meal. You were busy. Distracted. He asked what you’d eaten. You said, “Does coffee count?” He laughed. Once. And muttered something about installing a medical station in your apartment. He was “joking.” Until you saw the discreet courier bring an IV stand the next day. Just in case. 3. He took you to dinner at a place you hadn’t been since Academy. You didn’t realize where you were — until you saw your ex across the room. The one who cheated. Sylus just smiled. You were in a dress that made people stop breathing. He ordered champagne. Lobster. Left a four-digit tip. And made sure your ex saw everything. Including the way you kissed Sylus on the way out. 4. He froze your accounts. Just to prove a point. You said you didn’t need his money. You insisted on “independence.” So he waited until your card declined at the pharmacy. Then texted: “You have my black card. Use it. Or stay home.” You gave in. He sent flowers. 5. He apologized like a storm front. You fought. It was ugly. The next day, a gift arrived at HQ. Then another. Then six more. By day four, your car was full. You marched to his door, furious. He opened it, leaned against the frame, and said, “Took you long enough. Come yell at me. I’ll pour the wine.”

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shiftthemoon · 5 months ago

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reality shifting isn’t hard. you’ve been told it’s hard because everyone’s too scared to admit it’s not. they cling to their 800-step methods, their must-have crystals, their perfect conditions because they think that if they let go of that control, they’ll fail. but here’s the thing: the more you try to control the process, the more you convince yourself it’s out of your control. and that’s the problem. that’s why so many people feel stuck. shifting isn’t some big, far-fetched thing. it’s just you. it’s always been you.

we’re conditioned to think we’re powerless. think about it—school, work, society, all of it drills this idea into us that everything has to be proven, earned, validated. so, when you hear about shifting, your brain freaks out and says, wait, wait, this is too easy, this can’t be real. and then you spiral. you overcomplicate it. you make yourself think you need the “perfect” script, the “right” subliminal, or that you have to meditate for three hours while the stars align perfectly. like, no… you don’t. all of that? it’s fluff. it’s noise.

at its core, shifting is belief. just belief. no, really, let that sink in. you don’t need to “do” belief perfectly. it’s not something you master through sheer willpower. it’s something you already have. you’ve believed in things your whole life. you believed in gravity without needing proof. you believe your favorite songs are beautiful without needing to explain why. belief is natural. it’s effortless when you stop overthinking it. that’s the energy you need to bring to shifting—trust. trust that your mind knows what it’s doing, and that if you let it, it will take you there. every single extra thing you pile on? the overthinking, the doubt, the need for guarantees? that’s what’s slowing you down. not the “lack of progress,” not some mythical “block”—it’s you convincing yourself it’s harder than it is.

and let’s talk about social media for a second. oh my god, the shifting community on social media… i get it. it’s comforting to see other people on this journey. but let’s be honest—how much of that content is actually helping you? like, really? 90% of the time, scrolling through shifting advice isn’t inspiring; it’s overwhelming. everyone’s got their own opinions, their own “best methods,” their own rules. one person says scripting is a must, another says it’s a waste of time. one person swears by affirmations, another says visualization is the only way. and before you know it, you’re sitting there questioning everything you thought you knew, wondering if you’ll ever get it “right.” spoiler alert: you already know how to shift. you don’t need a thousand voices telling you what to do. in fact, the more you listen to them, the harder it becomes to hear yourself.

take a break. seriously. log off the apps. give yourself space to breathe and think. ask yourself: why do i want to shift? what’s stopping me? what feels right to me? no tiktok trend, youtube guide, or reddit post can answer those questions for you. only you can. and i know that sounds scary. we’ve been conditioned to think we need external validation for everything, but shifting is a deeply personal thing. you don’t need a step-by-step tutorial. you need to trust your instincts. that’s it.

and let me be clear: i’m not saying methods or subliminals are bad. they’re fine if they help you feel aligned. but they’re not what makes shifting happen. you are. methods are just tools. if you use them, great. if you don’t, that’s great too. because the truth is, shifting isn’t about doing things “right.” it’s about letting go of the idea that you need to.

so let me break it down for you. the only things you really need to shift are:

1. a desire. you have to want to go to your desired reality. no brainer, right?

2. belief. this is the big one. you have to trust it’s possible. no “what ifs,” no “but hows.” just trust.

3. persistence. if it doesn’t happen right away, that’s okay. don’t give up. if you’ve ever learned to ride a bike, you know that falling doesn’t mean you can’t do it—it just means you’re learning. shifting is the same.

that’s it. no fancy rituals, no endless research, no “perfect” conditions. the process is simple because it’s natural. you’ve probably done it before without even realizing it— the only reason it feels hard now is because you’ve convinced yourself it has to be.

stop making it harder than it needs to be. shifting isn’t this unattainable, mystical thing reserved for “chosen ones.” it’s something anyone can do. you can do it. your mom can do it. that anti-shifter lurking in every crevice of shiftblr could do it. you’ve always been capable. but you have to stop getting in your own way. stop doubting yourself. stop relying on others to tell you what’s possible. this is your journey. own it.

and above all, be patient. shifting is not a race. it’s not about how fast you can get there or how perfect your dr is. it’s about trust, intention, and focus. log off, tune into yourself, and let it happen. shifting has always been yours to claim. it’s not something you need permission for. it’s not something you need to earn. it’s just you, your mind, and your belief. always has been, always will be.

#shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #loassumption #shifting tips #shifting antis dni #shifting script #law of assumption #reality shifting tips #quantum jumping #shifttok

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botanicsoul · 12 days ago

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Eyes Up Here

Aged up | Possessive!Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Reader

-> This one’s for my bigger chested babes🍈🍈

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

It’s sunny, warm, and perfect for walking hand in hand down the street with your boyfriend. You’re dressed for the heat—light denim shorts that hug your hips and a yellow low-cut tank top that gives just the right amount of bounce and peek.

You’d noticed his mood shift about three blocks ago.

He was quiet, more than usual, walking half a step behind you. But you knew Bakugou, and you could practically feel the heat of his glare every time someone else’s eyes lingered on you too long. His grip would tighten around your hip whenever that happened, thumb pressing into the waistband of your shorts.

So naturally, you played it up. A little extra sway in your hips, a stretch when you reached for your drink, a smug little smirk when you heard him grumble under his breath.

“Katsuki,” you sing-songed as you reached a patch of flowers blooming by a café wall. “We need a picture. The light is perfect.”

He snorted, lips curled. “Seriously?”

“Come on, plus you look hot today.” You dragged him in beside you and held your phone up. “Smile, babe. Just once. For me.”

You flipped to selfie mode, adjusting the angle. Your tank dipped low with the way your arm was lifted, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your cleavage. You looked damn good, and you knew it.

But before you could snap the picture—

A warm hand slapped over your chest. Then, in one swift, unapologetic tug, Bakugou yanked the hem of your tank up, covering the curve of your breasts with a grunt of pure annoyance.

“Katsuki!”

“You’re not fuckin’ posting that,” he growled into your ear, hand still fisted in your shirt, keeping it high.

You twisted to glare at him. “It wasn’t even that bad!”

“The hell it wasn’t,” he muttered, eyes scanning your face—then your chest—then the street, as if daring anyone to be looking. “You think I didn’t see that guy over there just now? Mouth open like he was starin’ at a damn dessert menu.”

You burst out laughing. “So what? I am dessert.”

He grumbled low in his throat. “Yeah, but you’re my fuckin’ dessert.”

“Oh my god, Katsuki—”

He leaned in, crowding close, hand still gripping your tank. “You’re walkin’ around with your tits half out like you want people lookin’. You tryin’ to start somethin’? Hm?”

“You’re so dramatic, it’s not my fault their big—”

“I’m serious.” His voice dropped lower, hotter, lips brushing your ear. “You don’t wanna know what I’d do if you actually posted that. let people see what’s mine.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at the tone, at the way his fingers lingered at the top of your shorts like he was one second away from slipping them in, right there on the sidewalk.

“You’re so possessive,” you whispered.

“You fuckin’ love it,” he replied, smirking when your breath hitched.

And the worst part? He was right.

He let go of your tank only when it stayed put, satisfied with the new, more “modest” arrangement. You snapped a photo anyway, catching the moment: your lips parted in shock, his hand mid-grab, his eyes narrowed like he’d just claimed territory—and dared anyone else to try.

“You’re insane,” you murmured, grinning as you looked down at the photo.

“Keep testin’ me,” he muttered, brushing a possessive kiss to your temple. “Next time I’m makin’ you take the picture with my hand down your shorts so they really know who the fuck you belong to.”

Your breath caught. “Katsuki—”

He shot you a wicked smirk. “Go on, post that, sweetheart.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

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moonstruckme · 30 days ago

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could i please request best friend sirius x reader with no boundaries? <3

Hi anon! You didn't respond to this post, so I went ahead and used it for the Who's That Girl au, hope you still like it <3

cw: nonsexual nudity

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The shower in your flat is finicky. There’s a very precise balance to be struck between the two faucets to ensure the water is neither glacial nor magmatic, and having only just dragged yourself out of bed, you’re nearly falling asleep as you fuss with them. By the time you step under the perfectly-warm spray, it makes you let out a blissful sigh.

You get approximately two minutes of that before it suddenly turns scalding hot.

You make a wounded yelping sound, pressing yourself against the wall. “What the hell?”

“So’rry,” comes a garbled voice from beyond the curtain.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around your chest. You’re so shocked it takes you a second to relocate your voice.

“Sirius?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing in here?”

“M jus’ bru’in my tee’,” your flatmate replies in the same unruffled tone. You translate this to I’m just brushing my teeth, which explains why it sounds like he’s currently talking through a mouthful of foam.

You stare at your audience of various shower products in bewilderment. The water hitting your knees has returned to a withstandable temperature, but you stay cowering against the far wall. It doesn’t feel like you can simply resume your shower with Sirius just on the other side of the curtain.

“Do you have to do it right now?”

“We’, I have to ge’ to ma’beh in tir’ty min’us to mee’ ma’ee, so whe’ else ‘m I s’pos to use my own ba’room?”

“What?”

This time, you hear the bathroom door open. “He said,” James explains helpfully, “that he has to meet our friend Marlene at Mackbear—that’s a coffee shop in Whitechapel—in half an hour, so he doesn’t know when else he’s supposed to get in here.”

“Oh.” You cup your slippery boobs in both hands, feeling vulnerable. “Um, thanks James.”

Sirius also makes a toothpaste-y noise of gratitude.

“Anytime.”

Tentatively, you begin shampooing your hair again. You hear Sirius spit in the sink.

“Step out of the stream,” James warns. You obey, and you hear the sink’s faucet squeak just before your water turns hot again. A few moments later it’s back to normal. “We have one of those showers that freaks out whenever someone uses the sink. Remus explained it one time—something about the flat not having pressure balancing? I don’t get it, but it’ll happen when the toilet goes too, so be careful.”

“Thanks,” you say again, hoping with all your heart that no one ever uses the toilet while you’re in the shower. Is this a guy thing, or a Brit thing? It’s your first time living with both, so it seems plausible it could be either one.

“I’m not convinced Rem actually knows what he’s talking about,” says Sirius, his voice now clear. “Fairly sure he just looked it up online and now pretends to be an expert. Hey, doll, I think I left my face wash in there last night. Pass it to me?”

“Uhh.” You look at the shelf of products. “The blue tube?”

“That’s the one.”

“Just a second.” You rinse the rest of the shampoo from your hair, grabbing the shower curtain to ensure you’re covered before reaching out with the face wash in hand. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Sirius steps away from the sink, taking it from you.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that my shirt?”

“Hm?” He glances down to the grey top he has on, just short enough on him to show a cheeky slice of abdomen. “Oh, yeah.”

You wait for an apology or a do you mind?, but Sirius only goes back to his station in front of the sink. James seems similarly unphased.

“Turning the water on again,” Sirius says, hardly giving you any warning before twisting the faucet. This time, the water hitting your bum is icy cold.

You jolt and press closer to the curtain to escape it, nearly tripping out of the shower just as Remus comes in.

“Oh.” His steps falter as his eyes catch on you, your torso held so tightly against the shower curtain it’s likely making an impression. He blinks and quickly moves his gaze away. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was…what are we all doing in here?”

“Getting ready, obviously,” Sirius says, patting his face with a towel.

“I’m waiting for the shower,” says James. “Hey, y/n, would you mind if I peed really quickly?”

You’re too appalled for politeness. “Yes.”

James seems bemused by this, but he shrugs. “Alright. I can wait.”

Remus is looking between the three of you, a notch forming between his brows. “Did you tell them they could come in?” he asks you, seeming to already have guessed at the answer.

You shake your head mutely.

He levels James with an admonishing look. “What are you two thinking? Get out of here, let’s go.”

“What?” Sirius looks affronted. “Why?”

“Because y/n is trying to shower.”

“I have to be in Whitechapel in—” Sirius glances at his phone “—twenty-five minutes. She can shower just as well while I fix my hair.”

“I don’t really need to explain this to you.” Remus temples his hands against his forehead. “You’re invading her privacy. We all are, right now.”

“But, Moony,” James looks genuinely perplexed, “there’s only one bathroom. We share all the time.”

“This is different.”

“What, because she’s a girl?” Sirius shoots him an unimpressed look. “That’s sexist. You’re discriminating against her.”

“Jar,” Remus says sternly. “Five quid.”

“What? I’m only telling the truth! Y/n” —Sirius turns to you— “don’t you feel discriminated against?”

What you feel is very, very warm. You probably could just turn the shower faucet to cold at this point and not worry about it. “By Remus?” you ask to be sure. “No.”

“Do you feel invaded?” James asks curiously.

“I mean…” You shrink. “A little?”

He looks contrite.

“Let’s go,” says Remus, waving them out. James goes first, Sirius following more slowly seemingly just for spite. “Sorry,” Remus mumbles, looking everywhere but at you as he shuts the bathroom door.

Even when they’re out in the hallway, you can still hear Sirius’ grumbling. “If she’s not being discriminated against, I certainly am. I pay rent for that bathroom!”

“That’s ten quid in the wanker jar. Now.”

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

Text

TIMEZONE | OP81

an: i promised after oscar’s pole id promise fluff and also because i got peer pressured by @amyelevenn im a victim fr, enjoy our soft boy - warning it does start off a bit angsty. this was a request from @n0vazsq for my 2k celly thank you ml <3 ALSO THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD IM SORRY

wc: 3.1k

synopsis: oscar let the one go, but the longer he spends away from her the more he realises what a stupid mistake it was.

OSCAR WAS MISERABLE.

He'd just won his first ever pole-to-win conversion, and he was bloody miserable.

The champagne was still dripping from his race suit, the taste of victory lingering on his tongue, but it all felt hollow. The cheers from the crowd rang in his ears, deafening, but none of it mattered. Because she wasn’t there.

She should have been. She should have been in the paddock, wrapped up in his fireproof jacket, rolling her eyes at his cocky post-race grin but kissing him breathless anyway. She should have been the first person he saw when he climbed out of the car, arms flung around his neck before he'd even peeled off his gloves.

Instead, she was seven thousand miles away, living a life that no longer included him.

The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut as he stood on the podium, trophy in hand, the cameras flashing. He should have felt elated, triumphant. Instead, he felt empty. He'd sacrificed so much for this—pushed himself to the absolute limit, given everything he had to his career. But in doing so, he’d lost the one person who made it all mean something.

He barely heard the post-race interviews, barely registered his own answers. His PR manager nudged him at the right moments, and he went through the motions; smiling, nodding, thanking the team. But his heart wasn’t in it. It was still in London, curled up in a tiny uni flat with a girl who used to wear his hoodies to bed and steal his socks when hers went missing.

She used to joke that they spent more time apart than together. At first, she’d said it with a laugh, teasing him about their ridiculous time zone differences, about how she’d wake up just as he was finishing free practice on the other side of the world. But as the months passed, as the late-night FaceTime calls turned into missed texts and unreturned voicemails, the laughter had faded.

And then, one day, she’d stopped waiting.

He should have fought harder. He should have told her she was more important than all of this. That she was the only thing in the world that felt like home.

But he hadn’t.

And even now, standing on the top step of the podium, the world at his feet, he had never felt further away from where he truly wanted to be.

By the time he finally escaped to the driver's room, the buzz of victory had been drowned out by the quiet hum of regret sitting in his chest. His race suit was damp with sweat and champagne, the adrenaline fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion.

He grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it earlier, the screen lighting up as he pressed the button. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing.

His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked to the clock widget at the top.

London: 10:00 AM

He could never bring himself to delete it. No matter where he was in the world—Australia, Japan, the Middle East—he always knew exactly what time it was for her. He used to check it before calling, before sending stupid voice notes at ungodly hours, before whispering a sleepy “Goodnight, love” when she was already halfway through her morning coffee.

Now, it was just another reminder of how far away she was.

With a frustrated sigh, he chucked his phone onto the massage bed and peeled off his race suit, yanking it down to his waist before grabbing a towel. The knock on the door came exactly two seconds before it was shoved open.

"Oi, I'm changing!" Oscar snapped, instinctively pulling the towel higher over his shoulder.

Lando stood in the doorway, completely unfazed. "Yeah, don’t care." He strolled in like he owned the place, tossing a sweaty towel onto the table before flopping onto the small sofa in the corner. "Right, what’s your problem?"

Oscar frowned. "What?"

Lando gestured vaguely at him. "You won the race, mate. First pole-to-win conversion, team's over the bloody moon. But you look like someone just ran over your cat."

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks," Lando said flatly. "You barely said two words after the race, you legged it out of the debrief like your arse was on fire, and you’re sitting here staring at your phone like you're waiting for it to apologise to you."

Oscar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. "Just... tired."

Lando snorted. "Tired, my arse. Come on, out with it."

Oscar hesitated. He could dodge, change the subject, pretend that he wasn’t slowly losing his mind over someone who didn’t even call him anymore.

But then, before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out.

"I broke up with her." His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "I mean, she broke up with me. But only 'cause I was never bloody there. Time zones, flights, races, all of it—it was too much. She got sick of waiting for me to show up, and I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I let her go."

Lando didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching him with a look that was more knowing than Oscar would have liked. "Shit."

"Yeah." Oscar let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. "I won the biggest race of my career today, and the only thing I can think about is how she should’ve been in the crowd. She should’ve been the first person I saw when I got out of the car." He exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "But she wasn’t. And that’s my fault."

Lando was quiet for a beat, then sighed. "Mate, that’s brutal."

Oscar let out a bitter chuckle. "Tell me about it."

Lando leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "So... what are you gonna do about it?"

Oscar blinked. "What?"

"You love her, right?"

Oscar opened his mouth, ready to protest, but stopped himself. Love. The word sat heavy on his tongue, because of course he did. He always had.

Lando shrugged. "Well, then. Go and fix it."

Oscar shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I can't."

Lando raised a brow. "I can."

And with that, he stood up, clapped Oscar once on the shoulder, and walked out of the room—leaving Oscar sitting there, half-dressed, with a thousand unanswered questions.

What the hell did that even mean?

He stared at the door for a moment, running through every possible way Lando could have just ruined his life. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had a flight to Nice that night, back to his apartment, back to his too-quiet routine of training, simulator work, and pretending he wasn’t thinking about her.

Except an hour later, when he was in his hotel room, shoving his clothes and essentials into his suitcase, there was a knock at the door.

Frowning, he padded over, running a hand through his damp hair before swinging it open.

Max stood there, hands in the pockets of his team-branded joggers, looking like he had about two minutes of patience left before he lost interest and walked away.

Oscar blinked. "Uh—"

"I'm leaving for London at six," Max said.

Oscar frowned. "Okay?"

Max tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for Oscar to catch up. When it became clear that wasn’t happening, he sighed, shifting his weight onto one foot. "I've got a spare seat on the jet."

Oscar's brain still wasn’t putting one and one together. He looked over Max’s shoulder, half-expecting Lando to be standing there smirking, but the corridor was empty. "Right. And why exactly are you telling me this?"

Max exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted getting involved. "Lando said you were miserable. You broke up with your girlfriend and need to get back to London to fix things. I know you probably have a flight to Nice booked, and Lando seems convinced you’re just going to sit there and wallow until the next race." He paused, glancing at the half-packed suitcase on the bed. "So finish packing. Let’s go. I don’t do well with tardiness."

And with that, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

Oscar stood there for a solid five seconds, staring at the now-empty hallway, his thoughts scrambling to catch up.

Lando. That meddling little—

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Then, without hesitating, he turned back into the room and shoved the rest of his things into his suitcase.

London. He was going to London.

To fix things.

To fix everything.e

It was 7 AM when they landed, and the first thing Oscar did—besides being absolutely jetlagged—was check her schedule.

He never deleted it from his camera roll.

It was an old photo, scribbled notes in her handwriting detailing lectures, seminars, deadlines. He used to check it religiously before calling, making sure he wasn’t waking her up before an important class or messaging when she was in the library. Even now, he found himself doing the same, as if he still had the right to.

Mondays. No morning lectures.

That gave him time.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, then turned to Max, who was stretching his arms over his head like he hadn’t just crossed multiple time zones. "Cheers, mate. For, you know… all of this."

Max just shrugged. "You can thank Lando. I don’t usually offer free therapy and private jet rides to sad bastards."

Oscar let out a breath of laughter. "Duly noted."

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder, headed outside, and hailed a cab.

The drive to her flat was a blur of grey London streets, his heart pounding harder with every passing second. The nerves only set in when he stepped out of the taxi, staring up at her building like it was a bloody racetrack he’d never driven before.

What if she didn’t want to see him?

What if she had moved on?

What if he was about to make an absolute fool of himself?

Still, his feet carried him forward. Up the stairs. To her door.

He raised his hand and knocked.

There was shuffling from inside—soft footsteps, the creak of the floorboards. And then, the door swung open.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat.

She stood there, blinking at him in sleepy confusion, dressed in nothing but his hoodie, a pair of socks, and—Jesus Christ—his old boxer shorts, worn as makeshift pyjamas.

His hoodie was too big on her, hanging off one shoulder, the sleeves bunched up where she’d pushed them past her wrists. The sight of it, of her, in his clothes like she always used to be, knocked the air from his lungs.

His throat felt tight. "Hi."

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him, like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

Oscar swallowed hard, heart hammering. "Can I come in?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed, gripping the edge of the door like she needed to steady herself. "What are you doing here?"

Her voice was quiet, still laced with sleep, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, something hesitant.

Oscar swallowed. "I—" He exhaled, shaking his head like even he couldn't believe it. "I needed to see you."

She blinked again, like she was still processing his sudden appearance. Then her brow furrowed slightly. "You were in China yesterday. You won your race. Now you’re here."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You watched?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Of course, I did."

Something in his chest squeezed tight. He didn't deserve that—didn't deserve her still watching, still caring. But he was selfish enough to let it fuel the courage he needed to say what he’d come here to say.

"I’ve been miserable," he admitted, voice rough. "Since the moment I let you walk away. Since the moment I realised I was losing you, and instead of doing something about it, I just let it happen. I thought I could handle it, you know? Thought I could just keep my head down, focus on racing, distract myself with the next flight, the next circuit, the next podium. But it didn’t work. None of it worked. I won, and it didn’t feel like winning, because you weren’t there. You weren’t insulting me for making you cry and ruining your makeup. I'd check my phone and see the time in London, and I’d realise I had nothing to text you anymore. I kept waiting for it to get easier, but it never did. And I—"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying, I didn’t plan this—"

And then she kissed him.

Just like that. No warning, no hesitation. She reached up, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and pulled him down to her. His words died instantly, swallowed by the warmth of her lips, by the way she pressed against him like she’d been waiting for this just as much as he had.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud as his hands found her waist, gripping tight as he walked her backwards into the flat, not bothering to close the door. He had barley registered the sound of his bag, too caught up in the way she sighed against his mouth, the way her fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to send heat racing through him.

He backed her up until she hit the wall, a quiet gasp escaping her as he pressed closer, deepening the kiss. He’d had dreams about this. Stupid, torturous dreams where he’d wake up in hotel rooms alone, still reaching for her. But this—this was real. She was real, warm and soft under his touch, her nails raking lightly over his shoulder blades as his hands slid up beneath the fabric of his hoodie—his hoodie—to feel the warmth of her skin.

Then—

"Ahem."

They froze.

Oscar pulled back just enough to see over his shoulder, his stomach immediately plummeting.

Mrs Hart—her elderly neighbour—stood in the hallway, wrapped in a thick cardigan and holding a shopping bag. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"If you're going to take part in passionate rendezvous before 8 AM," she said dryly, "at least do it with the door closed."

Heat flooded Oscar’s face. He heard her let out a mortified laugh, peaking from in front of him just enough to mumble, "Sorry, Mrs Hart."

Mrs Hart hummed, clearly unimpressed, then shuffled off down the hallway, muttering something under her breath about "young people these days."

The second the front door clicked shut, she turned back to Oscar, biting her lip, eyes full of amusement. "That was—"

"Mortifying?" he supplied, still half-dazed from kissing her.

She grinned. "Hilarious."

And then she kissed him again.

Oscar was so gone for her.

He let out a breath, still slightly dazed, before remembering his bag was still abandoned in the corridor. He pulled away, bent down, grabbed it, and kicked the door shut properly this time. When he turned back, she was watching him, arms crossed, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"So," she said, tilting her head. "You flew across the world to tell me you’re miserable?"

Oscar exhaled a laugh, dropping his bag by the wall. "I guess I did."

"Idiot," she murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just fondness.

His chest ached. God, he’d missed her.

They stood there for a second, neither speaking, neither moving. Then, wordlessly, she reached for his hand.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just curled her fingers around his wrist and pulled.

Oscar followed without resistance, letting her lead him down the hall, into her bedroom, and straight to her bed. He barely had time to react before she gave him a firm shove, sending him tumbling onto the mattress with a surprised grunt.

She stood at the edge, hands on her hips, looking down at him with a raised brow. "First," she said, voice firm, "sleep. Those bags under your eyes are giving me a run for my money, and I’m a uni student."

Oscar huffed a laugh, opening his mouth to argue—only for her to crawl onto the bed, straddle him, and press her lips to his before he could get a single word out.

It wasn’t a soft kiss this time. It was deep, heated, like she was trying to make up for all the time they’d lost.

Oscar groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding under her hoodie, fingers skimming warm skin. He felt her shiver, heard the little gasp she let out when he pulled her closer, felt her shift slightly and—

Yeah. Yeah, she definitely felt that.

She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, grabbing his wrists and shoving them away. "Naughty!" she scolded, grinning as she sat back. "First, we’re sleeping."

Oscar let out a dramatic groan, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "That’s just cruel. You’re a cruel woman."

She smirked, rolling off him and slipping under the duvet. "You’re the one who looks half dead. Get in."

Oscar stared at her for a moment, something warm curling in his chest. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed this—the casual intimacy, the way she just knew when he needed to rest, the way she could tease him one second and make his heart ache with how much he loved her the next.

He exhaled, then kicked off his shoes and climbed in beside her.

But Oscar didn’t hesitate. The second he was under the covers, he pulled her tight against him, slotting her perfectly against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed across her back, the other tangled in her hair as he breathed her in.

She was warm, soft, real.

For months, he’d fallen asleep with nothing but the hum of hotel air conditioning and the occasional distant city noise to keep him company. No whispered conversations under the covers, no sleepy kisses before sunrise, no warmth beside him. Just cold sheets and silence.

But now—now she was here. In his arms. Where she belonged.

She let out a small sigh, nuzzling into his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his side. "You know, I meant what I said earlier," she murmured.

Oscar hummed, his thumb brushing along her spine. "What?"

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him with a teasing glint in her eye. "That you’re an idiot."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

She huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue, just curled in closer.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out, her body relaxing completely against his. Oscar lay awake a little longer, just holding her, letting it all sink in. The ache that had lived in his chest for months—the one he’d ignored, buried under podium celebrations and press conferences—finally eased.

No win, no pole position, and no championship could ever make Oscar feel as happy as he felt then and there.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @obxstiles @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @hzstry8 @oikarma @amyelevenn

2K notes · View notes

downbad4sylus · 4 months ago

Text

“Sylus, something’s wrong.”

(inspired by this post)

synopsis: After an impromptu mission with Sylus, you have a sudden flare up of your Protocore Syndrome.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; angst. so much angst; zayne cameo; happy ending; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: been cooking this up for a while, then was inspired by the post referenced above. hope everyone enjoys like two thousand words of pure angst :D

Sylus always enjoyed tagging along on your missions. He enjoyed all the time he spent with you of course, but fighting beside you was like seeing a physical manifestation of how far you’d come in your relationship. You moved in perfect synchronicity, supporting and anticipating the other’s moves without so much as a word passed between you. And when you resonated, when your powers combined and your light filled his darkness, Sylus felt like he was floating on air. Oh how far you’d come with him, and now you were his and only his.

Working in tandem, you and Sylus finished off the last of the Wanderers that had interrupted your walk through the park, the protofield dissipating.

Breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed, you checked your Hunter’s Watch. “The area’s all clear,” you announced.

“That was fun, sweetie,” Sylus drawled with a grin. “We should fight Wanderers on our walks more often.”

You chucked. “They do spice things up, don’t they?”

“They do,” he agreed. He held out his hand for yours. “Come, let’s go sit and catch our breaths.”

Smiling, you reached for his hand—

A sudden wave of discomfort washed over you. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Sweetie?”

Instinctively, the hand that reached for his retreated, curling against your chest.

You looked up into Sylus’s red, gem-like eyes and took a staggering step toward him. “Sylus, something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

Sylus’s face twisted with concern, and he closed what little distance lay between you, gently gripping your upper arms. “What is it? Tell me.”

“My…heart...”

You went limp.

Sylus caught you before you could fall, tilting your head up. “Y/N?”

No answer, you were unconscious.

Sylus was well aware of your heart condition, however for as long as he’d known you, you’d never had a flare up.

A fear he hadn’t felt before—so visceral in the way it stole the air from his lungs—washed over him.

He didn’t know what to do.

You never told him what he was supposed to do if this happened.

What was he supposed to do?

Sylus moved on instinct alone, sweeping you into his arms as he strode for his car. He pulled your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease, and scrolled through your contacts until he found who he was looking for.

It rang only once before the caller picked up.

“Y/N, should I be worried you’re calling me out of the blue like this?” asked the cool, slightly amused voice.

“Are you at the hospital?” Sylus questioned, trying very hard to keep the panic from his voice.

He felt the shift in demeanor through the phone.

“Who is this?”

He might have appreciated Dr. Zayne’s suspicion were these different circumstances, but right now, Sylus didn’t have the patience for it.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus snapped. “Are you at the hospital?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I’m at the hospital. Is Y/N all right?”

Sylus swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and choked out, “It’s her heart.”

Zayne swore softly. “How far away are you?” His tone was more frantic now, mirroring Sylus’s own inner turmoil.

“Maybe ten minutes,” Sylus said, finally reaching his car. He didn’t bother to put you in the passenger seat, he simply held your limp body in his lap as he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Come to the emergency room, I’ll have a stretcher and team ready by the time you arrive.”

The line went dead, so Sylus tossed your phone onto the empty passenger seat and focused on the road ahead of him.

He weaved in and out of traffic, ignoring a myriad of laws to do so. He didn’t care about the others cars on the road, or the pedestrians trying to cross the street, all that mattered to him was you.

Sylus kissed the top of your head, willing and praying for you to be okay. “Come on,” he whispered, his hand tightening around the steering wheel, “just hold on a little longer for me, kitten.”

—

Pulling up to the curb in front of Akso Hospital’s emergency room, Sylus had barely put the car in park before barreling out, leaving the door wide open as he ran for the entrance with you cradled in his arms.

Zayne was waiting inside, just as he’d said, with a team of doctors and a stretcher. Sylus carefully laid you out on the stretcher, keeping your hand in his.

“What happened?” Zayne asked, leading the team out of the lobby and into the emergency ward.

“We were fighting Wanderers,” Sylus explained, “Y/N wasn’t injured but she said something was wrong all of sudden, and before she collapsed, she said it was her heart.”

Zayne, with a clinical precision, began barking orders at his team of which Sylus paid no attention. He was laser focused on you, on your unconscious form on the stretcher, on the hand he gripped tightly with his own.

He couldn’t lose you, not so soon after he’d finally been able to call you his.

Only moments later, Zayne stopped at another set of double doors, marked for hospital staff only.

“I need to evaluate Y/N’s condition and from there I’ll determine the best course of treatment,” he explained as the team rolled you through the doors, your hand slipping from Sylus’s grasp. “I’ll update you when I can. You can wait in my office, just ask one of the nurses at the front for directions.”

Zayne didn’t wait for Sylus’s reply and strode through the doors after you.

Sylus stood frozen for a moment, still in shock that this was even happening. That you were no longer by his side and he now had to wait for updates on your condition.

He felt so useless, and Sylus hated feeling useless.

Sylus wrestled with his emotions as he finally moved from the doors and headed toward Zayne’s office. He knew the way, he’d memorized the location of where your doctor conducted your check ups long ago.

He was furious with himself as he stalked through the halls. He was supposed to take care of you but now had to rely on others to do it for him. Sylus could heal your physical wounds with his Evol, but he wouldn’t dare touch your heart with it for fear he would do much more harm than good. He did not have the wealth of knowledge and experience of Protocore Syndrome like Zayne. He could do nothing but pass you off to those more equipped to help you. He could do nothing but wait and pray that you’d be okay.

—

Sylus waited in Zayne’s office for hours.

Naturally, he’d searched through its entirety. It was mostly out of the need to do something more than just sit around and wait.

There wasn’t much of note, but Sylus did notice a few odds and ends on Zayne’s desk that he knew had come from you. Again, were the circumstances different, Sylus would’ve been more upset seeing your touches on your doctor’s desk, touches that should be reserved solely for him and no one else. But rather than be upset, seeing these things only produced a hollow ache in Sylus’s chest.

Would he lose the touches you made in his life? Would the growing collection of odds and ends on his desk back at the base stop in its tracks, never to be added to again? Would the slow plushy takeover of his bed, his couches, cease as well? What would he do with your things? He couldn’t get rid of them, but would he be able to bear looking at them, day in and day out, knowing you were no longer there alongside them? Alongside him?

The pain of losing you quite literally knocked Sylus off his feet. He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

Sylus wondered if this was how you felt after you’d lost him, in another lifetime amongst a field of flowers. He prayed that fate be kind to him, that fate spare you, so he could make it up to you, for leaving you as he did. He would shower you in love, to make up for a lifetime lost but also to promise a lifetime anew. He never took you for granted, not for one second, but if you survived this, he would make damn sure you knew how much he loved and appreciated you.

The office door opening tore Sylus from his thoughts, his head snapping up to find Zayne striding toward him. The doctor sat on the couch beside Sylus, staring at his hands. Sylus noticed the scars on his arms, peeking out from his slightly rolled up sleeves.

“Y/N is stable,” Zayne said, prompting a tidal wave of relief to crash over Sylus. “Her flare up was nothing too serious this time, but she’ll need to rest for a few weeks before returning to work.” Zayne met Sylus’s gaze, hazel tinged with green locked on striking, ruby-red. “Can I trust you’ll make her follow my treatment plan?”

Despite himself, Sylus huffed a laugh. “She is a stubborn one, isn’t she?”

“To a fault,” replied Zayne.

“Yeah, I’ll make her,” said Sylus. “I have no intention of having her repeat this anytime soon. Once was more than enough for me.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Zayne rose from the couch. “Would you like to see her?”

—

Seeing you laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, your steady pulse beeping from the heart monitor, was a sight that almost brought Sylus to his knees.

At first glance, he thought you were dead, despite knowing that Zayne had said you were stable. But even as his emotions caught up with his logic, it was still a hard pill from him to swallow.

As Zayne stayed near the door to give you both a semblance of privacy, Sylus swiftly crossed the room and sat in the chair beside the bed, taking your hand without the IV needle in it between both of his.

“I’m here, sweetie,” he murmured, running his thumb along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your brow furrowed as your nose scrunched. Your eyes opened slowly, as if hearing Sylus’s voice had roused you into consciousness.

You blinked slowly, taking in the strange space in front of you. It took a few moments before it became clear, before you realized you were in the hospital, when the last thing you remembered was being in the park with Sylus.

Sylus.

Your gaze drifted to where he sat at your bedside, cradling your hand in both of his. “Sy?” you croaked. “Why are we at the hospital? I thought we were at the park.”

His face was nothing but tender as he looked at you, providing you with an innate sense of safety and comfort. “We were,” he said softly. “What do you remember?”

“We fought some Wanderers…and we were going to sit on a bench to catch our breaths…and then nothing,” you said.

“Before we could sit, you told me that you didn’t feel right,” Sylus explained. “You said something was wrong with your heart, and then you fainted. I brought you straight to the hospital.”

Your brows knitted. “Is Zayne here?”

“I am, Y/N,” Zayne said, moving from his spot near the door to the end of your bed.

“Doctor Zayne.” You managed a small smile. “What’s the prognosis?”

The exasperation was clear in your doctor’s expression as he grabbed your chart and looked it over. “You’ll live,” he replied dryly.

You chuckled. “Isn’t that a relief.”

Sylus squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He was frowning and did not seem remotely amused at your attempt at levity. Knowing you had probably scared the poor man half to death, you resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“You’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” Zayne continued, either unaware or uncaring of yours and Sylus’s silent conversation. “As long as your vitals are normal come the morning, you’ll be able to go home, under a strict treatment regiment of course.”

You rolled your eyes, earning another disapproving squeeze from Sylus.

Zayne glanced up from your chart, meeting your gaze.

“Thank you, doctor,” you said to him, genuinely meaning it.

“It’s my job,” was his simple reply. He glanced between you and Sylus. “I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you,” Sylus said, surprising you.

Zayne gave a curt nod before making a swift exit.

You opened your mouth to speak to Sylus but was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” you asked when he made no move to retrieve it.

He shook his head. “It’s just the twins looking for an update.” He reached up with one of his hands, gently cupping your cheek. “How do you feel?”

You leaned into his touch. “I feel okay.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” There was a rare vulnerability in Sylus’s voice as he said those words, one that told you all you needed to know about the time he spent while Zayne was treating you.

But you couldn’t make him that promise. You knew that, and you knew he knew that.

Still, this didn’t stop you from saying, “I won’t.”

Satisfied, Sylus rose from the chair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too much to lose you, okay?” he whispered against your skin.

“Okay,” you whispered back. “And I love you too.”

—

Bonus:

“No rigorous activity of any kind for at least a week,” Zayne instructed harshly as he wrapped up your strict treatment plan before you were to be discharged. A positively smug glint sparkled in his eyes as he said, “That includes sexual activity.”

Your face went beet red. “Zayne!” you exclaimed, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Why would you say that?! I understood what you meant!”

“It’s a doctor’s duty to be as detailed as possible when giving a patient’s treatment plan,” he responded with a slight smirk.

“I’m seeing Greyson from now on.”

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

“Zayne! Just let me go home already!”

As Sylus silently observed the back and forth, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might actually like your doctor.

#l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus angst #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #l&ds angst

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23victoria · 27 days ago

Text

just friends…right?

pairing: 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

word count: 1.4𝒌

synopsis: 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔...𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕?

warnings: 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆,

authors note: 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒎𝒌 𝒊𝒇𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕! 𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒃 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆! 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈! 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚!!!

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕?! CLICK HERE!

✰ F1 MASTERLIST ✰

You’ve been to plenty of races, but there’s something about coming home to Melbourne that feels different. It’s the first race of the season, and the familiar skyline, the smell of eucalyptus trees in the breeze—it all reminds you of when you and Oscar were just awkward teenagers in boarding school, dreaming big.

Now? He’s living his dream. And you’re standing trackside with a Paddock Pass clipped to your belt loop, his spare McLaren jacket drowning your frame because you forgot your own.

“Hydrate,” you say, pushing a cold bottle of water into Oscar’s hand as he’s pulling off his helmet after FP1.

He takes it, and without thinking, leans forward to press his forehead against your shoulder for just a moment—just a breath of stillness. It’s instinct now, the way you wrap an arm around his waist without blinking.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles into your shirt. His voice is muffled, but it sends butterflies into full flight.

Lando walks past, smirking. “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were secretly married.”

Oscar pulls away, rolling his eyes but grinning. “We’re not.”

You’re already used to this. Everyone assumes. How could they not? You’re always there—making sure he eats, making sure he sleeps, fixing his collar, hugging him before every quali.

You and Oscar in the same sentence always sounds like a love story.

And maybe… maybe you’re starting to wonder if everyone else knows something you don’t.

You’re pressed into a hug by Alexandra when Oscar appears at your side. He’s glowing—P3 today, his first podium of the season—and you beam as he walks up to you like you’re his finish line.

His hands immediately go to your waist like they always do when he lifts you up after a good result.

“I told you!” you shout over the noise. “P3! I called it this morning!”

Oscar spins you around like you weigh nothing and then sets you down, too close, forehead nearly touching yours. “You’re officially good luck,” he grins.

Ollie's nearby with Kimi, the two of them laughing as they watch the interaction unfold.

“Just friends, right?” Kimi teases, nudging Ollie who tries to look innocent.

“Very convincing,” Ollie snorts. “If my best friend looked at me like that, I’d be questioning everything.”

You shoot them a glare, cheeks hot, but Oscar doesn’t even look flustered. He just shakes his head with a tiny smirk.

“You guys are unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.

But you see the way he’s still holding your hand.

It’s pouring rain. The race is delayed. You’re wrapped in Oscar’s spare hoodie because your suitcase got lost in transit, and you’re curled up in a hospitality room on the floor, your legs over his lap as he scrolls through his phone.

Outside, the track is flooded. Inside, it’s warm. Safe.

He taps on a post and shows you.

It’s a fan edit. Of you and him.

Clips from the paddock, your hugs, the way he looks at you when you’re not watching, a slow-motion shot of him tucking your hair behind your ear.

“‘Just friends’ my ass,” the caption reads.

“Oh my god,” you groan, burying your face in a pillow.

Oscar just chuckles, low and fond. “They have better footage of us than F1TV.”

You peek up at him, suspicious. “You’re not embarrassed?”

He shrugs. “Nah. It’s kind of flattering.”

“Kind of?” you tease.

Oscar looks down at your legs draped across his and then gently squeezes your ankle. “I mean, I don’t blame them.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t elaborate.

You’re wearing that black silk dress he once said made you look “dangerous.” You’ve forgotten about the comment—until you catch Oscar staring across the dinner table a little too long.

“So,” Lando says, raising a glass, “how long have you two been secretly dating?”

You sigh.

“For the hundredth time,” you say patiently, “we are not dating.”

“That’s what all secretly dating people say,” Charles jokes, grinning into his wine.

Even Max leans back with a raised brow. “You spend every weekend together, wear his clothes, and you call each other before every quali. But sure. Best friends.”

Ollie raises a hand. “I’d just like to point out she kissed his helmet before Quali in Hungary last year. You’re telling me that’s not love?”

“It’s tradition,” you protest.

“Your face was red for an hour,” Kimi deadpans.

Oscar laughs, shaking his head. “You’re all insane.”

But his voice is too fond. Like he doesn’t actually hate the teasing.

And his hand brushes yours under the table for a second too long to be accidental.

It’s scorching, and Oscar’s nearly melting in his race suit. You show up to his garage with a small handheld fan and his favorite electrolyte drink, holding them up like a peace offering.

“You’re going to owe me foot rubs for this.”

He chuckles. “Foot rubs?”

“I’ve walked, like, four kilometers today.”

Oscar takes the drink and the fan, then grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the garage. “Come sit down. You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N.”

He gives you that look—the one he only reserves for you. Stern, sweet, worried.

So you sit, and his hand doesn’t leave yours for at least ten minutes.

When Andrea, his engineer, comes by, he raises a brow. “You’re attached at the hip. One day I’m going to find you two fused together.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “We’re just friends, mate.”

“Right,” Andrea replies dryly. “And I’m Batman.”

You can’t sleep.

The hotel room next to yours is Oscar’s. You knock lightly, and he opens it almost immediately, like he was waiting for you.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper.

He nods, steps aside.

You both lie on his bed in the dark, facing the ceiling. Eventually, you roll to your side to look at him. “Do you ever think about how long it’s been?”

He turns to you, brows raised. “What?”

“Us. Being like this.”

Oscar’s quiet for a moment. “Since we were thirteen, yeah?”

“Boarding school. The cracked dorm windows. You stealing my notes.”

“Hey, you stole my snacks.”

You laugh quietly, and he’s watching you now, really watching.

“You were always there,” you murmur. “Every big moment of my life, you’ve been there.”

Oscar nods. “Same.”

The silence is thick. Heavy.

“You ever think about what that means?” you whisper.

He blinks slowly. “All the time.”

It’s raining again. Because of course it is.

You’re in the back of the garage, watching the screen, heart in your throat. Oscar’s fighting for P2. You’re squeezing a McLaren stress ball so hard your fingers hurt.

When he crosses the line in second, you scream. Literally. Everyone around you cheers, but you run.

You’re there before he even pulls off his gloves. You wait until he’s past media, past team debrief, and then you throw yourself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance.

“You were incredible,” you whisper, voice breaking with pride.

He holds you tighter than he ever has before.

“You always believe in me,” he says quietly.

“I always will.”

And when you pull back, his hand finds your jaw like it’s second nature. His eyes flick down to your lips before returning to your eyes.

Neither of you says it. But you both know.

It’s late. Everyone’s left dinner. You and Oscar are walking towards his car.

You’re laughing about something—the memory of some dumb joke that Ollie and Lando were bickering over dinner—when Oscar suddenly stops walking, going quiet.

You look at him. “What?”

He swallows. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if we stopped saying we were just friends?”

Your breath catches.

“What if we stopped pretending?” he continues, voice low. “What if we just… told them they were right?”

You stare at him. “Oscar…”

“Y/N. I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

The world stills.

And then, before you can panic or think or overanalyze—

You kiss him.

It’s soft, warming, familiar, and long overdue.

When you pull back, he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Took you long enough,” he whispers.

You smack his shoulder, giggling, with slight tears in your eyes. “Shut up.”

His fingers are laced with yours. And you don’t let go. You rest your head on his shoulder, looking up at him lovingly—like he’s the only thing in the world that makes sense.

✰༞𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!࿎✰@ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @teti-menchon0604 @bxtosa @fadingcloudballoon @whatevenisthisxxxxx @anamiad00msday @luula @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @flowerpetalk @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @revolutionsingingintherain @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @armystay89 @paucubarsisimp

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anisespice · 10 months ago

Text

“ baby steps ” || tokyo rev.

continuation of this post.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, ANGST w/ comfort (mostly in mikey's), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be A LOT of errors :// mikey's is LONG, ran + sanzu's are silly goofy, mikey + sanzu's are a lil unhinged lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: can i just say thank y'all so much for showing "accidents happen" the love that i didn't think it would get, it was made on a whim so i'm so so so happy y'all enjoyed! i tagged as many as i could (or that tumblr would allow) sorry if i missed some of you :( thank you for your patience and let me know how you feel about this continuation format :) !! notes ii: also also, pt. 2 for "accidents happen" coming soon! notes iii: MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I THOUGHT I LOST EVERYTHING BUT IT'S OKAY IT'S OKAY :'))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @cherryblossiren , @niragiswhore , @awkwardaardvarkforever , @valentsoup , @lovely212 , @miffysoo , @yandere-kouhai , @i-am-just-a-girl-ur-honor , @wisteriarose214 , @kindadolly , @yuwaimo , @sweetbella1221 , @simpingfor-wakasa , @sirachano0dles , @yutahg , @slowlikehonee , @blurpleuni-squid , @haruchiyoreen , @istanstraykidss , @loyard176 , @msluccapotato , @luv444lay , @backgroundcharactera , @jegelskeranime

Ever since you picked up your daughter, there’s been a hovering presence that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went. From the park, to the grocery store, all the way home it clung to you like a bad itch. Despite looking over your shoulder and being met without any sort of threat, that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling. And it only intensified when you received a knock on your front door.

You made a confused hum, checking the time on the microwave to confirm that it was indeed past the reasonable hour for potential visitors. Not to mention, you weren’t expecting anyone.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, instincts telling you that something wasn’t right, that your best option was to pretend you weren’t home. However, the person on the other side knew otherwise as they knocked on the door again, this time with more fervor. You inhaled sharply, taking hesitant steps towards the door until you were mere feet away from it. Eventually, you worked up the courage to look through the peephole, your brows furrowing in distress when all you could see was black—They were covering it. All the more reason not to open the door…

What if it’s a robber? Ridiculous, they don’t knock.

What if it’s just the neighbor? Why cover the peephole?

More and more did your mind swirl with endless possibilities, each one becoming less and less believable. Taking a long, deep breath, you doubled-checked the door-chain was on before slowly cracking it open. And as you attempted to peek through the sliver, nothing could’ve prepared you for the arm that forced its way through, startling you as you yelped, stumbling back as it made a grab at you.

Before you had the thought of shoving the door closed on the offender’s arm they grabbed the little chain, then yanked it clean out of the wall. To your terror, a dark hooded figure entered your home, head hung low, concealing their identity.

You began to hyperventilate, backing up to keep distance as they staggered further into your home before kicking the door closed behind them, effectively blocking you from the exit. Surely, someone heard your scream and would check in, or call the police. But, how long did you have before the intruder decided to make a move? Not to mention, your sleeping child just down the hall…

With that last thought in mind, you immediately steeled your nerves.

Even if you had to use your bare hands, you were going to do whatever it took to keep your baby out of harms way.

You reached for the closest weapon without taking your eyes off the figure, hands clasping onto a discarded umbrella that was leaned up against a closet door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Taking a defensive stance, you prepared for what you assumed to be the inevitable.

“I-I don’t know who you are, or what you want…b-but if you don’t leave…my..my boyfriend will be home any minute! H-He knows how to fight, and he’ll fuck you up if you try anything!”

Your means of intimation fall on deaf ears. It were as if you hadn’t spoken at all. They just…stood there. Watching you from the darkness. That feeling, that hovering presence you’d been weary about all evening…there was no doubt in your mind it was because of this individual. Suddenly, they gave a watery chuckle, hand coming up to rub the lower half of their face as the chilling noise dissipated into soft snickers.

You sweatdropped. “I mean it! He’ll be here real soon, so you better get out of here before-”

“[_____]…” the figure finally rasped, voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the moment. You froze, eyes widening.

“…How the hell do you know my name?”

Without much urgency, they stepped forward into the light. Beneath the warm glow, it took you mere seconds to recognize the person standing before you. You gasped, trembling hands dropping the umbrella, it landing with a harsh clatter. Soft, mortified hitches in your breath echoed through the small space, memories flashing before your eyes as you covered your gaping mouth.

“M.. Ma..” you whimpered, throat tightening. A shell of a man, who gazed upon you with stormy eyes flooded with tears at the mere sight of you.

He gave another strained laugh, muttering to himself as he soaked you all in. “Needed to know.. Needed to know it was really you…”

Mikey eyed you up, intensely, eerily silent as he did so. Then, he took in the surroundings, the warmth, the interior, the smell of dinner—It truly felt like a home. A bitter pill to swallow once he reminded himself that you built it without him.

His sharp gaze returned to your stunned expression. He sneered.

“Must’ve been easy for you. To forget me and move on, just like that. Like I was nothing.”

You blinked, taken aback. All you could do was remain speechless, cemented to the ground with thoughts and questions racing in your head. Now matter how many times you opened your mouth, no sound would come out aside from choked whimpers.

“Do you know…how long I’d been searching for you? Been mourning for you?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “When you left, I thought… I thought someone had taken you. That I lost you all because I was too stubborn to say I’m sorry…”

As he spoke, Mikey slowly closed the space between you. The more he came into the light, the more you could see how the years had treated him. His cheekbones were more pronounced, the dark circles under his eyes as well. His lips were dry, cracked, his fair skin now ghoulishly pale. If not for the black hoodie you would’ve mistaken him as such; ghost of your past.

Your shoulders shook, hands hovering over your face as you gaped in disbelief. He’d been looking for you?

That night, that stupid fight you could barely remember…he made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. He pushed you away. Pushed so hard that you almost believed he really wouldn’t have cared if you dropped dead. You knew he didn’t mean it, knew it was just another dark impulse…but none of that mattered when all your pregnancy tests came back positive just hours prior.

That night, you made the decision for the sake of your daughter. And also, for his sake. At the time, you were certain he wasn’t ready to be a father. He was quick to rage, merciless, losing himself to the darkness you tried to protect him from. If you had stayed, you were certain Mikey would’ve never forgiven himself if he lost control in front of his own flesh and blood, if the child grew to resent him for something he struggled to control.

You thought you were doing him a favor…but it appears to have done the opposite.

“And this whole time…you’ve been here, alive. Playing fucking house with someone else.”

You stiffened. Someone else? Your visible confusion only irritated him further.

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You said it yourself. Too bad he won’t be coming home anytime soon. I’ve already got Sanzu and the Haitanis looking around for the bastard. And when they find him, I’ll make him regret sticking his filthy dick inside you.”

Confusion morphed into realization. You did threaten him with said hypothetical boyfriend…But, that was before you knew it was him!

“Oh, Manjiro…” you whispered. He glared, scorned.

“Don’t you dare pity me. I mean, you got the family you always wanted, right? So who cares who it was with, right? Congratu-fucking-lations.”

You shook your head, exhaling deeply as you held your face in your hands. For years, he thought you dead. Then, when he received word of your appearance, he finds you with child. And not once did he consider that child to be his? It’s like…he couldn’t fathom the thought.

If only he had looked just a little bit closer, he would’ve seen that she had his eyes. How they resembled those pools of ink that used to shine with so much hope back in his youth, so playful and full of love…those same eyes that now gazed upon you with contempt.

It stung.

He thought so low, not only of himself, but of you as well.

Taking a deep breath to reel in your emotions, tears began to well up in your eyes. He assumed they were tears for your doomed lover, further breaking his heart as Mikey clenched his fists to the point of nearly drawing blood. Luckily, even though you struggled to find the right words, someone else happily found them for you.

“Papa..?”

Both of you instantly drew your attention on the toddler standing near the kitchen, one fist clutching her blanket while the other rubbed the sleep from her eye. You glanced at Mikey, and he was stiller than stone. His once dead-stare had morphed into what could only be described as incredulous. Surely, he heard her incorrectly…

With a sniffle, you crouched down to address her, offering a soft grin as you nodded earnestly. “That’s right, sweetheart. Papa’s finally come home.”

The little girl blinked sleepily, taking a second to reboot. But, as soon as the words registered, a bright smile stretched across her face as she excitedly rushed towards Mikey, throwing herself onto his legs and hugging them like a koala as she chirped, “Papa, home!”

Said man hobbled a bit at the force, arms windmilling as he caught himself to keep from falling backwards. He didn’t know what to do with himself, especially when those big, round pools of ink opened and stared right up into his soul. Mikey’s heart nearly stopped. With a hitch in his breath, the gangster did everything he could to hold his composure, looking between you and the child as you both gazed at him with so much warmth…it was suffocating.

Sensing he was overwhelmed, you reached down to scoop up the bubbly bundle, holding her close as you eyed Mikey, apprehensively.

He resembled a cornered animal—Muscles stiff, jaw tight, eyes wild. After a moment, Mikey began to slowly back away into the shadows of your home, conflicted, devastated. It wasn’t until his back hit the door did he eventually fall to his ass, of which caused your child to giggle at how silly he was being. However, all you could do was hold back tears, watching as the reality started to weigh down on a man who just discovered he was a father.

Nervous, you gently explained. “I didn’t leave you because of our spat, Jiro…and I never moved on. I just…thought that I’d be doing more harm than good sticking around when I found out I was pregnant…I didn’t want to add any more stress on your plate, so I…”

Mikey didn’t respond. He sat there, stare vast and unfocused. But, you knew he hung on to every word. So you continued. “I wanted to tell you. But…I wasn’t sure how. At the time, I believed you had stopped caring about me altogether. And to hear you’d been looking for me, I-I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you harbored all that guilt. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Your daughter wiggled around in your hold, making small grunts in complaint. Her eyes were trained on his figure huddled in the dark, wanting to be acknowledged, wanting his attention. “Papa!”

Mikey flinched. He focused his gaze on the two you, haloed by the light emitting from the living room. You both were like salvation, reaching down to a broken sinner…How could she want anything to do with him? When he had missed so much already…

To keep from accidentally dropping her, you placed your daughter back on the ground, watching wearily as she wobbled all the way to Mikey, blanket in tow. You weren’t worried about him hurting her, far from it…if anything, he appeared to be the fragile one.

Eventually, she made it to her destination, standing before him with a curious, but eager expression as she rested a hand on his knee. Mikey watched her, took in all of her features, every last detail as he engraved it to memory. She was beautiful, just like her mother. One would think his genes didn’t stand a chance. But the eyes. That was all him. From his mother to his older brother to himself, there was no doubt in his mind that those were Sano eyes.

His lower lip quivered, reaching out hesitantly to caress her cheek. She didn’t cower away, merely babbled as she began patting his knee, allowing his thumb to rub over her chubby cheek. You clasped your hands over your mouth, growing even more emotional at the delicate moment. Mikey looked enamored already, eyes subtly sparkling from what you could see as they interacted.

“I-I told her stories, about you. And I made sure to show her photos, too. Old ones, but still you nonetheless. I wanted her to know who her father truly was. Despite everything else…”

Your daughter cooed, then placed her blanket in Mikey’s lap before climbing into it. Mikey didn’t dare move, rigid as she made herself comfortable. He looked up at you, looking for guidance, for reassurance. Your encouraging smile was enough for him to hesitantly place his hands on her small back for support, carefully adjusting so that she was stable. She laid her head on his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sighing contentedly.

And, for the first time in years, he smiled.

When you hadn’t seen her familiar pigtails bobbing around, or heard any of her excited chatter with the receptionist up front, worry couldn’t even begin to describe what you felt the moment you realize…your daughter wasn’t here.

As soon as the meeting looked like it was wrapping up, you politely excused yourself from the room. Masking your worry wasn't too difficult, but there's no doubt a couple people might've noticed the spring in your step as you exited. One of them being Rindou Haitani. He watched you speed down the hall with mild interest, corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly as he thumbed around on his phone beneath the table. Having been updating his older brother during the meeting while he was on his smoke break, he was more than eager to inform him of the storm that was no doubt heading his way.

Little did the younger Haitani know, he was already dealing with one.

"And then, Haruka-kun tries to take Momo-kun's bento box because she had cuter animal shapes, but Momo-kun already said no, and so Haruka-kun pushes Momo-kun, and then tries to take it! But I pushed him and hit him with my fist, like this," she clenched up her tiny fist and held it up to Ran before striking down on his forearm with all her might. It didn't even pitch. "Like that."

The lavender-eyed man merely gazed upon her with mirth. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm! And teacher got so mad, and said that she would tell Ma about me fighting, but she's stupid because Ma didn't pick me up today, and I told Haruka-kun if he snitches, I'll beat 'em up!"

Ran lowly whistled. "Quite the little menace, ain'tcha?"

She pumped her fists. "Yeah!" Then, she paused, holding a finger to her chin in thought. "Wait...what's a menace?"

"Ah, something you inherited from your old man." He ruffled her hair, much to her displeasure. Though her innocent jab earlier regarding his age still hit a sore spot, he was starting to like the sound of it. She, on the other hand, wasn't convinced.

"I already told you; Ma was on her happy juice when she said that. She said not to believe anything she says when she's on happy juice. It makes her do silly things."

Ran chuckled. He knew that all too well. The little girl wouldn't be in this world if not for your inability to hold your liquor. But judging based on how you've raised her so far, clearly you made the right decision keeping him in the dark.

He'll admit, he wasn't the best in terms of commitment. Throughout his day to day, Ran just didn't have the energy. With being in Bonten, keeping an eye out for his younger brother, handling business, dealing with numbskulls and disposing of their bodies, there was never a time to even consider settling down. One-night stands and on and off flings were the easiest choice. At least, until he stumbled upon you.

You were the whole package and more. Classy, independent, witty, and a looker to top it all off. When Bonten started collaborating with the organization you worked in, he couldn't help but to be drawn to you—Like a moth to a flame. It started out as the occasional bantering, trying to one-up the other, catch them off guard. Ran was smooth with his words but could never quite beat your sharp tongue. Thus, things escalated to something more flirtatious. Harmless, but it didn't take long before the months of tension between the both of you began boiling over...and throwing alcohol into the mix, it was the first time Ran finally felt like he had the upper hand. Seeing how poorly you handled just a few glasses of wine, it endeared him. Seeing a piece of you that no one else had the privilege to witness. Your sloppy side, the clumsy, whiny, touchy side. After that long, passionate night beneath the sheets, the one time you and Ran allowed yourselves the space to be vulnerable with one another...you found yourself pregnant. And Ran found himself being nonethewiser.

He wonders, if he hadn't left the next morning and completely ghosted you...would you have kept him in the picture?

Suddenly, his phone dings. Reaching back to pull it from his back pocket, Ran half expected it to just be another update on the meeting or Rindou cursing at him to hurry his ass back inside. But, it wasn't that at all. And at the sound of your kitten heels rushing out of the building and halting at the top of the steps, Ran didn't even need to look up to know who was glowering down from them.

"Hey, Ma! Guess what, the purple man isn't such a meanie after all!"

Ran snorted, finally looking up from his phone to greet the woman who not only still had his heart, but evidently his first child. You, on the other hand, weren't so thrilled to see him.

"Rika. Wait inside. Ma's got some words for the purple man."

He smirked. "Wanna say 'em over a glass of wine?"

"You son of a-!"

"Bad word!" Your daughter covered her ears. You flushed, your composure nearly slipping just by being in his prescence. Ran, immediately seeing the opportunity, teasingly pouts at you whilst covering her tiny hands with his larger ones, shielding her.

"Honey, please, not in front of the child. Can't have her repeating those dirty words at school, can we?"

You fumed, speaking through clenched teeth. "Haitani, as soon as I get her in this building, away from you, I swear to God, I'm gonna wring your neck."

He hummed, amused. "Well. Guess she didn't get her violent side from me after all. Speaking of which, did you know at school today-"

"Hey! No snitching!"

“...What did you say?”

You were hoping you heard the teacher wrong. Surely it was just your exhaustion taking the wheel. But, when her kind smile didn’t falter, nor did her gushes for the supposed “adorable display”, you immediately grew suspicious.

While heading home from work, you went to pick up your children from daycare. And when you arrived, the teacher merely informed you that it was already taken care of by your very handsome and very devoted husband.

“I-I think you’re mistaken. My boyfriend and I aren’t married…”

The teacher, finally coming back down to earth, tilted her head in confusion. “Eh? You aren’t?”

“Did he…say we were?”

“Well, no. I just assumed since it was easy to tell who he was here for. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.”

You choked on your spit. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.

You did everything in your power to keep from strangling the poor woman. Sure, she didn’t do anything wrong per say…but she sure did make a grave error. And your struggle to restrain your intrusive thoughts must’ve shown on your face from the way she placed a concerned hand on your arm. “Are you alright, miss? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“M-Mhm, yep, great, just peachy.” You squeaked through clenched teeth, sweatdrop on your forehead. “Could you um…confirm something for me?”

“Uh.? Er, sure. I’ll try my best.”

With tense shoulders and a tight smile, you asked, “Their…father…did his mouth have two scars in the corners?”

The teacher blinked, confused. Shouldn’t you already know that answer yourself?, she was probably thinking. And she would be right; you did know. But her simple, hesitant nod was the final nail in the coffin that was your delusion—Haruchiyo Sanzu had found you. And to make matters worse, he had the children.

Your smile faltered, twitching ever so slightly. Covering it with a forced chuckle, you cried, “Oh, that’s..wonderful! He’s always been self conscious about them, and I’m j-just.. beaming with joy that he’s embracing them more. Have a nice evening, Ms. Yuki.”

The teacher didn’t get a chance to respond as you quickly turned on your heel and began speed walking home. You’d apologize for your abrupt exit another day…right now there were more important matters to worry about. For instance—How on earth did Sanzu find you? How did he know about the twins and where they were? Oh, God…did he know about Satoru?

Dialing him up a few times only for the calls to go straight to voicemail weren’t reassuring in the slightest, having you rush across oncoming traffic just so you could avoid any further delays for your fraying nerves. You could see your apartment complex up ahead, heart thumping in your throat at the familiar, black SUV parked a couple blocks down. Had it not been for the heavily tinted windows and no license plates, you probably would’ve overlooked it. He knew where you lived. Stomach in knots, muscles stiff, nerves shot. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated. Your kids were safe at home, but at what cost? You stood in front of the building, rooted to the ground. Despite mentally preparing for this exact scenario for years, it all went down the drain the second you went to that daycare and discovered your children were missing.

It wasn’t until your phone vibrated did you snap out of your thoughts, shakily pulling the device out of your back pocket to check the notification.

from : unknown 1:06 pm “ hi, mama.~ ”

Your stomach twisted. Attached to the message were two photos.

The first photo was of your kids eating McDonald's in the kitchen, happily cheesing and waving at the camera. You couldn't hold your choked gasp, hand coming up to hold your quivering lower lip—They were safe.

The second photo...was of Satoru. Tied to a chair, gagged, and beaten senseless. And standing behind him, holding him by his hair so that he could pose for the camera, grinning like a cheshire cat...

Another message pops up. Your grip tightened around your phone.

from : unknown 1:09 pm " daddy's home.~ "

#🍁wasabi #*weakly holds up to the light*#it...is...FINISHED #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #mikey x reader #mikey sano #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #ran x reader #ran haitani #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo

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ohgodthevoices · 2 months ago

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What if you called your boyfriend “husband” ?

tags : ts! kenma, kuroo, bokuto, akaashi x reader (separately), fluff ,established rs

kenma : kenma’s fingers move effortlessly across his controller, eyes locked on the screen as he plays. you’re next to him, sitting on the other end of the ouch, on the phone, casually chatting with your friend. he’s only half-listening until you let out a soft laugh and say, “i’m sorryy i don’t think i can come tomorrow , i have plans with my husband.”

kenma’s brain short-circuited ,his character stands completely still. did he hear that right? his first instinct is to ask—wait, husband?—but you’re still talking, so he just sits there, staring at your with his mouth slightly open, overthinking every possible reason why you just called him that.

his ears turn red, and suddenly, his hoodie feels way too warm. his mind keeps replaying your words. his foot taps lightly against the floor. he shifts slightly, hoping you’ll look at him so he can gauge your expression. nothing. after a few minutes, he finally breaks. “…what did you just call me?” his voice is quiet, unsure , but you catch the way he clears his throat after. you blink up at him “huh ?” kenma looks away, pretending to focus on his game. “never mind...”

kuroo : you’re both lounging around when you casually go, “husband, can you hand me my phone?” kuroo freezes, then turns to you with the slowest, most smug smirk you’ve ever seen. “oh? we’re married now? how was the wedding? did I look good?” you roll your eyes. “just give me my damn phone.”

“nah, nah, nah, we gotta talk about this.” he leans in, chin resting on his palm. “you trying to hint at something? you planning our future?” you snatch your phone from his hand, trying to ignore the way your face heats up. “say it again,” he teases, wiggling his brows.

“i take it back.” he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “you can’t take it back! you’ve already spoken it into existence! we just got married and you’re already divorcing me…” from that day on, he’ll randomly bring it up, calling you “wifey/hubby” in the most casual situations just to make you flustered.

bokuto : bokuto is sitting next to you on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you’re on a call with the pizza place. he’s barely paying attention until you turn to him. “what do you want?” you ask, covering the speaker with your hand. “uh—pepperoni!” he says, sitting up a little.

you nod, going back to the call. “yeah, and my husband would like a large pepperoni—“ bokuto chokes on absolutely nothing. his phone slips from his hands and lands on his lap with a thud. his eyes go huge, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. did you—did you just— “W-WHAT?!” he practically yells, hands slamming onto the couch.

uou side-eye him, shushing him as you continue the order. but he’s too far gone, shaking your arm dramatically. did they hear that?! did you mean it?! HUSBAND?! by the time you hang up, he’s vibrating with excitement. “babe—BABE—say it again.” you smirk, pretending to think. “hmm… nah.”

bokuto gasps, grabbing your hands. “PLEASE. I NEED TO HEAR IT AGAIN.” his eyes are practically sparkling, and honestly, he looks like he might actually cry. you sigh dramatically, giving in. “my husband.” bokuto lets out the most victorious cheer you’ve ever heard, immediately picking you up in a tight hug. “BEST. DAY. EVER.” He spends the entire night talking about himself at the third person calling himself husband he even texted his friends “BRO, I JUST LEVELED UP IN LIFE”. (he’ll get upset if you call his boyfriend now)

akaashi : akaashi knows you love filming anything and everything, you love to take pictures and film vlogs no one else will see except you and maybe him. even if he’d usually ask to not be in the pictures you post, he doesn’t mind being in your lil vlogs.

you propped your phone on your table filming you and akaashi in the background sitting on the edge of the bed putting his mismatched socks on “okay so today my husband is taking me on a lil aquarium date” akaashi froze mid-pull on his shoe , did you really just call him your husband? did you mean it ? it was probably a slip up, right ? or maybe you’re trying to give him a hint- he never thought where to propose, maybe he should start saving up for the wedding- akaashi was pulled out his thoughts when you called out to him , you noticed he just stopped moving, mumbling god knows what to himself , his face turning redder by the second. the rest of the day your boyfriend was awfully quiet- focused the same face he pulled when he was on the court, he might be more on the quieter more calm sad but he looked like he was making life or death decisions. “keiji is everything okay ? you seem very-” he grabbed your wrist stopping both of you “can you take a week off next week, let’s go to [your dream destination].”

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfic #kenma x reader #kenma fanfic #kuroo x reader #kuroo fanfic #bokuto fanfic #bokuto x reader #kenma kozume #kuroo testuro #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu akaashi

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soulsnatcha3000 · 21 days ago

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Let Me In

Remmick x black!fem oc

Summary: The summer night clings thick around Lenora as she hovers at the screen door, drawn to the danger waiting outside. Remmick stands in the dark, all wicked smiles and promises she shouldn’t want. Her family sleeps just feet away, but he leans closer, voice low and sinful, tempting you to break. She knows better, but her body betrays her— and Remmick, all patience gone, is ready to beg for the privilege of ruining her.

Warnings: cunnilings, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), BACKSHOTTTTTS, JUST STRAIGHT FLITHY, he’s MEAN

a/n: had to edit some stuff! sorry for the wait! Hope yall enjoy reading this🫶🏾

Update: 1,004 notes?!!! WTFFF THANK YOU OMGG

dw no drool is mentioned

The screen door sighed.

The porch was bathed in soft, silvered dark, the fields humming with crickets and hidden things. The air hung thick, tasting of dust and something sweeter underneath. Behind me, my family slept on, but i stood frozen at the door.

Waiting.

Remmick leaned against a porch post, lazy in the low light, shirt sleeves rolled, collar loose, like temptation carved into human shape. His eyes found me — slow, deliberate — and he smiled like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured.

I gripped the doorframe tighter, nightgown clinging to your skin in the heat.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” i said, barely above a whisper.

“And yet,” he drawled, tipping his head, “you keep waitin’ for me.”

The screen door bowed as he brushed it with his knuckles, light as a prayer.

“Open up, pretty thing,” he coaxed. “Let’s not pretend either of us got the will to walk away.”

I stayed silent, the air between you thick with all the things neither of you would say.

He leaned in slow, until the world narrowed to the press of his voice against the thrum of my blood.

“I could wait all night,” he whispered. “But you’re the one shakin’, baby.”

My fingers curled tighter into the frame, splinters biting my skin. Every instinct screamed to shut the door, to bolt it tight — but my body, my blood, told a different story.

I leaned in, so close now that the screen barely mattered, so close i could feel his hunger vibrating in the air between you.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’,” i whispered, the words shaking as they left me.

Remmick’s mouth tilted into a half-smile, nothing kind about it. “I know exactly what I’m askin’,” he said, voice fraying at the edges. “And you know exactly what you’d give me.”

Slow, deliberate, he dragged his fingertips down the mesh — a rasping sound that made me shudder harder than if he’d touched my bare skin. He watched me, saw the way i pressed my thighs together like i could hold back the flood.

He nodded to my thighs. “You..and those pretty legs of yours…damn sugar I’m getting desperate out here.” He groaned softly.

“You keep pressin them together… do you not realize how crazy you doing that makes me? Thinking about them… wrapped around my waist.. or on my shoulders. Hell even buried in between them.”

I turned away quickly, exhaling shakily, heart pounding against my ribs. He was making this so damn hard.

“I know you think about it too,” he said, voice dropping to something dangerous and hypnotic. “How good it’ll feel… my cock buried so deep inside you wont even be able to think straight.”

“All the different ways I could have you…” he continued, eyes raking over me. “The way my mouth would make you come… again and again… tasting every drop of you.”

I whimpered before I could stop myself, slamming the door shut right in his face, heart racing like I’d just run a marathon.

On the other side, I heard him chuckle — deep, rough, absolutely unbothered.

“I know you’re soaking right now, darlin’,” he said, voice muffled but still dripping with that maddening confidence. “Could smell you from out here. Fuck… just let me in.”

“Go away.” I said as my voice cracked and I could hear him sigh.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night…every night. Until you let me have you.” And as he said that I heard his boots going down the porch steps I let out a sigh turning, as I begin to walk away from the door.

“Nora?” I jumped as I heard the voice of my mother.

“H-hey momma, Whatchu doing up?” I calmed my voice, the conversation I had with remmick still in my head.

“I should be asking you the same thing, you was talking to someone?” She yawned.

“No, just thought I heard something outside and checked real quick. It’s um, it’s nothing there.” I chuckled nervously nodding.

She looked at me suspiciously and then nodded slowly. “Uh huh alright..well at least get some sleep. We gotta open up the shop early.”

I nodded. “Yes ma’am. Good night, I love you.” I smiled softly.

“Love you too honey, night.” She blew a kiss turning the lamp off going back to my father and hers bedroom.

I groaned turning around back to my room. “I need my own damn place.” I closed my door softly, careful not to wake anyone. And got in my bed twisting and turning before falling asleep.

———

The morning sun cut through the kitchen window in soft gold stripes, warming the worn wooden table where she sat peeling potatoes.

My hands worked automatically — knife in one hand, potato in the other — but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

I’ll be back every night… until you let me have you.

His voice still echoed in my head, low and sinful, curling around my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to focus on the day ahead.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

My older brother, Eli, sauntered in, ruffling my hair as he grabbed a biscuit from the tin.

“You were tossing and turning all night. Bad dreams?”

I forced a laugh, nudging him with my elbow.

“Somethin’ like that.”

If only he knew.

Their mother bustled in next, apron already tied, sleeves rolled to her elbows.

“Eat quick,” she said, pushing a plate of eggs toward her. “We open the store in twenty minutes. And don’t let that Mr. Hargrove short you again — I saw him trying to sneak two loaves for the price of one last week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” i said, slipping into the rhythm of it — the comfort of normalcy.

But when i stepped out into the bright morning and crossed the dusty road to the little general store their family owned, a shiver still danced down her spine.

I could almost feel him out there — somewhere beyond the neat rows of houses and the muddy street, hidden in the woods, in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

————

“Let’s get to work.” James said.

“Got a shipment comin’ in later,” he added on, straightening up with a grunt. “Pa said we gotta restock the sugar and soap.”

“Alright,” I said, tying my apron tighter.

My younger brother James was already stacking crates near the counter, whistling tunelessly.

———

The morning rush had slowed, and I leaned against the counter, dusting flour that I had dropped off my apron.

My younger brother James was sweeping in the corner, and Eli was restocking canned peaches.

I sighed quietly, half to myself.

“Lord, I can’t wait till I have a place of my own someday. Just a little house… no brothers banging around. No early mornings unless I want ‘em.”

James snickered, twirling the broom like a bat.

“Yeah right. You’d miss us in two days.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could fire back, the door to the storeroom creaked open.

My father stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag, his work shirt stained from unloading crates.

He scratched his jaw, giving me a look that was part serious, part something else she couldn’t read yet.

“You want your own place that bad, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and knowing.

I blinked, caught off guard.

“Well… I mean, one day, sure. Ain’t in a rush.”

He nodded, tossing the rag onto the counter.

“Good thing, then,” he said with a small smile. “Cause I got you one.”

I straightened up, heart thudding.

“What?”

“Little place down on Willow Lane,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Old Mrs. Cartwright’s place — she moved in with her daughter outta town. Rent’s cheap, real cheap. Fixed it up some. Even put in some new furniture — nothin’ fancy, but it’ll do.”

I stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“You serious?”

“I-how did you-.” I was speechless.

He chuckled. “Heard you mumbling to yourself about it last week. And Course I’m serious. You’re grown, sugar. You deserve a space that’s yours. Key’s in my coat pocket if you wanna go see it after supper.”

James dropped the broom with a loud clatter.

“You’re really lettin’ her move out? Just like that?”

My father shrugged.

“She’s twenty-two. Good head on her shoulders. ’Sides, she’s only two streets over. She ain’t runnin’ off to New York.”

Behind her, James let out a squawk and dropped the broom with a loud clatter.

Eli crossed his arms, mock-scowling.

“Hold on now — what about us?” he said, jerking a thumb between himself and James. “When we wanna have the missies over, if you know what I mean?”

James smirked, elbowing him.

“Yeah! No more sneakin’ ‘em past Ma if she’s gone!”

Their father shot them both a hard look that could’ve split stone.

“You bringin’ any missies over while you still live under my roof, you’ll be sleepin’ in the barn. With the hogs.”

The store went dead silent for a beat.

Then James coughed and bent real quick to pick up the broom.

“Just kiddin’, Pa.”

Eli mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “worth askin’ anyway” under his breath.

My heart was beating so hard I thought it might shake me right out of my shoes.

A home.

My own home.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered, throat thick with emotion.

He winked at me and headed back into the storeroom without another word, leaving me standing there stunned, my brothers bickering behind her.

Somewhere deep down, a flicker of fear stirred — because I knew:

When night fell and he came back for me…

I wouldn’t have a house full of family around anymore.

I would be alone.

And I wasn’t sure if that made me scared — or excited.

————

The afternoon sun dipped low, painting long shadows across the store floor.

I wiped my hands clean on a rag, satisfied. Shelves stocked. Counters wiped down. Ledgers tallied. Another day’s work done.

My brothers, as usual, lounged behind the counter, tossing an apple back and forth like it was honest work.

I smirked, tossing the rag aside.

“You two sure work hard,” I drawled, hands on my hips.

James caught the apple with a grin.

“Hey, gotta save our strength for tomorrow.”

“Right,” I said dryly.

Then I spotted my father’s heavy coat hanging near the storeroom.

Heart skipping, i sauntered over and slipped my hand into the front pocket, feeling around until my fingers closed over cool metal.

The key.

I fished it out, holding it up between two fingers like a prize.

It glinted in the fading light.

James and Eli froze mid-apple toss.

“Look what I got,” i said sweetly, twirling the key on its ring.

James groaned dramatically.

“There she goes, big boss already.”

Eli slouched against the counter, face twisted in mock betrayal.

“Don’t forget about us when you’re sittin’ on your fancy porch, drinkin’ lemonade.”

I slipped the key into my skirt pocket with a grin.

“I’ll think of y’all when I’m not hearin’ your big mouths every morning.”

As i headed for the door, Eli suddenly straightened, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“You ever think maybe she just wants her own place so she can be fresh?” he said loudly, looking straight at their father. “You think about that, Pa?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, scandal flashing in my eyes.

“Me fresh?” I scoffed, spinning around with my hand on her hip. “You and that little girlfriend of yours are the fresh ones, Eli! Don’t get me started!”

James howled with laughter, practically collapsing against the counter.

I snapped my gaze to him, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh, you wanna laugh now too, James?” I said sweetly — too sweetly. “I could tell Ma and Daddy exactly what I heard last week.”

James smirked, tossing the apple in the air again.

“Feeding the cows,” he said cockily.

I lifted my chin, deadpan.

“More like feeding something else.”

James’ smirk dropped clean off his face.

His cheeks burned red as he grabbed the nearest thing — a throw pillow off the bench behind him — and hurled it at me.

I dodged it easily, laughing as it thumped harmlessly against the doorframe behind me.

Eli howled with laughter, almost falling over.

Their father just shook his head with a sigh.

“Lord, give me strength,” he muttered, walking back into the storeroom.

I grinned, blowing a kiss at my brothers before grabbing my bag.

“Y’all have a good night now!” I sang as she slipped out the door, the key jangling in my pocket.

The door swung shut behind me, the bell jingling softly.

Inside, James and Eli stood frozen, still scowling after her.

James finally muttered, “She better not bring no trouble to that new place.”

Eli snorted.

“Yeah, she actin’ all innocent… watch, she gonna have some slick-talker sneakin’ in through the window first night.”

Before either of them could blink, their father appeared from the back, wiping his hands on a rag.

Whap!

He smacked the back of James’ head with a heavy hand, then Eli’s a second later — hard enough to make them both stumble forward.

“Ow!” James yelped, rubbing the back of his skull.

“What was that for?!” Eli complained, ducking away.

Their father narrowed his eyes at both of them.

“Worry about your own trouble before you run your mouths ‘bout hers,” he said firmly. “And don’t let me catch you bringin’ no fast girls ‘round here neither.”

James and Eli muttered sheepish yes, sirs under their breath, suddenly real interested in counting apples on the counter.

————

Their father just shook his head again and walked off, grumbling under his breath.

“Should’ve bought myself a second barn to lock all of you kids away,” he muttered, clearly fed up.

“And Eli!” he called over his shoulder, not even looking back. “Get your own damn place! You’re 25!”

James snickered loudly, grinning wide.

“Might as well just sleep in the barn, huh?” he teased, elbowing his older brother.

Eli shot him a sharp glare, and punched James’s arm.

“Shut up, James,” Eli snapped, though the bite in his voice was fading.

James rubbed his arm with exaggerated pain, wincing dramatically.

“Ouch! See, that’s why Pops got Nora a place and not you. At least she does her part. While you’re off sneaking around, swapping spit with—” he paused, raising an eyebrow “—who knows what girl this time.”

Eli’s face flushed a deep red, his fists clenching at his sides. His body tensed as if he were about to explode.

“None of your business!” he growled, his voice tight with fury.

Before James could even react, Eli practically launched himself over the counter, his legs swinging as he tried to grab James by the collar.

James yelped, diving out of the way just in time. He dashed across the store, laughing and shouting over his shoulder,

“Too slow, Eli!”

Eli chased after him, his face twisted in frustration and embarrassment, but James was already a few steps ahead, running for his life.

Their father, still in the back, barely glanced up but muttered under his breath,

“Good Lord, not again…”

⸻

The sun had dipped low by the time i reached my new house, a small, neat little thing tucked at the edge of town. The fresh paint on the porch still smelled sharp in the warm evening air.

I stood for a second at the bottom of the steps, clutching the key in my hand, feeling a little knot of nerves and excitement twist in my stomach.

It wasn’t much — a plain wood house with a crooked chimney and a creaky screen door — but it was mines.

I grinned to herself, slipping the key into the lock. It stuck for a second, and i had to jiggle it, but then it gave way with a satisfying click.

The door swung open with a soft groan, and i stepped inside.

The furniture was brand new — well, new enough. A simple table with two mismatched chairs, a sturdy bed tucked into the back room, a little worn couch sitting by the window. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean. And it smelled like wood and fresh linen.

I dropped my bag by the door, turning in a slow circle, taking it all in.

A slow, proud smile pulled at my lips.

“Finally,” I whispered to myself. “A place of my own.”

As I pulled open a window to let the evening breeze in, I swore I felt it — a tingle at the back of her neck. Like I was being watched.

I couldn’t help but shiver a little.

Brushing it off, I shook my head and went back inside.

⸻

I smiled to myself, still glowing with excitement, and wandered toward the little closet in the corner of the bedroom.

Just as I reached for the door, the old rotary phone on the kitchen wall started ringing, the sharp sound making me jump a little.

I hurried over and picked it up, pressing the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?”

My best friend’s voice came bursting through, full of excitement.

“Girl! Are you at your new place yet?!”

I laughed, my nerves instantly easing.

“Yeah, just walked in not too long ago.”

“Good, good,” my friend said, a grin practically heard through the line. “Now, go look in your closet!”

I blinked, confused.

“My closet?”

“Yes, your closet! Go on, I tucked something away for you earlier — and you better not chicken out neither!”

Shaking my head but smiling wide, I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and padded back across the room. I pulled open the closet door and knelt down, spotting a box I hadn’t noticed before tucked neatly into the corner.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” I said into the receiver, laughing under my breath.

“I know!” My friend said, giggling. “Now open it!”

I set the phone down just long enough to lift the lid. Right on top was a folded piece of paper, my best friend’s messy scrawl across it:

“In case you ever decide you wanna let go of that goody two-shoes thing.”

I shook my head, grinning as I pulled back the tissue paper to reveal a deep burgundy nightgown — soft, delicate, and daring.

I gasped softly, my cheeks warming instantly.

“Delphine!” I called into the phone as she picked it back up.

My best friend just laughed.

“You’ll thank me later! Especially when a certain someone comes knockin’!”

I rolled her eyes, but deep down, I felt a little thrill shoot through me. Maybe I would try it on later — just… to see how it felt.

⸻

After the long day at the store and moving into my new place, I wasted no time.

I gathered a fresh towel, my new nightgown, and slipped into the little bathroom tucked off the side of the bedroom.

The water pressure wasn’t much to brag about, but it was warm, and it soothed the lingering ache in my muscles.

I lathered up with my favorite soap — a soft, rich scent of amber, fresh gardenia, and a kiss of vanilla wrapping around me. It was comforting, familiar, a scent that always made me feel like myself. Clean, sweet, a little bold when you got close enough to notice.

When I finished, I stepped out into the steamy little room, toweling off and slipping into the deep burgundy nightgown my best friend had left for me. It slid over my skin like a whisper, cool and soft, clinging in just the right places.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and blushed — I’d never worn anything so… bold before.

Still, part of me liked it.

I padded barefoot back into my room, the hardwood floors cool under her toes. I was smoothing down the nightgown when i heard it — a faint tapping at her window.

Heart racing, I turned — and there he was.

Leaning against the frame, his arms braced casually, a cocky grin playing on his lips.

The soft red glow in his eyes flickered as he took her in, top to bottom, like he was drinking me in.

A low, appreciative whistle escaped him.

My stomach flipped.

Without thinking, i gave the barest tilt of my head — a small, daring motion — and murmured,

“Come in.”

⸻

The air in the little house felt heavier with him in it — like the walls themselves knew trouble had just stepped across the threshold.

I backed up slowly, my bare feet brushing the worn floorboards as he followed, eyes glowing low and red, like embers that hadn’t yet gone cold.

I reached the bed first, the hem of my silk nightgown swaying with the movement. His gaze dropped, slow and unapologetic.

“All this for me, huh?” he drawled, voice low and teasing, a rough edge in it that made my knees wobble.

I smirked, cocking my head as i rested one hand on my hip. “Maybe,” i said, coy and even. “You still think I’m sweet?”

He chuckled under his breath, stepping closer. “Sweet?” he murmured, reaching for my hand, pulling her gently toward him. “Darlin’, I think you’re somethin’ else entirely.”

He caught my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up. His thumb brushed along my jaw, his eyes locked on mines like he could see straight through the teasing.

Then he leaned down — not rushed, not hungry just yet — and kissed me. Deep and slow. Like a promise.

My fingers curled in his shirt. My breath hitched, lips parting to meet his again before I pulled back just enough to whisper:

“What happened to all that talk the other night?”

He laughed low, foreheads pressed together.

“Talk’s easy when I’m standin’ behind glass, baby,” he murmured. “But now I got you right here in my hands…” His voice dipped, dragging heat straight down her spine. “Ain’t no talkin’ necessary.”

His hands moved — slow — fingers sliding down my back, palms memorizing every dip of my body like he’d been dreaming about it for a hundred years.

I rested my forehead rest against his chest, heart pounding. The scent of him — something like smoke and pine and danger — filled my nose, made me dizzy.

And he just held me there for a moment. Like he needed to remember this. The weight of me. The warmth.

“I ain’t in no rush,” he said finally, lips brushing my temple. “You open that door… I come through it on your time. You say stop, I stop. But if you don’t—”

He leaned back, just enough to meet my eyes again, voice gone hoarse:

“I’ma ruin you slow, Lenora.”

That was the promise.

I looked up at him biting my lip gently. “So ruin me.”

I looked up at him through my lashes, my voice low but steady. “I’m not stoppin’ you.”

He grinned at that, slow and dangerous, like a man who had all the time in the world to ruin me.

He tugged my closer, the weight of him pressing against my body. His lips brushed against my neck, soft at first, like he was testing, tasting, savoring the way I shivered under him.

My fingers found the button of his pants — clumsy at first, then deliberate as i undid them.

“Not so quick now,” he whispered, his voice rough against my skin. “Let me have the honor of undressin’ you. I been waitin’ long enough.”

I nodded, swallowing down the knot in my throat, my hands falling to my sides as he stepped back.

His eyes never left mines as he undid the clasp of my nightgown, the silk slipping down my body like water — teasingly slow, revealing every curve, every inch of me. When the gown pooled at my feet, i was left in nothing but my skin and the heat that lingered in the air.

He stepped forward again, hands sliding over my shoulders, down my arms, as he pulled me flush against him. The contact sent a jolt straight to my core.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Perfect for me.”

My hands slid up his chest unbuttoning his shirt down to the last button, finding the warm skin of his torso, feeling the muscles tense under my touch. I let out a soft, shaky breath, my fingers moving to the waistband of his pants, slipping them lower without hesitation.

My pulse was pounding in my ears, my skin humming with the anticipation, with the feeling of his eyes on me, burning and predatory.

“Don’t keep me waitin’, darlin’,” he growled low, voice a raw rasp. “You know what I want.”

His shirt was already half undone, and when i reached up and slid it off his shoulders, he let it fall — didn’t even flinch — just watched me with that slow, wicked grin.

I shoved at his chest, pushing him to sit down on the bed — then climbed into his lap, straddling him.

For a second, he let her think she was in charge.

Let her grab his jaw, kiss him hard, grind against the thick bulge in his pants.

But when she started fumbling with his belt, he grabbed her hips hard, fingers digging into her skin.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice rough with need. “Ain’t no rush… ’sides, I got plans for you first.”

Without warning, he flipped me — He laid me back on the mattress, my soft coils tumbling wild around my face, catching the low light like a crown.

I barely had time to gasp before he yanked my thighs open and dropped between them like a man possessed.

“Gonna taste you first,” he muttered, breath hot against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “Been thinkin’ ’bout this mouthful for days.”

And then he ate me out like he was starving.

No slow teasing. No soft warm-up.

He buried his mouth between my legs and devoured me — messy, wet, deep — until i was squirming and gasping and grabbing fistfuls of the sheets.

When i cried out — high and broken — he just groaned against me, his tongue flicking ruthless, making sure i couldn’t run, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

My mouth agape as my back arched. “O-oh shit.” I whimpered.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he growled against me, mouth slick and filthy. “Give it to me. Give me all that sweet little pussy.”

He caressed my thighs as he continued to devour me with such intensity. My eyes shut tight as I let out loud moans.

“Uh uh open your eyes darlin.” He mumbled in between my thighs, and I opened them to see his eyes red as he stared at me his mouth still moving.

“I-I o-ohh fuck w-wait!” My head thrashed as I let out a squeak my toes curling into the sheets, my chest heaving.

“Oh fuck remmick!” I whined, moving my hand down to push his head back a bit. “J-just wait!”

He moved his head away from my core and rubbed my clit with his thumb.

“What happened to you me letting me ruin you Lenora?” His eyes a shiny red as he continued to run circles on my clit. All I could do is let out noises.

“Don’t do that now honey, you got all dolled up for me, told me to ruin you and now you can’t even form a proper fucking sentence.” He laughed. My brows drawn tight as I went between throwing my head back due the pleasure and looking at him as I moaned loudly.

“Huh? What was that? Can’t hear you sweetie speak up.” He said then went right back to devouring my pussy.

And when she finally shattered for him — legs clamping tight around his head, hips jerking helplessly — he didn’t stop.

He rode it out with her, licking her slow and deep till she was whimpering and trembling, completely wrecked.

“Tired?” He picked up his head from between my thighs. I nodded weakly my eyes watery as I looked at him between my thighs.

“Too bad baby.” He patted one of my thighs and gave it a sweet kiss before going back down in between my thighs.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shining, his eyes glowing soft red.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like sin itself.

“Now that’s the sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he said roughly.

Before i could recover, he was up — unbuckling his pants one-handed, cock springing free, thick and heavy.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t hesitate.

Just grabbed my hips, dragged me down the bed, and pressed the thick, bare head of his cock against my dripping entrance.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he rasped, voice breaking at the edges. “So good you won’t even remember your own damn name.”

And then he pushed in — bare, raw, deep — filling me in one thick, slow stroke.

I cried out, clawing at his back, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the filthy, perfect way he fit inside me.

No barrier.

No protection.

Just him — thick and hot and bare — claiming every inch.

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged.

“Ain’t lettin’ you go now, sweetheart,” he muttered against her mouth before he kissed me slowly.“Too good to be let go of.” He added on

⸻

He didn’t give me time to catch my breath.

I cried out. “R-remmick wait.”

Flipped me onto my stomach with a rough tug, dragging my hips up till i was on my knees, back arched, ass in the air.

“Look at you,” he rasped, sliding back into me with one brutal thrust. “Pretty little thing takin�� this cock like you were made for it.”

I gasped loudly then let out a broken moan.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room — rough, fast, filthy.

I sobbed, my mouth agape. My head dropped into the pillow, the one I so desperately bit into.

Every stroke pushed me forward on the bed, and he just grunted, grabbing my hips tighter, pounding into me like he couldn’t get deep enough.

He moaned loudly throwing his head back.

“Fucking hell.” And I could’ve sworn I heard a slight Irish accent slip out.

I held onto the metal frame the bed squeaking louder and louder each thrust.

I gasped, moaned, whimpered — every noise only spurring him on harder.

He smacked my ass once—twice—three times, low and rough, making me jolt forward with whines.

“I love the way your ass bounces back on me, Nora… mm, shit.”

His voice was thick, breathless — the kind of groan that vibrated down my spine.

I lifted my head, eyes glossy and blurred with pleasure, just to look back — and damn, what a sight.

His brows were drawn tight, jaw slack, lips parted as he stared down at the way my ass met his hips with every thrust…

the wet slap of skin filling the room, his balls hitting with every deep stroke.

He dragged his gaze up from the bounce of my ass, eyes catching mine over my shoulder — and then that damn smile curved across his face.

Without a word, he slid one hand from my waist and gripped the back of my neck, firm but careful, pulling me upright into him.

A guttural moan ripped from my throat as my back arched against his chest, my body molding to his like it was always meant to fit there.

⸻

His fingers were slick as they slid through the mess between my thighs, teasing the swollen spot that made me twitch and gasp.

My head dropped forward, forehead brushing the curve of my arm as I bit down hard on my lip.

He grinned behind me — could feel me tightening, trembling — and still, he didn’t let up. His strokes stayed deep, deliberate. His fingers circled slow, just enough to keep me on edge.

“Tryin’ to be quiet now?” he drawled low, voice thick and husky against the shell of my ear. “After all that beggin’?”

I whimpered, shaking my head, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, dragging his tongue along the side of my neck, “you already lost.”

“You feel that?” he breathed. “That’s me hittin’ that spot over and over till you’re cryin’ again.”

His hand glided up my stomach, stopping when he reached the spot where I could feel the weight of him pressing deep inside me. You feel that, baby?” “Look at how deep I am…look baby.”

“I-I feel it… I can’t— it’s so deep…” I let out a broken sob, not even trying to fight it anymore, I glanced down and saw it — the small bulge in my stomach, thick and impossible to ignore.

My hand trembled as I traced the spot where he pressed from the inside, a deep bulge right in my stomach.

“Please,” i gasped, not sure what i was begging for. To stop. To keep going. To let me fall.

He nipped my shoulder with his teeth, and his voice dropped darker.

“Yeah. That’s it. Beg for it.”

⸻

“That’s right, baby,” he growled. “Cry for me. Let everybody know who’s fuckin’ you now.”

My legs gave out first — i collapsed onto my forearms, shaking, crying from the overwhelming pleasure.

He didn’t stop.

He just followed me down, leaning over my back, fucking me even deeper.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear, voice almost desperate. “Gonna make you mine from the inside out.”

And with that said he began to move slowly, pulling out soft mewls from me.

————

My thighs trembled beneath him, slick and shaking, but he didn’t stop — not with the way my body kept trying to run, even as it begged to stay.

“Where you goin’?” he murmured, lips ghosting against the shell of my ear. “Hm? You tryin’ to run from what you was beggin’ for?”

I couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. My hand reached back blindly, grabbing at anything — his wrist, his hip, the sheets — but there was no saving myself now. Not with the way he was buried so deep, dragging slow strokes that made me see stars.

And his fingers still worked my clit with steady, wicked precision — slick circles that had my hips jerking back, chasing every stroke even as my head shook like i couldn’t take it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, watching the way my back arched, my ass bouncing just right against his hips. “Takin’ me so damn good. Pussy grippin’ me like she don’t wanna let go.”

I let out a choked moan, and he laughed under his breath, rough and low.

“You feel how messy it is down there?” he growled. “How wet you are for me? That’s mine, baby. You hear me?”

I tried to nod, but the pleasure was mounting too fast — too sharp — my breath catching in short, helpless gasps.

He leaned down, his chest brushing my back, his voice dark velvet in my ear.

“Don’t you come yet.”

I whimpered — almost cried — as his pace slowed just enough to drive me insane, rolling his hips deep, grinding against that spot that made me cry every time.

He kissed my shoulder, then bit it softly.

“You wait till I say, pretty girl. You wanna come on this dick?”

“Huh baby?” He said breathlessly as he smirked before letting out a low moan.

I couldn’t even respond.

“You ask me for it.”

My lips parted, tears burning behind my lashes as i tried to obey — tried to hold it in even though my whole body screamed for release.

“P-please,” I gasped, nearly sobbing.

“Please what?” he coaxed, hips never stopping, voice like sin. “Use your words.”

I arched again, grinding myself back onto him, and the sound that left me was ragged, desperate, raw.

“Please let me come…”

And right then, he slammed into me hard — just once — all the way to the hilt, making me scream out as everything snapped.

⸻

When he finally came — deep, hard, cursing low and filthy against my skin — he held me tight against him, grinding slow and messy to make sure every last drop stayed inside.

I was wrecked.

Sweaty, shaking, boneless.

Face buried in the sheets, trying to catch my breath, my thighs still trembling from the force of it all.

He kissed my shoulder — lazy, soft — and whispered against my skin

I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt his arms around me — pulling me back into him, wrapping tight across my middle like he was trying to hold everything together.

“Shh,” he whispered into my hair, voice low and cracked. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

My body wouldn’t stop trembling. The aftershocks kept rolling through me — soft, sharp little waves that left my thighs quivering and my breath catching in uneven sobs. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Just felt everything, all at once.

He didn’t let go.

Instead, he kept me right there in his lap, my back pressed to his chest, his hands moving slow and careful over my stomach like he was coaxing me back into my skin. One hand drifted up into my hair, smoothing through the damp curls with fingers that trembled a little too — and maybe that’s what undid me most. How gentle he was now. How quiet.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, like a promise. “You did so good for me, pretty girl.”

I didn’t have the strength to speak. Just leaned into him, let my hand find his forearm, clung to him like I was still falling. Like maybe I’d fall forever if I let go.

He kissed my shoulder — soft, reverent — and I shivered.

“You still with me?” he asked, palm cupping my jaw, tipping my head back slightly.

I blinked up at him, dazed and watery-eyed, and nodded.

His smile was different now — not dark, not cocky. Just warm. Real.

“Good,” he breathed against my skin. “Gonna take care of you now, alright?”

He shifted us gently, lowering me back onto the bed, sliding under the covers with me. His body curled around mine like armor, and his hands — still steady, still warm — moved over me in soft circles: my thigh, my side, my hip.

“So fuckin’ proud of you,” he whispered against my neck. “My beautiful girl.”

I let out a breath — not a sob this time. Just something quiet and spent and safe. I let myself melt into him, my body sinking against his like I’d never moved before. And he held me. Through every tremble, every shaky breath. He held me like I was something worth protecting.

And when the silence stretched and the storm in my chest softened, I whispered into it.

“…Don’t go.”

He stilled for half a second — then exhaled slow, his mouth brushing my shoulder.

“I’m not leaving.”

⸻

remmicks pov:

She barely made it a few minutes before her breathing evened out, her body softening completely against me. One of her hands stayed wrapped around me, like she didn’t trust the world enough to let go.

I stayed there, holding her, my thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against the curve of her shoulder.

And I realized — it wasn’t just the heat of her skin, or the way she whispered my name like a prayer that kept me here.

It was something deeper.

Something older.

Because when she clung to me like that — all sleepy and broken open — it stirred up something I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

Something I’d shoved down and left to rot with the rest of the ghosts.

The reason I stayed wasn’t just because she needed me.

It was because in that moment, she reminded me of something I thought I’d lost forever.

A place I could come home to.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run from it.

I wanted to stay.

So I tightened my hold around her, tucked her closer, breathed her in.

When she whispered, so small I almost missed it. “Don’t go…”

I bent down, pressed my mouth to her hair, and murmured against her skin.

“I’m not leaving.”

And this time, I meant it.

#sinners #remmick #sinners movie #remmick x oc

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cosmicmunsonwrites · 3 months ago

Note

MORE MEAN!RAFE PLEASE!!! Maybe leading from the last ask and it’s him being the desperate one and she’s just scared of him now but she still loves him or smth idk lols

even when you pushed me away

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — stalking

summary — rafe somehow finds you after you frantically ran away from home.

authors note — this is a continuation of my mean!rafe series. it is in my rafe cameron masterlist under “au’s” if you’d like it read it as a series instead of a standalone. thank you guys for all the love with this au, it means the world to me. please request more!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“why are you here, rafe?” you asked, your voice firm and unwavering even though you were slightly terrified and cowering behind your half-opened front door. “how did you even find me?”

he shook his head and brushed it off. “why am i here? because you just got up and left. no note? text? a call? nothing,” he explained calmly. “why? and where is all your stuff?” you bit your bottom lip nervously and stared at him. to your surprise, he looked genuinely confused. “did i do something?”

you almost laughed. did he do something? was he serious? “you should leave. i don’t want to talk to you,” you stated while beginning to close the door.

he lunged forward quickly and pushed back on it slightly, not enough for you to be scared that he was going to force his way in or anything like that, but just to keep you from shutting it in his face. “please, baby. i jus’ wanna talk to you. i want you to come home. i wanna know why you left in the first place.”

your resolve was beginning to slip. he was being so sweet and his eyes were all glassy like he was going to cry. “rafe, i don’t want to talk to you. i can’t,” you said a little more forcefully.

his bottom lip trembled slightly and he stared at you with wide eyes. “why not? what did i do wrong? if its about not spending enough time together, i promise i’ll change. i’ll clear my schedule for the rest of the week and we can spend every second of it together. jus’ please, come back home.”

“it’s not about that,” you replied. you wanted to leave with him so desperately. he sounded so torn and sad and it was beginning to make your heart break for him. “you’re not a good person. i can’t get mixed up with that.”

a tear slipped down his cheek as the realization set in. “baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered softly before talking a step closer to the door. you threatened to close it, narrowing the gap between you and him. that made him take a step back instantly. “please. jus’ come home and i’ll explain. i promise you. no lying, no bullshit. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

you felt your nose begin to sting and tears pool in your waterline. “i can’t, rafe.” you quickly shut the door and twisted the lock. a loud bang sounded on the door and you instinctively jumped back as you sobbed.

“open the fucking door!” he shouted angrily. you could hear his voice tremble before he began to repeatedly bang on the wood. “open the door!”

you slid down the wall and curled up into yourself, letting the tears call and the ugly cries escape your mouth. you’d never seen this side of him and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t terrify you to your core.

“baby, please! i’m begging you to open the door. i just want to talk to you,” he said, his voice slightly muffled through the barrier. “i need to talk to you. i need you to know that i’m not a bad person. please.”

you were pretty sure you were past that point now.

#gracies asks and requests 💌#gracie writes rafe cameron 🌺#obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #outer banks #outer banks imagine

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luvoooenha · 3 months ago

Text

Lucky charm!

Pairing- Boyfriend! Jake x Girlfriend! Y/N

Summary- Jake, the top soccer player at UNI, always relied on Y/N’s support—until a huge argument left him distracted before a big game. Without her in the stands, he struggled to play, missing shots and worrying his team. Realizing how much he needed her, a teammate called Y/N, who debated but ultimately showed up, looking her best. The moment Jake saw her, his focus returned, and he played like himself again. After the game, they made up, proving that Y/N was truly his lucky charm.

Warnings- FLUFF, FLUFF, FLUFF, anger, angst, arguments, happy couple… (jokes! Not really)

Word count- 1.8k

plsplsplsplsplspls dont copyyy my work!

“You don’t get it, Y/N!” Jake’s voice was sharp, frustration thick in every word.

“Then explain it to me, Jake! Because right now, it feels like I’m the only one trying.” Y/N’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her voice shaking between anger and hurt.

Jake let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t care? That I don’t appreciate you?”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Jake, I’ve been to every single game, every late-night practice, every stupid press conference where they ask you the same questions. And not once have I ever complained.” Her voice broke slightly, but she pushed on. “But the second I bring up how I feel, I’m the bad guy?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The look in her eyes—raw and filled with unshed tears—made his chest tighten.

“I can’t keep doing this if you don’t want me here, Jake.”

His stomach twisted. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. But his stupid pride got in the way, and instead of telling her the truth—that he needed her more than anything—he muttered, “Maybe it’s better that way.”

The second the words left his lips, he wanted to take them back.

Y/N’s face fell, her jaw tightening as she nodded slowly. “Okay.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away.

Jake stood frozen, watching her disappear into the night.

He had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

The silence between them was louder than anything Jake had ever experienced.

Y/N hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t shown up to practice.

Jake told himself he was fine. That he could focus better without distractions. But when game day rolled around, it hit him like a freight train.

He jogged onto the field, scanning the stands on instinct. But the seat where she always sat—third row, left side, just behind the team bench—was empty.

His stomach clenched.

He tried to shake it off as the game started, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His passes were off. His speed felt sluggish. Every shot he took either hit the post, went wide, or was blocked by the keeper.

The frustration built with every mistake, weighing him down like lead.

The final whistle blew, and UNI had lost. Jake barely heard the post-game speech from his coach, too busy replaying every missed opportunity in his head.

When he got back to the locker room, he didn’t even bother taking off his cleats right away. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.

Jay, his closest teammate, nudged him. “Dude. What’s going on?”

Jake exhaled slowly. “Nothing. Just an off day.”

Jay scoffed. “Nah, man. This is more than that. I’ve never seen you play like this.” He paused. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Jay sighed. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but it’s obvious you’re a wreck without her.”

Jake clenched his jaw. “She’s probably better off.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Then why do you keep looking for her in the stands?”

Jake said nothing.

Jay grabbed his phone. “I’m texting her.”

Jake should’ve stopped him. Should’ve told him to leave it alone.

But he didn’t.

Y/N sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, as she mindlessly scrolled through her camera roll. Each swipe brought a new memory, a new reminder of everything she and Jake had been before it all fell apart.

There was a photo of him grinning at her during one of their late-night study sessions, his notes forgotten as he balanced a pencil between his nose and upper lip, trying to make her laugh. She had rolled her eyes at the time, but she could still remember the way her stomach had fluttered when he looked at her like she was the best part of his world.

Another picture—Jake, covered in sweat but grinning like a fool after a big win, his arm slung lazily around her shoulders. She had been laughing, caught mid-cheer, his jersey draped over her like a second skin. She had been so proud of him. She always was.

And then, one of her favorites—a candid shot of them from a lazy Sunday morning. Jake, shirtless and half-asleep, stealing bites of her breakfast as she swatted at his hand, laughing at his shamelessness. His hair had been a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he had looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s chest ached.

She missed him. More than she wanted to admit.

Her fingers hovered over his contact, the familiar urge to text him creeping in. But then, like a cruel reminder, his words echoed in her head.

"Maybe it’s better that way."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, locking her phone. If that was what he wanted, then fine. She wouldn’t be the one to break first.

But then, as if the universe was laughing at her stubbornness, her phone buzzed.

Jay: Jake’s a mess. He needs you. Badly.

Her heart clenched.

She should ignore it. He was the one who pushed her away. He was the one who made her feel like she didn’t matter.

But… if that were true, why was he struggling so much?

Y/N exhaled slowly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes betrayed her, filled with something she wasn’t ready to name yet.

She could walk away. Let Jake figure this out on his own. Prove to herself that she didn’t need him as much as he needed her.

But that was a lie.

Because no matter how angry or hurt she was… she still loved him.

And she wasn’t sure she ever wouldn’t.

With a resigned sigh, she grabbed her jacket and touched up her makeup.

If she was going, she was going to make an entrance.

She headed out the door, her heart pounding.

Jake needed her.

And whether she liked it or not… she needed him too.

Jake jogged onto the field, his mind clouded with doubt.

His body felt heavy, his nerves shot. The last few games had been a disaster, and the weight of failure clung to him like a storm he couldn’t outrun. He tried to shake it off, stretching his arms and bouncing on his feet, but nothing felt right.

Then, instinctively, he looked toward the stands.

And everything stopped.

His breath hitched. His heart stuttered.

Y/N was there.

Sitting in her usual spot—third row, left side, just behind the team bench.

Jake blinked, half-convinced he was imagining it. But no, it was real. She was real.

And damn, she looked good.

Her hair was styled just the way he liked, her makeup subtle but stunning. She wore his favorite shade, the one he always said made her eyes stand out, and even from across the field, he could see the way her lips curved in something between challenge and amusement.

She came.

A rush of energy shot through his veins, the kind he hadn’t felt since before she left. His pulse pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves—it was from something deeper, something electric.

His lucky charm had returned.

And just like that, everything clicked back into place.

The whistle blew, and Jake was unstoppable.

Every pass was precise, every shot powerful. He weaved through defenders with the confidence he’d been missing, his movements sharp and deliberate. The frustration that had been drowning him for days melted away, replaced by pure instinct.

And every time he scored, he didn’t look at the scoreboard. He didn’t look at his teammates.

He looked at her.

Y/N sat there, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed. But he saw the way her lips twitched, the way her fingers tapped against her thigh. She was proud of him—he knew it.

By the final whistle, UNI had secured the win. The crowd erupted in cheers, his teammates swarming him with congratulations, but Jake barely acknowledged any of it.

His eyes were locked on her.

Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the stands, pushing past the crowd. Y/N had already started making her way down toward the field, and when she stopped in front of him, they just stood there, staring at each other.

For the first time in days, Jake could breathe again.

“I was an idiot.” His voice was breathless, raw. “I didn’t mean any of it, Y/N. I was just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “I was scared. Of how much I need you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed. “Yeah? I figured, considering how hard you flopped without me.”

Jake huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I deserved that.”

“Damn right, you did.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, but Jake didn’t miss the way her tough exterior wavered, the way her eyes softened just slightly.

He took a step closer. “Y/N, I mean it. I never should’ve pushed you away.” His voice dropped to something quieter, more vulnerable. “You’re everything to me.”

She sighed, finally uncrossing her arms. “Jake… you can’t shut me out when things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. “And I won’t. Ever again.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment, and then, finally, she sighed in defeat. “You’re lucky I like you, Sim.”

Relief crashed over him, and before she could say anything else, he closed the distance, wrapping his arms arowund her and pulling her in tight.

She hesitated for half a second before melting into him, her arms circling his waist.

Jake buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, and everything felt right again. “I missed you,” he murmured.

“I know,” she teased, voice muffled against his jersey. “I could tell from your embarrassing game stats.”

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Guess I need you to keep me in check.”

“Clearly.”

Jake reached up, brushing his thumb over her cheek, his voice softer now. “So… does this mean you’ll be at the next game?”

Y/N smirked. “As long as you keep winning.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Then I guess I have no choice.”

Because she wasn’t just his biggest supporter.

She was his lucky charm.

OMG TYSM FOR 500 NOTES! (I didn't even think this was good...)

isa note! - lallalala first story!!! lalalall so excited! lalalalalla

taglist~ @firstclassjaylee

if wanted to be tag plspslplspsls let me know! 💗

#enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enha #jakefluff #enhypen jake #jake sim #enhypen edit #jake x reader #jake

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trulyumai · 6 months ago

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Leaving Behind Gold

—Pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

—Synopsis: Fed up with Geta's priorities, you attempt to leave his side. Only, Geta isn't ready to let you go, and is ready to get vulnerable to get you to stay.

—Warnings: Slight angst, Geta getting nervous and breaking down.

A/N: I’m only posting geta content are y’all sick of it yet? im sorry in advanced there will be more

The moment you step through the palace halls with your packed satchel, it feels like the air around you is a trap—heavy, stifling, suffused with the weight of the decision you've made. Leaving Geta is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but his obsession with Rome has left no room for you. Your heart clenches as you pass the door to his chambers, but you keep walking, steadying your breath.

He finds you almost immediately.

You hear his voice before you see him, a frantic bark cutting through the quiet corridors. “Where is she?” Servants scatter at the sound of his tone, their whispers falling to silence as his heavy steps echo closer.

Your pulse quickens, and instinct takes over. You veer left, ducking into the library, your sanctuary within the palace—a place where he seldom disturbs you. Slamming the door shut, you throw the latch into place, your chest heaving. The silence presses in around you, broken only by your ragged breaths.

Then comes the pounding.

“Open this door!”

His voice is a snarl, wild and guttural. The sound of his fists against the heavy wood is thunderous, shaking the frame.

“Wife, youre being foolish. Do we really want to cause a scene, hm?”

You press yourself against the far wall, heart racing as you clutch the satchel to your chest. “Go away Geta! You can’t stop me from leaving!”

The words only seem to inflame him further. His pounding grows erratic, each strike like a storm battering the door. “You don’t get to decide such a thing!” he roars. “You’re my wife. You’re mine!”

“Yours?” you spit back, your voice trembling. “I was yours once, but you’ve given every piece of yourself to Rome. There’s nothing left for me!”

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door, and then his voice drops—a low, desperate rasp. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

You hear him press his forehead against the door, his voice cracking. And then it all comes out.

“I love you, do you hear me? I love you more than anything. More than Rome, more than the gods themselves. You’re the only thing keeping me sane, and if you leave... if you leave...”

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of his labored breathing. Then his voice returns, hoarse and broken. “I can’t survive without you.”

Your resolve falters, your hand trembling as it rests on the satchel. “Then why do you make me feel like I’m second to everything else?”

He pounds the door again, his desperation boiling over. “Because I’m a fool! A stupid, blind fool who thought Rome would give me purpose—but it’s you. It’s always been you!”

His voice cracks, and you hear him sink to his knees outside the door, his fists slapping weakly against the wood. “Please,” he begs, his tone raw and unrecognizable. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll tear the empire apart if it means keeping you by my side. Just—just open the door. Let me see you.”

Your hand hovers over the latch, your mind warring with your heart. You hear him slump against the door, defeated. “You said you were mine,” he murmurs, barely audible now. “But you’re wrong. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Tears streak your face as you press your forehead against the cool wood. “Then prove it, Geta. Prove that I matter more than Rome.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then his voice, soft but resolute: “I will.”

Your fingers tremble as they slide the latch back. The door creaks, revealing him.

Geta is on his knees, slumped forward, his shoulders shaking. His face is flushed, streaked with tears, his hair disheveled as though he’s been clawing at it in anguish. When his bloodshot eyes find yours, a sound escapes him—a choked, desperate sob that makes your chest tighten. His lips part as though to speak, but they wobble, and no words come.

He’s utterly wrecked.

And it breaks you.

Your satchel falls to the ground, forgotten, as you step toward him. His hands lift weakly, reaching for you, but it’s you who sinks down, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. He freezes for a moment, as though he doesn’t believe it’s real, but then his arms encircle you with crushing strength, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, over and over, his breath hot against your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a fool.”

His words dissolve into quiet sobs as you clutch him tighter, burying your face in his neck. “I thought I’d lost you.” he murmurs, his voice still unsteady. “I can’t—I… You’re my everything. You and my child, dear wife, I swear it to you, here and now. Nothing will ever come before my family again. Not Rome, not anything. Just... don’t leave me.”

You pull back just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his tear-streaked cheeks. His eyes meet yours, wide and shimmering with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before. “I don’t want promises, Geta,” you say softly. “I want you. Not Rome’s Geta. Not the emperor. Just... you.”

“You have me,” he says, his voice breaking as he presses his forehead against yours. “You’ve always had me.”

And in that moment, you believe him.

There’s a pause, before Geta’s voice breaks through the air.

“Do you… think I'll be a good father?” The emperor's gaze lingers on the back wall, not moving or lingering on your now watchful figure.

“I think,” with a soft kiss to his temple the man leans in, intently listening. “You’ll be the father you always wanted to be.”

Geta hummed, his ringed fingers carrasses your side. “I want to be kind. Nothing like my father. A drunken excuse of a man.” He spat.

Catching his face in the palms of your hands, you sighed and began to litter his face in little kisses. One on the cheek, two on each brow.

“Then you shall be, my husband.”

#fluff #x reader #fanfiction #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #geta x reader #geta #emperor geta #angst

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everlastingserenitys · 2 months ago

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NEXT DOOR DISTRACTION

summ. your perverted next door neighbour who couldn't help but end up inside you one night

pairing. sylus x f!reader cw. perv!sylus, masturbation, sex, fingering, kissing, dry humping, dirty talk, needy!sylus. a/n hello trying tumblr! gonna post my series from ao3 on here haha... no specific order, going with what I like !!

cross-posted from ao3 ;3

Sylus knew he picked the right option, and he wasn't going to back away from it now.

Ever since you moved into the house next to his, he was immediately hooked. Well, the first thing that actually hooked him was your outfit. The way your tiny skirt raised up your body when you bent over, made his cock ache.

Or the way your breasts bounced in a rhythmic movement as you jog from the moving truck, back to your house. Oh how Sylus wanted to see more.

He did offer to help you, but you kindly rejected him, and for some reason, that just made Sylus like you even more.

He was so dazed by you, he believed love at first sight was a thing. And he was going to try everything to win you over, to his bed.

Sylus started to workout outside more often. Usually, every morning he would notice you sitting on your porch and relax in your seat as you watched the view ahead of you, so he took those opportunities to at least try to impress you.

It worked, a little bit.

He would specifically stand somewhere in your sight of view and start his workout, he snuck quick glances at you and noticed your eyes glance away every time he looked at you. On some mornings, you both would have the smallest conversations. And all of them went out as expected.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

That was it.

But this morning was different.

“Morning” Sylus’ voice echoed through the quiet, bright neighbourhood as he started on his workout.

“Good morning.”

Sylus paused his movements and turned his body towards where you were sitting. He took off his gloves and stepped towards you. “You know, I was thinking…”

“Hm?”

“Spar with me. The invisible man is doing me no good. But don’t worry, I won't go too hard on you.” Sylus directed the large gloves towards you and waited for you to take them.

“Are you sure? Don't you think it's a bit early in the morning for this?” you chuckle awkwardly, instinctively taking the gloves from his hand and getting up from your seat. Sylus chuckled in response and dragged you to the pavement in the front of your house.

“If you don’t like it we could just stop after a bit.”

You shook your head and got ready in position, “let’s start.”

“Let’s do it, sweetie.”

Sylus got in position and mockingly sent the first punch, his fist was flying towards your face at lightning speed, you ducked your head to dodge the attack, but before you could keep balance you stumbled on your feet and fell onto your ass.

A low whistle left his lips and he reached his hands towards you, to help you up.

Sylus’ eyes were everywhere but on yours. His ruby iris averted left and right as he helped you up. You didn't even notice it at all, but after you got up, you patted down your silky pajamas and glanced back up at Sylus, whose eyes were still on your chest. You cleared your throat and he shook his head, looking you in the eye.

You notice his body twitching slightly at the mere second the two of your eyes meet. Sylus shifted away from you and got ready in position. Confused, you just get ready and continue fighting him.

You were winning practically every round, and he totally lied about going easy on you. This man was difficult. But after memorizing his patterns and secret tricks with the little time fighting him, it was way too easy now.

You sent a punch in his direction but you didn’t notice his foot slip in between your legs, and in one step, you fell, again.

This time, on top of him.

You groaned as you felt Sylus’ fingers slip through your hair, he lifted your head from his chest and stared at you with a strained look. Sylus’ hips buck the slightest and that was when you felt his hard-on thrust against your lower abdomen.

You bit back a whine that was about to slip out of your lips and after an awkward second of silence, Sylus quietly apologized and lifted you off of his lap.

After that moment, Sylus immediately rushed back to his place, it wasn’t because he felt embarrassed that he made you fall or any of that, but it was because he felt like his cock was going to burst any second now.

“Shit…” he muttered, slipping his pants down and placing his large hand on his boner. He gave it a few rubs before tucking his hand under his boxers to pull out his searing, hard cock.

Sylus silently scolded himself as his thumb glided on his leaking tip, sending a spark of pleasure rushing through his body.

More fingers wrapped around his length, Sylus grabbed onto the bottom of his shirt and shoved it in his mouth as he stroked quick, intense movements. He closed his eyes and leaned back, thinking about what you looked like back there.

He moaned as he remembered the way your breasts bounced at every punch you sent him, or when you fell on your ass and a little moan slipped out of your lips.

Or when he dry humped you.

A loud groan escaped his lips, he didn't even notice he already came at that thought.

Sylus sighed and rested his head against the wall behind him, letting the shirt slip out of his mouth moments later.

He brought his fingers to his sight and stared at the white mixture coating his long fingers before he headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.

He should totally ask you to spar more often.

Several hours had now passed and Sylus was getting restless each hour. It was way too difficult to think of anything else to get you in his bed. He was contemplating on whether he should just barge in your house and fuck you right then and there but yet again, that would probably not be a good idea.

Sylus sighed and rested his head against the kitchen counter. Even thinking about you was getting him hard, he needed to see you again.

So Sylus got up from his seat and went to the window that was adjacent to your room.

Sylus’ perverted eyes peered through the blinds and he saw your curtains were wide open, and noticed you getting changed into a new outfit.

Great timing, Sylus.

As much as he knew this was wrong, his eyes couldn't help but stay locked on you. The way your fingers glided through the soft fabric bonding with your body, slowly removing them, it was as if you knew he was watching.

Sylus’ breath hitched and he tried to hold back, he was trying so, so hard.

You already had your shirt removed and it was now your pants left.

He peered the blinds wider and continued staring. He needed to see more, more, mo–

Sylus froze in his spot when he saw your eyes make eye contact with his, you couldn't see him, right?

Wrong.

You stared at your window, looking at the glowing red iris illuminating through the glass, it was painfully obvious he was staring at you the whole time.

And it got to the point you actually didn’t mind it.

After all the moments of him being a little creep, you kind of enjoyed it. The way he still acts flustered after accidentally making eye contact with you, or how he twitches at the feeling of your skin grazing his, it was obvious he needed more.

Sylus still had his eyes locked onto you, you knew he was waiting for you to take your pants off and he wasn't going to leave the window until you did. But instead of taking them off, you beckon a finger at him.

You had never seen him leave the window so fast.

Seconds later the doorbell rings and you quickly put on your shirt, heading downstairs to open the door.

You open the door and notice Sylus a little out of breath, his eyes stare up and down at your outfit before looking back up at your face.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make it up to you if that's what you want sweetie.”

You hesitate for a second, intrigued, you agree.

“Fine.”

Sylus chuckled and stepped inside, his footsteps grew louder as he stepped towards you.

Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers glide against your jaw, he looked into your eyes, filled with desperation as he leaned in closer to you.

“May i?”

“Mmh”

He scoffed and captured your lips in an aggressive, needy kiss. Sylus’ tongue shoved into your mouth and tied his tongue with yours. Your tongues intertwined together as he pushed you closer to the stairs.

In a swift movement, he lifted you off of the ground with one arm and carried you up the stairs. While still having his tongue shoved deep into your mouth.

He eventually found the way to your room and he placed you on the bed before pulling away.

Sylus stares at you with a breathless look, he brought his fingers to the hem of your shirt and played with it while his chest heaved heavily.

He was already going insane and going slow was making it worse for him. Sylus slipped his fingers under your shirt, his cold fingers making contact with your warm skin, he needed more of this warmthness.

He removed your shirt and soon, your pants.

You were left completely bare and exposed underneath him. Sylus grinned at the sight, not in a creepy way, more like in a ‘I won’ kind of way. His eyes captured every curve and perfection of your body, and he was already addicted.

His fingers slid down your stomach and made their way to your soaking entrance. He rubbed small circles on your clit, making gasps and quiet moans escape out of your lips, he needed to hear more than that.

A finger slid in your dripping cunt and Sylus groaned as he pulled down his pants. His cock twitched at the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers. He couldn't wait any longer, he pulled his fingers out, and aligned his tip with your dripping entrance.

“Ready?”

“mh–mhhh?!”

Sylus continued thrusting his length deep inside you, his fingers held onto your hips and he rocks himself back and forth, back and forth…

“You like that? Hm?”

“Yes! It's sooo good.. more please!”

“More? Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

Sylus’ rhythmic thrusts were interrupted with desire blinding his eyes, he didn't even care how quick he was going anymore. He grabbed onto your ankles and lifted your legs over his shoulders.

“You're squeezing me so tight..hah.. lift your hips for me, sweetie.”

You obey and a small praise escapes his lips, you moan in response and beg to release already.

“Already? Dirty girl.”

“S-says you!” you huff and thrust yourself deeper in him.

“You’re the one thrusting yourself in my cock, and I'm the dirty one?”

“I'm gonna cum..please” you gasp, shutting your eyes as you continue driving yourself in him, Sylus groaned in response as his grip tightened around you. With a breathless moan, you couldn't hold it in anymore, a stream of hot, wet cum pooled out of your hole as Sylus still had his cock buried into you.

But that didn't stop him from continuing. Sylus only pulled out for a second, just to watch the dirty mess you made, pour out of you and he eventually put his tip back against your drooling cunt.

A wave of pleasure spiked through you as Sylus’ cock slicked your cum in and out of you, making a huge mess on the bed.

“Ya hear that? You’re taking me in so good…mgh yes…”

“Sylus!”

“I’m here, keep calling my name, I'm close.” he moaned.

“Sylus! Sylus! Sy–”

With one final thrust a spike of pleasure washed through you as the warm white mixture spurted inside your body, you froze in shock and Sylus pulled out of you, plopping on top of you, absolutely breathless.

“Thank you, neighbour.” he chuckled against your neck, planting small kisses along it. You sigh and ruffle his hair, attempting to get up but your legs were aching.

“You’re welcome, creep. Let's get cleaned up.”

“Mhmm”

part 2 of untamed desires | sylus -> next work

#love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #lads smut #sylus love and deepspace

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