#them. but it was too late and now nothing would be the same again

[differenteagletragedy]

When Price hears that Simon won’t be stopping by his place for Christmas, it stings. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, mostly because John is long past the point of things hurting him without his express permission. But it bothers.

And that’s just because for a long time now, years, the two men have spent the holiday together. It’s a tradition, if they’re in the same country, the same city, to just get together. Nothing major, a few drinks, a cigar or two. A meal sometimes, just something simple.

Way back when John first met Simon, he saw just how broken he was because, in a way, he was the same. They processed it differently — John hid his scars by controlling everything just so, so that nothing would ever have the chance to give him fresh ones, where Simon simply hid — but the root of it all was the same. There was a deep-seated loneliness that ran through them both, and it bonded them. No one had ever understood Simon, but John did, he gave him that gift. In return, Simon gave him his loyalty, and occasionally, his company.

But not this year. Because this year, Simon has you.

You are lovely, truly. John had only met you a handful of times, but he's seen the way Simon looked at you, and he hears the warmth in his voice when he says your name. He couldn't bring himself to be upset with you when Simon let him know that he'd be spending the holiday with you, all cozied up at the home you now shared.

He couldn't: past tense. Now, when Christmas day is almost over and he's six scotches in, he's a little less understanding.

Not in a mean way -- he doesn't wish you ill, nothing like that. But why can't two old friends partake in an old tradition, even if one of them has gone and fallen head over heels for some bird? Besides, it's not like you haven't had Simon to yourself all day, or all week, for that matter.

John's lieutenant is a big boy. There's enough of him to go around.

Before he really considers what's happening, John is on the street, then he's walking, a man on a mission. He makes his way through town, and he soon finds himself at Simon's place. He knocks on the door, sharp and short but insistent, and in no time, the door opens.

"Lucky you didn't get shot," Simon grumbles as he opens the door wider for John. "It's late."

But he doesn't have a gun, John notices -- he has a bat, one he keeps by the front door, same as he always done. He watches Simon prop the bat up now, hands going to slide his jeans higher on his hips, buttoning and zipping them.

"Bad time?" John asks, a small, tight smile on his face.

Simon grunts in acknowledgement, running a hand through his hair as he says, "Lucky too you didn't wake the missus. She had a bottle of wine with dinner, be like waking up a hibernating bear."

John smiles again and nods. "Missus now, is she?"

A beat passes, then Simon holds the door open wider, an invitation that John takes, and soon the two men are sitting on the couch, sharing a glass of whiskey and a moment of quiet together.

It feels right. It is, after all, the tradition.

Some time passes. It gets even later and John gets even drunker, but he's still got his reflexes, and just as soon as they begin, he hears the soft sounds of your footsteps coming down the hall.

"Simon?" you ask once you reach the entryway into the living room, your voice soft and sleepy.

"In here, love," he calls out. "Captain came by for a drink."

"... It's late."

John smiles to himself when he hears the pout in your voice, but when he turns to greet you, it drops. You're leaning against the wall, barefoot and bare-legged in one of Simon's shirts, your petulant eyes fixed on your boyfriend.

He knew you were lovely, but like this ...

"Get back to bed, sweetheart, I'll be back in before you know it," Simon says.

Instead of listening, you make your way to the couch, plop yourself in Simon's lap and curl up against him, head tucked under his chin. He chuckles softly and supports your back, letting you situate yourself comfortably.

"It's Christmas," you mutter before John sees your eyes close, and before long, your breaths even out. Asleep again.

John knows he should leave. It is late, and he's going to have a hell of a time getting home in his current state. But Simon just leans over towards the coffee table, cradling you against his chest as he does, and pours him another glass. And when John's eyes fall to Simon's hand on your hip, holding you safe against him with his long fingers curled against the curve of your waist ... it's just nice.

The next thing he knows, it's morning. Late morning, he can tell by the light shining in from the window, and his back aches because, as he slowly begins to realize, he fell asleep on the couch in Simon's living room.

He starts to sit up, letting out a low groan as he does. He's got an unforgiving hangover that's so overwhelming that it nearly blocks everything else out. But as he shifts, pulling himself up, he feels a weight on his lap.

Two smooth legs, bare and soft and heavy. His eyes trail them upwards, and he sees you leaning against Simon, who's slumped over on the other end of the couch. You're both still asleep, and John doesn't want to wake you, but he's so sore he has to move.

He puts his hands over your legs, near your ankles, intending to lift them off his lap as gently as possible so as to not disturb you. When he does, he's greeted with a sleepy, whiny groan of protest that's so cute he can't help but smile.

But this isn't for him. None of it is. Not your tired little sounds, not your soft legs, not Simon's strong hands. He doesn't belong.

With a little ache in his belly, something he still won't acknowledge as pain, John finishes the job of moving out from under you. He stands and stretches and tries to keep the room from spinning too much.

That last part, though, turns out to be for nothing. Because when you suddenly reach out your hand to grab his, gently pulling him back down onto the couch, it feels like the rug is being pulled from beneath him anyway.

[starkeyslibrary]

CHASING MAYBE

pairing: bsf!reader x rafe

word count: 3.1k

authors note: i had two similair requests in my inbox and decided to combine them! hope you don’t mind!! 🙈thanks for the requests! <3

The party was already packed when you and your friend strolled in – loud music shaking the windows, neon lights spilling across sweaty bodies, and someone already yelling about running out of White Claws.

You roll your eyes. “Five bucks says that’s JJ.”

Bri laughed beside you, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Ten bucks says he drank them all himself.”

“Fair.” You said, grinning as you linked arms with both Bri and Lex. “Now, ladies – remember the mission. Free drinks, good lighting and no catching feelings.”

Lex wiggled her brows. “Too late for you, babe. Someone’s already staring.”

You didn’t have to ask who. You already knew. Rafe Cameron, over by the pool table, was watching you like you hung the damn moon – same cocky smirk, same slightly tilted head like he was trying to figure you out.

You arched a brow. “Let him look. Doesn’t mean he gets to touch.”

You made your way through the crowd, laughing at nothing, catching attention like a walking power trio. Inside the kitchen, you grabbed a red solo cup and poured yourself something strong.

“Cheers to bad ideas,” Bri said, lifting her cup.

“To being the problem, not the plan,” Lex added

“To not catching feelings,” You said, clinking their cup.

Half an hour later, you were leaned against the counter, cup still in hand, while your friends danced in the living room. You were mid-scroll through your phone when you caught the stare. Again. This time, shameless.

“You keep staring, Rafey, I’m gonna start charging you,” you called over your shoulder without turning.

Rafe smirked, sauntering towards you with that damn smug walk like he’d just scored the game-winning shot.

“You wearing that just for me, sweetheart?” he asked, eyes dragging down your fit.

“Please,” you scoffed. “This is for me. You’re just collateral damage.”

He grinned. “Yeah? Funny, because you’ve been looking at me like you wanna cause some.”

“Only to your ego,” you fired back with a sharp smile. “It’s gotten dangerously swollen lately.”

Topper whooped from the background, and Rafe just shook his head, sipping from his own cup as he leaned a little too close.

This was your thing — banter with teeth, glances that lingered, touches that almost crossed a line. But it was always safe, always wrapped up in a joke. Neither of you pushed it. Yet.

Your gaze flicked to the sliding doors leading outside. “I need air. Try not to miss me too much.”

You didn’t wait for his answer — just walked out, letting the warm night air wrap around you. The backyard was dimly lit, the glow of the bonfire at the beach barely visible beyond the dunes. You took a deep breath and leaned against the porch railing, letting the music fade into background noise.

Behind you, right on cue — came his voice.

“You know I can’t let you have a dramatic exit without me,” Rafe’s voice came from behind you, smooth like sin and summer.

You didn’t turn around. “Not dramatic. Just needed space. Some of us don’t have a god complex that requires being at the center of every room.”

He stepped up beside you, looking out over the yard with a smirk. “I like your space better.”

That earned him a tiny smirk from you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning fully. “Don’t get cute, Cameron.”

“Too late.”

You stood like that for a beat — close, the air between them humming with that something you never talked about. Rafe glanced over, studying your profile like he was memorizing it.

“You ever think about it?” he asked.

You finally turned to him. “About what?”

He was close now — closer than he should’ve been. “Us. You know… what’d happen if we stopped pretending.”

You blinked, heartbeat stuttering for half a second — not because you were shocked, but because finally. You tilted your head.

“That almost sounds like you want something serious, Rafe. Which would be cute if I didn’t know you better.”

His grin faltered just barely. “Maybe I want you.”

You laughed softly. “You want the chase, baby. And you’re good at it. But I don’t fall for pretty lies.”

You turned to walk down the porch steps when—

“Y/N—” he said, just a little rougher.

You stopped.

And then he was there again, closing the space, hand reaching gently for your wrist, spinning you to face him. He looked at you like you were fire and he was tired of being cold.

You stood like that — eyes locked, lips a breath apart, the air buzzing around them. His hand cupped your cheek this time, hesitant but wanting.

You didn’t pull away.

He leaned in slowly, eyes flicking to your mouth—

“RAFE! Yo, Rafe! Get your ass over here, man!”

Topper.

You pulled back fast like you’d been slapped. Rafe blinked, visibly torn for one second — and then, just like that, the mask slipped back on.

He stepped away. Shrugged.

“I’ll be right back.”

And just like that, he walked off — no sorry, no explanation. Gone.

You stood frozen for a second, chest tight, eyes narrowed.

Then you scoffed under your breath and turned back toward the street.

He wasn't gonna play you like that again.

Not this time.

You texted Bri.

“I’m done. Catch an Uber?”

You didn’t text him the next morning.

You didn’t snap him back. Didn’t like his dumb story of him and Kelce trying to fix a golf cart either.

And when he called once, then twice, you declined the second one and didn’t bother replying to the “u good?” that followed.

You were good. Just not with him.

Instead, you were at Bri’s place, legs tangled with yours on the couch, a greasy slice of pizza in one hand and Lex painting your nails a dangerously sharp red on the other.

“I’m just saying,” Lex said, blowing on your nails, “if he wanted to kiss you, he would’ve. And if he didn’t want to be an ass about it… well, same logic.”

You snorted. “Amen.”

Bri reached for her water, slumped on the floor. “I never liked him anyway. His jaw is too perfect. Feels like a trap.”

“It is a trap,” you muttered, staring at your phone lighting up again with his name. You silenced it. No reply. Again.

Lex raised a brow. “Still trying?”

“Three missed calls and a ‘u good?’ text,” you said with a fake-sweet smile. “Very emotionally intelligent.”

Bri made a gagging noise.

Rafe was unravelling.

It took him less than 24 hours to realize something was off — and even less time to get pissed about it.

You had been nothing but cold, collected and absolutely untouchable. So when he saw you at the dock two days later he pulled up next to your Jeep, window down, Ray-Bans perched low on his nose.

“You avoiding me?” he asked through his car window, voice all lazy confidence. But his grip on the steering wheel? White-knuckled.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “That depends — are you used to girls waiting around after you ditch them mid-moment?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, damn. You’re still mad about that?”

“Oh, still mad?” you snapped, shoving your phone in your bag. “Didn’t know there was an expiration date on being disrespected.”

He grinned, trying to defuse — or distract. “Babe, you’re dramatic.”

“And you’re exhausting,” you fired, standing up. “You don’t get to flirt with me like that, act like you want something real for half a second, and then just walk away like it didn’t happen.”

He leaned out the window a little, face hardening. “It’s not that deep.”

“Then maybe you should find someone who floats.”

You didn’t wait for a reply, you turned just in time for your friends to pull up in Bri’s Mazda, blasting SZA and waving dramatically out the windows.

Rafe watched as you slid into the passenger seat without another glance his way.

Lex flipped Rafe off with a grin when Bri peeled out of the lot.

Rafe just sat there, blinking, while you threw your head back and laughed with your girls, loud and unbothered.

That night, Rafe didn’t go to the usual bonfire. Neither did you.

But the next one? He was there early. Already sipping a beer, eyes scanning the crowd every five seconds.

You looked incredible. Dress, silky, short and painted with a bold floral print – clung in all the right places and dipped daringly low at the neckline. You stepped onto the beach like the main event — glowing, confident, and completely unbothered.

Rafe’s jaw practically hit the sand.

You saw him.

And walked right past.

Every time he tried to talk to you, Lex intercepted, or Bri pulled you into some fake emergency — “I need your opinion on this guy’s shoes, it’s life or death.” Rafe wasn��t used to working this hard. He wasn’t used to being ignored.

Rafe found you alone, near the edge of the party where the music didn’t quite reach. Just like before.

He approached slower this time. No swagger. No stupid grin.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t turn. “Didn’t Topper call your name again?”

He exhaled a laugh, but it came out a little bitter this time. “Okay. I deserved that.”

“No, Rafe. You deserved worse. But I’m tired.” Your voice dropped just slightly — not sad, just... done. “I’m not playing this game with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t trying to play,” he said, stepping closer. “I just— I panicked, alright? You kissed me back.”

“No,” you said sharply, eyes finally on his. “You almost kissed me. Then you left. Don’t twist it.”

He looked at you, jaw ticking, searching for something in your face. “So what? You’re done with me?”

“I’m done waiting for you to decide if you mean anything you say.” You paused. “You want me? Prove it. You want to joke around and run back to your boys every time things get real? Then stay out of my way.”

And with that, you walked away again — this time, not with bitterness, but with clarity.

Rafe stood there alone, mouth tight, heart pounding.

Rafe didn’t text. He didn’t call.

He showed up.

Unannounced, mid-afternoon, while you and your girls were poolside at Lex’s — laughing, lounging, and collectively trying to forget boys existed.

You spotted him before anyone else. You knew that shape, that posture — shoulders tense, chin tilted like he had something to prove.

“Is that Rafe?” Bri muttered.

Lex sat up, shielding her eyes. “Wow. Man really wants to be humiliated in broad daylight.”

You took a slow sip of your drink. “He’s already halfway there.”

But you stood up anyway.

Because no matter how furious you was, how much he hurt you, he wasn’t just some guy.

He was Rafe. Your Rafe. Your best friend. The one who used to sneak you snacks during detention and swore you’d never catch feelings for each other.

And now here you were.

“You really have the audacity,” you said flatly, meeting him at the gate.

Rafe looked at you like you still hung the moon. Like he didn’t remember you used to tell him exactly when to stop flirting so you wouldn’t fall for him. Like he hadn’t just made the dumbest choice of his life two nights ago.

“I had to see you,” he said.

“You had to ditch me mid-kiss first.”

“That wasn’t— I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“You didn’t mean to? Rafe, you and I have been best friends since we were kids. You think I don’t know when you’re lying to yourself?”

“You pulled away like you were embarrassed,” you went on, voice quiet but cutting. “Like I was just another drunk mistake.”

“You are not a mistake.”

“Then why’d you leave like one?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t expect it to feel that real.”

“We’ve always been real,” you snapped. “You just finally couldn’t hide it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been sorry since the second I walked away.”

You crossed your arms. “And now what? You think one apology’s gonna fix a broken friendship and the fact that you shattered something that might’ve been more?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it,” he said.

You tilted your head. “You better, Rafe. Because this isn’t just about flirting anymore. You don’t just lose me as a maybe. You lose me as your person.”

He stood there, quiet.

And when you walked back through the gate — back to your girls, your peace, your new boundary — Rafe didn’t follow.

He finally understood this time, he’d have to earn you back.

Rafe didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that.

And you? You didn’t chase. You said your piece. You had nothing to prove. Let him sit with the silence — with everything they almost were.

But on Friday night, something shifted.

You were heading home from Bri’s when her phone buzzed. A text.

“Come to the dock. Just you.”

No name. Didn’t need one.

You almost didn’t go.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing — especially when it’s tangled in history and heartbreak and a boy who once made you believe forever could exist between best friends.

The dock was quiet. Moonlit. The water still.

And there he was. Hoodie, hands in his pockets, heart practically written across his face.

You didn’t say anything as you stepped onto the wood.

He didn’t speak either — just gestured to the blanket he’d laid out. Two drinks. A box of your favorite cookies. And something else sitting next to it.

A photo. The one from that dumb Halloween party freshman year — you in fairy wings, Rafe in devil horns, both of you grinning like idiots.

“I found it in my drawer,” he said quietly. “Been sitting there for years. I look at it sometimes. Always thought we were just… messing around. Having fun.”

You folded your arms, guarded but listening.

“But looking at it now?” His voice cracked slightly. “I was gone for you. Even back then.”

You didn’t respond. You waited.

“I messed up, I know that,” he said. “But I didn’t come here to ask for things to go back to normal. Because they can’t. And I don’t want them to.”

You raised a brow. “What do you want, then?”

Rafe stepped forward.

“I want more. I want us. No more games. No more pulling away when it gets real. I want to be someone you trust again. Someone who shows up.”

He hesitated. “And I know I lost that right. But if there’s even a piece of you that still wants this... I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. Just—don’t shut the door all the way. Please.”

Silence stretched.

The water lapped gently against the wood.

Then—softly, finally—you spoke.

“You don’t get to come back just because you finally figured out what you want.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed. “I know.”

You stepped closer. “But you came back anyway. That’s a start.”

For a long moment, you both just stood there.

And then, for the first time in what felt like forever—you let your guard down. Just a little.

Rafe looked at you. “So… we good?”

You smirked. “We’ll see.”

Then like always, he smiled back, cocky and warm and yours in all the ways he never admitted before.

Two weeks later

“You’re seriously wearing that?” You asked, brows arched behind your sunglasses as you stared Rafe down in the Target parking lot.

He looked down at his plain white T-shirt and black athletic shorts, then at you — black cropped tank top hugging your figure, light-washed denim shorts and gold hoops shining in the sun.  “What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like you jogged here and forgot it was a date.” You popped the trunk of his car. “Get the bags. We’re doing a picnic and you’re not embarrassing me in front of the ducks.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rafe muttered, grinning as he grabbed the cooler. He didn't argue. He never argued anymore. Not with you.

You laid out the blanket under a willow tree at the park, spread out the snacks like a curated charcuterie board, and even lit one of those tiny portable candles from your purse. Rafe just watched you, utterly gone, leaning back on his elbows while you cut strawberries like it was an artform.

“You’re smiling,” you said, glancing over.

“I like watching you boss me around,” he said, deadpan. “It’s hot.”

You snorted and tossed a grape at his face. “You’re such a simp now.”

“I was before. Now I’m just allowed to show it.”

Later, they lay side by side under the tree, your head resting on his chest, one leg thrown over his like you owned him — which, arguably, you did.

“You still scared?” you asked quietly, fingers tracing shapes on his bicep.

“Terrified,” Rafe replied, voice low. “But it’s worth it.”

You leaned up slightly, eyes searching his. “Why?”

“Because I’m not just your best friend anymore.” His hand found you waist. “I get to kiss you now.”

You grinned, lips brushing his jaw. “Damn right you do.”

So he did.

Slow, warm, nothing rushed — just mouths pressed together like they had all the time in the world. You tasted like lip balm and peach lemonade. He tasted like want and sunscreen.

“Still afraid?” you murmured when they broke apart.

“Of you? Always.”

“Good.” You kissed him again, rougher this time. “Keeps you humble.”

EXTRA:

Rafe Cameron was sitting on a pink blanket at a Sunday morning yoga in the park class, sweating through his overpriced tank top while an instructor told him to open his heart center and “embrace the divine feminine.”

You, completely serene beside him, reached out mid-pose to fix his form.

“You’re stiff,” you whispered.

“I’m dying,” he whispered back.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he muttered. “This is Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Mm. That’s not what you said last night when you made me breakfast at midnight.”

He just groaned and reached for his water bottle. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

You leaned in close, lips at his ear. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re whipped.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled like an idiot. “I’m whipped.”

“Good boy.”

[serumandsteel]

The Shape of Silence | pt 3

series masterlist

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after Walker blows the op, the team is left scrambling to pick up the pieces. But the real damage hits later. when you finally realise that years of running from Bucky didn’t erase the feelings, only buried them deeper. now, forced into close quarters and out of excuses, you have to face him… and everything you tried to forget. that one night in Wakanda. the night that changed everything finally comes crashing back. And this time, it just might break you.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: emotional trauma, ANGSTYY, unresolved tension, swearing... light themes of SMUTT 18+

a/n: ahhhh last chapter for my mini series! thankyouu for reading... also first time writing smut so go easy on me :) taking requests for inspo for thunderbolts bucky... im feeling I want to continue to explore this little world I have made. also would love a nickname for this reader in this series...so inbox is open!

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next, the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Sam emerged through the dust, breath ragged, gun lowered at his side.

But Bucky didn’t look away. Not when Sam stopped. Not when the cold wind bit through the warehouse’s broken walls. Not when reality finally caught up to both of you.

He looked older, lines carved deeper across his brow, stubble clinging to his jaw like rest hadn’t touched him in days. But his eyes were the same.

God, those eyes. 

Still impossibly blue. Still heavy with the weight of too many lives. But now you could see the years behind them, the grief, the healing. The hurt.

And it hit you all over again.

They were the first thing you remembered clearly from the night it all changed. The night you stopped seeing him as Bucky Barnes and started seeing him as James. Just James. Not a mission. Not a ghost. Not Steve’s responsibility.

But a person.

Three years gone. Three years of silence, of hiding and now, here you were, standing in front of the one person you tried so hard to stay away from.

Not because you didn’t care.

But because you did. Too much.

“What the hell happened?”

Sam’s voice snapped both you and Bucky out of the thoughts that had locked you in place. His eyes swept the room, landing on Walker first, who was casually brushing dirt off his shoulders like he hadn’t nearly blown the entire operation.

“You’re late,” Walker muttered.

Sam stalked closer, voice sharp. “And you’re lucky you’re still upright.”

Walker scoffed. “I took initiative. There was a window. I made a call.”

“You made a mess,” Sam snapped. “You went in loud. No backup, no coordination. You compromised the mission and almost got the rest of us killed.”

“I handled it.”

You let out a dry laugh, wiping a smear of dried blood off your hand. “Handled it? You mean the part where you charged in without a plan and I had to clean it up?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed, like he’d only just remembered you existed. “Right. Her.”

He looked you up and down like you didn’t belong. Like you were just some stray who wandered into the wrong war zone.

“Still not sure who the hell you even are,” he said. “Some off-book tagalong Sam picked up? You were real quiet until you decided to play hero.”

You stepped forward, not aggressive.  Just unflinching. “Just because you call yourself Captain America doesn’t mean you are him.”

Walker stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice cool. Controlled. “Steve earned that title. You bought it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky flinched slightly at the name, but his eyes stayed locked on Walker.

Walker took a step toward you, jaw tight. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not giving any. I’m just cleaning up the wreckage.”

Sam stepped in then, placing a hand on Walker’s chest. “Back off.”

But Walker didn’t. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “She thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Walks in like she knows everything. What—everyone’s just following her lead now? Because she’s good with a gun and knows how to give orders?”

His mouth curled. “Or is it something else?”

You didn’t say a word. But Bucky did.

He moved before he could stop himself.

“Shut your mouth.”

Walker turned toward him. “Or what?”

But the look in Bucky’s eyes wasn’t something Walker could hold. Wounded. Restrained. On the verge of something worse.

“Walk away,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Before you say something you can’t come back from.”

Walker’s mouth twisted into something smug. “Touchy.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing. Didn’t raise his voice. He just stared Walker down for one long, agonising beat. Then turned and walked away, fast and stiff, like he was barely holding himself together.

Sam watched him go, exhaling hard. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Goddamn.”

You didn’t follow. You didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you stood in the rubble of a blown mission and an even more fucked-up reunion, your pulse still hammering, hands still shaking.

Walker huffed, rolled his eyes. “I’ll find my own transport.”

“Do that,” Sam said, not even sparing him a glance.

The car rumbled steadily along the broken road. Trees blurred past. Faded signage. Empty intersections. You didn’t see any of it.

You weren’t in the car. Not really.

You were floating somewhere above it, your body moving through the motions while your mind spun off into nothing. Not out of fear. Not even shock. Just… self-preservation.

You’d seen Bucky’s face. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t looked away and it had carved something open inside you that you weren’t ready to name.

So you let the world blur. Let the silence settle around your shoulders like smoke. You stayed in that space until—

“Hey.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog like a sharp edge. You blinked. Looked over. His eyes flicked back at you in the rearview mirror, concerned but casual.

“You good?” he asked. Not pushy. Just present.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He didn’t buy it, not really. But he let it slide. For now.

A few more miles passed in silence before he spoke again. Lighter this time.

“So… you gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been, or do I gotta guess?”

You smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. “Greece. Mexico. Indonesia for a hot minute. Then some nowhere town in Canada. Mostly off-grid. Nothing stable. Just... running. Always moving.”

“Running from who?” Sam asked, one brow lifting.

Your gaze shifted to meet his in the rearview mirror. “From myself, I guess. The past. The present. I don’t even know anymore.”

You hesitated, the truth dragging itself up from somewhere raw. “I just… I can’t seem to stop. Can’t settle.” The confession sat heavy in the air.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You keeping tabs on us all that time?” You shrugged. “Some. Enough.”

Sam nodded, casting a glance toward Bucky beside him, then back at you. “You know he was looking for you.” His head tilted subtly in Bucky’s direction.

That landed like a punch to the chest. You didn’t answer.

Sam exhaled quietly. “Just sayin’. He never stopped.”

More silence. Then:

“I thought it’d be easier,” you said, almost to yourself. “Staying away. Keeping the mess contained. But turns out ghosts follow you no matter how far you run.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. We’ve all got ghosts. Some louder than others.”

You offered a quiet smile. “Yours still nagging you?”

“Only when I try to get five minutes of peace,” he muttered. “And when Torres messes with my Spotify playlist.”

That earned a small laugh from you. Genuine.

From the passenger seat, Bucky stirred slightly - just a shift of his shoulders, a flicker of something like familiarity in his profile. Then, quietly, without turning around “Still listening to that god-awful Marvin Gaye remix?”

Your head snapped up. Bucky’s tone was dry. Flat. But there was a spark there, something wry and a little too familiar. Like it slipped out before he could stop it. Sam groaned. “Oh, come on. We’re not doing this again.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “You still hate that album?” Bucky finally looked over his shoulder at you, just for a second. “Wasn’t music. It was noise.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was funk. There's a difference.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, just slightly. It wasn’t a smile, not really. But it was close. The air didn’t feel quite so heavy after that. Still tense. Still charged. But no longer choking.

And for the first time since the dust had settled in that warehouse, you let yourself believe maybe, just maybe this wasn’t unsalvageable after all.

The car rolled to a stop outside a sleek, unassuming house nestled at the edge of a quiet, tree-lined road. It was a far cry from the last safe house Sam had tucked you away in - this actually seemed to have a functioning heating system. This place was modern, updated. It would suffice for the night.

Sam was the first to speak, his tone low as he hauled his gear from the trunk. “We’ve all got rooms. One night. Wheels up at six.”

You didn’t respond. Just nodded and shouldered your duffel, every bone in your body aching as you followed them up the steps.

Inside, the house felt too clean. Too still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. Soft lighting. Hardwood floors. Real furniture. Like a home built for someone who didn’t wake up from nightmares or run away from their problems.

You moved through the space like a ghost. Detached. Weightless.

Sam mumbled something about grabbing a shower and disappeared down the hall. Bucky lingered. He always did.

He stood there in the low light, jaw tight, hands in his pockets. Close enough to feel the tension rolling off him, but still keeping his distance.

“We should talk,” he said, voice quiet.

You turned halfway. Exhaustion bled through your features. “Not tonight.”

“But—”

“Please, Bucky,” you cut him off, your voice flat. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Just watched you walk away. Again.

You felt the weight of his stare on your back all the way down the hall.

You knew you owed him a conversation. Hell, you owed him a thousand of them. But not like this. Not with your heart still in your throat and your thoughts scrambled beyond recognition.

You needed to get your head straight. You needed a goddamn shower. And you needed that pounding behind your eyes to ease up before you said something you couldn’t take back.

Seeing him again today had cracked something open in you.

It wasn’t just shock. It was grief. Guilt. Longing. And something else, something heavier. The slow, dawning realisation that maybe you were the one who broke what could’ve been fixed.

You hadn’t just left. You’d disappeared. Cut the cord and never looked back, or at least tried to convince yourself you hadn’t.

And now here he was. Looking at you like you were still the same. Like maybe, if you reached back, he’d still be there.

But you weren’t sure you deserved that anymore.

You weren’t sure you could even handle the fallout of what he’d say once you finally let him speak.

You shut the bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed. Your pulse still hadn’t calmed.

You fucked up.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to fix it.

Sleep never came easy anymore. But tonight, exhaustion didn’t just claim you, it dragged you under like a riptide, pulling you fast and deep into memory.

Back to Wakanda. Back to that night. The first and last night with him. The night before everything went to hell.

The night you let yourself forget. Forget the war looming at your doorstep. Forget what you’d both done. Forget the versions of yourselves that didn’t deserve this kind of softness.

You let it all fall away — and for once, you let yourself feel.

Years of tension, of glances and near-misses, of guilt and yearning, came crashing down to that single night. The one you never talk about. The one you can’t forget.

And he was there. Bucky.

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a thin white shirt clinging to him from the heat of the day. His hair was loose around his shoulders, wild and soft. And his eyes — God, those eyes fixed on you like you were something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

You knew this night.

You’d relived it a hundred times in your mind. Only now, in the pull of sleep, you were living it again. You’d been dancing around this for weeks. Months. Years, really.

And now you were close. Too close. Inches. Breaths. The space between you vibrated with tension, years of it, unspoken and coiled like a spring. His hand hovered near your jaw, hesitant, reverent — like touching you might make you vanish.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave him a sad, crooked smile. “You already have. So have I.”

Then he touched you. Rough, warm, grounding. You leaned into his palm like your body had been waiting for this. Like you were starving and this was the first real thing you’d tasted in months.

You didn’t remember who kissed who first. Only that it felt like falling. Like drowning.

It was desperate and aching — mouths crashing together, breaths stolen between kisses. Like you both knew it wouldn’t last. Like you’d already made peace with the fallout.

But for now, in this sliver of stolen time, you let yourselves fall.

His hands cupped your face, fingers slipping into your hair. The kiss deepened, messy and gasping, his tongue sliding against yours like he wanted to consume you. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skating over the scars across his chest, and he shuddered at the contact.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lower lip. There was fear in his voice. Like this was hope, and hope was dangerous.

“I do,” you whispered, the words falling from your mouth like truth. “I fucking do.”

That was all it took.

He stripped you down like a man on the edge — quick, trembling hands pulling fabric from skin. You yanked him close by the belt loops of his pants, grounding yourself in the hard lines of his body. You needed more. Needed him like air.

The bed creaked as your back hit the mattress, and he followed, crawling over you like gravity had its own pull.

“Bucky,” you breathed, and something in him broke.

He kissed you harder, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, the cold press of vibranium anchoring you to the now. When he pushed inside, it was slow, deliberate. Thick and stretching, almost too much after the ache of waiting.

You gasped, body arching. He stilled instantly.

“You okay?” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, voice so tender it burned.

You nodded, lips brushing his. “Move. Please.”

He obeyed, hips rolling, pace steady, deep. Every thrust was weighted, like he was memorizing the shape of you from the inside. You held onto him, arms wrapped tight, legs locking around his waist like you could keep him there if you just held on hard enough.

Every movement felt like goodbye. Every kiss like a memory in the making. Like you were both pretending this didn’t have to end.

“God, you feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned into your neck. His metal fingers slipped between your legs, circling your clit with practiced, focused pressure.

Your hips jerked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he swore, voice tight with restraint. “Not until you come. Not until you fall apart for me.”

And you did. With a cry torn from your throat, you shattered, body clenching around him, mind blank with pleasure. You came hard, every nerve lit up, and he followed with a broken sound, hips stuttering as he spilled into you.

Then he held you. Just held you.

His breath was ragged against your neck. Your fingers threaded into his hair. His weight was solid over you, grounding, safe.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

And then, it slipped away.

The heat of his skin. The weight of his body. The sound of his breath.

Gone.

You woke with a jolt, breath catching, chest heaving like you’d just been yanked from underwater.

The sheets were damp with sweat. The room was still dark, pre-dawn light barely filtering through the safehouse blinds. Your heart was pounding.

Too far. You’d let it go too far.

That dream, no, that memory — it wasn’t supposed to last that long. You always woke up before that part. Before the way he touched you made it impossible to lie to yourself. Before the sound of his voice made your ribs ache. Before your body reminded you how much it still wanted him. Before you remembered what it felt like to love him.

Because that’s what it was. That’s what it always was. Love.

And it broke you open like it was new.

You sat up fast, pressing the heel of your hand to your chest like you could shove the feeling back down. Like you could contain it this time. Like it wouldn’t ruin everything.

But it was already too late. Three years of running. Three years of silence. And still, you’d dreamt of him.

You had to get out. Now.

You were up and moving before your thoughts could catch up, shoving gear into your bag, hands shaking. No time for a plan. No message for Sam. You couldn’t stay. Not after this. Not when the truth was so loud it hurt.

You didn’t even notice the door open.

“Where are you going?” The voice behind you froze you mid-step.

Bucky.

You turned slowly, like your limbs were moving through sand. He was in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes dark and tired. He’d clearly just woken up, but one look at your face and he was wide awake.

“I—” you started, but the words got stuck.

He took a step forward. “You were leaving.”

Silence.

You didn’t deny it.

He let out a short, bitter breath and nodded. “Of course you were.”

“Don’t,” you said softly. “Don’t do that. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.” His voice cracked on the edges. “Because I’ve been trying to for three fucking years.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “That night… I’ve tried so hard to forget it. I thought if I stayed away long enough, if I buried it deep enough, I’d stop feeling this way.”

“And did it work?” he asked, voice quieter now. Broken.

You met his eyes. “No. It didn’t.”

He took another step, like he was afraid you might bolt. “I looked for you. I thought maybe you were dead. Or that I’d imagined it all. I thought… maybe it hadn’t meant as much to you.”

“It meant too much,” you whispered. “That’s why I ran.”

“Then stop running.” His voice dropped, soft but certain. “I’m not asking for all of it. Not right now. I just want a chance. A real one. We can start over, slow, careful. However you need.”

Your lip trembled. You shook your head once, then twice, then stopped. He stepped closer. Close enough to touch. “I still want you,” he said. “Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be with you and not fall apart.” His hand hovered at your side, not touching, but close enough to feel. “Then fall apart. I’ll be here when you do.”

You closed the distance.

Not with a kiss. Not with words. Just a lean. A small tilt of your body into his, like a truce. Like surrender.

His arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter. He held you like you might slip away again, but this time, he wasn’t letting go.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But you didn’t move. And you didn’t run.

That would have to be enough, for now.

a/n: requests are open!! hope y'all enjoyed the absolute depression of a fic I wrote xx

Tag list: @inf4ntdeath @starfly-nicole @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[milkmily]

Invitation ³ [Zayne]

Zayne x non mc! Reader

Sum. You and Zayne got an invitation to a wedding, but it was to attend the wedding of the people you two love, both heartbroken. (Smut, piv, oral, Zayne may be a bit out of character so I am sorry, it's been a while I've written smut so forgive me, As well for typos sorry)

<- One | Two | here | (possibly a lil short story not sure ->

Layla is MC(my mc/ oc)

It was sudden, as he pulled Layla into his office she couldn't stop her sobs. What had happened? What is going on? He worried as he saw her cry. He hasn't seen Layla cry in a while. Last time he saw her cry was when Sylus said his vows to her. Zayne tried to calm her down, give her time to breathe and let it all out. He had his arm wrapped around her as she wiped her tears away, her sobs turning into gasps.

It was all so confusing and it hurt seeing her like this, it truly did. “I'm sorry Zayne…” she mumbled. “About What?” He asks. “I just barged in here and…” She sighs and shakes her head. Zayne rubbed her shoulder and said, “It's fine, tell me.” Layla looked at him and her eyes broke him. She looked so sad, The shine in her eyes was gone. What had happened? Was it Sylus? “Sylus and I had a talk…” Oh so it was him. And something in him burned. Layla continued, “It was about her.” You. It was about you. Why you?

“Everything went okay, it was amazing really. But the problem was that Sylus kept bringing her up. It didn't bother me because I'd bring you and Caleb up from time to time.” She says. “But then he said how she's been distant, replying to his texts late and that when they'd meet again that they would need to talk.” She says. “I know that they are close but to keep bringing her up on our honeymoon? I talked with him and told him, he seemed not to have taken it well.” She says as her hands start to shake again, the tears building up into her eyes. “A-And he said that not to think too much of it, he said I over think! Of course I do!” She sobbed. “So we just started to argue. He thinks that you also get in the way!” She cried. Zayne froze as he heard that. Him? But he hasn't done anything. “I tried to talk to him but he just…we couldn't.” She says, sounding so broken and scared. “I love him so much, I don't want this argument to end what we have.” This was the first time he's heard her say that. ‘I love him…’ Why can't he get that through his head though? And why does he feel relief at hearing them argue? What was wrong with him?

“Perhaps you two need space?” He suggested and Layla looked at him and she seemed offended. “Space? But why? I mean, we are married to be together. I don't want space from him, I want him to be with me. I miss him already.” She cried. Zayne looked away. He didn't like hearing that. It brought him shame even thinking about how he's actually happy they argued. He wrapped an arm around her and said, “We have to do things we don't like in order for things to work, Layla.” she shook her head and connected to sob. He wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes. “I'm sorry…” he whispers and she breaks more.

As he hugged Layla back, he felt like how he used to be with her. The way his heart beat at how close she was, but right now it felt hurt for her. Sadness as he Sees her cry. Maybe if they had gotten married instead, Zayne Would of never made her cry, never would have argued with her and always agreed with her. Everything.

“Zayne…?” He turns and sees you, standing right at the door, a box of macaroons at hand. And he remembered. He remembered you'd be at the hospital in his office with a gift. He felt guilty but all he thought of really was Layla and how hurt she is. You awkwardly looked away and said, “I'll leave. Um, I'll just leave these here…” You placed the macaroons down on the desk. You looked at Zayne who was looking right back at you. Zayne saw hurt in your face again, maybe even betrayal? It was the same face You had when you saw Layla and Sylus dance in their wedding. Zayne said nothing though. He still had his arms wrapped around Layla, his head laying on top of hers. But as he watched you leave, he felt guilty, even more than before.

It was quite between you and Sylus. You fidget with your fingers as you stare down them. “What happened?” You asked, still not looking at him. Sylus looked away, he seemed to feel guilty. He didn't feel guilty. “Me and Layla argued.” He says. Ah, the first argument for the newlyweds. “About what exactly?”

“You.” Your eyes go wide and quickly look at him. “Me?” You asked and he nodded. “You've been distant. You don't answer any of my texts, maybe like a day or two later and you don't call.” He says. “It had me worried. You know how worried I've been? I've had to make Luke and Kieran search for you to see what you've been up to. All they told me is you've been with that doctor.” He says. “I don't trust him, I've told you before.” He glares. Your eyes are wide at his words. “So you kept talking about me to your wife?!” You yelled and Sylus raised a brow at your reaction. “I just said I've been worried about you and you're mad?”

“Of course I am!” You yelled. “You talked to your wife about me? On your honeymoon? Seriously? Think about it this way, what if Layla was talking about Zayne to you saying how she's worried he hasn't answered any of her texts or calls, how would you feel?!” You say and Sylus looked at you. Men sure are stupid. He just looked down and you shook your head. “I understand you've been worried about me but you have to know I can handle things myself. And yes, I've been hanging out with Zayne. There is nothing wrong with that.” You say. Sylus nods and says, “I would like to apologize…” you shook your head and said, “No, apologize to her. Not me. You have to talk to her and explain. You are a smart man but for some things you aren't Sylus.” You say.

You noticed something though. You didn't react as you used to towards him. Your heart didn't jump as you saw him or how he talked to you. Nothing. Maybe if you had heard that a month ago where you were madly in love with him, then maybe you would have fallen more for him and even would have done something. But here you are, helping him try to talk to his wife and apologize. You felt normal around him. You sigh and say, “I will be back in a bit alright? I don't suggest taking some time off from seeing each other as the relationship might affect it, but talk to her. Reassure her that you are with her. And if she needs time, then let it happen, just keep talking and text Her.” You say. Maybe everything you are telling him is something you would have wanted with him. But now, you don't and only want what's best for his wife and him.

“Where are you going?” He asks. “To see Zayne. He had surgery today and I got him something.” You catch yourself smiling at the box of deserts and Sylus noticed too. He nods, understanding. “See if Layla is there, you don't need to tell her anything, I'll just want to know where she is, that's all.” He says. You nod and grab the box. “Help yourself around.” And leave.

You walked to the hospital building. The closer you got, tell more anxious you'd get. You wondered what Zayne would be doing now? Be in his office and review work? Sit and simply think? What is it he's doing?

You walked to the elevator and as the numbers got closer to Zayne's office. You were smiling and noticed that. You noticed how your heart beat fast and how anxious you felt just at the thought of him. The doors slid open and you walked out. As you get closer and closer, You breathe in and open the door. Zayne lets you anyway now. No need to knock, he will know. But you Were met with Layla crying in His arms.

The strange thing was the hug didn't hurt, it was the expression on his face. He looked like he had missed her, he felt hurt for her and most of all, he looks In love. The way his hand coos Her back and holds Her makes your heart ache. And just by that, you can tell Zayne really hasn't moved on, has he? “Zayne…” you called his name and he turned to look at you, his eyes going wide. It was quiet. Your eyes go to Layla who still had no clue you were even in the same room. Well, now you know where she is.

“I'll leave. Um, I'll just leave these here…” You placed the macaroons down on the desk. Your hands shake as you stare at the box for a second. You looked at him and saw he looked nervous, as if he had gotten caught stealing candy like a kid. You looked at Layla and back at Zayne before leaving, closing the door behind you. You stare down at your shoes and bite the side of your cheek as you walk to the elevator and press the button. Your whole body felt tired. You felt tired. Your feet somehow make you walk back home with the strength you had left in you.

You were hurt once again.

You had forgotten Sylus was even at home. You opened the door and were welcomed by the smell of food. You slip off your shoes and walk to the kitchen. “You don't have a lot of things Here sweetie, so I cooked what I could with what you had.” He says and turns to look at you but all he was met with was hurt. “Is something the matter?” He asks. Your gaze was low, avoiding him and all you could do was nod. Sylus knew you wouldn't want to talk about it so he stayed quiet. “Just take a seat and I'll give you some dinner.” He says and goes back to humming. You quickly got distracted because of how horrible he Sang. You chuckled and sat down.

Dinner was made with a glass of wine on the side. But all you thought about was Zayne. Sylus probably was thinking about Layla too. And you spoke, “At the wedding…” Sylus raised A brow. “You told me if I was hiding something.” You say and he nods. “I was…but if I had told you it was wrong. So I said when the time comes I'll tell you.” You say. And you felt right now that possibly today was truly the right time. “When I got the invitation, I was devastated. I cried when I saw your signature On it because it was true, you were going to get married.” You say as you look down at the now finished dinner plate. Sylus stared at you as you spoke, he could see how much you've been holding in and how painful it has been. As he heard you, it started to click to him. “At the wedding too, I cried. But when I saw you dance with her, I felt so broken, that my heart just started to hurt because I remembered the time we had danced together. It meant so much to me because that's when I realized how in love I was with you.” You say and move your gaze to his. “I don't expect you to risipricate the feelings. I already know that. But I just wanted to say it.” You sigh, the feeling of something taken off your chest. Sylus had thought for a moment and he nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” He says. You nod and start to eat.

It's been four days already since Sylus decided to stay over at your place. You had agreed only if he helped around the house to clean. He may be your boss but you are on vacation right now and he is not going to be sleeping here for free. The past four days you didn't contact Zayne. Everytime you thought of him your stomach hurt from anxiety and you'd distract yourself. You kept remembering how he held Layla, how he comforted her and the expression on his face. How could you forget that? You'd be at random thoughts by yourself in your bedroom about things. Things as in: was your love life messed up? Why is it messed up by tragedy? One sided love situations and conflict.

As for Layla and Sylus, they still talk and keep contact. Layla had wanted some distance from each other for a while, saying it was the best choice. You wonder if maybe Zayne had suggested that so he could be around Layla again. Sylus didn't like the idea but went along with it, he just had told Layla to text him often. They do make phone calls here and there but it's awkward since that wall is still between them. You can tell how desperate Sylus is to see Layla again. Sylus was on a call in the living room with Layla and you were in your bedroom again with your own thoughts. That's when the doorbell rings, you snapped out of your thoughts but still stayed in the same position on your bed. You knew Sylus would open the door either way. “Are they home?” You heard a familiar voice and stood up. You hesitated for a second. As soon as you heard his voice, you were quick to follow. You sigh and walk to the front door where Sylus and Zayne stood. Zayne's eyes moved to look at you and he seemed a bit tired, like he hadn't slept well the past nights. “Here she is.” Sylus says and walks away, leaving you two to talk.

“Are You alright? You haven't answered any of my texts and I worried something might have happened.” was the first thing he said. You avoid eye contact but look back at him. “Sorry, I've kept my phone on do not disturb.” You admit. He nods and says, “I've been trying to contact you for the past two days, I was worried since you didn't answer my calls and texts.” You are a quick texter.

“I Apologize, Zayne. I'll check on my phone again.” You say and Zayne sighs. “Is something the matter?” He asks. You shook your head. “No. Just handling Sylus. I'm sure you're doing the same with Layla.” He looked away and nodded. You nod back and say, “I have to go back in. I need to help cook dinner.” Zayne looks at you. It seemed he didn't want you to leave but let's you, giving you a nod. “Alright, but please, just answer my texts or calls.” He pleaded before he excused himself and left. You close the door and quickly ran to your room for your phone you unlocked it and saw everything

I would like to apologize about today. If you Have time, could you Come to my office tomorrow?

I hope your night goes well today.

And then it goes to the next day.

Thank you for the sweet treat, they were delicious. I Apologize for the calls as well.

Would you like to go out to eat at a restaurant? Layla recommended it, she says it's good.

Hello?

Missing call

Are you alright?

Then a day passes.

How was your day?

Is something the matter? Layla had told me Sylus is at your place? She says you're fine.

Did I do something wrong?

And then the next day.

I am sorry but I worry for you. I'll be going to your house to see how you are.

And it ends there. You sigh and answer the texts,

Hey Zayne, sorry again. And yes, I would like to go to the restaurant. Just tell me when and what time and I can see.

To your surprise he answered quickly.

Is tomorrow night fine? I can pick you up.

You looked at his text, your heart beating quickly, making you groan at your decision.

Yes, that works.

Layla had talked with Sylus and she said she needed some space. She would still contact him but needed to think things through. As for Zayne, He stayed beside her. Always did. The first day, he had helped Layla feel better by making her something to eat, get her to watch something to distract herself but all she did was look at her phone and answer it as quickly as she could when a notification came through. Which would bother Zayne. And Layla noticed but she said nothing about it, why should she?

Zayne looks at the TV, it was some romance Christmas movie Layla had picked. He saw the two love interests build a snowman and quickly thought of you. He remembered when he made the small snow kitty for you and saw how your eyes went wide and they shined at how cute it was. He couldn't help but smile at that thought. But for a second he remembered the expression you had when you saw him with Layla. The hurt. He looked away from the TV, no longer wanting to see it as it reminded him of you. He walked to his office and from afar he could still see Layla stare at her phone screen in hopes for any message or call to come through. Zayne looks down at his own phone and sighs, no message from you at all. Maybe you have been busy with something since Sylus came back. He grabbed his phone and texted you.

I would like to apologize about today. If you Have time, could you Come to my office tomorrow?

I hope your night goes well today.

The next day comes. Layla was asleep in the guest room while he got up early to head to work. He opens the fridge and sees the box of macaroons. Zayne's sweet tooth kicked in and he grabbed one out of the box. He took a bite out of it but it tasted bland. Yes, it was sweet as he always likes but it doesn't taste the same. That's when he thought of you, when you two went to eat something after his dentist appointment. You being the tease and evil person you are, got yourself some macaroons and eat them slowly in front of him. It did bother him because he did want to eat one but the stupid cavity was killing him. That's when he grabbed your hand without even thinking and took a bite out of it. Your eyes went wide and felt his lips touch your thumb before he backed away and chewed. “It's good.” He says and you groan. “Your cavity! Listen to what the dentist said!” You say as you pull on his shirt. “Doctors lie.” He mumbles. You rolled your eyes and just laughed.

Zayne was brought back to his own reality, the box at front of him. He sighs and looks at his phone. Nothing from you yet. He quickly typed:

Thank you for the sweet treat, they were delicious.

He had expected you to see his text already but nothing. He sighs and leaves his house. At work he was staring at his phone any second he could. Nothing from you yet, which had him start to worry. You never do this, well, haven't done any of this before. If you were busy you'd always tell him beforehand. Now nothing, at all. He'd send a text here and there and maybe a call or two but nothing. At home, Layla talked about Sylus but in reality, he didn't pay much attention, he was so busy on his phone that he just couldn't.

Layla looks at Zyane and asks, “Is everything alright?” but he'd nod. Layla wasn't stupid, she's known him since they were kids. “Tell me.” She says, this time being in front of him. It almost felt like the right moment to speak since he's finally gotten her full attention now. His lips part and speak. “I am in love with you.” but when they slipped his lips, it felt wrong. Yes, it is wrong he basically confessed to a married woman but it was the fact his own feelings told him that it was wrong. That maybe he just wasn't in love with her anymore.

Layla's eyes were wide at his sudden confession. “Zayne…” she says and signs. “I'm married to Sylus. You already know.” She says and Zayne nods. “I…I know.” He says but it still felt wrong. Like as if those three words weren't meant for her but for you. “I Apologize, Layla. No. It is wrong of me I-” he groans and sighs. He finally speaks about you to Layla, how he feels around you, how he's felt, and what happened at the wedding. Which Layla listens to it all. “I see.” she nods. “Well, Sylus talked to me about her as well.” He quickly turned and raised a brow. “He is staying with her. I thought you knew.” She says but Zayne shook his head. She looked away and sighs. “Just take her out to this restaurant, yes?” She said as she looked it up on his phone. “It's really pretty there.” She smiles.

The next day came and Zayne couldn't stand it anymore. You completely ignored all his texts and calls and he's worried. He grabbed his keys after work and drove to your house. Zayne was met with Sylus at the door instead of you. “Where is she?” He asks, which sounds a bit demanding but he's desperate to see you. He hears footsteps and he sees you, finally again. You seemed fine, maybe a bit tired which he worried about but that didn't matter, he finally got to see you.

“Are You alright? You haven't answered any of my texts and I worried something might have happened.” was the first thing he said. He noticed your eyes move away from him. You were avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I've kept my phone on to not disturb.” You admit. He nods and says, “I've been trying to contact you for the past almost four days, I was worried since you didn't answer my calls and texts.” You are a quick texter.

“I Apologize, Zayne. I'll check on my phone again.” You say and Zayne sighs. “Is something the matter?” He asks. You shook your head. “No. Just handling Sylus. I'm sure you're doing the same with Layla.” He looked away and nodded. You nod back and say, “I have to go back in. I need to help cook dinner.” Zayne looks at you. It seemed he didn't want you to leave but let's you, giving you a nod. “Alright, but please, just answer my texts or calls.” He pleaded before he excused himself and left. He sat down in his car and sighs, looking up. His phone vibrates and sees you replied to his other text where he had suggested a restaurant to eat at.

Hey Zayne, sorry again. And yes, I would like to go to the restaurant. Just tell me when and what time and I can see.

He was quick to reply, happy to see your text:

Is tomorrow night fine? I can pick you up.

Yes, that works.

The restaurant was nice, the lighting was great from where Zayne and you sat and had a great view outside the window. You two were at 5 stories high in a building. You two could see the lights from below. You had probably worn the wrong wear for winter but still went anyway. Zayne had taken notice of something, you didn't start a conversation. You always do. You always bring some little thing and it goes after that. He cleared his throat, making you look up at him. “Layla had recommended this place, it has a nice view too. I think I like it.” He says and you just nod. He didn't expect that reaction, he expected more like how you always do. “What do you think of the place?” He asks. Zayne was very nervous, very. He isn't used to you being so quiet. He honestly thinks you don't like the place.

“It is nice, it does have a nice view from here.” You say and your orders come. He thanked the waiter and looked at you. You didn't seem very enthusiastic today. What was wrong? Did he do something wrong? Is the restaurant not to your liking? But Layla said it was the best place. “I'll be back. I am going to use the restroom. You can start to eat without me.” You say, the chair screeching as you pushed yourself away and stood up. Zayne sighs and looks down at the food, his own appetite going away. What was wrong with you? Are you okay?

“Zayne?” He looked up and saw Layla. His eyes are wide and says, “what are you doing here?” she smiled and nervously looked away. “I came here to eat. With Sylus.” But didn't he say at least they needed a week apart? This is Layla, she never listens anyways. Layla then just starts to talk about the talk Sylus and her had.

You didn't want to be at the restaurant. Well, more like not be around Zayne. You still haven't gotten over everything. When he mentioned Layla you just nod, what do you say? He just keeps mentioning Layla while you two are eating, it's annoying.

When the food arrived, you excused Yourself and walked to the restroom. You looked at yourself in the Mirror And sigh. Why are you like this? Zayne genuinely wants to spend time with you again like last time. You smiled at that thought. You washed your hands and walked outside. As you walked out, you noticed Layla with Zayne. You saw the way Zayne’s eyes looked at her, the way his head tilted to the side slightly to listen to her speak. He hummed and nodded at the things she said to him. His expression looked like: yes, I am listening to you. But that look said more. Yes, keep talking to me. His eyes never leave her face as he smiles at her and nods. It almost felt like back in high school when a boy looked at a girl he liked and listened to everything she said and agreed with almost everything she said. You wanted to be her. You wish you were her. Why was she alway so lucky? Why couldn't it be you? Was this hatred? Was this jealousy? Which one is it because you yourself don't even know. Why did he even invite you anyways if he'd be talking to her and looking at her like a puppy dog does rather than to be looking at you. It was the exact same with Sylus. All the same the exact look and head tilt. And exactly the same right now, be in the background of them both. Why are you letting yourself repeat all of this over again? Why are you allowing this pain? Why can't you let go? Why are you allowing him to make you feel so confused? He's given you a sign that he does like you but does he love you? Just as much as you love him? Soon his eyes moved away from her and saw you, but it seemed he saw your own expression too. Pain. You just stood there as you stared right back at him. Maybe you weren't mad at Layla, it was Zayne you were mad at. As much as you didn't wish you could, you can't control how you feel. Why is he like this? He's giving you so many mixed signals that you finally snapped.

You quickly walked up to the table, grabbed your purse and walked away. You walked to the elevator and bit down on your lip as you held in the tears. You quickly walked out as it made its stop and opened the doors, wind swishing in your face, making you shiver. Winter snow and yet, you didn't bring a damn coat. You sigh but still walk out. You'll just have to endure it.

Zayne was quick, he excused himself, paid the bill and left. He rushed to the elevator and rushed out. The wind blew in his face once he opened the doors to leave. You were probably freezing too. He ran and he finally saw your silhouette. He ran and called your name, making you turn. You cried? “Zayne, don't run, the floor can be slippery!” You say as you walk up to him. But you suddenly stopped. Zayne reaches you, panting And looks at you. “You can't walk out here in the snow, it's cold.” He says as he holds your shoulder. You tried to push him away from your shoulder but he had a good grip on you. “Please, let me drive you back home.” He begged and took his coat off. He places it on your shoulders as he looks at you. He cupped your chin with his hand and lifted it up to see you had indeed cried. Why did you cry? What had he done wrong? “What did I do?” He asks. Zayne has to know immediately what it was that he did to make you cry. Your eyes looked away and he sighs. “Please tell me, what is it? I've never seen you cry and I never want to see you cry because of me. Please tell me what I've done wrong and never do again.”

Zayne pleaded, making your heart beat. Right now, probably wasn't the best time to react to how he pleaded. He's never been like this to you, so his pleading made your face Heat up. You wanted to stay mad at him. But how could you when he was practically begging for you to explain what he's done wrong so he never does again. This is why you love him. “I…” you stop. You were about to say you love him. Was now the right time? When will it ever be the right time? You want to tell him because you're scared that it will all happen again when it's too late for you to say how bad you fell in love with him. He was waiting, shivering while he still held his hands on your shoulder as he waited. You looked at him and suddenly got closer to him. Zayne looks down at you and gets closer too. Why are you two getting closer? What is going on? Zayne's hands creep to cup your head and he brings you closer, his lips brush against yours and stop, was he waiting for you to push him away? You quickly crushed your lips against his and wrapped your arms around him. You kissed him and felt his own lips move against yours, making your heart beat fast. You moved your hand to his face and rubbed your thumb against his cheek as you kissed him. You two pulled apart needing to breathe and you speak, “I love you Zayne.” You were nervous. “I fell in love with you, Zayne. I fell in love with you. I felt so hurt that you hugged Layla, that you talked to her, that you looked at her the way I wanted you to look at me.” You felt the tears come again. “I feel so hurt because it feels like it's all happening again where it's always me who falls in love, it's always one sided. That's why I left. That's why I cried.”

Zayne backed away to look at her, his hands never leaving her. He was guilty for making her feel this way. He never wanted to and never will again. “I'm sorry.” He apologized. “I am sorry for making you feel this way and for confusing you.” He says as his thumb rubbed your cheek, wiping away a tear. “I love you too, and I am sure of it.” He says. Your eyes went wide at his words and you were about to say something about Layla but he spoke first,

“I told Layla how I felt, I had to. I can't keep my feelings in.” He says. “It was obvious I'd be rejected but…it felt as if I let go of something heavy, it was reliving.” He says and you lean to his touch. “But it made me think that I really do not love her. I simply missed my friend.” He says. “Being around you made me forget, I want to apologize for everything making you feel this way.” You smiled and just waited for him to say the words, the words you've been wanting to hear again. “I love you.” He says and you brought him in for another kiss. You pulled away and said, “Let's go home. You're shivering, Zayne. It is cold.” but his lips kept kissing you. You smiled and said, “We can go to your place…?” He stopped and looked at you just to confirm if it was what you were actually thinking about and you just grinned. Zayne blushed and sighs. He fixed his glasses and cleared his throat. “Alright.” He said and you laughed. “You are so cute, Zayne.” You say. “Before we go, let's go for a walk. I still need to process everything you told me.” You say as you hold on to his coat and Zayne smiles as he sees your blush. “Alright.” He wrapped an arm around you to keep you warmer. “We could go to a shop some day to get you a coat.” He says. You lean on to him and nod. “That sounds nice.” You whispered and you two walked.

Zayne's hands never leave you as soon as you walk inside his house. You weren't even given time to slip out of your shoes. Zayne already had his lips on your neck, his hands holding your waist. You softly gasp and hold on to him. “I need to take my shoes off Zayne.” You whisper and he gently sucks on your neck. He kissed it and held your hand. “Okay.” He whispers and kisses your hand. He goes on his knees and holds your foot up. Slowly remove your shoes and kiss your thigh. He moved his other hand to remove the other one and kissed your other thigh. Your heart was beating like crazy and you couldn't resist anymore. He was just everything. You wanted him so badly.

Zayne smiles at you and says, “You wore a tight dress with tights on a cold day with no coat…” He moved his hands up your thighs as he never broke eye contact. “It looks perfect on you, just isn't perfect for winter. You'll catch a cold.” He says as he holds your inner thigh and squeezes it. You bite your lip and run your fingers through his hair. “I have a doctor to care for me if I do get sick.” You say and he chuckles. “I suppose you are right.” He kissed your inner thigh and his hands went higher and higher, making you pant and feel anxious at his touch. He looks up at you asking for permission. You nod and feel his hands go under your dress, gently pulling down the black tights. He raised your dress a bit and could see the wet spot. You anxiously bite down on your thumb as you look down at him and he smiles. He rubbed his thumb on the wet spot, making you jump.

Zayne slowly moved his thumb up and gently rubbed on your clit, making you shiver. He was staring at you still, seeing every reaction and movement you made, his eyes never leaving you. You lean against the cold wall as his thumb rubbed gently. His other fingers moved to the side of the panties and moved them aside. He took off your tights and panties fully and got between your legs, looking up at you. His hands slowly brushed up and down your thighs, his face getting closer and closer to your core. His thumb brushes up and down between your folds. Zayne groans at your soft whimper. He opens your folds with his fingers. You gasp as you feel his tongue brush in your folds, Zayne needing a taste, he was hungry and desperate. He looks up at you and his tongue goes to your clit, attacking it and sucking on it, almost as if he was a starving man. You moan and hold on to his hair. You could hear the slips, groans and moans that would come from Zayne. You were getting closer and closer, you needed more. You started to ride his face, his nose brushing against your clit as he ate you. His eyes cut tightly close, the grip he had on your thighs tight. His hands move to your ass, pushing you closer to him. His other hand was already unbuckling his belt and pants. The tent in his pants was so painful. He sucked your clit and you see stars. You moaned his name as you arched your back, riding his face though your orgasam. Zayne groans and pulls away to gasp. He looks at you, sweating and panting after the orgasam.

God, you look so beautiful right now. He needed you. He quickly gets up and brings you in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on him as you shared the kiss, your hands quickly wrapping around him. His hands went to your waist and he pulled away panting. “I need you.” He says and lifts you up, making you yelp. You were gently placed on the bed and you looked at him. He unbutton his shirt and your eyes go wide. What a view. He looks at you and grins. You grabbed his arm and pulled him to you, moving your hands to his abs and smiled. “Wow doctor.” You giggled and he chuckled. Your hands slowly moved up to his chest, making him gasp and groan. You could see how red he was. It went all the way to his ears. You kissed his cheek and whispered, “I can't anymore Zayne, I need you.” sending shivers and making his cock twitch in his boxers. Your hands run up and down slowly on his sides. Zayne's eyes moved down to your chest. He can no longer look away. You're looking right at him too, no? Then he has every right to look as well.

His cold hands slowly moved to the strings for your dress and he pulled them down. Zayne looked at you and you were staring right back at him, your top teeth biting down on your lip and your chest rising up and down. Your hard nipples could feel the fabric slowly get pulled down and finally, they were out. You looked at him and waited for his next words. But it is more of an action guy. He moved his hand to your chest and cupped one. He goes to your other breast and kisses the nipple, making you whine and bring your chest closer to his face. He opened his mouth and gently sucked on the hard nipple that was eager for his attention. His tongue swirls around in circles, making you moan and run your fingers through his black hair. You moaned his name and he looked back at you.

His cock was already out, his boxer gods knew where. Zayne pulls away with a ‘pop’ and goes to suck the other one. He wanted to make you feel good, make up for the time he made you feel hurt, feel betrayed by him. He always wanted to do this to you, make you moan and make you feel good. He's had dreams about it. That night he made that little snow kitty, he had a wet dream about you, moaning his name and begging for him. He woke up to his boxer wet and had to hand wash that. Which was embarrassing really. And since then he's thought of you and had more dreams of you. So having you here right now, made him so happy and especially turned on. Zayne moved his hand down to your thighs and gently rubbed your clit. He opens your wet folds and moans on your breast. He grabbed his cock with his other hand and rubbed the tip of his cock between your wet folds, his tip more wet with your folds. You squirm under him, moving your hips to feel more.

Zayne couldn't hold it any longer and looked in his nightstand. A box of condoms. He quickly opened it and gently put one on. You looked at him and tilted your head. He grabbed a pillow and laid it under you. “For better support.” He says. You smiled and nodded. Zayne brings you in for another kiss and gently pushes Himself in you, making you two gasp. You felt so warm and tight around his cock. He opened his eyes and saw how your eyebrows arched, your teeth biting at the bottom of your lip and your chest rising and filling. He kissed your cheek and whispered, “You are so beautiful.” before he thrust, making you moan. His hands moved to your hips for better support and moved his own hips away from yours and thrusted in once again. His pace was slow, making you whimper and moan. You needed more, you needed more of him. “Zayne, please.” You pleaded, his cock twitching inside of you. His thrusts become faster this time, making you hold on to him. “Z-Zayne! Ah! So-so good!” You moaned, making him groan at how you felt and sounded.

He pressed his chest against yours and brought you in for a kiss. The kiss was sloppy, the pleasure in your body making it impossible to give him a proper kiss. He Slips his tongue in you, his tongue exploring your mouth. Your eyes rolled back for a second, your breath becoming heavy and louder, your back arching and sweaty everywhere. You were close again. So close. But he stopped. You whimper and look at him, your expression showing why he even stopped. “Not yet.” He pants out and suddenly you're flipped. You're on top of him, his cock was pressed against your ass. He was smiling up at you. What an amazing view it was to him. To see you on top of him, panting and looking down at him. His hands grab the dress and pull it off of you. It got in the way anyways. Zayne grabbed his cock and taped it on your ass. You grinned down at him and said, “You're an impatient doctor. I thought you were supposed to be.” You say as you rise yourself up. “How can I?” Zayne says and pressed the tip of his cock to your cunt and you lower yourself. He groans at the once again warm sensation on his cock. Oh how he wished he could feel you without the stupid condom.

You pressed your hands down on his chest and started to move, back and forth. Your poor clit rubbing against his lower stomach, getting it wet. Zayne holds on to your hips and thrust in you, making you scream. He lifts his hips up and fucks himself in to you while he sucked on one of your nipples. You grabbed on to the head of the bed as he fucked himself in to you. “Ah- I love you.” He suddenly groans out, making your pussy clench. He bites down on your nipple. You could hear his pants getting heavy and louder. His thrust became more sloppy. You moaned, “I L-love y-you- ah!” Your eyes rolled back, throwing your head back as you came in his cock, making Zayne groan and hold tightly onto you as he cums as well, filling the rubber up with his hot cum.

You two pant, trying to catch each other's breath, your sweat mixed with his, the room feeling warm and the lingering smell of sex filling it. Zayne gently lays you down in the bed, took off the condom, wrapped it up and threw it away. He grabbed a towel and handed it to you. “Here, wipe off the sweat. I'll prepare a bath for us.” He said and placed a kiss on your cheek. You smiled at him and kissed him back before he could leave. You gently wiped off the sweat on you and stared up at the ceiling as all you can remember what had happened. You smile to yourself and think, today everything went well. He loves you, he really does and he proved it to you today.

Zayne gently moved his hands up and down your side as he kissed your neck. You relaxed on to him, the warm water and cent of lavender in the bath making you feel relaxed. You talked to him about Sylus and how he had stayed at your place to explain why Sylus had even opened the door. You also told him that you too confessed to him but you didn't want to hear Sylus opinion, it was something you just wanted to get off your chest. Zayne listened to everything you told him as he continued to kiss your neck.

“Will you stop? Don't your lips feel sore already?” You smiled and Zayne Chuckles. “They are sore.” He placed one last kiss on your cheek. “How do you feel?” He asks. “Amazing.” You smiled. Zayne shook his head and said, “No, in general. Do you feel hurt? Sore?” ah, the doctor instincts. But it did feed his pride a bit when you said that. “I'm alright, Zayne.” You reassured him. As Zayne watched you close your eyes and relax on him, he thought for a second that maybe, he just wants to marry you right now. His hands slowly move to your breast and he cups them. “Hey!” you say and he just chuckles. He closed his eyes and imagined you in your beautiful wedding dress, your beautifully made hair, and your long veil. You two slowly danced together as you looked up at him and smiled, maybe even cry, well, it would be him crying at how beautiful you would look.

Zayne just wished that the day would come when everything was ready just for him to ask.

___________________________________________

Tags:

@nm4565natty @animegamerfox @crimsonrubie

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I am so sorry it took me a good while to post. As you saw in the top im not sure if I'd write something small but who knows? Thank yoh everyone for reading i love you all <3

[sailorsoons]

Cherry Sours Teaser (l.c)

PAIRING: Mafia!Chan x f. reader

SUMMARY: Nothing in your life ever comes easy. Not family, not money, and certainly not jobs to pay the endless stack of bills. The only thing easy is the smiles you give Chan when he comes into your convenience store at the same time every Saturday to buy his cherry sours. And then one day you run into him where you're not supposed to, and everything changes.

FINAL WC: TBD

AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Strangers to Lovers

GENRE: Romance, hint of angst, smut

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

TEASER WARNINGS: Chan is clearly panicking at an event, so mild depictions of anxiety and fear, implied illegal activities, Jeonghan is kind of mean but you'll get it, recreational drinking, implied women being used as paif company.

A/N: This is the third installment of The Syndicates Collection that will be telling the story of Chan and our first reader who exists outside of the Syndicate. I am so excited to tell their story and show more of the world when a character is outside the bubble of the Choi family!

 MASTERLIST | ASK | THE SYNDICATES COLLECTION | ▷NOW PLAYING: OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

COMING SATURDAY, MAY 17 | REQUEST TO BE TAGGED

Girls circulate with silver trays carrying glasses of scotch, whiskey, and champagne. Some settle in men’s laps, some whisper into their ears, all of them part of the illusion of wealth, comfort, control. Chan steps forward, eyes adjusting to the dim glow- 

He sees you and he nearly goes catatonic. 

You’re dressed like the other women, but somehow even more out of place. Not because you don’t belong, but because he doesn’t expect to see you here, couldn’t even have imagined it. Not in a thousand years would he have made this gamble. You were never even in his odds of being here. 

You’re standing near the far end of the room, your lips parted slightly in what looks to be mid-laughter in response to something the man talking to you has said. Chan’s chest tightens so sharp and sudden that he staggers, wondering if he’s having a heart attack. 

You are painfully beautiful, dressed in a sapphire gown that ripples like water when you walk. He barely has time to register how perfect the cut of it is, the way it hugs your waist, the way you turn and it undulates like a living thing, turning you into a goddess of the sea. Maybe in another life he would appreciate how beautiful you are, but right now, he can’t. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t supposed to be here - weren’t ever supposed to cross his path outside of that goddamn convenience store. He had prepared for tonight for days, planning everything perfectly, scripting each gamble and risk, calculating it to the fucking detail and it’s all for nothing, because you standing there in that fucking dress ruins it all. 

Chan’s thoughts scatter like dropped cards. Jeonghan has already started the evening without missing a beat, greeting someone sitting at the table with a handshake dripping with charm. Chan tries to follow suit. His body moves, just barely, but his mind doesn’t, still stuck on you. 

You laugh again and it feels like Chan has been stabbed. 

What are you doing here? And worse, what does it mean that you are? Is this some intricate play by the Yong family? Are you here because you’re in trouble? Both are equally likely and send Chan down a violent rabbit hole of thoughts, chasing all of the possibilities. He suddenly doesn’t know if you’re a threat or someone who needs saving, and it rattles him to the core.

Chan finally starts to collect himself, dragging his eyes away from you, trying to calm himself. It’s too late. You turn to look at him, a fleeting glance that turns to shock. Recognition blooms across your face and if Chan wasn’t in such panic, he might grin at how cute you look when you’re surprised. 

When you don’t smile at him, Chan cracks. He forces himself into a mask, but the damage is done. There’s already a hitch in his step, a breath he can’t seem to take. His hands twitch toward his chest as though he needs to search for a physical wound there, a gunshot he can’t see. 

Chan is thrown off. Confused. Out of balance. Exposed. 

The woman who took his drink order appears just as Chan siddles up next to Jeonghan. He can hardly hear what she says to him. Everything feels second hand, the dissociation hitting him as he tries to shield himself from his own panic. 

He accepts the drink and knocks it back before shoving the glass back in her hand and ordering another. He’s not even sure he says anything, just staring at the men surrounding the poker table, unfeeling and unseeing. 

Jeonghan doesn’t look up at Chan right away. He’s mid-handshake with someone else, voice low and pleasant as he exchanges pleasantries. Every word from Jeonghan is barbed silk, and Chan should be at his side, watching and backing him up with easy charm, matching volley for volley. 

When Jeonghan finishes his greetings, he sits in a high-backed velvet chair. His sharp eyes find Chan and narrow before they dart at the open chair next to him. Chan nearlys trips over his own feet as he scrambles to sit down. 

Jeonghan watches him, his eyes sharpening like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “What,” Jeonghan growls lowly as he flashes someone’s wife a smile, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Chan blinks. His heart’s been pounding for minutes, making him feel sick with adrenaline. “The girl from the convenience store is here.” 

Jeonghan’s expression doesn’t change, but his voice is flat when he asks, “Who?”

“Cherry Sours.” 

There’s a tick in Jeonghan’s jaw before he turns his head a fraction, gazing in your direction. It takes Jeonghan only a second to find you across the room where you’re struggling to keep up with the conversation the man at your side is having with you. 

When Jeonghan turns back to Chan, his eyes are flint. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Chan doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. Jeonghan leans closer, his voice sharper than any blade Chan has ever known. “Why the fuck is someone you know here? Is she with the Yong family? Do you think we’re being set up?”

“I- fuck - I don’t know,” Chan admits. “I don’t know why she’s here. She’s only ever worked at the convenience store. I’ve never- Jeonghan I don’t know.” 

“Stop.” Chan shuts up. Jeonghan’s voice has the hard edge of the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate right now. “You have ten seconds to get your head out of your ass. Or leave if you know you can’t do this. Now.” 

Chan doesn’t move. His eyes flicker to you. You’re not looking at him but he can feel your panic from where he sits, matching his own. Can Chan do this? He doesn’t know, but he can’t leave you here. Not in this pit of vipers. Jeonghan leans back slightly, drinking in Chan’s deliberation. 

“Decide,” he warns, voice like velvet. “If you fuck this up, I will remove you as Chariot myself, no matter the years between us, Lee Chan.”

REQUEST TO BE TAGGED

[babyjinsu]

pairing ; boyfriend!heesung x fem!reader x ex boyfriend!sunghoon

warning ; angst, emotional cheating(?), non-proofread & edited

heesung noticed you’ve been distancing yourself from him. 

it’s nothing big or serious—but recently, it didn’t feel the same as it did the past two years. 

you still hold his hands, but your fingers don’t curl as tightly around his. you still text him back, but hours later—and with replies that feel more polite than personal. 

you don’t tell him you miss him. 

you still kiss him goodnight, but your lips are colder and hesitant and the kiss falls short. it barely lasts a second longer. 

heesung doesn’t say anything at first. he tries to be optimistic about it—your finals are coming up and it’s stressing you out. it’s just a passing mood. everyone goes through phrases, right? there’s no perfect relationship. 

“where are you off to?” heesung asks, looking back over his shoulder from the couch. 

you’re standing by the mirror, putting on lipstick, smacking your lips together. the tube clicks shut in your hands as you adjust your cardigan. you look at him from the mirror, smiling. “out,” you hum lightly. “just having dinner with friends.”

heesung nods. “where at?” 

you spray some perfume over your bare neck. “that seafood place at the end of seongsu street.” you reply—no longer looking at him. he nods once again, turning his head back towards the tv. there’s something off about your tone, but he doesn’t question it.

when your boyfriend doesn't reply, you finally glance over. he’s not looking at you anymore. his eyes are on the screen, but they’re unfocused. the remote sits idle in his hand. you want to say something to ease him, but nothing comes out.

instead, you walk over to him and plant a chaste kiss on his cheek from the back. “...don’t wait up.”

he doesn’t answer.

——

when heesung first transferred to pangok high, his new friends told him that he absolutely can’t develop a crush on you. 

because you were park sunghoon’s ex girlfriend. 

“trust me dude,” jake said, his fingers struggling to rip open the pack of bread. “it’s not worth it. that’s sunghoon’s ex.”

heesung didn’t question why you were off-limits—but later found out that you and sunghoon were in a relationship longer than heesung could believe it. since you guys were primary students. jungwon said it started off as a joke, where the two of you would get shipped together but it became real quickly after. 

you became their friends because of sunghoon. and you stopped because of sunghoon as well. 

sunghoon moved to another country. two weeks of countdown, one night spent together, and then he was gone—you couldn’t bring yourself to the airport so sunghoon left various of voicemails until he boarded the plane and begged his friends to send his letters to you. 

you couldn’t do long-distance. the two of you were only 16. 

everything changed.

you didn’t stop being their friend immediately. but over time, things and distance grew quieter. the group chats dulled, then you left. you didn’t join them to late-night convenience store runs anymore. they still saved you a seat at lunch—but then it became heesung’s. 

they were sunghoon’s friends. not yours.

you were sunghoon’s girlfriend, and when he left, so did your place among them.

and for a while, heesung didn’t think much of it. everyone was someone’s ex at one point. you were pretty, prettier than the girls heesung knew. self-contained, soft-spoken. when you laughed and threw your head back and then laughed again out of embarrassment, something warm within heesung blossomed. you were polite to him—to everyone—never too much of anything.

he really did try to hold himself back and remind himself every now and then that you were the ex-girlfriend of his current group of friends’ friend. and yet—

heesung fell for you anyway.

he told himself he was different. that whatever history you had with sunghoon had ended, written its final page, and he didn’t mind being the next chapter. he became close to you in secret from his friends.

the two of you became friends after graduating high school, and as fate decided, you ended up in the same university. whatever it was you had in sunghoon was left in pangok high. it was just high school love.

heesung thought love meant choosing each other every day and he thought he—that was enough.

but he’s not so sure now. 

the warnings echo louder than ever—

“that’s sunghoon’s ex.”

——

when heesung wakes up, the side of your bed is empty. 

he checks the bathroom and the kitchen before allowing himself to overthink—but when you’re not anywhere in the house, he scrolls through his phone to call your bestfriend, aeri. you always told him that if anything happens, aeri knows.

so he calls her.

“hello?”

“aeri—hey, sorry but is yn with you?” he asks.

there’s a pause on the other end. 

“she—uh,” she sounds like she’s trying to figure out how to soften it—. “yn got super, super drunk earlier. like really bad. and she passed out so,” —but there’s no good way. “sunghoon took her back.”

heesung’s blood runs cold. he sits down on the edge of the bed.

silence. 

he swallows hard, tries to keep his voice steady and the way his chest tightens. “....back, where?”

“i don’t know. he just said he’d handle it. she wouldn’t wake up and we didn’t wanna call her dad, so—heesung, it’s fine. you know how she is—”

he hangs up.

heesung stares at your empty side of the bed again, like maybe he misheard. he still doesn’t allow himself to overthink—but overthinking never really knocks.

you don’t sleep on your side of the bed, but someone else's. 

——

if you could turn back time, you wish you had cried twice harder and let yourself be sad over the break up. 

but you didn’t, and maybe that’s why all of these emotions come crashing down on you like a meteor.

you’re not easy to love—until now, even. so when nine year old sunghoon came to you at the park with hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks flushed and knees scraped—and told you that he likes you, you found it hard to believe.

you leave when things feel too good—because good things never lasted in your world. 

when thirteen year old sunghoon came to you at your desk with red ears and redder cheeks—and told you he loves you for the first time after being together for four years, maybe you weren’t so hard to love after all. 

sunghoon was more bite than bark. he wasn’t just a boyfriend, he was your bestfriend too. he defended you from boys asking you to speak up and called you on his mother’s phone whenever he’s allowed to use it. he learned your silences like a second language.

sunghoon wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your everything first. he was the first one to make you feel loved (aside from your dad), the first one to kiss your cheek, forehead, eyes, and lips. he was the first one to make you feel like you belong in a place. he’s your first fight, first argument, the first person you slapped and pushed away. 

sunghoon was also the first one—to  be your first.

part of you always thought that sunghoon would always be there forever. as a boyfriend—and that he would be the one who never left. 

until he did.

if you could turn back time, you wish you had been more honest about your feelings with heesung.

if the word kind was a person, it would have heesung’s face. if understanding had a voice, it would sound like heesung when he reassured you that everything will be okay, even when it’s not exactly the situation.

heesung loves you with his whole heart and being, and you love him with the remaining pieces of yours that didn’t belong to sunghoon anymore. 

you thought you could move on from an eight years relationship in two years—but you were far from that. because it’s been eight years now, and the feelings are still there.

but you didn’t, and maybe that’s why you’re standing in front of heesung’s apartment and waiting for him to open the door. 

it’s the next morning and your heels ache from wearing your loafers. your cardigan doesn’t smell like heesung’s air purifier, and your heart beats like it’s trying to outrun the rest of your organs.

you heard the lock clicks and the door swings open. 

and there’s your boyfriend.

his hair tousles like he didn’t sleep and his eyes are dull and swollen.

heesung doesn’t say anything but he flashes you a soft smile like he knows. you know he knows.

you wet your lips, “hee,” you breathe, and his name sounds like an apology. 

he takes your bag from your hand and steps aside. “come, it’s freezing.” he says quietly. 

you do, shrugging off your cardigan and tossing it into the laundry basket. you watch as he walks over to the kitchen and starts making tea. the kettle hums in the background, his back to you, shoulders drawn tight.

you open your mouth to say something, only to close it again. 

“i’m not mad,” heesung finally says without turning around. “i just… wish you’d told me.”

you fiddle with the hem of your top. “...’m sorry,” you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“nothing happened, i promise. he—he slept in his living room.” you hesitate. 

your boyfriend lets out a quiet breath like a sigh. “i know. i… i didn’t ask,” he says. 

your heart splinters a little more. heesung never accused or doubted you of anything—there was never a reason to before this. until now— “i know you wouldn’t do that.” 

that makes it worse. even now, standing in the wreckage, heesung still believes the best in you.

you squeeze your eyes shut, your voice barely hangs over a thread, “i should’ve told you.”

you hear heesung sets his mug down gently. “do you still love him?”

——

sunghoon’s made a lot of wrong choices before—but leaving you has got to be the worst one. 

it felt like the right thing at the time to accept the new opportunity presented before him. a scholarship. that was his chance to grow bigger and better for his future.

he told himself you’d understand and that you’d wait. his mom said if it was meant to be, it would all come back around anyway. he didn’t like that—the two of you were always meant to be.

when you broke up with him, sunghoon thought that someone like you don’t come around twice.

so when he saw you again—eight years older and different and prettier, but somehow still you—his mind told him he’d already lost you, but his heart hadn’t caught up.

because then you laughed at something he said—and brushed your hair behind your ear the way you used to when you were shy. for a second, sunghoon swore he saw the version of you that was his girlfriend. 

he missed you so much it made him sick. 

so he let himself believe maybe there was still something left—even if you have someone else now. even if that someone was everything he used to be for you. 

because sunghoon’s made a lot of wrong choices before.

and getting you back from your boyfriend was no exception. 

——

💭 i REALLY have to get this out of my head bro. i think i'll write more because i just can't. sorry. i love angst. angst is everything to me. emotional cheating hurts MORE. i'll write more about this please wait for me.

[whosyourmommy69]

Sugar and Sin Pt4

It was late. Too late for anyone to be knocking on your door.

At first, you thought you imagined it.

Then it came again.

Hard. Insistent. Almost frantic.

You sighed, pulling your blanket tighter around your shoulders as you shuffled toward the door.

But the second you opened it?

Your heart dropped.

Rafe stood on your porch, swaying slightly, his blue eyes glazed over and wild.

Drunk and probably high

And the worst part?

He looked like he’d been crying.

You froze.

"Rafe?"

His breath hitched.

"Shit," he muttered, stumbling forward. His hands gripped the doorframe like he needed it to hold himself up. "You-you look so fuckin’ pretty right now."

Your chest tightened.

"What are you doing here?"

He let out a breathless, almost broken laugh.

"I-I fucked up."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah. You did."

His face twisted in pain, like he physically felt your words.

"I didn’t mean it," he rushed out, desperate. "I didn’t mean any of it, I was just-I was pissed and, fuck, I don’t know-" He ran a shaky hand through his hair, yanking at the strands like he was trying to rip the regret out of himself. "I was being a fucking asshole."

You folded your arms.

"That’s not an apology."

Rafe’s jaw clenched.

Then his entire body slumped.

He took a step forward, and before you could react, he dropped to his knees right there on your porch.

Your breath caught.

"Please," he whispered, looking up at you like you were the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

You stared down at him, heart hammering, because this was Rafe Cameron.

Arrogant. Mean. Cruel.

And yet?

Here he was. On his knees. Begging.

Begging for you.

Your chest ached.

"You humiliated me, Rafe." Your voice was soft, but the weight of it hit him like a punch to the gut. "In front of everyone."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I know," he rasped. "I fucking hate myself for it."

You hesitated.

Was this real? Or was this just Rafe being Rafe, only wanting you when he thought he’d lost you?

But then he grabbed your hands.

Pressed his forehead against them, his grip tight, desperate, shaking.

"You’re all I fucking think about," he admitted, voice raw, broken. "I tried-I tried to forget, tried to let you go, but I can’t-I fucking can’t."

Your breath hitched.

Rafe looked up at you, his pupils blown, his expression wrecked and helpless.

"Tell me I didn’t lose you," he whispered. "Tell me I haven’t fucked this up completely."

Your heart twisted.

Because deep down, you knew this was the truth.

That he was obsessed with you. That no matter what, he would always come back.

Always.

So, the question wasn’t whether he wanted you.

It was whether you could ever truly walk away.

You exhaled shakily.

And then you reached down and touched his face.

Rafe let out a ragged breath, leaning into your touch like a man starved.

Like he needed you just to breathe.

You should have told him to leave.

You should have slammed the door in his face, let him sit in his own regret and watch you move on.

But when you saw him, on his knees, hands gripping yours like they were the only thing keeping him together

You knew you were fucked.

Because Rafe Cameron was your biggest mistake.

And yet?

You were still going to make him again.

Your breath was uneven as you crouched in front of him, forcing him to look at you.

"Are you going to hurt me again?"

His whole body tensed, like the thought alone made him sick.

"No," he whispered. "I swear."

You studied him, searching for a lie, for a reason to push him away.

But all you found was raw desperation.

Rafe Cameron, the same arrogant, entitled asshole who made you feel like you were nothing in front of his friends.

Looking at you like you were everything.

And you?

You believed him.

So, instead of pushing him away, you pulled him in.

Rafe sucked in a breath when your lips brushed against his, soft at first, hesitant, dangerous.

But then?

Then he snapped.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, gripping your waist, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

Like he was terrified you might disappear.

Like he was trying to crawl inside you, claim you, make sure no one else ever touched you again.

"Say it," he muttered against your lips, voice hoarse, demanding.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your whole body burning.

"Say what?" you breathed.

Rafe groaned, his forehead pressing against yours.

"That you’re still mine."

Your stomach flipped.

"Rafe-"

"Say it." His hands tightened on your waist, his voice cracking with something real. "I need to hear it."

You exhaled shakily.

And then, you gave in.

"I’m yours."

Rafe let out a broken sound, half relief, half hunger, before kissing you like he was starving.

Like he was terrified of losing you again.

And when he picked you up, carried you inside, and slammed the door behind him

You knew there was no going back.

Because no matter how much he hurt you, you would always let him back in.

Always.

[cogentsummoner]

M. For all might

M. When it rains/snows/storms.

warnings: this fic is unfinished!

You were having a bad day.

It'd been a long, exhausting day, made only worse by the downpour outside. You just needed to print out a couple dozen things, and then you could go home. To your quiet, lonely, cheap apartment.

You'd had the brilliant idea of using the printer on the top floor, knowing that no one would be on that floor today. It was totally abandoned, and you could just... enjoy the quiet.

Your Quirk, Echolocation, gave you an incredibly heightened sense of hearing, alongside big bat ears. If you focused, you could hear someone's heartbeat from several rooms away. So it was nice to retreat from the constant hustle and bustle of the floor you usually worked on.

You scuttled out of the top floor's printer room, and were heading back to the elevator when it happened; the landing bay door opened, and you were suddenly, completely drenched, head to toe, in rainwater that'd built up on the roof.

It'd been a bad day. A very bad day. That just got so much worse.

You started crying.

Loud, ugly, runny nose sobbing as you looked down at the thick stack of papers that were now completely destroyed and useless, and you'd have to print them out all over again, and you were so tired, you just wanted to go home-

"I'm so sorry!" the Symbol of Peace said, when he landed and saw your sorry state, and the waterlogged papers now spread out on the floor. "I didn't think anyone would be up here, given the time of day and weather..."

"I just wanted to use the printer!" you wailed, taking deep heaving gulps of breath between each word. You realized you were making a fool of yourself, that this would probably get back to your boss, that you'd be in trouble somehow. That's just the kind of day it had been.

Then, something unexpected happened- a pair of strong, warm- if rain soaked- arms wrapped you in a tender hug.

People could say what they liked about All Might, but no one could deny that he gave amazing hugs.

You relaxed, bit by bit, as you began to calm down in his arms. Your sobs petered out, leaving you exhausted, soaked to the bone, and still needing to print out all those papers before you could leave. You buried your face into All Might's shoulder just a little bit more, wishing you could stay in his arms, where nothing bad could happen.

But you were an adult- and more importantly, his employee- so tentatively, you let him go, and he did the same. You'd only actually been in the same room as All Might a handful of times, let alone spoken with him, let alone been hugged by him. You sniffled, and tried to wipe your runny nose on your wet sleeve- predictably, it didn't do anything to help.

"I... I'm sorry for that, sir, I just-" you started, voice small, not making eye contact. Now, outside of the protective halo of his arms, your embarrassment was eating you alive.

"No, no- it was all my fault, I'm the one who should be apologizing!" All Might said, waving your apology off. "I'm sorry for not signalling ahead- for getting you and your papers drenched."

You shook your head. "No, it's... you were right, it's late, and I should've known better to come here with the weather," you said with a defeated sigh. "I'll... clean these up, print them out again... then I can finally go home."

(All Might would never admit it, but in that moment, you seemed so small and sad and… frankly, pitiable that there was little he wouldn't do to see you smile again. He knew you had a nice smile- he'd seen it as Yagi.)

"Nonsense!" All Might laughed, hands on his hips. "It was my blunder that led to this mess, so I shall clean it up! Including explaining things to your manager tomorrow!"

It took a moment for it to click what he meant, and you let out a little gasp when it did.

"You will?" you asked, to which he nodded. In your exhausted state, it was almost too much to handle; grateful tears welled up in your already red, puffy eyes. "That's really sweet of you- thank you."

"Of course!" All Might said cheerfully. Then, noticing how you were shivering, he seemed to consider something. He let out the tiniest sigh- so quiet that an ordinary person would never be able to hear it- and said, "Why don't you come with me, and we can see about getting you in some dry clothes?"

It was All Might. The All Might. What were you supposed to do, not trust him unquestioningly? You followed him, though your brain did kick in when the Might Gate began to slide open.

"Oh, I…I don't think I have the clearance to be back here," you said dumbly.

All Might laughed and assured you, "You're with me! It's more than alright."

He led you through a fancy office, and you couldn't help but notice how… clean it looked, to the point of looking like something out of a magazine more than anywhere people actually worked.

The transition from office to apartment was abrupt, and left you more than a little surprised. It dawned on you slowly that All Might had brought you to his apartment, and you let out a little gasp.

The… cleanliness, the feeling of a place being not lived in- it still permeated that space, even as it was supposed to be All Might's home. The only signs of life and personality you could see were a huge shelf, full of DVDs, and… a big cluster of pill bottles on the kitchen island. When he caught where your gaze had gone, All Might rushed over to clean it up, shoving them all in a drawer, out of sight.

"Apologies! I don't often have guests here," he said, nervously. You could hear how his heartbeat sped up, and you gave him your approximation of a reassuring smile.

"That's okay. This is kind of like… your own Fortress of Solitude, then? The Apartment of Peace?" you attempted to joke.

Thankfully, All Might laughed, and his heartbeat returned to normal. "Something like that!" he said, putting the last of the pill bottles away.

As he walked back to you, you debated whether or not to say something - shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you made your decision.

"Sir, it's… you don't have to be embarrassed about taking medicine. I do too," you told him quietly, sincerely.

He seemed caught off guard, almost startled, by your words, and you almost regretted saying anything at all… but then, his smile seemed to relax into something more… heartfelt. Something touched.

"It… thank you," he said, voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "I… I'd appreciate it if you didn't… mention it to anyone. It's not something I want the public to know."

"Of course, sir. My lips are sealed," you said, then made a zipping motion across your mouth, before locking it shut.

His smile turned into a goofy grin and he laughed, putting a hand on your shoulder. "Now, let's get you some dry clothes!"

Not two minutes later you were being (politely) shoved into the largest bathroom you've ever seen with a bundle of clean clothes in your arms.

You started to fill the bathtub (You weren't sure when a bath was added to the equation, but you wouldn't question it. That was quite possibly the biggest and most luxurious bathtub you'd ever seen, and after the day you'd had, you very much wanted to use it.) when your ear twitched. You heard an unfamiliar sound, like a sudden rush of air, followed by a sigh that sounded heavy and weary… and not quite like All Might.

You paused, but heard nothing else over the sound of running water- so you shrugged and put it out of mind.

Sinking into warm, bubbly water, you considered something else that had bothered you since All Might had unceremoniously derailed your night- his breathing.

It sounded strange. There was no way around it. And it didn't sound strange in a way that you recognized, either. You knew what it sounded like when someone with chest congestion, or asthma, or bronchitis or even lung cancer breathed in. The sound of All Might's breathing didn't match any of those.

But it did sound an awful lot like how it sounded when Mr. Yagi breathed in. Which was perhaps even stranger.

When you were around someone enough, you start to mirror their habits subconsciously - this was the excuse that Mr. Yagi gave when people pointed out how much he had in common with All Might. Which you supposed checked out… for everything except breathing.

You knew Mr. Yagi had some kind of issue with his lungs, though you weren't sure what- why on earth would All Might's breathing sound like his?

Meanwhile, Yagi Toshinori was trying to catch his breath. He'd already been running low on time in his muscle form, and being forced to stay in it around you was not helping the situation.

But he couldn't just leave you wet and miserable and alone.

He'd just have to deal with it, he reasoned as he carried the damp ball of fabric that was your clothes to his washer. It wouldn't take too long to wash and dry them, but it would certainly take long enough that few, if any, public transportation options would be available by the time they were done. And the thought of you walking home in this rain, after going to so much trouble to dry you off… he sighed. Truthfully, he'd already made up his mind to insist you stay in the guest bedroom.

He'd just have to lock his own bedroom door tonight, he supposed.

You were absolutely swimming in All Might's clothes.

The two of you should've expected that, really. The shorts he'd lent you went down to your ankles, and the shirt was much the same.

minific prompts / accepting

[therapardalis]

Chalk and cheese, the sleek, purring Jaguar and the rambunctious little Mini. With a dry, internal glance at herself Thera suspects that she will - not tonight, because it's late and once the snatching of her interest Jake's managed is over she'll remember to be tired - but soon she'll take her car somewhere it can properly open up. There's not a lot of muscle under the hood but not a lot of weight either, and it has a fair turn of speed. It might not be as spoiled as the Jag, but she keeps it in good shape.

But those things she keeps to herself right now. It would all sound very defensive - which she doesn't need to be, because Jake's not laughing ... well, not in a bad way. She sneaks him a sidelong look to interpret that chuckle, but it's clearly not intended to scorn. Instead, he seems to assess the Mini the same way he did the F-Type.

Quick, efficient ... the same way he cruises along with smooth, gleaming presence she simply gets things done, with an air of whimsy and fun thrown in. Along with nostalgia, because goodness knew she had a lot of that.

"Gracias." Amusement of her own, because again she can tell he means that as a compliment, "The hardest part was picking just one. I felt like getting a bunch of them, like a littler of puppies." That, however, would have been taking sentiment way too far.

She has noticed that they've slowed down, even from the easy pace Jake's been keeping for the entire trip, and that it doesn't seem to be because they've arrived. Maybe the opposite, to put off that moment a little bit longer?

"I'd love to," Thera's cheeks plump a little at the wink. She's taking it as playful, nothing more, but at the same time she might like a little bit longer, too. "Do you have a business card, Jake? Or would you like one of mine?"

It fills him with pride, Jake has to admit that much - to witness Thera admiring his car, the perfection of a polished interieur, down to the very nooks and crannies others wouldn't inspect with such curiosity; The Jaguar acts a bit like an extension of what Jake is - of what he wants to be, feels comfortable with - and so every compliment directed at what he owns is settling within himself, a recognition of sorts he seeks in mostly subconscious, but also very much conscious ways.

She laughs, all soft and a little sheepish, and Jake smirks in return as dark eyes flick over to linger on her form for a moment, then focus back on the street in front of them. The ride is almost over already, a few blocks turning into mere minutes... but he is taking his time, not rushing their journey to the lock-up lot, feet caressing the pedals with practiced, smooth ease.

A man who's handled his car - and other vehicles, possibly - many times, many hours, during his life. A skilled driver, one who might even be a professional of sorts, judged by the utter comfort that radiates off of his frame as they roll along - she's a customer at this very moment, and Jake's a gentleman.

He considers lightning himself another cigar, but decides against it for now - will do so later. They've almost reached the desired destination, after all, and Thera's telling him about her precious car---

A chuckle of his own, followed by amusement - but no judgement - lingering within brown irises as they trail over once more, complete with a curled-up corner of full lips and an easy exhale of air, an arched brow. Some part of him did not expect her to go for a Mini Cooper, of all the cars available, but then...

Somehow, he's not surprised. Not at all.

Might be because he knows by now that she's unique in a lot of ways - so is the fact that she chose a Mini Cooper to become her cherished vehicle, a matching accessory to her being far from mundane.

"---Ella es querida por mucha gente." Minis - including Mini Coopers - are seen as the manifestation of everything British by many people, after all; Owned to be shown off, owned as a symbol, owned as a lifestyle, all of that. Jake understands the fascination, yet he's nevertheless entertained by it.

A small car for a woman who sure as hell doesn't carry herself as small, in any shape or form.

---But he isn't laughing. Isn't thinking any less of Thera, of her choices, of her decision to call a Mini Cooper her own. She fell in love with it for a reason - much like Jake fell in love his his Jaguar, right?

"Fits you, if I might say so, señorita." Attention back on the road, smirk remaining. "Must've spoken to you, just like this one spoke to me."

Another turn, a slow-down of their movement - the lock-up lot is in sight now, within reach. Even though he'd kept the ride slow and lazy, they've almost reached their destination already...

"---You could show her to me another day; We've been talking about that raincheck, after all... didn't we?" Gaze back on her, followed by a brief wink.

[wildmrmix]

Thinking about how Pony almost died at 14 (fourteen). Google says Bob and Randy were 18 (eighteen) and I’m guessing they probably hung around with people their age. These 18 (eighteen) year olds almost drowned someone who hadn’t even been 14 (fourteen) for, what, 2 (two) months? He was literally a child, I can’t do this

[virsancte]

good days aren't easy to come by

[quietwingsinthesky]

i do love canon amy & rory but god, does some part of me wish they really had gone with the idea of the doctor picking up a child as a companion (and then later, that child’s best friend with a huge crush on her.) with the rest of the season really not changing at all, except now it’s amelia pond with an angel in her head killing her and lost alone in the woods. it’s little rory who dies and is forgotten and becomes a toy soldier. if this is going to be a fairy tale, then let it be one. children have never been safe in fairy tales.

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group

[kthologue]

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that… a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering. Curiosity. Science.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Ten years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young. And hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring DJ and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just… optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just… considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes—determined, dangerous, hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she wouldn’t let you walk out of her apartment looking like a clown. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked… beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing the edge of your coat. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel… bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did… maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says—far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too—I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him—when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be… you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead—realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a “you really fumbled the bag” look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is… just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just... tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment—God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him—this man, this brilliant, ridiculous, loyal boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home. Like every unanswered question finally getting its answer.

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

[robinsgrl]

rafe with a weird and clingy girl pt. 2 y’all i have a lot of these you don’t even know how weird of a gf i can be.

weird girl masterlist

main masterlist

it’s not just cute aggression. although that is a main factor. you need to be touching him at aalllll times. like all the time.

you’re both in bed, the night a cold one for the outer banks. he’s on his side of the bed reading a lame book that you can’t care for. and despite being under the same blanket as him, he feels warmer.

you place your cold hands on his abs and he lets out a tiny yelp and shoves you away. “god, why are you so cold?”

“as my boyfriend it’s your job to warm me up!”

“no way, then i quit”

you put your hands back on him and despite how he tenses from the cold, he doesn’t push you away again. this gives you to the idea to trail your hand down and put them in his shorts.

“what the hell are you doing?”

“that’s the warmest part of you”

“what?”

“it’s like when i put my hands in my bra cause it’s really warm”

“you put your hands in your bra?”

“shut up, you put your hands in my bra all the time”

“to cop a feel not to get warm”

“don’t move my hands!” because he’s trying to get your hands out of his shorts

“baby, you cant grip on me because you want to warm up”

“okay then pretend im coping a feel!”

“get off of me weirdo!” he laughs, attention now on you as you practically wrestle

you like to slap his ass. it’s hard not to. he’s so tantalizing. even when he isn’t trying. you go to the gym with him once and he’s lifting weights as you drool behind him. up and down. up and down. You let out a wolf whistle as you watch him and he tries and hold back his smile.

“just like that” you coo

“you sound like a pervert”

“im a pervert for you”

“that’s not as romantic as you think it is”

“what would you do if i squished a cheek right now?”

this alarms him and he drops the weights, giving you a scolding look. “you can’t squish a guys cheek while he’s lifting”

“im not going to.” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. you were definitely going to.

he gives you a careful side eye, making sure you’re on your best behavior. a few minutes later and he’s back at his task. you sit, bored, still just watching him. you sigh loudly as you get up off the machine you were sitting on. “you’re boring. im leaving”

“wait for me, angel, im almost—“

you giggle and run away as you send a smack to his ass, “sorry! i had to!”

“jesus, you’re an animal!” he calls out after you.

you don’t even stop at family events. cameron events are usually stuffy. you hate them. but you do what you can for rafe. it’s the end of the awkward dinner and you two are washing dishes. “surprised you didn’t make the help do this”

“we gave him the day off”

“spoiled brat” you tease him as he rinses a dish under the water. you finish drying off the plate and put it in the cabinet, eyes trailing over him. his ass looks good in his dress pants.

with a hop to your step, you stand behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. “what are you up to?”

you scoff, “can’t a girl hug her man?”

“you’re hugging me like a broke boyfriend. you only do that when you’re up to something”

“would it surprise you if i said im trying to cop a feel?”

“nothing about you surprises me anymore”

“so you won’t be mad?”

“i’ll be pissed.”

“too late” you bring your hands behind him and give his ass a squeeze. he tenses at this, pushing himself forward to get away from you.

“you’re perverted!”

“you have cake! i can’t help it!”

“cake? god, you gross me out”

“stop running away!”

he’s threatening you with a wet hand towel but you dodge him as you keep chasing after him. dinners at this house are always the worst but not as the two of you run around the kitchen, laughter filling the air.

“uh, what’s happening?” wheezie’s voice cuts the two of you off.

rafe’s got you draped on his shoulder, your hands on his ass from the upside down angle you’re in. you both pause. “we’re touching butts.”

“jesus, baby, don’t tell my sister that”

[freyaphoria]

Hello! Since I can't save the writings in my drafts and your request is currently stuck in my drafts, I have to post it this way. I hope you can see your request T_T By the way, I wrote this 4 times, and the universe prevented me from writing it. Normally it was over 2k words, but most of it was deleted and I forgot what I wrote. Anyway, Love u!♡

Look Like a Freak

tw: nerd!Seonghwa x fem!reader, oral(giving mentioned, receiving), squirting, slapping, fingering, vibrator using, degradation, bondage, overstimulation

wc: 1.5k

taglist: @aim-blossom @matzrionette

“Seonghwa, are we really going to do it here?” It was too late to ask now. He made an approving noise as he abused your pussy between. To your surprise, he could hear you and respond. Normally, after tasting you, Seonghwa would be pussy drunk and wouldn't hear or see anything.

Seonghwa's room was the most virginity room you've ever seen. There were more Star Wars figures and Legos than you could count. And what is it? On the top shelf of the display case, on top of the Star Wars legos, there were colorful house legos and animals next to them, which you might think were related to animal crossing which might attract the attention of 5-year-old children.

You and Seonghwa went to the same university and met at the dance club. When you first met him, he was very quiet, buried in his book with a book by an unknown author in his hand and he was wearing the metal-framed glasses he was currently wearing, not communicating with anyone. Even though most people avoided communicating with him, you felt his potential in his eyes under those big glasses. You had initiated the first communication and asked him something about the star wars lego keychain hanging on his bag, and before you knew how the things had developed, he had pulled you into the back storage and made out with you. After a while, you started fucking after every dance lesson and became addicted to each other. You were nothing but a fuck buddy, but you'd still meet up at his house every once in a while to build Legos together like cute couple, and as you can imagine, your night would end up in his bed, trying to recover, with his cum dripping down between your legs.

Same thing today, you met at his house to play his favorite game, the two of you lying in bed while Seonghwa was playing Animal Crossing on his Nintendo. But you had made him horny without knowing why, and Seonghwa stopped his game, which was an unexpected move from him, and started eating you. Animal Crossing, where you played with Seonghwa, was still on on the TV and calm music was playing.

"Can you at least turn off that game? It's ruining the whole mood-" You were cut off by Seonghwa shoving your panties into your mouth. "Don't tire that beautiful mouth of yours by talking, you will be tired enough when I put my dick down your throat."

Who would believe that someone as nerdy as him could make you this wet? If you told your friends who knew him, they would all think you went crazy. But right now, you were in his bed with your legs wide open and you were dripping, Animal Crossing in front of you, Star Wars figures next to you, and a nerd Seonghwa losing himself between your legs.

When Seonghwa started using his fingers as well, you realized you wouldn't last long. He was eating you out and fingering you so professionally that you were seeing stars every time, your legs shaking uncontrollably and squirting on him. And so it was, the moment you felt his fingers inside you, curls them up and abusing your sweet spot while his tongue stimulates your clitoris, you couldn't hold back that ball that was growing in your belly any longer and you came into his mouth. Your voice came out as a muffled moan through your underwear in your mouth. "Oh but I couldn't hear you clearly, looks like we're going to do it again." He pulled the fabric from your mouth and kissed you hungryly. Since he still didn't remove his fingers from you, you continued to spasm uncontrollably around his fingers and began to squirm from the overstimulation.

"What is that? You got tired a little early for a slut like you. Open your legs." As you tried to close your legs, Seonghwa forced them open. When you closed them again, you were startled by the sound of him slapping your thigh hard. "You want to be a brat? Okay then." He let go of your legs and headed towards his desk. He opened his drawer, took the rope next to a lot of Animal crossing cards, closed the drawer hard and turned towards you. You held back your laughter when you saw the colored cards. He adjusted the thin metal-framed glasses that fell on the tip of his nose, found the end of the rope and started wrapping it around your wrists.

"Hwa, I'm getting rope burns, haven't you found that furry handcuff yet?" He tied the rope tightly around your wrists, he bent your leg towards you and brought your ankle closer to your hands and tied the rest of it to your ankles. "No I couldn't. And if you stop squirming, you won't get a burn." After tying your other side in the same way, he checked its strength and made sure that it was not loose. He looked at you, his masterpiece, from head to toe, then he spanked your pussy that you had forced open and exposed for him, and he moved towards your upper body. You let out a small scream at the sudden feeling of pain. He tied your upper body by looping the rope around your chest and tying it over your arm; so it stabilized your arms and prevented you from closing your legs.

"Now, what should we do with you?" You felt even wetter with the feeling of being restricted and having all your control in his hands. The feeling of emptiness inside you was becoming unbearable and if he didn't fuck you soon, you would start crying and whining from frustration. "Just fuck me already."

The left side of his mouth lifted up and laughed slyly. A deep chuckle escaped his throat. "No no, I won't give you what you want that easily." This time, he opened the drawer where he kept your toys under the previous drawer and took out the pink vibrator with remote control. When you think about what he did to you with it, your heart starts to lose its rhythm and the adrenaline in your body begins to tickle your pussy waiting to be filled. The vibrator that he play with you for hours and eventually makes you squirm from overstimulation and cry and beg him to stop...

"How about this? No coming until I finish my new lego set. If you come, I won't fuck you tonight. Understood?" "Wait, at least let me suck you." He moved the toy in his hand over your folds before inserting it inside you, collecting your wetness on the toy. "Are you that much of a cock slave? Is there a day you don't spend without sucking me? Can't that little belly of yours do without taking my cum?" Your face turned red because of his dirty words. Yes, there wasn't a day without sucking him, but there wasn't a day without him eating you either. You were considered equal in every way. After all, you were a fuck buddy and that was your purpose. "Please just let me take you in my mouth" He balled up the panties he had just taken out of your mouth and put it back into your mouth. "Just deal with it for now. You can do it, right? It shouldn't be too hard."

After laughing sarcastically, he moved the vibrator over your folds for the last time and put it inside you. You gasped at the sudden feeling of being filled. The fact that you didn't know when Seonghwa would start the toy and when he would stop it made you nervous and excited. After licking his fingers, which got wet because he inserted the vibrator inside you, and tasting you again, got up from you and took the lego bag next to his wardrobe and placed it on his desk. "Which one do you think I should do?" He took out the Lego sets one by one from the paper bag and showed them all to you. The hilarity of your current situation and the Animal Crossing music playing in the background almost made you laugh. You were thankful for the fabric over your mouth that prevented you from laughing.

"Oh that's it!" He took out the 1394-piece Ghost & Phantom II set from the bag and placed it on the table. When he took the remote control of the vibrator and started to turn it on at medium level, you first lost your breath and started to squirm in your place. But he tied the ropes so tightly that you couldn't move much.

"Remember, no coming until I finish this set." He opened the box and placed the contents on the table, looking at you who began to tremble slightly. “You look like a slut.” And you look like a freak you thought.