#angst... bad relationships.. arguments.. toxic dynamic..

[silcocertifiedhusband]

Every selfshippers who do oc x canon with silco make their self insert a second parent to jinx. I also saw this in a lot of silco x reader fanfics. It's so cute but i wanna see BAD second parent/don't want to be a parent trope!!!!!!! I want toxic relationships!!!!!! Angst!!!!!

[bittersweetlyblue]

— 𝜗𝜚 everything but mine

PART ONE | PART TWO

cw: toxic relationships, emotionally unhealthy dynamics, friends with benefits, mutual pining, jealousy, possessiveness, miscommunication, emotional manipulation, arguments, self-destructive behavior, substance use, alcohol consumption, violence/fighting, obsessive behavior, abandonment issues, codependency, hurt/no comfort (at times), angst with occasional fluff, slow burn, heavy emotional themes, rafe cameron being rafe cameron.

being topper thornton's sister had it's perks.

late night boat drives with a group of kooks while singing karaoke, invites to almost every party if you ever wanted a distraction and most people knew who you were.

but the best one? rafe cameron.

you'd first met him when you were twelve. topper, a year older than you, had bought him home.

for years to come, you remembered the day perfectly. you were sitting by your mom, watching some random youtube video with her, when suddenley topp walked in. with rafe.

he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen in your life. messy blond hair, soft blue eyes and sharpening features, you was sure you'd faint on the spot. you yourself had hair so messy to this date it couldn't even pass as aesthetic with braces so big it almost covered your teeth. and yet when you smiled at him, he grinned pioitely back, then to your mother, and you almost thought you had a heart attack.

however, being siblings to your brother, you understoood that topper only hung out with one type of people, exempt from his family: spoiled rich assholes, which as much as you hated it, rafe was apart of.

whenever the pair would spend some time at yours, all you would hear was brags about beating up kooks and shit about girls. almost most of it you didn’t care for or couldn’t bring yourself to, but you soon realised that topper and rafe were probably the worst pair to be around on Kildare because they were exactly the same person.

you couldn't remember exactly why you hated rafe. you both were young, but all you really remembered was a loud blond boy with a permanent scowl and an ego the size of figure eight.

and after that, he just looked perpetually ugly in her eyes. their first real interaction, which she didn't even remember, ended with her calling him stupid to which his response had been to throw a teenis ball at her head.

from then on, it was war. you stole his sunglasses, poured gatorade into the driver's seat of his golf car. he replaced your phone wallpaper with a photo of a rat.

and at every single damn family barbecue, every beach day, every birthday party, uoi shifted towards eachother like gravity and immediately started arguing.

"you're annoying."

"you're ugly."

"your face bothers me."

"that doesn't even make sense."

"because you're stupid."

you hated how cocky and arrogant he was and you could tell he hated how you never backed down.

as you got older, the fights also only got worse. at thirteen, you punched him in the shoulder hard enough that it left a bruise. at fourteen, he laughed when you threatened him and got a bloody nose for it. fifteen, you got into a sceraming match so bad topper physically had to stand between you while he dragged you away.

everyone assumed that eventually you two would grow out of it. but you didn't.

hating rafe felt like routine. normal, because if you walked into a room and rafe wasnt there to ruin your mood, something felt off. you never noticed it happening, how the insults got softer and the arguments lasted longer because neither of you two wanted to walk away first.

admitting that would've been worse than admitting defeat. neither of you two had ever lost a fight. and especially not to each other.

the first time it happened, it was a mistake.

that's what you called it: a mistake, an accident and a lapse in judgement. something that definetly, absoloutely, could never happen again.

it happened after a party, where you'd been avoiding him all night and he'd spent the entire night pretending not to notice which would've worked better if you didn't hear kiara telling you that he'd been looking for you every five minutes.

by midnight, you was already irritated, and by two you both were standing outside, drunk and exhausted, throwing insults at each other just as they had been like since they were kids.

"you're insufferable."

"you've literally said that every week since we were twelve."

"because you keep proving me right."

"and you keep talking."

you rolled your eyes, and he grinned. irritated once again, you snapped, "what?"

"nothing."

"then stop fucking staring."

"make me."

that was the worst thing he could've said, and the worst thing you could've heard, becaus eten seconds later, you was kissing him.

or maybe he kissed you. neither of you had ever agreed on that part.

all you knew that one second you were fighting and the next you was walking him into an empty guest room. you remembered how he tasted too much like alcholo, but something about kissing him was so addictive you didn't stop. both of your hands were everywhere and you very distinctly remember thinking this would've been eleven year old you's dream before rafe turned into such a spectacular asshole.

but afterwards was the real disaster. rafe sat on the edge of the bed, trying to catch his breath while you stared at the ceiling, the feeling of his lips on yours still present.

you could tell he, too, realised that you had just crossed a line neither of you could uncross. so naturally, "this was a mistake."

"obviously."

"never happening again."

"yeah." there was a pause. "good."

"good."

you guys didn't even make it two weeks. so after that, it became a secret one. a stupid one, the kind everyone probably knew about (the one where you ignored topper's knowing looks) except them. you'd spend the day arguing, and the end tangled together at night, laying against his chest and listening to his heartbear while his hands ran through your hair, breath heavy on your temple. you'd tell each other it meant nothing, then get jealous over things you supposedly didn't care about.

none of that even meant to happen. friends with benefits had rules, atleast thats what topp told you. feelings weren't part of the deal at all.

you've always been good at leaving first. you can tell it's one of the few things rafe hates about you: you never slam doors, never make scenes and never, ever beg people to stay.

you just go, quietly, acting like they never mattered enough for a goodbye.

but the worst part about this whole thing is that you know rafe knows you better than anyone. he's the same boy who met you at eleven, before all your guards were up, so he know that it's a lie. he knows you care too much, knows every careless shrug and slightly-forced laugh is calculated which is probably why this whole situation is way more complicated than it should be.

"you leaving already?" his voice follows you across the room, and yet you don't turn around, hiding your face in the darkness as you nod. "it's barely midnight."

you grab the bag from the counter. "and?"

silence. you can feel him staring, imagine the expression on his face. "you've been weird all week."

you laugh coldly. you can't help it. "that's rich coming from you."

when you finally glance over, he's leaning against the kitchen island, jaw tight and gorgeous eyes fixed on you. and for just a second, even if you're so dizzy from the way he fucked you, he looks nervous. it's so strange its almost laughable: rafe cameron never looks nervous. it almost makes something twist painfully inside your chest.

"did i do something?"

you nearly laugh, again. that's the funny and heartbreaking part: he genuinely doesn't know, has no idea, that you spent years teaching him exactly how much he could take from you that now you're surprised he keeps taking. "no." lie.

"then what's wrong?"

everything. nothing, in between. the fact that you probably know more about him than his own mother. which, given, isn't probably that difficult, but still.

he calls you when he's drunk. he calls you when he's sober. you can identify his fottsteps without looking and he looks for you in every room and yet this all supposedly "means anything".

if it meant what you so desperately wanted it to mean, he would've said so by now.

years, it's been fucking years. years of almosts, years of pretending, and you are so tired. "nothing's wrong, rafe."

there's silence until he sighs, voice dropping, "hey." you hate whenever he does that.

"don't act like you care."

his forehead creases, before it disappears, all smoothened out. "there it is."

you blink. "what?"

"i was wondering when we'd get to this."

"the fuck are you on about?"

"you know, the part where you pretend you're above all this."

the words taste sour in your mouth: "i'm not pretending anything."

"right." he nods mockingly, the same way he always does when he's angry. "because you've always been a fucking saint, haven't you?" there it is: rafe, holding that metaphorical fucking knife, twisting it exactly where he knows it'll hurt. "go ahead, baby. tell me how terrible i am. tell me how i'm the bad guy and you've never wanted this."

"that's not what i'm saying."

"then what are you saying?" his voice breaks, just slightly. "i'm getting real tired of you acting like i'm the only one here. you think i don't care, don't you?" when you're silent, he laughs bitterly, "that's fucking insane."

hope sparks, stupidly, like a slight ember. for one second you think: finally. finally, finally, he's going to say it.

but then you see that fucking expression on your face, and you just know. he isn't. of course he isn't. he's rafe cameron, golden boy of kildare. instead, he just shakes his head and looks away. "if i didn't care, you wouldn't still be here."

your chest caves in. that's all he has, all he's ever offering and ever will be. not love, committment or a future, everything that your whole friendgroup has told you you deserve. just access, proximity, just enough to keep you around but never safe nor loved. "okay."

"i didn't mean —"

"yeah." your voice is flat and empty. "don't worry, i know exactly what you meant."

he looks fucking terrified and you know he knows he's just confirmed every fear you've ever had. that no matter how much he wants you, he'll never actually choose you. and no matter how much you love him, you're finally starting to choose yourself.

"don't do this." it's almost pathetic, the way he says it.

"do what?"

he gives you a knowing look. "leave."

who's he kidding. you do anyways.

the next time you see him, you two are in another party because you only ever really see him then.

"who's that?"

you don't evne look up from your phone, "who's who?"

rafe leans back against the couch, arm stretching across the cushions behind you. you have to duck your head so he doesn't see your jaw clench: never touching, only when other people are around, but close enough to remind everyone he could if he wanted to. "that guy."

you glance towards the kitchen, where some random guy from the party is talking to sarah. you shrug, "i don't know."

"bullshit."

you finally look at him, already exasperated. "what?"

"he was staring at you."

you stare for a second, then laugh. actually laugh, because it's so stupid that you don't know how else to react. but you immediately regret it, because something in rafe's face shifts. "what's funny?"

"nothing."

"clearly it's sometjing."

you shake your head, looking back at your phone, because if you don't, he'll see the smile, and if he sees the smile, he'll get worse. "you're jealous."

"of him?" there's genuine offence in his voice.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "see? that's exactly what i mean."

"the fuck does that mean?"

you stand. mostly because you're smart enough to know where this conversation goes and you're not interested nor energtic tonight. "nothing, rafe."

he grabs your wrist before you can walk, just enough to stop you. "don't start whatever game this is."

"i'm literally standing here, babe."

"exactly."

"don't get all possessive over me."

his jaw flexes, "possessive?"

"you know, that thing where you act like im yours?"

he quickly lets go of your wrist. "i don't act like you're mine."

you hum, which is somehow worse than arguing, because now it sounds like you don't care, which rafe hates. "okay."

"okay?"

"mhm."

he stares, waiting, and you don't give him anything.

you know exactly what you're doing. you know exactly how much it bothers himL the same way he knows exactly how much it bothers you when he disappears for days and then walks back into your life like nothing happened.

the same way he knows you'll answer every single phone call. the same way he knows you'll always make room for him. "you're being weird."

"you say that every week." you deadpann.

"because you are."

"maybe you're just observant."

"and maybe you're just annoying."

"there he is."

the corner of his mouth twitches, "there who is?"

"the rafe i know."

for a second he looks guilty, and you don't like it. "what?" you prompt.

he blinks back, "what?"

"that look."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

you know every version of his face, and that one was bad. you just stare at him and he scoffs, looks away.

conversation over, just like that, and everyone else goes back to talking, laughing, living.

something between you cracked then, you could tell. not enough to really mean anything, but just enough that you spend the rest of the night thinking about it, and enough that rafe spends the rest of the night watching you from across the room, every single time you aren't looking.

you don't think about it. you don't think about the way he left without saying goodbye, because that would imply you care, and you don't. obviously.

except that three days later, you're still thinking about it, which is exactly why you're annoyed when your phone lights up. rafe.

you stare at the screen, which rings thrice before stopping. a second later another call comes through, and you roll your eyes before declining it immediately.

silence, the calm before the storm, before your phone buzzes.

rafe: answer the phone

you snort.

you: no

the typing bubble appears immediately.

rafe: where are you?

you: weird question

rafe: where are you?

you: why?

the typing buble appears appears, disappears, then appears again. nothing. you stare at the screen, frowning. that's strange, because rafe never shuts up once he starts.

your phone buzzes again, except this time it's not him, it's topper. you answer immediately: "what?"

"where are you?"

"you sit up slightly. "why does everyone suddenley want my location?"

"answer the damn question, y/n."

"home." something cold settles in your stomach. "topper. what happened?"

"nothing happened."

silence. then: "rafe got arrested."

for a second, you think you heard him wrong. "what?"

"he's fine."

what bullshit. nobody says he's fine unless things are very not much fine. you stand so fast your chair nearly tips over. "what happened?"

"i don't know everything."

"topper thornton."

"i'm serious." a pause, then: "fine, i just know there was some fight."

of course there was. it's rafe. there's always a fight. you're used to it by now, but something about this feels different. you odn't know why, it just does. "where is he?"

"y/n."

"topper —"

"y/n thornton. don't go down there. seriously."

"bye."

"don't you dare hang up on me."

you hang up anyways, grabbing your keys. your heart is beating too fast, because he's fine.

please.

your phone bzuzes just as you're about to slide into your car. a text, from kelce, which is weird enough on it's own because you and him aren't exactly friends.

kelce: where are you?

you: home

kelce: don't come to tannyhil.

your eyebrows pull together.

you: wasn't planning on it

kelce: i'm serious. he's losing his fucking mind

you: what happened

kelce: i dont know. just don't come over

unfortunatetly for him, that is exactly what guarantees you will. twenty minutes later, you're pulling into the driveway, house lit up with cars everywhere, music blasting from somewher inside. a pary, of course, except something feels off. people are standing outside, and the second you step out of your car, every single head turns.

what the hell?

you start toward the house, while someone mutters something and another person laughs nervously. you ignore all of it, until you hear your name. stopping, you turn around.

two girls are standing near the porch. one immediately looks away.

"what?" you bark.

the girl hesitates, winces, "you seriously don't know?"

"know what?"

when they dont reply, you push past them, straight through the front door. standing in th emiddle of the room, surrounded by half of the island, is rafe.

and he's staring right at you. not even relieved, or guilty, like he's been waiting.

and that's when you see her, standing beside him. close enough to touch, wearing one of his hoodies.

your hoodie. the one you left in his truck three weeks ago.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

AN: this series is going to be MESSY, also PLEASE comment on your thoughts taglist: @heathandrewstarkey , @corallandtragedy3 , @awrad2 , @filthyrafe , @bonjourjiminie , @dopepeacedestiny , @unicornyogakween , @eerilyjaggedconstruct , @heartsforvenus , @skkeletonns , @bonni-98 , @ljh22 , @shmd-nora , @harrrrystylesslut , @angel06babysworld , @rosiecherie , @loveislikeathunder , @shewants7 , @ssugartalkin , @kurtcobaintbh , @ana09hb , @be0m9yu, @octoberbxby , @joelmillrenthusiast , @drewsbby , @sex-the1975 , @rafesbunnygirl , @yogurts-things , @justacloverrr , @mar7vamp , @miaisboredd , @selfcontollover07 , @russianscream , @maddiefuckingperez , @mimimeowxzs , @77uchiha77 , @iamtheraine , @applespider0 , @wildflowerwildfire1201 , @drewstarkeyswife-7 , @faye7winter , @crystallinene , @bronsonmeydiluver , @notvickyyy ,@rcamerons

[trashytracktales]

hey lovely i love your works so much especially the angsty one shots they're jusy chef's kiss 💞💞😭 i was wondering if you could make a series of angsty lando texts? not ex reader maybe they just took a break but it's really bad because he did something petty to get her attention. and so then afterwards he manages to convince her to meet up........ im blanking now but i trust you with the ending

even though i shouldn't after what you pulled on delayed gratification. lol.

- 💞

Let’s call it | LN⁴

.✦ ݁˖ summary ──── In which two weeks apart and a public scandal it’s enough to bring them back together. Sort of.

.✦ ݁˖ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

.✦ ݁˖ rating ──── explicit

.✦ ݁˖ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, fake texts, angst, tension, descriptive language, swearing, push-and-pull behavior, arguments and heated conversations, implied emotional manipulation, unclear relationship status, longing, ‘right person, wrong time’ vibes, soft intimacy, internalized conflict, emotional dependency, toxic relationship dynamics, power dynamics, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, light marking, oral and manual stimulation, huge hands Norris™, unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, overstimulation, intense orgasms, messy bodily fluids, elements of aftercare.

.✦ ݁˖ word count ──── 7.3k

.✦ ݁˖ date ──── Apr. 16, 2026

.✦ ݁˖ a/n ──── This one haunted every corner of my brain for at least a month straight and it was a BITCH to edit. I have nothing left to say except lower your screen brightness if you’re reading it in public. Kachow ✌🏼

It was like I was a tree attracted to axes.

Steve Maraboli

LANDO IS ALREADY there when she rolls in, the purr of her engine cutting through the silent parking lot. The headlights sweep across the concrete walls in a smooth arc, landing on him by the time the car stops. She thinks it’s borderline idiotic how quickly her heart reacts at the sight of him, but she hasn’t seen the man in weeks, and the fact that he’s on time for her makes it all a bit harder than it already is. Mainly because Lando was rarely on time, and that used to annoy her a lot.

Whatever this might be, she understands right away that it’s far from casual, because it’s not one of their usual attempts to apologize and move on. It’s serious than it’s ever been, since it’s the first time they actually kept the distance, even though it didn’t last as much they’ve agreed on.

Seeing that Lando chose to listen before a single word is spoken, makes her chest tighten with a cautious kind of hope. Because of that, maybe, beneath all the damage and missteps, they still know how to meet each other halfway when it actually matters. Which is good news and danger zone in one.

He’s dressed accordingly, too: dark trousers, clean sneakers, and a coat pulled close against the cold, with its collar turned up to shield his neck from the bite of the night air. He leans against the edge of the curb, hands shoved into his pockets, breath fogging a little when he exhales. Once he notices her, Lando straightens and nods, then pushes off from where he’s standing, circling the front of the car instead of cutting close.

Opening the passenger door to slide in, he lets a quiet ‘hey’ slipping through his lips.

“Hey,” she copies his tone. “All good?”

Lando nods again. “Yeah, let’s go.”

A few minutes later, Monaco slides past in blurred reflections and the occasional flash of the darkened sea. Inside the car, the heater is turned on minimum, yet the space between them stays as cold as the winter air. Her hands move smoothly on the wheel, precise without being tense, even when another car noses in too close, or a horn snaps too loudly behind them. She has industrial quantities of patience when she drives, which forces Lando to bite his tongue at the thought because it’s true, and because she’d never let him live it down: she is, in fact, a better street driver than he is.

Where Lando gets restless when someone cuts him off, she stays composed, and when adrenaline needles under his skin, she remains calm. She’s everything he isn’t behind the wheel in places like this, yet somehow that doesn’t bruise his ego. It makes him smile, instead. There’s something very particular about the way she owns it, confident enough to be loud and proud without ever needing to prove herself, and he realizes he’s always trusted her most when her hands are right there, steering them both forward.

Both literally and metaphorically.

“You look good,” he says, searching to break the heavy silence.

The girl doesn’t look at him, but still has to point out his failed attempt, “I’m in sweats three times my size.”

The conversation dies where it stands and, luckily, Lando gets the hint. He presses his lips in a thin line, turning his head toward the window on his side with a sigh. If he had the slightest idea where the night was heading at before he got in the car, now he has no clue. She’s colder than he expected and suddenly, the memory of what he’d done hits him with embarrassing clarity: trying to win by playing games won’t work when the other person chooses not to play. Simple as that.

He ends up resting his chin in his palm, elbow braced against the door, pretending he is interested in the succession of images that passes them. Soon, his fingers tap a few times before he starts fidgeting, absently brushing the edge of the console, or tracing the seam of the leather in order to anchor himself in the texture of the car instead of the rejection.

He clears his throat on the verge of exasperation, looking back at her. “So, how are you?”

“Small talk? You wanna do that?”

“I’m trying, alright,” says Lando with a hint of frustration finally cracking through.

“What? To be civil?” she signals, turning onto a quieter street.

He frowns. “To be with you.”

Her grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles paling before she forces them to relax. “We’re way past that, don’t you think?”

“I don’t,” thunders Lando. “I’m here, with you. And I assume you’re here with me because, at least on some extent, we still want the same thing.”

She lets his words get cozy in the space between them, turning the affirmation over on each possible and impossible side in the private chambers of her mind. Of course, Lando is not completely wrong. She came for the same exact reason: she wants the version of them that feels like home instead of a sudden crash. Or at least some version that doesn’t feel like a civil war. But wanting that home and wanting him has always come with a cost she can’t quite approximate.

Most of the times, Lando doesn’t even have to try. He’s just existing and then, out of nowhere, she finds herself bending her own rules and rewriting them in order to accommodate him. Perhaps he’s not even aware of how strong his gravitational pull is, but whether he means it or not, he still takes advantage of it. In that case, how can one balance love against self-preservation? How can she separate genuine effort from the familiar rhythm of him saying exactly what she needs to hear?

Naturally, their scale can’t and won’t simply settle. It keeps tipping toward him, then away, until she doesn’t know which side is instinct and which is self-sabotage.

Impatient, Lando shifts in his seat, knee bouncing before he stills it with his hand. He hates how confined it feels, how close she is and how unreachable at the same time. Driving would’ve helped him right now, giving him a sense of control. She knew that and decided to strip him down of it.

Smart girl, he thinks, biting on the inside of his cheek.

She notices his quiet inability to settle and, deep down, she wishes she could reach out and reassure him that eventually, things will clear up. Maybe not right now, but sometime in the near future, when the fog lifts and they won’t be as blinded by resentment as they are now.

Her eyes sparkle the moment she glances at him briefly, then back at the road. “Did she see the photos?”

One of Lando’s eyebrows arches. “What?”

“Your ex,” she clarifies, “Did she see you getting papped in it?”

“Yeah,” he replies after a quick pause, fingers flexing against his thigh.

Lando can’t help but glance at her profile and watch how her jaw sets a bit harder. He’s not really sure if it’s jealousy since she already told him last night that she’s mostly furious. At him or at the situation, at him and at the situation, at him only — just some options he’s considered. However, he also can’t ignore the way her lips press together as she nods once, like she’s already made a scenario about it in her head. One that he knows it’s going to be hard to fight with.

“So, she reached out,” the girl concludes right away, understanding that it’s the only way Lando would know in the first place.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“What did she say? Bet she had a good laugh.”

He scoffs, leaning back against the headrest, his eyes tracing the line of her neck, where a stray strand of hair has escaped her ponytail. He can definitely sense the undercurrent here and the subtle way she’s testing the waters without diving in, but he won’t give her the chance to steer the conversation in that direction.

Shaking his head, Lando turns his gaze out the window to the blurring coastline. “Dunno, I deleted the text before looking at it.”

Her tone is horrifyingly clinical next time she asks, “Why?”

“What do you mean? Because it doesn’t matter, that’s why.”

The girl studies him for a fraction longer than she wants to, then focuses back at the road. Her foot eases off the accelerator as they ascend higher, the path narrowing.

“But it does, since you wore it to get a reaction. Now you’ve got my attention, hers, and to top it nicely, the internet is having a field day with it as well,” she explains, sarcasm creeping in. “At our expense, may I add. Which is always so, so fun.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he corrects it at last. “You know I don’t give two fucks about what anyone says. You matter and that’s about it.”

She squints at the rearview mirror, then continues driving, keeping another sarcastic comment she’s prepared for herself. The road curves gently upward, climbing toward the hills that overlook the Mediterranean.

“But it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? How people can instantly pick on your breadcrumbs,” the girl continues contemplatively, after biting her tongue for too long.

His expression softens even though there’s still a spark of frustration in his eyes. “It’s none of our business. I think it’s clear where I stand, and you’re smart enough to see it.”

“Well, I think it’s just the fact that I know you too well, Lando,” she affirms, accelerating before slowing again. “Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to see how incredibly stupid you were, either. And if you wanna do that, don’t involve me.”

Without a second thought, “You make me that way,” says Lando.

She veers onto a forgotten access path next, the gravel crunching under the tires as the car jostles over uneven terrain. The engine cuts off immediately after she parks. Below, the dark waters churn against jagged rocks, white foam flashing intermittently under the moon’s pale gaze, while far in the distance, the principality’s lights twinkle like a constellation brought too close to earth.

Impatient with anger, she unbuckles her seatbelt then pivots to face him fully. “Can you own your mistakes for once? Why is it always someone else’s fault? Why do you have to deflect responsibility like it’s a reflex?”

Lando’s body jerks back against the door, her questions landing like an invisible blast wave. “That’s not…” he stammers, hand rising in a placating gesture that falters midway. “I do own it,” he continues, the same anger transferring to him. “You just don’t believe me when I do.”

The girl scoffs theatrically. “Because it always comes with a justification. You don’t want the middle ground, Lan. You just want to be right all the time. And you’re not.”

The restrained frustration simmers in the set of his jaw and the way his hand grips the door handle like he’s plotting an escape. It would be so much easier to leave right now than trying to make sense of any of this. But the thought doesn’t really hold. He already knows what waits on the other side of that choice: an empty apartment he’s already sick of, silent mornings and meaningless nights out.

Although his fingers don’t turn the handle, lingering there between impulse and hope, their grip is still strong.

“No, you just expect me to get it right immediately. What I don’t understand is how the fuck am I supposed to do that if you won’t even talk to me. These couple of weeks without you…” at last, the same hand drops to his lap, body easing back into the seat with a subtle retreat. “It got to a point where I had to distract myself just so I wouldn’t… lose it.”

He doesn’t say the word cry, but the way Lando’s voice thins towards the last sentence says enough for her to mirror his stance instinctively, gaze drifting to the dashboard.

The fragile silence after brings with it a kind of emotional exhaustion that settles over them both. A bone-deep weariness that tames the nerves, making a bit more room for acceptance. Honesty. Or resignation, they still can’t figure out which is which yet.

When she speaks again, it sounds like hope dipped in disappointment. “You need to stop with the childish behavior.”

“You need to stop pushing me away when things get tough,” he counters.

The need in question is not even a need. A break concluding with a breakup would spare them the cycles and the exhaustion of always finding each other, over and over again. They don’t need to go through any of it at this stage. Maybe the best version of their story is the one where they finish the chapter here and close the book before it gives them paper cuts. And yet neither of them moves toward that abrupt ending. There is no reaching for THE ENDs or periods, only commas, where no final decision rests on the tip of a sentence.

That’s why, despite the heaviness, their mutual refusal becomes its own kind of answer.

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Lando shrugs. “And you’re not exactly flexible either.”

“I don’t like how you always leave your shoes scattered by the door,” she continues, completely off-topic. “It trips me up in the morning.”

Staring out the windshield, Lando shoots back, “I don’t like how you fold the fucking towels.”

A faint curve touches the corners of her mouth, then she adds, “I hate that you check your phone during meals.”

Lando shifts again, his shoulder brushing the door. Their voices are flat, like they’re cataloging facts rather than flaws. And for some reason, it works this time.

“I don’t like how you hoard those travel mugs, filling the cabinets until there’s no room for anything else. And I don’t appreciate you stealing the blankets at night.”

The confessions flow gently back and forth; a simple stream of unvarnished truths spilling into the space they share, each one landing without accusation.

The girl turns her head a little, but her eyes remain fixated out at the olive trees bending in the breeze. “Don’t bring my mugs into this. I started collecting them after you made me coffee for the first time. I love how you make coffee,” she says honestly, certain that if she closes her eyes, she can taste the bitterness of it on her tongue.

His eyes drift to the curve of her cheek in the shadows. “I love that you get so excited about it.”

“Mhm,” the girl hums, “It’s mostly because I like watching your hands… doing stuff,” she says, mentally slapping herself at the admission.

Displaying a shy yet knowing smile, Lando extends his hand into the space between the seats with his palm up, waiting. She catches the movement in the corner of her eye and, even though she still avoids looking at him, her own hand moves to settle on top of his. His long fingers curl around hers, enveloping them in a warm grip.

“I love how you challenge me. You push me to be better,” says Lando, his thumb begining to ghost-brush the back of her hand. “I want to be that,” he admits. “For you.”

His statement manages to silently alter the storm inside her, and the scale that wobbles between two sides, eventually tilts a little more in one direction this time around. It doesn’t stabilize right away, but that’s because it’s too early. She’s not so naive to believe that a single confession, no matter how sincere, could repair everything they destroyed together. But it’s moving, and that motion matters. The burning desire to become a better person, even if the initial impulse is someone else, has always meant more than people realize.

For her, it means that Lando has look inward long enough to notice his own flaws. At the same time, it means that he acknowledged that change is necessary and, for now, she is satisfied with that; the reason may start with her, but it won’t remain limited there. In time, it’ll spread to the rest of him, from how he manages anger to how he treats himself when no one is watching. That is why, in her mind, there is no truly negative outcome in a promise like this, even though at first glance it seems absurd. Ultimately, if he becomes better, the world around him will follow, regardless of whether they survive it or not.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally turns to look at him. “Lando…”

“I mean it,” he talks so low that she can barely hear him. “As long as we both try.”

“What does trying again even look like?” she asks, fear mixing with the uncertainty behind her words.

“Right now,” replies Lando thoughtfully, “It looks like dinner. I’m starving.”

“PUT THAT AWAY,” Lando’s voice is raspy with sleep once the repetitive tapping on the screen is slowly pulling him back. “Five more minutes, yeah?” he doesn’t fully opens his eyes, just tilts his head enough to press his face further into her shoulder.

The morning rays filter through the half-drawn curtains in his living room, bringing light to the quiet mess they’ve done last night while watching a ‘quick movie’ before she was supposed to leave: two nearly empty water bottles on the coffee table next to some barely touched snacks, coats resting on the back of a chair, and a blanket half-slipped onto the floor where it couldn’t quite contain them.

She didn’t drink, so she remembers driving him home and agreeing they both deserved a couple of hours to switch off. Now, they’re tangled together, unplanned yet still intentional, Lando’s arm draped heavy across her waist, with one leg hooked loosely over hers ever since he found her in his sleep and decided not to let go. It aches a little, the way she doesn’t want to disturb him nor the heat they make in the space they share, which means she ends up closing the link to the article her friend sent her earlier, then puts the phone away.

“We have to get up, though,” she huffs a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh when she tries but fails to push him off.

Lando groans in protest, burying his hand underneath her lower back, tightening the embrace there. “No, we really don’t.”

“Landooo,” she insists, “Yes, we do. Come on, get up,” her free hand hovers for a moment before settling against his arm, absentmindedly tracing along the sleeve of his shirt, right where the tanned skin of his bicep meets the soft material.

Time itself freezes and stays like that, suspended somewhere between sleep and waking, between what they were yesterday and whatever they’re supposed to be today. She’s convinced that the human touch is healing, because the weight of him on her and his light breathing tickling her neck is able to neutralize every bad thought she’s ever had. Suddenly, everything is worth fighting for, no mistake is big enough to walk away, and there is nowhere they can go from here but up. High enough that no bad thing will ever happen to them again.

Finally cracking his eyes open, Lando shifts to glance up at her. His hair is a mess of soft curls that frames his sleepy face, and despite the calmness in her body, she can’t help the way her pulse jumps in her veins.

“Five,” he repeats, as if he’s meeting her halfway with some sort of compromise.

The girl looks back at him, at the way he’s wrapped around her like letting go isn’t an option he’s considered yet. She wants to argue, but since this might be it, she allows herself to pretend for a little while.

“When are you leaving?” she whispers a few minutes later, cautious, in case he fell back asleep.

Lando inhales deeply, feeling like he’s waking up in stages. “Next week,” he mumbles, pausing for a breath before adding, “Gotta go back to MTC first. Thursday, I think.” He tilts his head to look at her properly, blinking away the last of his sleep. “Why?”

She can’t answer right away, even though it sits at the edge of her tongue. If they’re going to fix anything, they need time. Real, physical, actual time together. Not texting sessions, late nights, or stollen hours between his meetings. In order for something to work, they need to be purposeful about it. Yet he’s already halfway gone again.

“No reason,” she finally replies, one of her hands getting lost into his curls, tucking it away from his eyes.

He studies her for a second. It comes out light and it’s hard for Lando to believe she can sound so careless about it, especially when she touches him the way she does. He knows there’s more she’s not saying, but he can’t push yet. Instead, he moves closer, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

“Did we even finish the movie?” he changes the subject for her sake, the inquiry coming out like a light bulb moment.

“Don’t think so,” she admits, “Last thing I remember is Mia and Sebastian pretending it won’t all fall apart at the jazz club.”

“What jazz club?” asks Lando, managing to steal a small chuckle from her, the sound traveling straight to the deepest parts of his soul.

She sighs in fake disappointment. “Lando…”

“Look, I’ll drive you home, if you want,” he continues gently, “Or we could just have breakfast here and finish what we started.”

It’s the way he says it that makes her lungs scream in agony because of how long she’s holding her breath after that. Feels like the choice he’s offering has nothing to do with the movie at all, but it’s not accompanied by the pressure to agree.

He’s simply making space for her and, for once, she doesn’t overthink it when he asks if she’s staying.

“Yeah,” she nods, letting the air out, “I’m staying.”

LANDO BLINKS AND it’s somehow the night before he has to leave. They didn’t speak after he dropped her off, days ago, and now there’s an open suitcase on the bed with all his clothes, some half-folded, most half-abandoned. He sits right next to it, on the edge of the mattress, pressing the screen of his phone to his forehead as if it can make him think faster. Better. Come up with solutions that stick.

The messages sit there on delivered for a minute, then five. Five turns to ten, ten to twenty.

Being the one left in the in-between can be frustrating, especially waiting for a decision that isn’t completely his to make. He didn’t have high expectations to begin with, but he’s held on to the belief that she’ll have an answer by now. Worst thing is that he knows he can’t blame her for the silence, because he’s aware of how complicated this is. How easily they can slip from something good into something that hurts.

Still, it leaves him with a couple of WHAT IFs.

There is no clear moment that points to where hope disappears, it just feels like it’s slowly dimming, like an engine finally running out of fuel. It’s not like Lando can simply decide to let go, but the space where he’d imagined her starts to feel emptier with every passing minute, until he’s left with the uncomfortable realization that maybe now is not their turn. But even though the biggest part of him agrees that the timing has never quite aligned for them, accepting that now isnt’t their time doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Lando watches a series of bubbles appearing and disappearing in front of his eyes, over and over, toying with his patience. Each time it shows up, his chest grows stiff; each time it vanishes, another wave of frustration washes over him. The lack of control sends him reeling, caught between please! and fuck it!

His jaw sets harder, frustration rising fast enough to turn into anger and, for a weak moment, he’s ready to throw the phone across the room. Until it buzzes in his hand, causing his heart to skip a beat, then drop straight to his stomach.

Their eyes lock immediately once the door is yanked open. His are wild, filled with disbelief and hungry, hers flicker with nerves. Three heartbeats pass in the space that separates them, until Lando’s hands shoot out to close the gap, fingers curling firmly around her waist. It doesn’t matter what else they might have to say in the moment, words are redundant now. He pulls her inside with an ease that speaks to how effortlessly he can handle her small frame against his lean one. Then the same door slams shut behind her, Lando’s mouth crashing into hers, desperate, with no time to test the waters.

It’s a kiss he’s put on hold ever since they woke up together on his couch, last week, messy in the way their lips slide together. Feels as though it’s the last time they’ll get to do it, and they both know it. She tastes like candy, making him groan into her mouth as soon as he remembers the sweet drops she chews whenever she feels anxious. His grasp almost leaves her breathless, combined with the way his mouth moves in sync with hers, thumbs pressing into the soft give of her hips to keep her in place.

Her entire body ignites under his hands, heat spreading like wildfire to the inside of her thighs, making her knees weaken and her skin prickle with goosebumps. She wasn’t ready to discover just how much her body had longed for his touch, and now she’s paying the price by revealing to Lando just how bad she needs him to claim her again. It’s like every nerve ending starts singing, her breasts heaving against his chest with labored breaths, nipples hardening beneath her shirt from the friction alone. She responds with the same urgency, her fingers fisting in his messy curls, tugging him closer until there’s no room left betweent them, not even for a speck of dust.

Saliva slicks their lips, a strand of it breaking when the girl pulls back to gasp for air, only for Lando to dive back in the next second, sucking on her lower lip hard enough to make her moan in protest. However, her legs part instinctively at the way he presses his hips forward, the hard line of his cock already straining against his sweatpants, grinding into her core through her jeans.

It gets overwhelming when he reaches this state, manhandling her like she’s weightless, his arms lifting her slightly off the ground to align their bodies better, her back arching on the door behind as a result. He sighs loudly when she presses back into him, sound that sends pure need between her legs. Like in a chain reaction, a rush of wetness soaks her panties, her clit throbbing in time with the pulse pounding in her ears.

Everything happens so fast, so she barely has time to snake her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back without breaking the kiss. Lando stumbles forward a step, then another, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, fingers digging into the flesh there as he kneads it possessively. The shift makes his erection rub directly on her, sparks flying out of a body that’s undulating against his, itching to feel more of it.

Halfway to his room, Lando remembers the suitcase sprawled open on the bed with his clothes scattered everywhere. He breathes her in, a muffled nuh-uh coming from the back of his throat, then veers into the living room instead, lowering her feet to the floor but keeping her close.

“Fuck, wait,” he speaks over her lips, breathless; his hands are already working at her shoes, crouching slightly to tug off one, then the other.

She smiles, kicking them aside, her own hands yanking at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in the shortest time, like she’s racing against the clock. His skin is burning, the defined lines of his abs flexing under her soft palms the second she starts tracing them all over, greedily.

“What are we doing?” she exhales heavily, inebriated by the assault of his mouth, the words tumbling out just for the sake of it and not because she’s interested in the answer.

Feeling her nails scraping lightly down his chest, Lando straightens with a small whimper. “You know what we’re doing,” he looks at her long enough to make a point, then immediately drops to his knees before her. “Do you wanna stop?” the question comes out in a low voice as his hands slide up her calves, thumbs pressing into the spot behind her knees.

Fixing her gaze on the way he unzips her jeans, the girl simply shakes her head. Lando’s is more wicked and it stops at the damp spot on her panties, peeling the denim down her legs. She steps out of them trembling at the anticipation, every square inch of her skin hypersensitive to his contact. His mouth follows the path, lips brushing her inner thigh until she brings him higher by threading her fingers through his curls a second time.

He takes his time though, hooking his fingers into her panties and dragging them to expose her slick folds to the cool air. The scent of her arousal hits him like a memory, sending his senses into overdrive next time he inhales sharply, his cock twitching in his sweatpants. It’s like a switch flipped in his brain. There’s no thought or logic behind it anymore, and although he’s aware of how it conditioned him over time, what follows is simply a knee-jerk reaction: his shoulders tense, pulse kicks up in his arteries, then he’s hit low in the stomach with an undeniable surge of want.

Rising, Lando sheds the useless fabric in a rush, his erection springing free with impatience, involuntarily putting on a show for her. It’s only fair she reaches for him without thinking twice, wrapping her hand around his length to stroke firmly from base to head, eliciting a weak whine from his chest.

“Holy shit,” his whine ends in a chuckle, “Your hands are so cold,” says Lando, capturing her wrists gently, guiding her hands to her own shirt instead. “Off, please.”

She can’t help but let a laugh escape through her lips but still complies, stripping it over her head, her bra following as her breasts spill free, begging for attention. “Sorry, I walked here.”

“No, you didn’t,” he insists, not past the disbelief that she’s here yet.

“Yes. I went out for a walk to think, and the next thing I knew, I was here,” the girl explains before they collide again, skin to scorching skin.

His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hand kneads the other. Her head tips back to give him space, a tamed sob announcing the exact moment when pleasure arrows straight to her core, her pussy suddenly aching to be filled. In order to stay strong up against his gentle attack, her hands open wide to cover as much of his broad back as possible, urging him on by squeezing his shoulders.

Lando lowers her slowly, but misses the couch, their bodies sinking together down onto the soft rug on the floor, her back hitting the plush surface with a whoosh of breath. He’s all over her in an instant, caging her with his arms, his cock nudging earnestly at her entrance. Every point where they connect catches on fire, but the burn doesn’t hurt; instead, it envelops them in a protective dome, their own world, as it spreads.

“Look at me?” he’s close to whispering, locking his eyes in an intense, soul-baring way that makes her heart grow ten times in size. “I’m always going to need you like this,” admits Lando, making sure she follows. “Together or not.”

She nods, circling her legs around him, digging her heels into his ass to pull him closer.

“Anything else?” she challenges him.

Lando’s jaw clenches before positioning himself, eyes never leaving hers. “I need you to work with me here.” When one of her eyebrows arches, he adds, “Grind down until your thighs shake, yeah? I’ll do the rest.”

Her whiny voice almost breaks him, and Lando takes it as a cue to thrust in gently but deep, burying himself entirely inside her tight heat. The girl cries out at the initial stretch, her walls adjusting rather fast to his thickness. He stills there to give her time to relax around him, both of them panting at the blissful sensation. Then he moves, pulling back only to slam forward again, closely studying her face in order to figure out how to build the perfect rhythm.

Because she’s so wet, that’s not even an issue. She’s so ready to take him after their weeks apart, that each movement sends lewd sounds echoing in the living room, blending in unison with their heavy breathing. Her hands grow restless, one sliding down to cup the taut muscle of his ass and pressing into the flexing flesh as he drives deeper. The other caresses his back, pulling him closer and closer, until his chest brushes her nipples, the contact sending fresh jolts through her.

“You look so desperate for it already,” he reads her at the same time he pulls back for another thrust, aiming deeper so the head of his cock nudges that spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids. “If you needed dick that badly, you could have just told me.”

His left hand braces beside her head, but the right slips between them, fingers splaying her folds wider, holding her open in order to watch himself dissapear into her heat. The sight alone makes him throb harder, impossibly thicker, like his body refuses to soften even for a second in her embrace.

“I almost did,” she confesses, “But then you decided to be a stupid idiot,” her vision darkens at the edges like a vignette effect at the feeling of him splitting her open, leaving but returning with more drive every time.

“I know, baby,” says Lando, watching her facial expressions change with each of his thrusts. “I’m so. Fucking. Sorry.”

She can’t process his words right now, not when the most euphoric wave sweeps over her senses: the stretch of him, sweet yet too much at times; the sounds he makes, mostly guttural, followed by jerky grunts whenever she squeezes him just right; the way he looks on top, heavy, rocking into her with gritted teeth and tensed muscles.

Her breasts bounce every time he grinds, swaying in a rhythm that catches Lando’s eye mid-motion. He lets another groan out through his parted lips, transfixed, focusing on how they shift with each snap of his hips, drawing him in like a magnet.

“Fuckin’ look at you, baby,” he breathes, speeding up only to chase the hypnotic jiggle of her chest, his pace turning more insistent. “So fucking hot.”

He’s careful to build the pressure thrust after thrust, one measured push that bottoms out, grinding his pelvis against her clit before retreating, then plunging back in with a wet smack. Her body dances with his on the rug beneath them, the coarse fibers catching on her skin, leaving behind a subtle burn that heightens everything.

“Lando,” she swiftly grabs at his bicep to catch his attention, making the muscles tense and release.

“Yeah, love. What d’you need?

Hardly managing, she replies between moans that rattle in her throat, “Need to come, I’m so close.”

“Mhm, I can feel it,” Lando assures her, “You’re doing so well for me.”

“Lando…” the girl chokes out his name once more, her hips lifting to meet his.

He understands her desperation, adjusting the angle by a fraction of a millimeter and driving the next thrust upwards. Hearing her whines, his free hand immediately joins the fray between her thighs, fingers rubbing in successive strokes, from firm swirls that match his pace to faster flicks that has her clenching harder around him.

She is lost in it by now, mind emptying to white noise and the relentless pleasure of him filling her over and over. Lando feels it too, as if every time he dives back inside her, his cock gets harder with veins pulsing against her inner walls. One particularly deep plunge has her crying out, his tip pressing so far inside that it steals her breath. But he pulls out abruptly, right before she’s ready to let go, both of them panting at the instant stop.

“Fuck, no!” she hisses, legs going limp around him; she watches him resting his cock on the heated skin of her thigh, slick with her arousal and twitching as he looks back at her flushed face with a grin. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Just making sure you cum before I do,” says Lando, sliding two fingers into her without warning, curling them from the first push.

She bucks, her inner walls rippling and squeezing his digits with increasing frevor. It doesn’t take much for her to start convulsing in powerful spasms around his fingers, sucking them in as her release gushes out in rhythmic pulses. He pumps faster for a few more seconds, thumb playing with her swollen clit, the dual assault sending her straight into flow state.

“Oh my god,” she rises to chase his touch in that exact moment, but Lando withdraws his fingers then, replacing them with the blunt head, the thickness difference landing her back on the ground. He teases her hole for a heartbeat, then thrusts back in, timed perfectly with her clench, her greediness pulling at him deep until he’s seated fully again. “You’re so fucking big.”

Lando’s grin widens, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. “You can take it alright,” he leans in to kiss her jaw, earlobe, anywhere his lips can reach, thrusts turning erratic now. “That’s it. Get your favorite thing,” his voice is strained with lust, long fingers resuming their work on her clit, faster this time around.

Only thing she can still pronounce is his name on repeat, like a chant that fuels Lando. She doesn’t have time to come down when a second orgasm crashes over her, causing her body to go completely limp beneath him due to exhaustion. Her pussy clenches around his length, fluttering contractions drawing him deeper into her heat. In response, his cock swells thicker inside as he fucks her harder through it, hips snapping forward with much more force than before. For a quick second, it feels even punishing, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder, his balls tightening as he chases his own peak.

With that, Lando can’t keep his mouth shut anymore; the words spill from his lips in a breathy torrent, accompanied by moans that match his pounding:

“Just like that, fuck, you’re so good for me. Squeezing me so fucking tight,” his praises mix with whimpers from both sides, each one punched out on a thrust. “Ah, yeah, just… just like that,” he repeats, the hand on her clit finally abandoning its assault to brace against the floor, right next to her head.

Caging her there gives Lando leverage to grind deeper, his cock battering that sweet spot until her limp form jolts with aftershocks. Her back slides another few inches across the rug, the friction now a delicious sting that keeps her in the present moment. Though weakened, her arms manage to cling to him, hands trailing feebly up his sweat-slicked back.

“That’s good, baby. Can you hold on like that?”

She answers by nodding with a smile, then his pace changes again, thrusts shortening and sharper, the coil in his gut snapping as he cums with a guttural moan that buzzes through his chest. He paints her walls white but keeps moving, pulling out just on one backstroke for a dribble of their mixed release to leak onto the floor, a pearly strand connecting them before he slams back in, fucking it deeper.

He repeats it again and again, then once more, the obscene squelch of it driving him on.

“That’s fucking it,” he pants, shaky voice breaking on another moan, his cock jerking until he’s emptied himself completely. “Mine.”

Finally spent, Lando sighs, wrapping one hand around the base of his softening cock and pulls out slowly only to watch her face when she clenches in protest, reluctant to let him go. The drag is so sweet, her muscles rippling along his thickness, drawing out a shared hiss of overstimulation. As the head pops free with a wet sound that either of them barely register, he smears it along her lips, coating the puffy, glistening folds, the mess slicking her clit and thighs in shiny trails.

Without a word, he rests it then right between her folds, the warmth of her inner skin cradling him as he collapses fully on top of her. She’s boneless beneath him, eyes closing in blissful exhaustion. Lando notices her sudden silence and dips his head to capture her lips in a tender kiss before she can react, his tongue slipping in to taste her, bringing her back to him. The girl catches up quickly, her mouth moving sluggishly against his.

Neither moves for what feels like ages, bodies cooling on the floor of his living room with heartbeats gradually slowing, syncing to a calm lub-dub.

In the quiet that grows around them, Lando shifts first, propping himself up on one elbow to reach for the tissue box on the nearby coffee table. He cleans her gently, wiping away the sticky trails from her thighs and folds with careful strokes, then himself. She watches him through half-lidded eyes, still too spent to do more than sigh softly at his careful touch. She lets him dress her next, following how his hands slide his loose sweatpants up her legs. He tugs them over her hips, pulling at the strings around the waist to make them fit better.

Leaning down, Lando presses one more kiss to her cheek, lingering there with a nuzzle, his freshly shaved face gliding smoothly against her flushed skin.

“Be right back,” he informs her, standing on shaky legs to grab a clean pair of boxers; he heads to the bathroom next, the sound of the toilet flushing the used tissues following soon after, water running briefly as he washes his hands.

Left alone, she breathes out the last pulses of euphoria, her body humming with residual warmth, pussy still tingling from the thorough fucking. With effort, she pushes herself up, knees wobbling from the fact that she pretty much forces herself to bend down and collect their scattered clothes. Bundling them in her arms, the girl pads barefoot toward his bedroom but stops in the doorway, taking in the chaotic space. It’s the clutter she notices at first but, soon enough, her gaze snags on a flash of a familiar playful logo peeking from a cardboard box labeled ‘DONATIONS’ in sharpie.

A small smile curves at her lips, warming her already heated chest amid the post-orgasm glow.

She still smiles when Lando finds her standing there. Without asking for permission, he wraps his arms around her from behind cupping her breasts possessively to pull her back against his bare chest.

“You smiling at my mess, eh?” he teases, one hand lingering on her breast as the other wraps around her waist.

She leans into his embrace like second nature. “I’ll help you clean.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2026

[avenficrecs]

ANGST

fiabesco by @sushirrrry

summary: “he yells at her for the first time and she starts crying and he feels really bad”

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: so much fluff

Nice to Each Other by @ijustmissyouraccenths

summary: “based around the song Be Nice to Each Other by Olivia Dean.”

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

warnings: none. Just angst.

How To Mend A Broken Dish by @maudie-duan

summary: "Somewhere between the shared routines and the predictable rhythms of togetherness, you lost sight of what truly mattered—the connection you had that once felt like magic was being buried beneath the mundane details of everyday existence."

pairing: Boyfriend!Harry x GirlfriendFem!Reader

warnings: Fighting, Filth, Fucking, and Fluff. xFem!reader, this one gets a happy ending!😉

Summer Was Ours by @maudie-duan

summary: “A lingering crush brings two old campers back as Camp Counselor in hopes that maybe, just maybe, they can finally cross a line that they've been dancing along for eight long years, but when Harry turns a cold shoulder, you're left wondering if you'll ever actually get the chance you've been dreaming of. A chance to call him yours.”

pairing: CampCounselor!Harry x CampCounselorFem!reader

warnings: Mild Angst, Mild Smut, Fluff, and Falling In Love!

breaking plates by @jarofstyles

summary: “angst to fluff like harry gets mad and yells at her and she just retreats and stays in the room and he feels bad and tries to get her back”

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

warnings: angst and fluff

Paris at Night by @fkingstyles

summary: “"Sans toi, je ne suis rien. Notre amour est éternel, Ma lumière. Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable. Nous étions formidables. Je suis désolé. " / Harry gets caught emotional cheating on his fiancée right before their holiday to Paris.”

pairing: Current!Harry (famous!Harry) x fem!fiancée reader

warnings: Emotional cheating, Smut (sub!harry, face riding, fem!riding, unprotected sex, strong language use), toxic behavior, angst.

Aperture by @zclhes

summary:

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader, established relationship, age gap

warnings: heavy angst, relationship conflict, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, arguments/escalation, raised voices/shouting, characters being intentionally hurtful, below-the-belt insults, insecurity, fear of abandonment, age gap dynamics, power imbalance (emotional/experience), emotional manipulation (unintentional), crying, unresolved tension (at times), partial reconciliation

sea, swallow me by @venicemoon

summary: “in which, harry thought he could have everything, until he’s left with nothing that matters.”

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings:

Texting BF Harry Styles by @harrywavycurly

summary: You and Harry have a little argument and he only sort of spirals when you stop replying in the middle of it✨

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

warnings: this is dramatic so minor language, mentions of hospital, small accident, minor injury, angst, protective Harry, arguing and some fluff at the end

[hoonieyun]

girl, guess what?

꒰୨୧◞ 。park sunghoon x reader ⠀.ᐟ

genre: written and fake texts, angst, established relationship, toxic relationship, hurt and kinda comfort, makeup sex, romance if you squint warnings: toxic!sunghon x toxic!yn , slight brat tamer!hoon x brat!yn, big dick!hoon, dom!hoon, orgasm denial, profanity, toxic relationship dynamics, kissing, spit, dacryphilia, fingering, mutual oral, dirty talk/praise, overstimulation, breeding kink, choking, size kink, belly bulge, hair pulling, face fucking, swallowing, multiple orgasms, lowkey baby trapping?? , tit play/sucking, biting, impregnation kink idk sunghoon wants to make you a mom !! breath play, taking naked polaroids, yes i used the other writers in this collab as yn's friends lol, 18+ pls ignore typos definitely NOT proofread lawl ⤷ ゛synopsis telling your best friends about all the fucked up shit your boyfriend did and how you almost broke up again last night...

this fic is a part of "man's best friend" a series collaboration based on sabrina carpenter's new album! check out the other works for this collaboration and support the other writers here ۶ৎ

wc: 10379

you’re about to press the voice memo icon on your phone but just before your finger tips can touch the screen, a knock sounds at your door causing you to look up from your position on the couch. at first you think that maybe you’re just hearing things but when another knock appears from the other side of your front door you find yourself rolling your eyes in frustration– annoyed that someone was bothering you when all you wanted was to rot on the couch in your pajamas and talk shit with your friends about your now ex-boyfriend who you had broken up with the night before. 

it didn’t start off as an argument, just small petty things that your boyfriend did throughout the day that got on your nerves like leaving a fork in the sink unwashed after you had just washed the dishes, or when he doesn’t bother to tidy up the couch after he’s lounged in it all day, or more recently the fact that it seems like he hasn’t paid any attention to you since you told him that a guy from your economics class wanted to be your partner— almost like he was purposefully avoiding you as a punishment. 

you had thought that maybe if you– politely– told sunghoon that he was beginning to irritate you with his behavior that he’d realize his mistakes, apologize, and then make it up to you; but you were wrong. sunghoon took every single thing you said to heart and as a personal attack on who he was as a person. 

“you’re mad i didn’t wash one fork? what– so i’m a slob now?” 

“i work so hard all day and night, am i not allowed to rest for one day?” 

“you want attention from someone that bad? i guess i’m not good enough for you then, huh?” 

and as he took your claims as an attack– you took his defenses and clear projection as the purest form of gaslighting. the argument lasted for almost two hours, you called him big headed, selfish, and draining while he said you were clingy, bossy, and suffocating. the night ended with sunghoon slamming the door to your shared apartment with nothing in his hands or pockets, his last words being “i can’t fucking stand you!” as the walls of your home shook chaotically as the door slammed shut. 

he didn’t come home that night, you’d know because you spent all night crying in your bed alone while you thought about what you did to deserve to feel so unloved by the boy who had promised you a future that you could’ve never imagined. 

when you woke up that morning, he still wasn’t there but you could feel him in your home. the way his cologne clung onto every piece of furniture, the way there was still an unwashed fork in the sink– next to the unwashed fork he had used the day before. the glass that had tipped over and spilled its contents on the coffee table when he abruptly stood up, knocking into it. 

he was everywhere even when he wasn’t– like he was in your head and still in your heart. 

it was moments where it seemed like he was pulling away that you’d stand close to him, your chest lightly pressed against his as you looked up at him through your lashes that you strategically batted at him. fluttering your eyes and pouting your glossy lips in an attempt to soften him, telling him that he’s so sweet to you, how well he takes care of you, and how no other guy could ever compete with him. 

but there were also moments where you found that convincing yourself that everything was fine was a lot easier when you weren’t worried of how it’d play out in the morning. so you did something you never do– you decided that peace wouldn’t be the only thing to break if you called him out on his behavior, that your relationship would crack too. 

that’s how you found yourself currently texting your best friends about how you and your boyfriend broke up last night– or almost did. you weren’t sure where you and your boyfriend stood but aside from the fact that he just left and you hadn’t seen him for the last 12 or so hours; he might as well be your ex. 

until now; when you reached for the doorknob and there he was standing behind the door, hair disheveled, eyes slightly sunken, and fingers restless as he fiddled with the fur on the stuffy bunny. he looks like he hadn’t slept and to be quite frank, you hadn’t either so why should you feel bad for him. 

sunghoon was holding flowers and a stuffed bunny with a box of chocolates in its tiny hands. you had to bite back a smile at his bare minimum attempt at trying to make amends. flowers that were half wilted and chocolates that were probably quite stale— at least he got the bunny right, it was your favorite animal after all.

“sunghoon– what are you doing here?” you ask with a sigh and he clears his throat before answering. “i live here too or did you already forget about me?” voice slightly playful for someone who was just so angry the night before. you tried to study his face, watched his eyes and how he lightly chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for an answer. 

you knew exactly where this was going. 

sunghoon’s hand softly pushed the door wider in an attempt to make the gap bigger but you stood your ground in not letting him in, using the door as a shield of sorts. “where were you last night?” you asked, a slight quiver in your bottom lip, one that you hoped he didn’t see. you had spent all night crying to the point that you eventually just fell asleep with the tears drying on your cheeks. 

you assumed sunghoon went to one of two places— maybe even both. it was either to the bar to drink his feelings away or to his best friend’s place. either way, he was probably drunk by the time you had shed enough tears to fill an olympic pool. 

“does it matter? i’m here now, aren’t i?” he’s got a smug look on his face and you’d be lying if it didn’t make your heart flutter just a little but you were angry at him and you were dedicated to staying angry even though all you wanted was to feel his arms around you and hear him say ‘i’m sorry’ for the nth time that month. “are you drunk right now?” 

you suddenly grab him by the collar and pull him close— sunghoon thinks you’re about to kiss him so his eyes softly close. your lips are centimeters away from his but when he doesn’t feel the softness of your mouth against his, he opens his eyes. you were just using the close proximity to smell his breath and just like you had thought, the smell of whiskey on his tongue lingered enough to prove you right. 

you let go of his collar and shove him away with a scoff and sunghoon rolls his eyes. “okay— i was at the bar with the guys but cut me some slack! i was pissed off and it was better to go drink then keep arguing.” 

sunghoon tried to reason but you weren’t hearing any of it, before he could even finish his sentence you were already walking away, conversation abandoned as you left him standing at the front door by himself. “are you seriously still mad?” he asks in frustration as he steps into your shared apartment. 

but these days it was more like yours instead of ‘ours’ with how often he’d spend the night drinking, leaving you in bed alone with hopes that you’d fall asleep a lot faster than your tears would fall. 

you chose not to answer, just leaned on the wall opposite of sunghoon as you watched him gently sit the flowers and stuffed animal onto the coffee table, next to the tipped over glass over water that had spilled when sunghoon abruptly stood up in anger during your argument. you watched as the petals of the flower almost crumbled in the way it wilted and how the stuffed bunny slouched. you were too focused and too in your head to notice sunghoon walk closer to you. 

he grabbed your waist and pulled you close to him before you could react, a small gasp slips from your lips when you feel his touch. the way his hands carefully travel from your waist to your hips, finding home on the exposed parts of your skin where your sleep clothes didn’t bother to conceal. his thumb rubbed small circles on your soft skin as he stared down at you– eyes filled with intention. 

“did you have a good night without me?” and when you didn’t respond, he chuckled to himself because he already knew the answer. your lips parted in an attempt to try to sway his already made up mind but nothing came out; sunghoon taking your silence as one part of his victory— among other things like opening the door for him when you could’ve kept him locked out and now, letting him get closer and closer until you’re back up against a wall. 

you were still angry, maybe angrier than last night, but with the way he’s got you trapped between his body and the wall, and the way his hands massage your skin like he knows it better than the back of his own hand, anger was slipping away and beginning to feel a lot like comfort. 

comfort in the way you find yourself melting into his touch and how you don’t want it to go away— not as much as you did last night. 

“i’m sorry, baby. forgive me?” he asks as his hand moves to your chin, thumb slightly rubbing your bottom lip. your eyes flutter as you look up at him through your lashes that have clumped together with dried mascara that wasn’t washed away by your tears. “i don’t know what came over me, i was drunk and i just— i’m sorry, ok?” his voice softens the longer he spoke.

you could almost see it in his eyes— the apology. 

but it didn’t feel the same as his words. the gaze he held was apologetic, his body language showed he was sorry, the pout on his lips formed into a plea of forgiveness, but his words didn’t feel the way he looked. there was a disconnect between the two and yet, you accepted it anyway. 

it always went like this, it was strange, it was like you had heard this all before. sunghoon says that he doesn’t know what came over him even though you’ve told him several times that he’s acted this way whenever you get into an argument, then he claims he didn’t mean it even though he says it every time, and then follows it up with his excuse that he was drunk. even though it seemed like he was basically drunk more often than he was sober. 

it’s almost like bullshit repeats itself, or however that saying goes. 

sunghoon’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip and your eyes can’t help but fall onto his. your mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out when his hand suddenly grabs yours and he pulls you towards the bedroom. you already knew where this was going and you could hear your friends yelling in your head about how you shouldn’t take him back or how you shouldn’t get under him again but his touch was addicting and you were deprived. 

before both of your bodies are fully inside of the room his laps crash onto yours in a fiery kiss. it was passionate but not in the type of way where lovers kiss like they’ve been separated by time and land— it was a kiss filled with intention, like sunghoon was trying to prove to you how sorry he was and he knew, by the way your body reacted and how your lips want it just as bad, that his apology was already accepted before you could even utter the words ‘i forgive you.’ 

and he never needed you to say it because deep down the both of you knew he’d apologize at the end and you’d always accept it, even if neither of you actually meant it. 

you never know if he meant it— being sorry– especially because it’s become a pattern. you tell sunghoon about something that he does that’s been bothering you, he calls it nagging and then denies it, your voice rises and so does his, he throws out a statement that’s clearly him projecting and you proceed to call out his shitty behavior. the argument usually lasts for at least an hour before sunghoon storms out and gets drunk. 

sometimes he’s already drunk during the argument— that’s how they start sometimes; he’ll be gone all night and you’ll spend it crying and texting your friends about how shitty he is and how ‘this time’ it’s over. 

that you’re ‘done’ with him and that you aren’t getting back together. 

whatever you needed to tell yourself so that you could feel right in your decisions in pushing him away even though every decision you make moving forward and in the past has only pulled you closer to him. “we’re drifting apart, you know that?” he mutters into your lips as he briefly breaks the kiss, giving you time for a short breath. 

“yeah.” you respond, pulling away to look him in the eyes. his knee has found its way in between your thighs, parting them like a curtain to reveal the light of day. “i fucking know..” you say before going back to kissing him as if you weren’t just thinking about all of the ways you were going to kick him out or ignore him until it’s actually done between you two. 

“it’s not like we haven’t been here before.” 

the words slip past your lips like nothing and sunghoon almost doesn’t even realize it. you’re right. this has become a routine between the two of you and sunghoon hadn’t realized it until now. he assumed that every couple goes through things like this but when he talks to his friends about it they all don’t know what to say since they’ve never been in this situation before. 

“really?” 

sunghoon looks at you, lips slightly parted as his eyes blink rapidly while waiting for a response. you look up at him, briefly at his lips before you catch his gaze, his cheeks are flushed and his chest falls and rises as he catches his breath. “sunghoon— let’s not act like we weren’t in this same position just a week ago…” 

he sighs when he remembers the fight from last week. he admits that it was definitely his fault then and the time before that, and the one before that one, and the one now; but you always forgive him in the end— he doesn’t know why though. sure, he feels shitty with how he treats you yet you’re so forgiving anyway. you deserve to be treated so much better and no matter how hard sunghoon tries, you guys always fall back into the same routine. 

“the only difference is this time i’m not completely sure where we’ll end up after this.” 

your gaze drifts to something behind him to avoid eye contact. you don’t why you said that, you were a bit afraid of what it meant and now that you said it, it must mean something right? you can see sunghoon flinch at your comment from the corner of your eye. confused as to why you said it like he expected you to fall into the routine just like usual. it had become your normal and although you’ve grown accustomed to it doesn’t mean you were content. 

your boyfriend gently grabs your chin and turns your head so that you’re facing him but your eyes don’t follow, “hey… look at me.” his voice is gentle but demanding, it disarms your walls albeit not fully but brick by brick he was going to get through to you even if it meant landing yourself in another argument in the end. 

he wouldn’t want to be in this type of situation with anyone else. 

“do you mean that? you really don’t know where this’ll go? not even if it lands us back at square one or maybe—” he pauses for a second when he realizes how glossy your eyes have become. the heat that was previously brewing between the two of you has gone cold and what felt like a lack of space between your bodies now feels like a vast ocean despite your chest pressed against his.  

“maybe we can make this work— i hate fighting.. please..?” 

you’ve never seen your boyfriend like this before, vulnerable. when you first met sunghoon he came off as this arrogant prick, it didn’t help that he also fell into the annoying stereotype of a ‘finance bro’ but it wasn’t long until you fell in love. he was sweet in the type of way an iced latte was but like an iced latte, your feelings began to water down the longer you left it untouched. 

your eyes waver for a moment, “w– what..?” you stutter and sunghoon pulls away. his touch lingers on your body as he steps back, hands brushing through his hair as he knocks his head back with a sigh before turning back towards you. “do you really think we can’t get through this? have you given up?” 

he was serious— that’s what shocked you the most about all of this. 

“i–” 

you didn’t know what to say. you take a seat onto the bed, the soft mattress molds underneath you as your hands grip the edge of the bedsheet. it crumples between your fingers and your eyes glue themselves to the ground. like the thousands of carpet grains that covered the floor was much more interesting than the conversation you’re having with your boyfriend— one that you never expected to happen, let alone by his own accord. 

“hey… what’s going on between us?” 

sunghoon’s feet come into your vision as he walks closer. you don’t even need to look up at him because he takes the liberty of kneeling down so he’s at a better height for you. he takes the place between your thighs, hands roaming up your thighs like he’s asking for permission and your legs open naturally to let him in. he settles comfortably on his knees between your legs as his arms sit on each side of you, gently holding your hips. 

“i don’t know… i’m just scared i guess.” you sniffled as tears began to pool in your eyes, falling before you could even attempt to stop them. “we’re always fighting and i never imagined it to be like this— i’m just scared that it’s always going to be like this and..

i don’t want that for either of us.” you take a breath in between words as the tears make it harder to speak. sunghoon is quick wipes your tears away, the familiar feeling of his warm hands return as his thumbs swipe them away, gently running across your cheeks. “hey– hey… it’s okay.” he coos, cupping your face in an attempt to console you. 

“shh…” he whispers as he pulls you into a hug. it feels like ages since the last time you felt his arms around you outside of sex. he rubs your back as you continue to cry, your tears soaking the fabric of his shirt as you cry into his chest. your arms remain limp at your side, too tired to hook them around your boyfriend— unknown to you that he misses your touch just as much, maybe even more. 

“i’m sorry, okay? i know we always fight and i hate it. i’m sorry i yelled at you and just left you here alone. i wanted to clear my head but…” he pauses as if he’s trying to find the right things to say but he never finishes his thought. his hands just continue to rub your back as your tears begin to slow down. “listen to me…” he says, pulling you away from the hug and holding your face in between his hands. 

“i love you, ok? i’m sorry for last night and every other time but i promise you, never again. okay?” 

you stared at him with a pout. you wanted to believe him so bad but it all just felt too rehearsed, like he had been thinking about this all night as he downed beer after beer— but maybe that wasn’t so bad. maybe you should hear him out and cut him some slack. if he spent all night thinking about what to say to you then that must mean he’s sorry right? it must mean that he feels just as bad as you do, maybe even more even if you’re the one with tears streaming down your face. 

he must’ve spent so long thinking about the right thing to say so maybe his words coming off as scripted shouldn’t matter because he spent the time to figure out what to say— and it’s working. 

“i’ll do everything i can to prove to you just how much i love you and how sorry i am. i’ll do anything, my love.

anything.” 

your tears have long gone and it makes a smile creep onto sunghoon’s face. “hate seeing you cry— you’re too pretty to cry, i’m sorry i made my baby cry.” he mutters with a pout of his own and it makes you laugh. a giggle cracks from your chest and you try to brush it off with a roll of your eyes but sunghoon is quick to catch it. 

“there she is, my pretty girl.” he says with a wide smile after hearing your laugh. “haven’t heard your laugh in so long, i was beginning to think you hated me or something.” 

“jury is still out on that one..” 

“oh yeah?” you nod in response and his smile turns into a smirk. like he was testing you. 

“let me show you just how much i love you then—” he says while standing up. your eyes follow him as your neck cranes upwards at his height, lashes still wet from your tears. sunghoon’s hand finds your chin again and he holds you in place as he stares down at you, his eyes filled with a type of desire you haven’t seen since you first started dating. 

“you can decide if you think you really hate me. what do you say?” 

his thumb finds its way swiping across your bottom lip again and just like before, your body answers for you as your lips part and his thumb slips into your mouth; you nod as you begin to suck on his thumb. sunghoon hisses at the feeling, he catches his bottom lip in between his teeth as he pushes his thumb further into your warm mouth. 

“that’s it. my pretty girl.” he whispers so low that you almost don’t catch it. 

you look up at him with glass eyes and a weak mind but it didn’t matter because sunghoon could be the strong one for the both of you. you could cry all you want, nag all you want, tell him he’s annoying or claim that you hate him all you want— at the end of the day he was going to pull you into his arms and tell you “i’m sorry” in between kisses. 

“i’ve missed you so much— fuck.” sunghoon sighs as your spit slightly drips from the corners of your mouth the longer you suck on his thumb. he pulls it out of your mouth with a slight pop and your lips remain parted, “then show me just how sorry you are if you missed me so much.” your words come out as a challenge and sunghoon accepts instantly. 

the smirk spreads across his lips again and he’s quick to lean forward, hands cupping your face but not as gentle as before when he pulls you into a kiss. it’s sloppy and messy like he wants to devour every single part of you— deprived of your being and working with haste as if at any moment you’d slip away from him forever. 

sunghoon’s kisses trail from your lips, across your jaw, and down your neck; he sucks on the sensitive parts of your skin that leave you in shivers and wanting more. “h– hoon.. please.” you whimper and you can feel sunghoon smirk against your skin. “please, what? huh?” he continues leaving wet kisses across your neck and collar as he unzips his hoodie off of you but the fact that you wore more often— and better– it might as well be yours. “get this shit off” huffs as he tears it off of your body and tosses it to the side and just like he thought, nothing underneath. 

his mouth instantly attaches to one of your nipples as he roughly kneads the other. sunghoon pinches and bites at your breasts, leaving them sore and aching for more as his mouth and hands wander further down your body. his hands are heavy as they grip your waist while he licks across your chest and presses more kisses downward— stopping right above your sleep shorts that barely leave anything to the imagination. his fingers loop at the waistband but he stops all of a sudden, you look at him with pleading and confused eyes, all you want is for him to continue; not wanting to leave any space for other thoughts to enter. 

just the euphoric feelings of his mouth on your skin and his hands on your body. 

“wh– why’d you stop?” your breath is uneven and sunghoon watches through hooded eyes as your breasts rise and fall with each breath that you take. “nothing— just really fuckin missed this.” and in one motion he’s pulling your bottoms away and to no one’s surprise, you’re already soaking wet. 

“fuck— you always get so wet from the smallest foreplay.” he says, hands brushing down to your thighs and pulling your legs apart. they open easily, like a gate to sacred land that sunghoon and only sunghoon has access to. “so fuckin wet— shit.” he says. sunghoon’s mouth waters at the sight of your pussy glistening despite there being no light bleeding into the room. his hand slowly moves from it’s position on your hip and just momentarily hovers over your core. 

“hoonie.. stop teasing me– fuck.” your hips try to buck upwards to connect it with his hands but the grip he has on you with his other hand keeps you in place. “patience, baby. you can be patient for me, right?” 

you bite down on your lip as you fall back onto the mattress, the back of your head slightly bouncing on the cushion. you nod and although sunghoon can see it, he doesn’t accept it as a proper answer. he squeezes your thighs and with a light slap onto the inside of your thigh, you gasp. “words, baby. you know better.” 

“yes! hoonie, i can be patient. yes—” it comes out more as a whimper but you manage to spit out the right words because before you know it sunghoon’s hand cups at your core, he gathers all of your slick and with two fingers he pushes it back into you with a groan. “shit— so wet, baby.” he mutters and a moan bubbles out of your chest. “fuck!” his movements are slow as his fingers push in and out of you and as much as you want to move your hips to feel more of him, you know that it won’t get you anywhere. 

“ple– please..” was all you could say and you’re in too much ecstasy to hear the chuckle that comes from your boyfriend. he’s enjoying watching you writhe underneath him, your body begging for more of him, your mind filled with nothing but the need of him, and more importantly, how you know that he’s the only one who can make you feel this good just from his fingers alone. 

“please? just because you asked so politely..” 

sunghoon pulls his fingers out of you and they’re covered in your wetness. he sucks and licks it up as it drips off of his fingers and when he’s got enough of the taste of you on his fingers, he moves to the real thing. his mouth attacks your pussy like a hungry animal eating its prey after a successful hunt. 

he’s filled with hunger and depravity and the taste of you on his tongue leaves him in awe. “so fucking sweet— just for me, right?” he gives your thighs a light squeeze and you moan out what he thinks and believes to be a version of a ‘yes’. sunghoon is too far gone eating you out that he’s given up on making sure you’re acting right because right now the both of you have completely forgotten that you were fighting in the first place. 

sunghoon pulls away momentarily to catch his breath and before you could even whimper at the loss of touch he’s pushing his fingers back inside of you and his thumb presses down on your clit with heaviness. “fuck—” your back arches in pleasure at the feeling and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer. 

“is my pretty girl getting close— hm? i can feel it.” he says, fingers still stretching you open. your raise your head slightly to look at sunghoon and your eyes instantly catch his gaze. he’s looking at you with a smirk, mouth and chin covered in your essence. he raises his brows with a smug grin and your head falls back onto the bed with a half sigh and half moan– feeling like it weighs hundreds of pounds as his fingers continue to put pressure on your clit that leaves your body feeling numb. 

“cum for me, baby. i know you want to.” 

it’s like he’s taunting you. telling you that he’s fully aware of how your body works and that your body craves him and only him– no matter how many times you two fight and almost break up. “come on, pretty. cum for me, hm?” 

“fuck!” your breaths are heavy as your orgasm travels through your body, the feeling of bliss surging through your core. “i’m cu– cumming! hoonie fuck!” 

“that’s it, baby. there you fuckin go.” sunghoon smiles even wider when he sees you get wetter and wetter by the second, mouth latching back onto your clit as you cum, making sure he doesn’t miss out on the sweet taste of your cum as he laps it up like a parched animal. “god– fuck.” 

more profanities leave your mouth as sunghoon continues to suck, lick, bite, and torture your core. he doesn’t bother to come up for air anymore and you’ve long run through your orgasm but at the rate that sunghoon is devouring your pussy— you imagine you’d be close to another. “h– hoonie wait. shit– fuck wait!” you’re practically begging as he continues to fuck his tongue into your soaking pussy. 

sunghoon smirks as he hears you begging for him to give you a break. your hands push at his shoulders and your legs try to close around his head but he’s much stronger and he keeps your legs wide open for him. “already tapping out, baby? that was just one— i know you can give me more, come on.” it comes out as a whine and he’s pouting at you but there’s a sense of satisfaction as he watches your body laid out for him. 

like he’s looking at his work of art— ruining his pretty girl and leaving her begging for him. 

“you’re so annoying…” 

you prop yourself up on your elbows and look at sunghoon who still holds the same smug grin on his face, only now his mouth and chin are even wetter than before. “just treating you like you should be treated.” he leans forward and grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. you can taste yourself on his lips and sunghoon deepens the kiss as his tongue pushes into your mouth. “open.” and your jaw pulls apart so he can see your pretty tongue waiting for him. 

he gathers his spit and lets it drip into your mouth, the warm feeling coats your tongue as it slides down your throat. sunghoon doesn’t even need to tell you to swallow as you’re already doing it on your own— “good girl.” he says before connecting your lips again. sunghoon stands up just as he pulls away, hand grabbing your chin gently as he admires you once again. you look up at him through wet lashes— this time from the pleasure of his tongue inside of you and not due to tears from a fight. 

“so pretty…” he mutters and the growing hardness in his sweats throb. 

“need help with that?” you don’t even need to look down to know that he’s insanely hard. your face is just a few inches away from his crotch and you swear you could feel the heat emitting off of him. sunghoon had a habit of getting painfully hard from eating you out— he loved it more than penetration sometimes and not only that, he leaked an insane amount of precum whenever he ate you out. 

he lightly scoffs and when his hands stretch upward and rest behind his head with ease as if giving you full access, you know what it means. your hands waste no time at pulling down his sweatpants and underwear at the same time. his cock springs forward with such force that his precum flies forward and streaks across your lips.  

you grab his aching cock and press the tip against your mouth like you’re applying gloss and it makes your lips glisten with his precum. you lick your lips before opening your mouth wide enough to take him in, his cock heavy and warm in your hand. you slowly bob your head back and forth, only able to take in a fourth of sunghoon into your mouth. 

sunghoon leans his head back with a heavy breath of relief at the warm feeling of your mouth on him. you’re looking up at him the whole time even if he’s not looking at you— you wanna make sure that he feels good and enjoys your work. 

your saliva begins to coat his cock and you match the movement of your mouth and hands at the same time, twisting your hand at the base of his base as your mouth moves. “fuck— baby, come on. i know you can take all of it.” he mutters, eyes opening and he looks down at you. 

“can you?” 

you nod eagerly— you move your hand away and sunghoon’s hands find them on the back of your hair. he fists your hair into a ponytail and pushes his cock deeper into your throat. your eyes begin to water as he fills your mouth but you don’t dare break eye contact. sunghoon is looking directly into your glassy eyes as he moves in and out of your mouth, hips moving tirelessly. ‘‘fuck, baby. just like that.” 

sunghoon’s mouth falls open in awe as his tongue slightly pokes out, he’s only getting harder and harder at the sight of you taking all of him down your throat, “so fucking good for me.” he whispers as he quickens his pace, tip of his cock poking at the back of your throat. your boyfriend tightens his grip on your hair and pushes all the way inside of your mouth, nose pressing against his slightly grown out pubic hair, taking in his musk. it scratches you just slightly as he holds you in place— not allowing for you to breathe. 

“fuuuck” he draws out the word in pleasure as you begin to gag and your eyes continue to water. your hands push at his thighs for air and when he doesn’t let up, you resort to frantically tapping at him. sunghoon pulls his dick out with a string of curses as you suck in a large breath of air. “you’re fucking perfect.” he says before bending forward and kissing your pout away. 

“so mean..” you look up at him and he chuckles again. “you like it, don’t ya?” 

and you nod because you do. you like it a lot. 

“you gonna be a good girl and swallow?” 

and again, you nod. 

“i’m always good.” you say through your pouty lips and sore jaw. “not always– but that’s what i love about you.” sunghoon doesn’t give you time to retort as he’s pushing his cock passed your swollen lips and back into your mouth– continuing his pace as he stretches your throat once again. he’s gently holding each side of your head with his hands as he fucks into your mouth, head falling back in pleasure as he tries his best to hold off on cumming; not yet wanting to let go of the feeling of your mouth wrapped tightly around his cock. 

“shit— baby, i’m gonna cum.” 

you moan around his cock and the vibrations only push him over the edge. “swallow all of it, ok?” and another moan of yours is the last straw as he’s pulling you close to him again, nose pressing against his skin as his hot and salty cum pours down your throat, the act of swallowing no longer becomes a need because he’s already so deep in your mouth it naturally slides down your throat. sunghoon bucks his hips a few more times to ensure it’s really down there which earns him a few taps on his thigh before pulling away. 

“open.” he instructs and you swallow fully beforehand. 

you part your mouth and when sunghoon is satisfied at the sight of your mouth devoid of his cum and all is left is the way it glistens with your spit he kisses you again. “good girl.” he says into the kiss and it sends heat down your chest and settles on your core. “bet you’re still so fuckin wet right now.” 

and when he reaches downward and cups your pussy and feels how slick and sticky it’s become since the last time, he laughs knowingly. 

“fucking knew it.” 

he says before pumping a few fingers inside of you again. “hoonie— please. i can’t wait any longer.” you’re practically begging him and it’s like church bells to your boyfriend. 

“yeah? my pretty girl wanna get fucked that bad?” 

“yes, please. please fuck me hoonie. i need you.” 

sunghoon smiles, he grabs your face in both hands and places one last kiss on your lips before tearing his shirt off and kicking off his pants and underwear that have pooled at his ankles. your mouth continues to water at the sight of his muscular build, eyes trailing from his cock all the way up to his hungry eyes. 

 “all fours– ass up. come on.” and your body moves before you think you’ve fully processed what he said. your face is plush against the mattress as you wiggle your ass in the air like you were tempting him. 

“so pretty— and all mine.” his hands gently rub your ass. he gives them a little squeeze before a hand lands heavily on your left ass cheek. “ow! hoonie..” you whimper. 

“that hurt.” you pout at him but the position he has you in doesn’t really allow for you to get a full view of him, unlike sunghoon who’s got not only a full view but a perfect view of your pretty ass and pussy on display leaking down your thighs. “ready baby?” you mutter out a yes and he’s lining himself up to your pussy. 

sunghoon gathers your slick and rubs it onto his dick, pumping it a few times before he grabs your hips and pushes into you with a groan. “shit baby— you get tighter?” he’s barely halfway through when your body begins to get even warmer. “fuck— hoon!” you whine as he pushes deeper and deeper and when sunghoon eventually gets his dick all the way in, he stills for a moment. 

the two of you are trying to catch your breath as sweat collects on your forehead and on sunghoon’s neck. “please hoonie..” 

you swallow the lump in your throat before continuing. “please move… fuck—” your hand balls into a fist as you punch the mattress in agony and lack of movement. 

“patience, baby. what did i say?” 

“i don’t fucking care— just move, please!” 

you’ve long given up on caring about whether or not you came off as desperate or pathetic for wanting to get fucked by your boyfriend and his massive dick. the feeling of his cock inside of you was a mixture of delight and agony as he just stood there. you’re moment away from moving yourself back and forth, fucking yourself onto his dick like he was a dildo but thankfully sunghoon’s grip on your hips tightens— squeezing your body underneath his large hands and he finally begins to move. 

a strung out “fuck” leaves sunghoon’s lips as he pushes his cock deeper inside of you, a steady pace of in and out as his dick gets wetter and wetter. your whimpers are drowned out by the mattress as sunghoon’s pace begins to quicken. your mouth is wide open as you begin to drool, hands fisting the bedsheet, “so fucking tight baby.” sunghoon whispers. his eyes are glued to your ass and his dick only gets harder when he sees how soft your ass is. 

sunghoon squeezes your ass and it molds underneath his hand like a soft dough, the corner of his lip quirks upwards when he sees just how pliable you are, how easy your body moves underneath his control— “you’re perfect.” he mutters and it makes him quicken his pace. “you taking it so well baby.” sunghoon bites down on his lip as he brings one leg up so he has better leverage and an easier time to dig into your guts. 

there’s nothing in your head besides the warm throbbing feeling of sunghoon’s cock pushing in and out of your pussy, a mixture of wet sounds and skin slapping together barely keeps you from having your eyes roll into the back of your skull and pass out from the pressure of his dick piercing into you. “hoon– fuck.. i’m getting close.” you say as you shift underneath him, body barely able to shift due to the weight of sunghoon pounding into you from the back. 

“cumming for me already? you missed this dick, huh?” 

you could hear the smirk in his words and as much as you wanted to fight back, spit a bratty remark and shoot him a narrowed glare, the feeling of sunghoon fucking his dick into you like it’d be the last time ever was too good. your head was practically empty, all you had in there was the fact that your orgasm was yet again building inside of you, waiting to gush all of your boyfriend’s dick. 

“ye– yes, i did. please hoonie, i need to cum— please.” your soft whimpers and pleads only making sunghoon’s cock throb harder and his thrusts push deeper; and suddenly he pulls out and doesn’t push back in. “not yet, baby— wanna see that pretty face when you cum.” 

a whiny moan leaves your pouty lips at the absence of sunghoon’s dick filling you. you begin to turn your body around so you’re on your back but sunghoon’s hands are quick to grab you by the hips and flip you over himself. a small yelp leaves your lips before sunghoon’s mouth is on yours. another sloppy and hungry kiss that leaves you breathless and gripping sunghoon’s toned and muscular biceps to ground yourself. 

“fuck” he mutters into the kiss before pressing kisses down your neck and onto your breasts, his teeth catching one of your nipples with a small bite that causes your body to jerk slightly. “you’re gonna cum on this dick and you’re not gonna look at anything but me fucking you got it?” 

you nod while biting down on your bottom lip. “words baby.” sunghoon clarifies and you answer with a small yes. “then, i’m gonna cum in this pretty pussy and you’re gonna say thank you like a good girl.” 

“yes hoonie..” 

“good.” 

and he’s barely giving you any time before he’s grabbing your waist once again, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, and pressing the tip of his dick right at your entrance. the familiar feeling of his cock opening you up and stretching you out returns and your eyes are instantly rolling back like before. 

sunghoon’s hands don’t leave your waist as his grip tightens. he loves the fact that you’ve got such a big mouth on you despite you being so small compared to him. so much attitude for a girl who folds so instantly for him as soon as his hands find your waist or sometimes when you’ve decided to put on a ‘tough girl’ act and the feeling of his hands on you doesn’t work, his lips leaving wet marks across your neck does the trick just find. 

it’s like sunghoon has the perfect formula for knowing not only how to get under your skin but also knows how to get you to crumble beneath him. its perfect the way the two of you pair well with each other. sunghoon who was typically quiet and you who has trouble knowing when to shut up suddenly finds yourselves in opposite positions when your big mouth brings out the side of sunghoon that speaks louder and gets you to shut your mouth— usually with his fingers or dick stuffed past your lips. 

tears begin to pool at your lashes once again and they slowly cascade down your flushed and warm cheeks as your body jolts with every thrust— argument long gone from your mind as you try your best to keep your eyes on your boyfriend. sweat and your juices have begun to glisten on his skin, emphasizing the hard and muscular edges of his body. 

did he get bigger? 

your eyes travel to his arms and it makes your mouth water when you notice just how hard he’s flexing his arms to keep you in place. “fuck…” it slips past your lips before you even know it and it catches sunghoon’s attention. he looks over at you through his lashes and notices that your eyes are focused onto his flexed biceps. 

“like what you see?” his voice remains cocky as his hands let go of your waist– a brief sense of relief of his relentless grip as he raises his arms close to his head and flexes them to show off. “i know you like it, don’t gotta tell me nothing.” he says before his hands find them on the back of your thighs. sunghoon pulls your legs upwards, resting them on his shoulders so he can get deeper inside of you. 

“fuck— that’s it right there, huh?” 

he says when your face contorts at the feeling and despite sunghoon already deep inside of you, the new position allows for him to go even deeper than before. “yeah, right there.” sunghoon’s eyes fall to the part of your stomach that moves simultaneously with each thrust, like he has x-ray vision and can see his dick moving inside of you, stretching you open with each thrust as he pushes further. 

“such a good fuckin pussy– so tight and all mine.” he quickens his pace and intensity with each thrust. “only i can make you feel like this, remember that.” it came out like he was convincing the both of you. like if sunghoon didn’t prove his words to be true that you would leave him and he couldn’t have that. you were perfect for him and he was perfect for you despite the two of you constantly being at each other’s throats— he loved. 

sunghoon never wanted to tell you that and to be quite honest, he may never tell you, but he loves fighting with you and it’s because of this. how, despite you claiming you hate him and that you were done, your body, mind, and heart reacts to his touch like no one else. how, even though he tells you that you’re so annoying for nagging him, he loves it because it means you’ll talk to him— and you yelling and being mad at him is better than you never speaking to him ever again. 

“you feel me right there, don’t you?” sunghoon’s hand pushes down on the bulge at your stomach and it pulls out a gasp that comes out more like a shriek. his eyes widen at your reaction and you’re left speechless at how deep he is inside of you. his lips tug into a cocky smirk again as he watches pleasure wash over yourself again, tears continuing to coat your cheeks. 

he reaches forward to wipe them away, a tender and caring action used as a guise for sunghoon to bring your legs further upward, practically pressing your knees against your chest. “it’s okay, baby. i got you.” he says before wiping your tears and placing a small kiss onto your nose. for a second you see him again, the boy you had fallen in love with all those years ago. the soft spoken and shy boy from university who was too afraid to correct you on a grammar mistake you made even though it was his job to tell you since he was your TA. 

that’s how things were when you guys first started dating. you were the fiery and outspoken girl that had heads turning in your direction whenever you entered the room until you left while sunghoon was the calm and seemingly cold boy that followed you, cooling down your path with every step from behind. 

and you wouldn’t want it any other way. you don’t even know why you guys fight so much, it was exhausting to say the least and sometimes you didn’t even care that much about what you were nagging him about. 

it just felt right to do so. 

like your body craved that part of your relationship where it started off as calm and sunghoon basically did everything you said to the point where your fire became so hot that sunghoon had no choice but to extinguish it— putting you in your place. 

and that’s how it’s been for the last few months. a routine of fighting and then getting back together via sex that leaves the two of you wanting more. 

“fuck— hoonie, please i need to cum. baby please.” 

you begin to beg as the familiar feeling of your orgasm returns, heating pooling from your chest and traveling down your stomach and settling at your core just waiting to be released like a dam that’s ready to crack from the pressure of water pushing against it. “yeah? you wanna cum?” sunghoon taunts with a teasing pout on his lips and a raise of his brow. 

you shoot a glare at him and it earns you a chuckle, “gotta be nice to me if you wanna cum, baby. or should we just stop here?” he halts his thrust and begins to pull out of you and your hands are instantly wrapping them around his neck and over your ankles that are adorning his shoulders. “oh?” he continues. 

“please, hoonie. i promise i’ll be good just please let me cum.” your pleading almost works but sunghoon doesn’t fully buy it. he slowly begins his thrusts again— painfully slow. “not convinced, doesn’t sound like you really wanna cum…” 

he’s being such an asshole and despite that your orgasm is only building and adding more pressure to your core; and just as you thought it couldn’t get worse sunghoon begins to quicken his pace and one of his hands squeezes past both of your bodies and begins massaging at your clit with a heightened intention— like he’s toying with you and seeing how far he can push you. 

“fuck! please sunghoon, i’ll do anything just please let me cum. please!” 

your words rip out of your chest like a battle cry as tears fall even faster than before and you can see a triumphant smile on sunghoon’s face as you beg underneath him. 

“you wanna cum? tell me how much you love me, come on. do it.” 

The pout on your lips quiver stronger the longer you try to hold off and all the while, sunghoon finds it all amusing and your pussy only continues to clench around him even tighter. “You're so mean…” you mutter and sunghoon threatens to stop altogether. 

“no no , please…” 

he raises his brows, “let me hear it baby.” 

“i love you hoonie. so much. you’re the only one who can ever make me feel this good, feel this loved, and feel this— happy.” it came out soft like foam pouring out of a canister. soft, pillowy, and fragile. 

“please, hoonie. i love you so much it hurts.” 

“see, that wasn’t so bad, right?” he says before pressing a kiss onto your swollen pouty lips, folding you further in half. “i love you too, pretty.” 

“now cum for me— cum all over this dick.” 

and as if it was like he had just uttered the magic word, your orgasm fully breaks through and something in your body snaps as heat washes thoroughly across your body. “that’s fucking right— cum for me.” sunghoon continues his relentless pace as you ride out your orgasm. a blend of ‘shits’ and ‘fucks’ and ‘ohmygods’ leaving your lips as you cum almost endlessly. 

“i love you so much” he mutters before pounding even further into you, hands gripping the sides of your head as he looks into your eyes and all you can see is love. like this is exactly where the two of you need to be despite the arguing and screaming, being so close and pressed against one another and nowhere else. “fuck— baby i’m gonna cum.” 

he shuts his eyes momentarily as if to stop his own orgasm but sunghoon is in too much ecstasy to hold off any longer, “inside, hoonie. please cum in me.” your words echo in his head true and clear despite the pleasurable feeling of getting dizzy taking over him. “yeah? you want me to fill you up?” 

you nod eagerly as you stretch forward to kiss him, “i want it— all of it.” you whisper and it sends shivers down sunghoon’s spine. even with the position the two of you are in where sunghoon is seemingly in control, you’ve still got this hold on him, a persistent grip on his mind and heart that is reserved only for you. “gonna fill you up so full; you’d make such a beautiful mama.” 

“shit— fuck! i’m cumming.” 

his thrusts feel deeper and deeper as the sensation of his warm cum floods inside of you. he stills momentarily at the furthest point where the tip of his cock almost meets halfway past your body like a puzzle fit perfectly before a few more heavy thrusts that pokes at the soft and squishy parts of your insides. “gotta make sure it sticks.” 

sunghoon pulls out and the hollow feeling from the absence of his cock no longer being inside of you leaves you wanting more despite your body being limp and exhausted. you watch your boyfriend through hooded eyes as he gets off of you, hands carefully straightening you out and pulling your lands comfortably downwards. 

he reaches for something inside of the nightstand and quickly returns with a polaroid camera and a sharpie. “smile, pretty.” and you do just that. a tired yet beautiful expression on your face as your lips stretch into a grin as you watch your before squeeze one eye shut and press down on the button to capture the moment. a quick white flash erupts in the room before sunghoon is pulling the polaroid out of the compartment. 

with the end of the sharpie with the cap in his mouth, he pulls out the marker and begins writing something, cap wedged between his teeth. “what’s the date?” he sort of mumbles and your lazily reply back as he writes down your response. sunghoon closes the marker and sets it down with the camera on the nightstand. 

“there. it’s perfect.” he says before placing a kiss on the fully developed image of you sprawled across the bed, his cum leaking out of you and an expression on your face that screams just how much you love him. sunghoon brings the picture closer to your face so you could also give it a kiss the way he does before he goes back over to the nightstand and pulls open the drawer, revealing 10 to 15 more polaroids of similar images with different dates on them. 

he tosses it inside with the rest and quickly goes back to you on the bed, still in the same position. he carefully scoops you up into his arms and walks you over to the bathroom where he begins to draw you a warm bath like it was a prize for all of the hard work he just put you through. “i’ll be right back.” sunghoon says with a kiss on your forehead. 

“can you bring me my phone?” 

he hums in response and returns momentarily with a clean rag and your phone in hand. he spends the next 30 minutes cleaning you up in silence as you mindlessly tap and scroll on your phone, unknown to him that you’re reading the texts that you missed from your friends while you and sunghoon were… busy. 

“hey…” he suddenly speaks up and gently grabs your face in his hand, the rag carefully resting on the edge of the tub. he moves your face so you’re looking at him, “i love you, ok? fuck all the fighting and screaming and shit— i love you, all of you. all of the bullshit and nagging— i don’t want love if it’s not with you.” 

and for the first time in what seems like ages, you’re crying not because sunghoon was being an asshole or because his dick was punching inside of you just the right amount but because you can feel the love radiating off of your boyfriend in tenfold as his hands carefully travel across your body like he’s doing his best to connect the two of you into one. 

like he’s memorizing the curves of your body and ridges of your skin in the chance this truly is your last moment together— but it won’t be. that’s for sure. 

“aw, baby…” you say with a pout as you now grab his face in one of your hands. you lean slightly over the edge of the bath tub to press a longing kiss onto his lips and its like the first time he ever kissed you again. it’s feathery but passionate and it leaves you feeling like everything moving forward doesn’t matter as long as you are by each other’s side. 

“i love you more than you think.” you mutter into the kiss. 

sunghoon continues cleaning you with a smile on his face like he was just gifted the one thing he’s always wanted in life and in a lot of ways, he was. 

you were a gift to him and he knew better now than to lose something so precious to him. 

your boyfriend carries you back to bed princess style and places a kiss on your nose, “where you going?” a pout on your lips when you realize he isn’t joining you in bed. sunghoon laughs at how cute you look and he explains that he still needs to wash up before getting in bed with you, “i’ll be right back, ok?” you nod with a smile and he gives you one last kiss before he goes back to the bathroom to quickly freshen up. 

that’s when you realize that your phone is still in your hand and the unopened text messages from your friends are looking back at you. you can’t even begin to imagine all the shit they’ve said about sunghoon in the time you were gone and don’t know how to explain that everything was just a false alarm. 

of course you and sunghoon are still together— yesterday’s breakup was nothing. just a mere false alarm that can be easily brushed off, duh. 

you tap the phone to open the group chat and scroll through the texts before finally responding. curating a short response as to why you were suddenly gone and that the ‘problem’ you had with sunghoon had miraculously fixed itself. 

sunghoon returns soon after and cuddles up behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you nestle yourself closer to him. “i missed this.. i missed you.” you confessed and you can feel the low hum of sunghoon agreeing vibrate across your back. “no more fighting?” he asks and there’s a long pause before you respond. 

your eyes bounce around the room looking for anything to focus on instead of his question, “i love you, hoonie. let’s nap.” 

and you can feel his lips stretch into a smile against your hair as he pulls you even closer into him. deep down the two of you know that the fighting wasn’t going to end, partially because the both of you have turned into two stubborn individuals who have different agendas when it comes to riling the other up but mostly because the sex after a fight is just too good to let go of. 

just like how the love you have for one another is too good to let go of. 

neither of you would be letting go any time soon— or ever. 

“love you too, baby.” 

hoonieyun notes: im so sorry this took so long yall know i always have some fics i'm working on and always travelling but i'm sooo excited to finally get this out. a very special shout out to my wonderful friends @s1rawb3rry @heejamas @heeseung64 for being such amazing people to work with and making this collab happen !!! please check out their fics on this collab and the rest of their work c: pls remember that we all have different schedules and lives so don't hound anyone on this collab who hasn't posted yet, instead encourage them and send them kind words about how much you enjoy their work and look forward to what they have coming <3 love u all !!!

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[moonlitrapture]

THE TAPE

Pairing : Michael Jackson x black!reader

Genre : Dark romance, Psychological thriller, celebrity horror, angst

Wc :2.48k

Warnings :18+ ( MDI - minors do not interact), emotional abuse, toxic relationship dynamics, obsession, stalking, blackmail, manipulation, surveillance, dub-con elements, possessiveness, paranoia, graphic arguments, media exploitation, death threats, mentions of substance use, violence, dark themes, dead doves don’t eat .

Synopsis :The tape was never supposed to leave the bedroom.

One private argument inside Neverland becomes national entertainment after distorted recordings of you and Michael leak across every tabloid station in America. Overnight, the world turns against you. Fans camp outside your apartment, reporters follow your family, and death threats begin flooding your phone by the hour.

Michael swears he didn’t release the recording — but his silence feels worse than betrayal.

Then the packages start arriving.

Photographs of you sleeping.

Cassette tapes filled with breathing.

Videos recorded outside your windows.

As Michael spirals deeper into paranoia and obsession, you uncover hidden surveillance rooms, locked tapes, and journals proving somebody has been watching you long before your relationship ever began.

And somewhere between fear, dependency, and love, you realize the most terrifying part of all:

you can no longer tell whether Michael is trying to protect you…

or keep you.

The rain against the leaded glass windows of Neverland Valley Ranch persisted, a relentless, muted percussion that seemed to isolate the estate from the rest of the world. Inside the master suite, the atmosphere was heavy, thick with the scent of burning cedar from the hearth and the delicate, fading notes of your jasmine perfume.

You stood near the edge of the massive four-poster bed, your fingers trembling slightly as you smoothed down the fabric of your attire. Every piece had been meticulously selected by stylists under his direction: a high-waisted, pleated wool skirt in a deep midnight blue, paired with a silk cream blouse featuring an intricate, high necked lace collar. On your wrist sat a heavy gold watch a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that, under the current weight of the house, felt less like a gift and more like a polished shackle.

Across the room, Michael stood by the carved stone fireplace, his silhouette casting a long, imposing shadow across the Persian rug. He was in his post Bad era prime, the image of absolute pop royalty. He wore a structured, military-inspired black jacket with silver piping along the collar and cuffs, the metallic accents catching the dim luster of the chandelier. Beneath it, a crisp white V-neck tee was tucked perfectly into black slim-fit trousers that tapered down to his signature leather loafers. His hair fell in a cascade of glossy, wet look curls just past his shoulders, framing a face that remained completely unreadable.

Between you, resting on the low mahogany coffee table, lay the source of the evening's quiet terror: a standard, unmarked VHS tape.

———————————————————-

An relentless roar that had built up over weeks until it completely fractured the life you knew.

It had all started on a Tuesday morning, a brief flash on the small television screen in the kitchen. A low resolution, black and-white security tape had been broadcast on a national evening tabloid show. The audio was harsh, filled with static, but the voices were unmistakable. It was you, crying out in frustration, begging for a moment of normalcy away from the cameras, and Michael’s voice responding with a chilling, quiet authority.

Overnight, the media transformed your existence into a public circus.

"We have exclusive footage from inside the king of pop's fortress," the anchor's voice boomed from the television, cutting through the heavy atmosphere of the room.

The screen flashed with a grainy, distorted image of your face taken from a hidden lens near the ceiling of the guest house. On the bottom of the screen, bold red text crawled across the broadcast: INSIDE NEVERLAND: THE ICON'S HIDDEN LOVER SPEAKS OUT?

Every major paper had picked up the story within hours. They didn't see a woman drowning in isolation; they saw an opportunist. The Daily Mirror ran a headline calling you the "Secret Subversive," speculating that you were using the private moments of a global superstar to secure a payout. Call in radio shows debated your character, dissecting the tone of your voice on the tape, analyzing your background, and tearing your identity apart piece by piece.

"She's an outsider," a prominent journalist remarked during a morning talk show segment, her voice dripping with condescension. "Michael has given her a life of absolute luxury, and yet she’s caught on tape berating him in his own home? It’s clear she doesn't belong in his world."

You had watched the broadcast from the edge of the sofa, the colorful, bright morning sunlight outside the window contrasting sharply with the deep dread pooling in your stomach.

The paparazzi had descended upon the outer perimeter of the estate like vultures. Even from the main house, you could hear the distant, faint click of high powered camera lenses aiming through the wrought iron bars of the front gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman the world had decided to hate.

Michael had walked into the room then, his presence immediately drawing the air out of the space. He didn't look at the television screen. He walked over to the cabinet, turned the power knob until the screen dissolved into a single, white dot, and then turned his gaze to you.

"You see what they do?" he had whispered, his eyes wide and dark with a dangerous sort of validation. "They want to destroy you, Joseph. They want to make the world hate you so that you have nowhere else to go. But you don't have to listen to them. You don't have to look at them."

It was only now, sitting locked in the darkness of the master suite, that the terrible irony of his words finally hit you. The media hadn't built the cage that was tearing you apart. They had simply provided the platform.

———————————————————-

The tension had been building since the previous afternoon, when a private, emotionally charged argument recorded within the supposed sanctuary of the ranch had been leaked to the tabloids. The media had seized upon it instantly, dissecting the raw friction between the global icon and the woman he kept hidden from the public eye.

Before the quiet of the master suite, there had been voices downstairs. Michael’s brothers had arrived unannounced, their concern breaking through the usual isolation of the estate. You had stood at the top of the grand staircase, listening to the sharp echo of their conversation in the marble foyer below.

"You can't keep handling it like this, Mike," Jackie’s voice had risen, tinged with frustration. "The press is having a field day. They’re spinning this like you’re keeping her hidden away against her will. You need to put out a statement, clear the air."

"It’s none of their business," Michael had responded, his voice uncharacteristically sharp, cutting through his brother's insistence. "They don't understand the pressures out there. They don't know what it takes to protect someone."

"Protecting her, or protecting the image?" Jermaine’s voice joined in, calmer but heavy with skepticism. "The staff is talking, Mike. People are whispering about the security setup here. You’ve got the place locked down tighter than a fortress. It doesn't look like protection from the outside; it looks like control. If she decides to walk, the fallout is going to be massive."

"She isn't walking anywhere," Michael had said, his tone dropping into a low, chillingly calm register that ended the discussion. "She knows what the world out there is like. She stays here because she’s safe with me."

The heavy front doors had closed shortly after, leaving the house in an oppressive silence once more before Michael ascended the stairs to find you.

———————————————————————

The heavy mahogany double doors down in the marble foyer swung shut, closing with a dull, booming thud that vibrated through the floorboards of the upper landing. The silence that followed was immediate, thick, and suffocating, settling over Neverland Valley Ranch like a physical weight.

You remained frozen at the top of the grand staircase, your fingers gripping the polished balustrade so tightly your knuckles turned ash-white against the dark wood. Your breathing was shallow, catching in your throat as the sound of light, measured footsteps began to ascend the stairs. Every step was deliberate, carrying the weight of a man accustomed to absolute control.

When Michael reached the top landing, the dim light of the crystal chandelier caught the intricate silver piping on his structured black jacket. He didn't look at you immediately. Instead, he stopped a few paces away, his gaze fixed on the floor as he adjusted the sharp collar of his military-inspired coat, smoothing down the fabric with a slow, meticulous precision. His expression was entirely serene, a mask of absolute calm that sent a chill straight down your spine.

"You shouldn't be standing out here in the hallway, Joseph," he said softly, using the private pet name with a gentle, melodic cadence that felt entirely at odds with the words you had just overheard. "The draft is bad for your health tonight."

"I heard them, Michael," you whispered, your voice trembling as you took a slow step backward, away from the edge of the stairs. "I heard Jackie. I heard Jermaine. They’re right, aren't they? The whole world is talking about what’s happening inside this house."

Michael finally lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense, unyielding focus. He closed the distance between you with a graceful, almost silent stride, his leather loafers making no sound against the thick Persian runner. He reached out, his slender fingers brushing against the lace collar of your cream silk blouse, lingering for a moment as if to ground you.

"My brothers mean well, but they live in a different reality," he murmured, his tone dropping into a lower, firmer register that commanded the space entirely. "They listen to the noise outside. They think the press wants the truth, but the press only wants a spectacle. They want to tear down what we've built, to drag you out into the open where they can dissect your life for a headline."

"Is that what this security is for?" You pulled your shoulders back, your high-waisted wool skirt swishing against your legs as you backed deeper into the master suite, desperate for space. "Jermaine said the staff is whispering. He said the gates and the cameras aren't about keeping threats out anymore. They’re about keeping me isolated. Michael, look at me. Is that what this is?"

He followed you into the room, his silhouette blocking out the warm glow of the hallway light. He reached behind himself, his hand finding the brass handle, and closed the heavy oak door with a sharp, final click. The room instantly felt smaller, the walls closing in around you as the fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, twisting shadows across the ceiling.

"I have spent my entire life being hunted by the public," Michael said, walking over to the mahogany coffee table where the unmarked VHS tape rested on the polished surface. He stood over it, his hands clasping behind his back as he looked down at the plastic casing. "Every camera, every guard, every lock is designed to ensure that nobody can touch you, that nobody can hurt you the way they’ve hurt me. Out there, you are exposed. In here, you are protected."

"But I don't want to live in a fortress where my private words are turned into ammunition," you choked out, a tear finally breaking past your lashes and tracking down your cheek. "Someone leaked that tape, Michael. Someone who has access to the internal security feeds. If it wasn't an intruder… who was it?"

Michael stood perfectly still, the flames reflecting in the dark pools of his eyes as he turned to face you fully. He didn't offer an excuse. He didn't offer comfort. He simply watched you with a quiet, possessive certainty that felt more absolute than any lock on the gates.

"The only thing that matters is that you are safe," he whispered, stepping toward you until the scent of his amber cologne filled your senses, crowding out the air. "The world doesn't need to understand us. They only need to know that you belong here. With me."

The silence that followed his words stretched out, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic crackle of the wood in the fireplace.

You looked down at the coffee table, your gaze fixed on the plastic edge of the VHS tape. The reality of your situation was settling in, cold and sharp. The leaked argument, the strange tapes left on the doorstep, the warnings from his brothers downstairs it wasn't a series of unfortunate breaches from the outside. The security grid, the cameras tracking every hallway, the phone lines that ran directly through a central switchboard it was all interconnected, a perfect system designed by the man standing right in front of you.

"You aren't answering me," you said, your voice barely a whisper against the vastness of the high-ceilinged room. You took another step back, your heels pressing against the dark mahogany frame of the four-poster bed. "The feed came from inside the master wing, Michael. Nobody has access to that but you."

Michael didn’t flinch. He didn’t offer an elaborate defense or a frantic denial. Instead, his expression remained perfectly placid, a mask of gentle concern that felt entirely out of place given the gravity of the accusation. He slowly unclasped his hands from behind his back and took a deliberate step forward, his leather loafers making no sound on the thick Persian rug.

"I’ve told you how dangerous the world outside those gates can be," he murmured, his voice dropping into that soft, hypnotic cadence that usually smoothed over any conflict. "The press, the vultures, the people who want a piece of what we have they will use anything to break us. If I didn't keep a record, if I didn't watch over everything, how could I protect you? How could I make sure you stay safe from them?"

"Protecting me?" A bitter laugh escaped your throat, sharp and devoid of joy. Your fingers reached down, your hand trembling as you snatched the VHS tape off the table, holding it between both hands like a shield. "You recorded us, Michael. You kept it. And then you let the world hear it just so I would look unstable to the public. Just so no one would believe me if I ever told them what it’s really like to live here."

The gentle demeanor vanished from his face, replaced by a sudden, intense stillness. The shadows from the fireplace danced across the sharp lines of his structured black jacket, catching the silver piping along his sleeves as his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You're letting your imagination run away with you, Joseph," he said, using the private pet name with a tone that was no longer soothing, but firmly authoritative. He stepped closer, eliminating the distance between you until the faint scent of amber and cedar completely enveloped your senses. "Give me the tape."

"No," you said, backing up further until you were forced onto the edge of the mattress, the midnight blue wool of your skirt spreading across the crisp white linens. "I'm leaving, Michael. I'm taking this, and I’m calling a car. I can't stay in a place where every word I speak is being archived and monitored."

Before you could stand, Michael moved with an abrupt, startling efficiency. His hand shot forward, his slender fingers clamping around your wrist with a grip that was surprisingly solid, completely anchoring you to the spot. The silver ornaments on his coat clinked sharply in the quiet room as he leaned down, shadowing you completely beneath the light of the chandelier.

With his free hand, he calmly but firmly uncurled your fingers from the plastic casing of the VHS tape. He slid it out of your grasp and dropped it deep into the pocket of his military jacket, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

"The phone lines are disconnected for the evening," he whispered, his face inches from yours, his expression radiating an absolute, unyielding permanence. "The main gates are secured. There are no cars coming, and there is no world out there waiting for you. There is only here. With me."

You looked up at him, the realization settling heavily in your chest. The high iron fences, the security personnel, the endless cameras they had never been built to keep the dangers of the world away from you. They had been built to ensure you could never walk away from him.

"You've locked me in," you breathed, the cold finality of the room pressing down on your chest.

Michael’s expression softened once more, a faint, possessive smile returning to his lips as he gently brushed a stray curl away from your forehead. "I've kept you safe," he corrected softly, his voice a quiet murmur in the dark room. "Exactly where you belong."

The quiet of the master wing felt absolute now, a heavy, suffocating silence that seemed to swallow up the very air in the room.

You sat frozen on the edge of the large bed, your wrist still tingling from the firm grip of his fingers. You looked down at your lap, your hands trembling against the dark blue fabric of your wool skirt, before slowly lifting your eyes back to him.

Michael stood perfectly still above you, a striking silhouette against the warm, flickering glow of the hearth. The silver piping on his black military jacket glinted under the dim chandelier light, looking less like an ornament and more like armor. His expression remained entirely placid, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a quiet, unblinking intensity that made your chest ache.

"You think I'm being cruel," he murmured softly, breaking the silence with a voice that was smooth, gentle, and utterly devoid of remorse. He reached down, his cool hand resting against the side of your neck, his thumb tracing the high lace collar of your silk blouse. "But one day, Joseph, you'll see. You'll understand that everything I do, I do to keep us together. The world out there... it tears beautiful things apart. I won't let them do that to you."

A single tear spilled over your lashes, tracking slowly down your cheek and wetting his thumb. "By erasing me?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "By keeping me behind iron gates and watching my every move?"

Michael didn't answer. He simply leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture that was deeply affectionate, yet felt like the closing of a trap. He stepped back toward the fireplace, his hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket where the unmarked VHS tape now rested, completely out of your reach.

He didn't look back as he walked toward the door, his leather loafers clicking faintly against the hardwood perimeter of the room. With a slow, deliberate movement, he stepped out into the hallway and pulled the heavy oak door shut.

The sharp, distinct sound of the brass lock turning from the outside echoed through the room.

You sat alone in the dim light of the flames, staring at the closed door, finally realizing that the walls of your sanctuary had officially become the walls of your cage.

[sooohunnie]

I Promise You My Life

pairing: pre-Vought!Soldier Boy (Ben) x fem!reader

summary: in which you two fight about him enlisting. You know nothing more than he's leaving despite him being unfit.

tags: established relationship, boyfriend/girlfriend, toxic relationship, argument, implied minority!reader, asshole!soldier boy, like he throws and breaks stuff, he will be mean to you, manipulative!soldier boy, attempt at seduction, breakdown, attempt at a break up, pathetic!soldier boy, insecure!soldier boy, sniveling man-child, daddy issues, codependency/dependency, shitting and crying, reverse-comfort, false-assurance, unsatisfying ending, tragic, angst no comfort, doomed relationship

TW !!: toxic dynamics, manipulation, gaslighting, pathological charm, unintentional (maybe intentional) guilt-tripping, grey rocking, throwing and breaking stuff, misogynistic insults, verbal abuse, intimidation, mentions of traumatic childhood, abandonment issues, codependency/dependency

length: 2.18 k words

What you had imagined as just another night with your lover has turned on its head, as he utters words you'd never imagined coming from him.

"Benji." Your words come out with any air still in your lungs. In front of you stood the person you thought was your one and only. A man who, despite his faults, took you into consideration when it came to things that would affect both of you.

Or at least, that's what he always said he would do.

"I said it's final, angel." His words are edged with a roughness he's never used before.

"No." You say, "You don't get to call me that right now."

You move quickly to the other side of the room, closer to him, "You're going against all you have told me you hated!"

"You're being unreasonable." Benjamin immediately dismisses, "You can't hold me accountable for what I spewed out as a young boy."

"That was only a year ago, was it not?" You scoff, "Can you really have a change of heart in that short while?"

"When you're developing, sure." He defends, "Just like you change the length of your hair, or the color of your clothes."

That makes you let out a dry laugh, "You cannot equate a simple change in appearance to your shift in morals."

"Can I not? Is that illegal now?"

"It's unequal." You refute.

"Like you understand what's unequal," He spits back.

That snarky remark makes your stomach twist. Painful and fiery.

"Of course I would!?" You shout incredulously, "It's all I know!"

You're offended he'd even insist otherwise…especially after everything he's watched you go through. Every day. Every time you two would go out.

Could he not hear the insults? The comments?

"Oh, come off it—you're acting irrational!" he dismisses.

"You!" You retort, "You're the one who's saying nonsense! Whose gotten into your head? Is it—"

He cuts you off, your words seemingly hitting something of a nerve, "My decisions and my thoughts are soundly my own, damn it!"

The force of his yell makes you jump. Maybe out of fear. Surely of surprise.

"And I'm not gonna let you sit there on your moral high horse and tell me otherwise!" He asserts, "You will not insult me, woman!"

Though despite your frazzlement…you weren't just gonna take that.

"Exactly how am I insulting you? I have yet to say anything." You push, "Are you going crazy now, too? Do I have to worry about internal influences as much as—"

"I can tell you're thinking it." He retorts.

Utter bullshit.

For the strong man he wants to be, he's rather fragile.

"What? Now it's a crime to think?"

"You shouldn't be thinking anything of that kind!"

"So you need to control my thoughts now?" you return his heat, "I'm not thinking anything of that kind!"

"Don't lie to me!!" He shouts, "You're horrible at lying!"

"What am I even supposed to be thinking?!" You shout back, "What exactly, huh? Spineless? Easily influenced? What!?"

"You know what!" He pushes.

You scoff at that.

You surely did know.

You'd be a bad lover if you didn't.

But did he really need to hear it?

"Yeah…I do." You nod in disbelief.

And you were just dumb enough to give it to him.

"You're weak!"

Before you know it, he's already tossed something from your bedstand to the wall. A shrill shattering and his own frustrated scream combine to make a deafening noise.

"And now look at you!" You yell, looking down at what exactly he broke.

A porcelain trinket box, now in pieces.

A cherished piece that you could never buy yourself. One that he personally bought for you because of that fact. And one that he said you deserved despite it.

Shattered. Like it meant nothing.

"Emotion overcomes you." You finish, your voice lulling calmer at the revelation.

"Because you make it!" He insists, moving up to be in your space.

"I am not your keeper." You state, now measured, "—Maybe I was…but not now. Not after this."

"What?" He continues, seemingly not recognizing your shift, "Because I've changed my mind?"

"Because you've changed," you correct.

"—Because I've changed my mind?" He repeats, nodding his head at you as if you were stupid, "That's what makes me, correct? Not my love for you or the way I act or my love for this country."

You just shake your head and turn away. Not bothering that rancid argument with a response. You couldn't. You don't think you even had the effort now.

"Answer me!" He insists, looming over you.

"If that's what you think," you mumble.

"Who cares what I think? I'm asking you."

You just gently shake your head, keeping your eyes low in front of you. Just carving out the shards of porcelain at your feet instead.

"Is that a no? You shaking your head no?" He asks.

"Sure."

"Sure?" He huffs out an exasperated laugh, "That's not definite. Are you shaking your head or not?"

"Whatever you think."

He pulls back, giving a scoff, "So that's just it? You're gonna go statue on me? After you were acting so fucking tough before?"

"If that's how you see it."

"Give me an actual fucking answer, woman!" He explodes, "Not one of those stupid responses those shrewish, commie bitches you support tell you to say!"

Despite your desired composure, you can't help but retract. Shrinking into yourself like you just barely dodged a hit.

And yet, you don't budge. His actions only fuel you to resist.

"Right…" He says, his voice steady and low, "This is how you're gonna treat me now? After this stupid argument?"

He saunters back over, his firm hands grabbing onto your hip, holding your face.

Benjamin ducks down to try to catch your eyes, his tone now honied, "Look—I didn't mean it like that. You're not like them…and I'm reminding you of that fact."

His hand helps your willing head up. His thumb circles gentle patterns on your skin.

"You know that, right?" He whispers, settling the digit against the softness of your lower lip, his head leaning closer, "Gorgeous, please?"

Your eyes close, not wanting to keep eye contact. It's harder then. To be mad. To stay mad.

You just shake your head. Your lips purse, a vain attempt to keep any of that remaining composure intact.

"Look—I don't want you to feel bad about this—you can't be mad about this when I leave." He coos, leaving a small peck against your still lips, "It'll be bad for you to stew that long…"

He's saying that as if…

You had already decided to forget about the argument that you're still in.

You didn't.

Of course you haven't.

If anything, this whole thing was leading to something even you didn't want to think about.

"I won't have to…" You finally speak.

He gives a gentle huff of air, a tiny smile planting on his face, "and why's that? You feeling better?"

"…I won't be waiting for you." You correct, your eyes peeking at him as you say it.

Benjamin can't help but laugh at that, shaking his head as he leans back, "No, no. You're not gonna convince me to stay, doll…you…"

You keep his eye contact, shaking your head as a silent way to tell him that's not what you meant.

And he understood that easily.

"No…you can't—I…" his voice weakens, the firm grip on your chin releases as he backs up further, "please…no. Not you."

The subtle disbelief in his voice shatters your heart despite it understanding what he truly cares about.

"Babydoll, please, I said I was sorry," He pleads, "You're not gonna throw this away for something so silly. Not after this long—not after I've given you all my heart. "

"I think it's for the best." You manage to utter.

"To who?!" He shouts, "It's not for me! Certainly isn't for you."

"What makes you say that?" You ask calmly, keeping your eyes straight.

"Because—you've said it yourself!" He argues, "How many times have you said to me, late in the night when we're cuddled together in bed—or! or…when we're just together in comfort that you need me like you need air!"

You had.

But that was before this. When you believed he was good.

When he had morals.

"—And I never said it back then, but you know I never needed to—" He fumbles, "I need you, [__]!"

"Then why are you leaving?"

"Because I need that as well!"

You just shake your head gently, his…whatever this was not failing to reach you, "You cannot have both."

"Don't do this."

"You make me."

"I—" He groans out in frustration, his hands fly up to cover his face, "I've been so good to you…"

There's…a tremor in it now. His voice.

It shakes in a way you've only heard once before.

He can't be…

"I take you places. I treat you to whatever you like. I don't go out without you…I don't even look at other women!" He lists, his voice teetering ever so sadder, "I've never laid my hands on you, if not only to adore you. And sure, we fight, but what couple doesn't?"

"Right?" He repeats, as if he were asking for confirmation.

"…Right?"

His tone turns vulnerable. Soft.

Crackling with emotion.

And while you knew not to respond to him in this state, your mouth speaks before you can stop it.

"Right, what?" You ask softly.

"That I've been a good man to you…" He whispers in a plea, "That you wouldn't want no one else."

You'd want anyone else.

Only when he's like this.

Despite the care he does possess. Despite the kindness you know he's capable of.

He chooses instead this.

What makes this ugliness in him glimmer when you're around? What morphs your perceived prince charming into a sniveling man-child who asserts control like a toddler throwing a tantrum?

And worse off…why aren't you disgusted by it?

His actions, sure. But him?

You can feel your heart swell tight as his eyes wet. Your stomach drops as he grabs at your legs, looking up at you like you were his only salvation.

Like he hadn't just proven that he wasn't yours.

Yet, even as you stand over him, watching him paw at you, his wet tears and warm face pressing themselves against the fat of your thighs. You can feel your own brow furrow.

In worry.

In sympathy.

"I love you." He whispers, his lips finding their purpose in kissing your soft skin, "I love you more than life itself. And I'll love you better than any other soul'll ever treat you."

And while you knew that was nothing but malarkey. The desperation chips at you. The softness that you knew was there burns you.

Because by keeping silent, you're indirectly hurting him.

The sap, the romantic, the child who just wanted someone to want him back.

And not the Peter Pan, the brute, the heir of the oligarchy.

So your delicate fingers find their place in his hair, raking through the pomade shell. Essentially messing it up for him.

…He never looked too good with it anyway.

He looks up with your guiding hand, a soft, pathetic smile finding his exhausted face. His teary eyes crinkled gently.

Despite your still stoned face.

Your hand trails down, finding sanctity on the side of his face. His stubble pricks your palm like sandpaper. Yet still, your thumb rubs against it gently. As much of a self-soothing motion for you as it was a normal one for him.

And somehow, even with this gesture, he wants more.

His hands find their place against the back of your thighs, gently trying to pull you down to the ground with him.

And you let him.

And you sink down to your knees and let him crawl his way into your arms.

And now you hold him.

Tight.

In the way he should you.

In the way that you mean it.

Because right now, as he lets out a sob and buries his head into the crook of your neck.

There was no other version of him except the one you fell for.

That little boy who's never felt the nurture of love. The cradle of embrace. The assurance of unconditionality.

"You love me too, right?" He whispers against your flesh, "And—and you know I love you just as much?"

All you can bring yourself to do is nod. A shallow nod.

"We'll be together forever?" He asks softly, "We'll marry at the chapel? And we’ll have kids and grow old? Live up in Rittenhouse Square. You'll be happy, and I'll have you."

Your eyes screw shut, continuing to agree, "Of course…"

"And you'll wait for me?" He continues, "You won't leave for another while I'm gone? You'll send letters and photos when you can?"

"I'll be the first thing you see when you get back." You whisper, "I promise you my life."

I had this stewing in my drafts for like 6-months. it arose once season 5 dropped today lol. I hate soldier boys I need him to end.

I have like a whole fucked up soldier boy x reader long-fic in my brain but I'm already bad at updating my only one so...

my love for characters manifests in writing them tragically and irredeemably - hunnithan

[feyrinnn]

satoru gojo masterlist +18 mdni

🫧 fluff 🌀 angst ❄️ smut

━━ ⟢ series

white winter hymnal 🫧 🌀 ❄️ reader x gojo

"refusing to cancel your romantic skii trip after your boyfriend broke up with you just days before the holidays, you decide to go to the remote lodge by yourself. luckily, or unluckily for you, you seem to have caught the attention of another infuriatingly handsome tourist" contains: real world au, enemies to lovers, fluff, pining, slow burn kinda, yearning, angst, eventual smut, cozy holiday vibes, lowkey bitter reader lol, reader is going through a break up, comfort

silver springs 🌀 ❄️ (ongoing) gojo x reader x choso

"being the lead singer of a popular rock band was your dream, but now that you and the lead guitarist have broken up and the world isn't ready to know just yet, you're left seeking comfort from another bandmate." contains: fleetwood mac inspired au, ex fiancée gojo, pining, jealousy, eventual smut, break up talk, comfort, multiple povs, multiple endings

demonoid phenomenon 🫧 ❄️ reader x gojo/geto/sukuna/choso

"halloween is your favourite time of the year but visiting a real life haunted house and getting chased by a (hot) ghost was not in your plans for the evening" contains: kinktober 2025 event, real world au, housemate gojo, protective gojo, eventual smut (alternate endings are filthy), pining, jealousy, haunted house story, horror, fluff, multiple endings

runaway 🌀 ❄️ (ongoing) gojo x reader x geto

"in a world that places your "duties" as a woman above your own agency and desires, the only possible solution you saw to escape an arranged marriage to satoru gojo was running away. perhaps on the journey you would find someone who shared more of your values and ambitions, or perhaps you might learn more about the man you rejected so rashly" contains: historical au, brontë inspired, arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multiple endings, complicated relationships, hurt and comfort, heavy pining, sexist society sigh

feathers and lace ❄️ 🌀 🫧 (ongoing) reader x gojo/geto/choso/sukuna/nanami/toji

"it's the turn of the century, and you are the most popular burlesque performer in town! welcome to the life of a showgirl – and the many men who stepped into it, for better or for worse" contains: reader is a performer, historical au, crime lol, bad decisions, threesomes, arguing, alcohol, glitter and glam, reader is involved with multiple men, power dynamics, some dark themes, age gap relationship, pining, break ups

━━ ⟢ one shots

baby, come back to me 🌀

wc ≈ 3.9k "satoru gojo broke your heart three years ago by ending your relationship. and then he broke it again and again and again by not being able to let you go – maybe this time you're the one that has had enough" contains: part 2 to 'if i didn't love you'!, satoru pov, hurt no comfort, sad ending, anxiety, sukuna is here, break up talk, fear of death, suguru being a good friend, post-break up, arguments, reader moves on but satoru can’t, for everyone that wanted to see satoru suffer i hope you’re happy, i cried writing this, honestly this is bleak again

if i didn't love you 🌀❄️

wc ≈ 5.5k "you and satoru were the perfect couple, save for one little detail – he was moving back home, and taking you with him was not in the plans" contains: angst, smut, post-break up, hurt, comfort, break up talk, reunion, exes to lovers to whatever this is, anxiety, a lot of crying, arguments, kissing, body worship, piv sex, praise, aftercare, reader wonders about other women, endless toxic cycle, this is really bleak, sad ending

ocean eyes 🫧 ❄️ part 2🫧 ❄️

wc ≈ 20k (both parts) "Satoru Gojo had the looks, the money, the popularity – he was lucky in every sense, apart from, well, love. Haunted by his devastating high school crush, Satoru wishes he had at least met you now instead of when he was a smug teenager. Wouldn’t he know, his luck might just be changing, following a very unexpected reunion" contains: fluffffff, smut, the tiniest bit of angst, reader has some physical descriptors (blue eyes, red hair, pale skin), heavy pining, gojo is down BAD, slow burn, unrequited love (or is it? mmm), comfort, reconnecting with a high school crush, romantic sex, quiet intimacy, confessions, making out, dry humping, fingering, praise, creampie, aftercare part 2: satoru pov, mutual pining, early stages of a relationship, confessions, valentine's day!, comfort, soft intimacy, making out, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), gojo masturbates while eating you out, praise, aftercare

baby fever 🫧

wc ≈ 1.2k "ovulation week is here, and you’ve been accosted by unprecedented baby fever. your flatmates satoru and suguru are doing their best to navigate your hormonal apocalypse, but some are definitely enjoying it more than others" contains: pure fluff, crack, domestic chaos, jealousy, protectiveness, hormones got the better of reader, flirty flatmates, choso cameo

calling dr. gojo! 🫧

wc ≈ 2.8k "your husband satoru gojo is finally back home from a three week mission, only to find his loving wife ill and barely conscious! time for a far more important mission to begin" contains: pure fluff, comfort, care, husband satoru, suguru cameo, just really wholesome vibes all around, reader is ill with an unspecified flu type of illness, mentions of symptoms like coughing, sneezing and sweat, pet names

SUGAR RUSH !! ❄️🫧

wc ≈ 3.8k "it's movie night with your flatmates satoru gojo and suguru geto, but no one seems to be watching the screen! not when the two are too distracted trying to teach you a valuable lesson – that sharing is caring, after all" contains: smut with the tiniest bit of plot, fluff, flatmates satosugu, threesome, making out, body worship, praise and degradation, handjob, oral (m receiving), facefucking, hair pulling, spanking, fingering, double penetration, unprotected piv sex, anal, overstimulation, pet names, aftercare

jealousy, jealousy 🫧 ❄️ 🌀

wc ≈ 4k jealous best friend gojo contains: real world au, jealousy, pining, best friend satoru, suguru is here too, confessions, fingering, praise, unprotected sex, piv sex, smoking, drinking

blue 🌀 ❄️ 🫧

wc ≈ 3.2k running into your ex boyfriend satoru while on a date contains: real world au, post-break up, heavy pining, yearning, reconnecting, confessions, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, creampie, aftercare

let the light in 🌀🫧 part2 ❄️ 🫧

wc ≈ 3.5k (both parts) waking up to boyfriend gojo after getting injured on a mission contains: established relationship, comfort, mentions of death, satoru is anxious, reader is injured, confessions. in part2: piv sex, unprotected sex, praise

afterglow 🫧

wc ≈ 1.4k satoru taking care of you post sex contains: pure fluff, comfort, aftercare, boyfriend satoru

━━ ⟢ drabbles

no contact 🫧 breaking no contact with ex!gojo update 🫧❄️ satosugu comfort (inspired by tumblr's dumb reblog update lol) unrequited 🌀 friend!gojo can't tell you how he feels our little home 🫧 comfort with satosugu private party 🫧 boyfriend!gojo taking care of you after drinking too much who?! 🫧 boyfriend!gojo reacting to you getting a text from an ex blindfolded in paris ❄️ threesome with sukuna house warming ❄️ satosugu threesome impostor 🫧 qifrey crossover heh

full masterlist here