#[watch him struggle just to stand] (he will never understand)

[iconchae]

SAY YES, yjw | 18+

PAIRING: bf ! yang jungwon × gf ! female reader. . . GENRE: angst, smut, slight fluff (?). . . SYNOPSIS: jungwon would never fully understand the depth of your pain or the weight of your struggles, but he can’t stand seeing you suffer alone. desperate to be close to you, he crosses all boundaries, his comforting words quickly turn into passionate actions as the two of you learn ‘things’ together and experience them. . . WARNING(S): kisses, nsfw, contains cuss words, mdni, smut, angst, too much plot lol, blowjob, handjob, pussy eating, cum eating, protected sex, inexperienced, mentions of abuse, shower sex, unprotected sex, slapping, mentions of suicide, lmk if I missed anything. . . WORD COUNT: 12k+

rina’s note: i wanted to make this a long fic so here I am, I hope i didn't bore y’all out by going into the depths of it all. I kind of changed the main plot so it is more of a ‘trying sex for the first time’ typa thing. there's too much plot, skip if you want straight up smut— ig so

Jungwon’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at you, standing dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, the wind whipping your hair wildly around your face. His voice trembled as he called out, his throat dry with fear. "Are you crazy?" His eyes were wide, filled with both disbelief and panic as you stood on the precipice, one step away from a deadly drop.

You didn’t turn to look at him, your gaze fixed on the vast, open sky in front of you. The horizon blurred into a dull mix of oranges and reds, a sunset that should’ve been beautiful, but for you, was nothing more than a backdrop to your despair. “Yeah, say whatever you want. I’ll be gone soon,” you replied quietly, your voice hollow, void of any emotion.

Jungwon’s body tensed as you lifted your foot, hovering over the edge, contemplating the final step that would send you plummeting into the abyss. His heart raced even faster, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Come back here!" he yelled, panic lacing his words, but his plea went unheard as you teetered closer to the edge, ready to give up on everything. Time seemed to slow as he watched your figure leaning into the nothingness, and in that split second, his body moved on instinct.

He surged forward, grabbing your arm with a desperate force and yanking you back against him just as your toes grazed the empty air. The impact of your body colliding with his chest knocked the breath out of both of you, and you were pressed firmly against him, his arms wrapping around your waist in a fierce grip.

"Fucking stupid!" he shouted, his voice breaking as his breath came in ragged gasps. You could feel his chest heaving against your back, his grip on you so tight it was almost painful, but you didn’t struggle. Instead, you stood frozen in his arms, reality finally sinking in—what you had almost done, what he had just saved you from.

He pulled you further away from the cliff’s edge, his hands trembling slightly as he guided you back toward the safety of the school terrace. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the ground, but the warmth of the day still lingered in the air. It felt at odds with the cold, hollow feeling in your chest.

Once you were both far from the cliff’s edge, Jungwon spun you around to face him, his eyes searching yours, a mixture of anger, fear, and relief swirling in his dark gaze. "Why the hell did you even try to end your life?!" he demanded, his voice louder than usual, raw and broken.

You blinked, the weight of the moment crashing down on you like a wave. His question hung in the air, sharp and accusatory, and you realized just how close you had come to the edge—physically, mentally. A lump formed in your throat as you fumbled for words, guilt and shame suddenly overwhelming you. “But… everything is a mess…”

Jungwon’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before hardening again, his brows furrowed in frustration. “And you think a mess can’t be picked up and cleaned?” His words were harsh, almost biting, but there was something else underneath—a desperation to make you see reason, to pull you back from the darkness that had consumed you.

You gave a bitter laugh, shaking your head as your eyes dropped to the ground. "You’re saying it like it’s so simple. You’re saying it from a third-person point of view. You don’t know what it feels like. How could you possibly—"

"Just shut up." His voice cut through your words like a knife, his hands still gripping your arms, though his hold had loosened, his fingers less tense now. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he was fighting back his own emotions, trying to stay strong for both of you.

The silence that followed was thick, the only sound being the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. His jaw clenched as he stared at you, disbelief still etched into his features. How could his best friend—someone who had always seemed so strong, so put-together—be standing here, on the verge of throwing everything away? How could you even consider doing this?

You finally glanced up at him, your voice small. “You’re mad at me.”

"Damn right, I’m mad," Jungwon muttered, his fingers tightening just a little on your arms, but not enough to hurt. “I’m mad because you didn’t even talk to me. Because you tried to handle this on your own, and now—” He stopped, his throat constricting as his gaze softened. “I’m mad because I almost lost you."

Your breath hitched at the raw honesty in his words, and you suddenly felt a pang of regret. The depth of his feelings, the fear in his eyes—it hit you all at once. You had been selfish, you realized. Caught up in your own pain, you had forgotten that there were people who cared, people who would be devastated if you were gone.

“I’m sorry…” The words fell from your lips in a whisper, barely audible, but Jungwon heard them. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, though his eyes never left yours.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again,” he said quietly, the desperation in his voice still lingering. His hand slid from your arm, his touch gentle now as if afraid you might break.

You nodded, the weight of everything still heavy on your chest. “I promise.”

For the first time since he pulled you back from the cliff, Jungwon’s lips curved into a small, relieved smile. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

But did that change anything? Not really. Even as your best friend, Jungwon, kept calling, you declined every single one of his attempts to reach out. His name would light up your phone screen, his calls persistent at first, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. The guilt gnawed at you, yet somehow, avoiding him felt easier than facing the weight of everything that had happened.

Days bled into weeks. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that day on the cliff. The school holidays provided a convenient escape, no awkward encounters in the hallways, no forced conversations during lunch. You didn’t have to see his concerned eyes or hear the questions you weren’t ready to answer.

But it also left you alone. And that isolation, once a refuge, slowly began to feel suffocating.

A sharp sting burned on your cheek, then another, each slap more painful than the last. You felt it deep in your bones—this was abuse. But how could you speak against your own father? The man who provided you a roof over your head, food to eat, clothes on your back. The man who was supposed to protect you but instead delivered blow after blow.

You lay curled up in your small room, the door locked behind you. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating you in this place that should’ve been a home but had turned into a prison. The muffled sounds of your mother’s cries filled the air from just outside your door, followed by the sickening thud of fists. You flinched, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, as if it could block out the horrors on the other side of the door.

Then your phone buzzed, pulling you from the moment, an unknown number flashing across the screen. You hesitated but answered, desperate for a distraction, for anything to take you away from this nightmare, if only for a second.

“Don’t even think about declining this,” a familiar voice spoke through the line, low and firm. Jungwon.

Your breath hitched. How had he found out?

"Can I come over now?" His question was soft but edged with concern, and yet, your heart sank at the thought. You froze, your grip tightening around the phone as you glanced toward the door where the sounds of violence persisted. No, he couldn’t see this. You couldn’t let him witness the chaos behind these walls.

“No... I’m really fine, Jungwon.” The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

There was silence on the other end, then a harsh sigh. “Stupid girl, I can hear you sobbing.”

His voice was gentle despite the harsh words, the contrast making your chest ache. The tears you had tried so hard to hold back fell freely now, soaking your pillow. You bit your lip, trying to muffle the sobs. The last thing you needed was for him to hear more of your weakness.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just don’t bother me.”

And with that, you ended the call.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, as if it could absorb the agony that threatened to spill over. You couldn’t drag him into this mess. Jungwon deserved better than the broken shards of your life. He didn’t need to see the shattered pieces of your family or the way you crumbled beneath the weight of it all. He couldn’t fix it. No one could.

Outside, the noise continued, your mother’s cries piercing through the air, but you pressed your hands over your ears, trying to block it out. You curled into yourself, wishing—praying—that somehow, you could disappear.

The days stretched into weeks, and soon enough, six months had passed. Six long months of silence, of unanswered calls and unread messages. You thought you could avoid the inevitable, thought you could lock yourself away from the world and from him. But luck has never been on your side.

It was just an ordinary evening. You were alone, waiting for a pizza delivery. The knock on the door came just as you expected, and without thinking, you rushed to answer, already imagining the cheesy comfort waiting inside the box.

"Pizza?" you murmured absentmindedly as you reached out, grabbing the box from the man standing there in a red cap. You didn’t even spare him a glance. After all, the bill had already been paid online. You were about to close the door when a foot wedged itself in, stopping it from shutting all the way.

Before you could even react, the man pushed the door open. Panic surged through your veins, your heartbeat quickening as you were about to scream—but then he ripped off the mask and cap.

“Jungwon?” His name left your lips in a confused whisper.

He stood in your apartment now, locking the door behind him, his face a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “What the hell?” you muttered, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

“I should be the one saying that!” he snapped, his voice louder than you'd ever heard it. He took a step closer, and you instinctively backed away. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you block me? It’s been six fucking months!” His words echoed in the small space, anger laced with hurt.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Guilt clawed at your insides as you stared at the floor, your voice small, barely audible. “I—”

“You what?” he interrupted, his voice softening only slightly. “You should’ve come to me instead of shutting me out. I care about you. Do you get that?” His words were raw, the emotion clear as he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. His breath was warm against your neck as he buried his face in your shoulder, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away again.

That’s when it happened—the sob. It came out of nowhere, and before you could stop it, tears were streaming down your cheeks, your body trembling in his arms.

Jungwon froze. He hadn’t meant to make you cry. “Wait, did I... did I yell too much?” His voice cracked slightly, unsure and a little panicked. But then, as he pulled away to look at you, his eyes caught something else—a dark bruise peeking out from under the sleeve of your shirt. His expression shifted, concern and anger mixing together.

“Was it... your dad?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, so you just nodded, tears still flowing as you pressed your face into his chest again, the sobs shaking your whole body. Jungwon stiffened, helpless in the face of your pain. It wasn’t the first time. He’d seen the marks before, felt the weight of your silence over the months.

He didn’t know what to do, not really. He wasn’t good at handling these things—feelings, emotions. So instead, he did what he always did when words failed him. He reached for the pizza box.

“Hey... let’s eat,” he mumbled, trying to sound lighthearted, though his voice was still thick with worry. “The pizza’s gonna get cold.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes as you glanced at the box. He was right—who could say no to food, especially pizza? Jungwon sat you down on the couch, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as if afraid you might break. He wiped the last of your tears with the sleeve of his jacket, his touch careful, almost tender.

The box opened with a familiar squeak, and the smell of melted cheese and garlic filled the room, momentarily lifting the heavy atmosphere. He picked up a slice, the cheese stretching from the crust, and held it out to you.

“Come on,” he coaxed gently, holding the slice up to your lips. You hesitated, still sniffling, but eventually gave in, taking a small bite. He watched you closely, his eyes soft as he smiled, relieved when you didn’t pull away or retreat into your shell again.

You chewed quietly, the warmth of the pizza slowly easing the ache in your chest. Jungwon fed you another bite, then another, as if the simple act of sharing food could patch up the cracks in your world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said suddenly, his voice steady but quiet. “Not until you stop shutting me out. You’re stuck with me.”

For the first time in months, a small, fragile smile tugged at the corners of your lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As you wiped the tears from your cheeks and took another bite of the pizza, you finally worked up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at you for months.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" Your voice was small, but it carried the weight of your confusion, your walls still up even though you sat here with him, sharing a meal like nothing had changed.

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. “Because I love you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He didn’t make a big show of it—he just said it while stuffing his mouth with another bite of pizza, crumbs falling onto his lap, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You froze mid-bite. The pizza in your hand suddenly felt heavier, like it was too much to hold. Love. That word had always felt dangerous, especially coming from someone who mattered. Your heart raced, but instead of joy or excitement, a chill of fear ran down your spine. Your eyes darted toward the door. What if your parents came home? What if they saw you like this, with a boy, alone in your apartment?

“You should leave,” you blurted, the words stumbling out of your mouth.

Jungwon frowned, his brows knitting together. “Why?”

“Because my dad—” you started, but then remembered the one small mercy of the day. “He’ll be back later.”

“You said he’s gone for the day,” Jungwon reminded you, still chewing on a slice of pizza. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave before he comes.”

Relief washed over you momentarily, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed. He was right. You had a little more time. So the two of you continued to eat, now with a second pizza box sitting on the coffee table—the actual delivery guy had come not long after Jungwon’s dramatic entrance, dropping off a few dumplings along with your order.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the sound of chewing filling the room as you stuffed your faces, the dumplings soft and savory, the pizza cheesy and still warm.

But Jungwon, ever the one to ruin the quiet moments, spoke up again. His voice was softer this time, cautious, like he was stepping into dangerous territory. “Why have you been avoiding me, though?”

You looked at him, blinking in confusion as you wiped crumbs off your lips. “Avoiding what?”

“I love you,” he repeated, slower this time, letting the words hang in the air between you. “Say it back.”

Your heart clenched. He was waiting for an answer, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. “I— I’m afraid.”

Jungwon’s face softened, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. “Afraid of what?”

You bit your lip, staring down at the half-eaten pizza in your hand. The words were hard to say, but you forced them out. “Afraid of loving someone. What if they—”

“You think I’ll turn out like your father?” he cut you off, his voice laced with disbelief and hurt.

You froze. The air between you shifted, growing heavier with each passing second. His eyes bore into you, the hurt clear in his expression. You wanted to deny it, to take back the unspoken accusation, but you couldn’t. Instead, you just sat there, silent, your guilt wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

“I—” you started, but the words died in your throat.

“So you do.” His voice was low, filled with disappointment. His shoulders slumped, and he looked away, hurt written all over his face. The boy who had burst into your home with so much fire and determination was now quiet, deflated.

“I’m sorry, Jungwon,” you whispered, the apology sounding hollow, even to you.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but the way he said it told you it wasn’t fine at all. His tone was distant, half-hearted, as if the words barely mattered now. He picked up another slice of pizza, though the enthusiasm from earlier was gone. He chewed slowly, not really tasting it anymore, his eyes focused on the floor.

You sat there, the silence between you heavy and oppressive, both of you nibbling on your food but no longer enjoying it. The pizza that once tasted so good now felt like ash in your mouth, and the room, once filled with warmth and comfort, now felt cold.

Jungwon wiped his hands on a napkin, the sound of the crumpling paper breaking the silence. He sighed, leaning back against the couch, his head tilted toward the ceiling as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. You wanted to say something, to fix the mess you had made, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was sit there, your hands trembling slightly as you held the half-eaten slice, unsure of what to do next.

The tension hung in the air like a cloud, neither of you knowing how to break it. The food sat on the table, forgotten, as you both struggled with your own emotions, neither ready to face the truth that had been laid bare between you.

And yet, despite the silence, despite the hurt, he didn’t leave. Jungwon stayed. Even when you didn’t deserve it. Even when you thought you were unlovable. He stayed.

Jungwon lingered by the door, his hesitation palpable. The quiet of the room was heavy with the weight of unspoken words and lingering doubts. He had finally agreed to leave, his resolve hardening as he prepared to step out of the apartment. But his hand rested on the doorknob, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of frustration and hope.

"You won’t block me again, right?" he asked, his voice strained, the edges of his words betraying his fear of being shut out once more.

You felt a lump in your throat, sadness gripping you tightly. "I will try," you muttered, the admission hanging heavily in the air between you. His disappointment was clear, a visible ache in his eyes as he took in your response.

Jungwon’s expression softened slightly, though his skepticism remained. "I understand," he said, but the words lacked conviction. He was still waiting for something more, something that would reassure him of your sincerity.

Before he could leave, you found yourself reaching out, clutching his hand in a desperate bid to keep him there. "Jungwon, I’m sorry. I don’t believe you to be the same as my dad," you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "I understand," he repeated, but his tone was guarded, as if he was trying to protect himself from further hurt. Yet, when you continued, your voice softer but firm, his expression shifted.

"I love you too, Jungwon," you pleaded, the words escaping in a rush of vulnerability. The confession was not just an apology but a revelation, a desperate plea for him to stay.

He looked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You’re saying it for the sake of it," he accused, his voice tinged with skepticism.

The accusation stung, and your eyes welled up with tears. You tried to bridge the gap between your heart and his with honesty. "I’m being honest," you insisted, your voice breaking. "I do love you, Jungwon." But even as you said it, you felt a pang of uncertainty, a hesitation that made you question whether your feelings were as genuine as you wanted them to be.

Jungwon's gaze was intense, his eyes searching yours for the truth. "Say it while looking into my eyes," he demanded, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, yet gently. The door was still closed, the world outside forgotten in the face of this emotional confrontation.

You hesitated, the weight of his demand pressing down on you. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw the earnestness and care that had been so evident in him all along. The vulnerability you had felt in those long months of silence, the yearning to connect with him, surged to the surface.

“I love you,” you said, the words coming from a place deep within your heart. The confession was more than just an acknowledgment of your feelings; it was a declaration of the truth you had been avoiding. The pain of the past six months, the longing to speak to him, the realization that he had been the only one who truly cared—it all culminated in those three words.

Jungwon’s eyes softened as he took in your declaration. He let go of your shoulders, his expression a mix of relief and continued uncertainty. He stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth against the cold weight of your fears.

"How could I not love you?" you whispered, the question more to yourself than to him, but it was clear. The truth of your feelings, once hidden and doubted, now stood revealed. You had missed him, craved his presence, and needed him more than you had ever admitted.

Jungwon pulled you into a gentle embrace, his arms enveloping you in a protective cocoon. The tears on your cheeks were wiped away by his thumb, his touch tender despite the earlier conflict. "We’ll figure this out," he murmured, his voice soothing as he held you close. "We’ll take it one step at a time."

The world outside felt distant, the only reality that mattered was the one in his arms, where the past six months of silence and fear began to unravel. The pizza boxes and dumplings lay forgotten on the table, their warmth a reminder of the connection you had almost lost but had now found again.

As you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, the emotional turmoil slowly settled into a fragile sense of hope. Jungwon's presence was a beacon of reassurance, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, love had the power to heal and bridge the gaps of misunderstanding.

As the months have passed, the initial awkwardness of your relationship has given way to a comfortable familiarity. You and your best friend-turned-lover have grown accustomed to each other's presence, often finding yourselves curled up on the couch together, lost in conversation or simply enjoying each other's company.

His voice is low and patient, guiding you through the motions as his hand covers yours. Your fingers tentatively wrap around his cock, mirroring his movements. You can feel his heartbeat pulsing against your palm, his warm breath against your neck as he leans down to kiss you softly. "Like that,"

His voice is a husky whisper against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hand tightens over yours, guiding it slower, then faster, creating a rhythm that hitches your breath. You can feel him hardening further against your touch, his hips bucking gently into your grip.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he guides your hand up and down his length. "That's you touching me." His breath hitches when you wrap your other hand around to cup him, your fingers brushing against sensitive skin. "Just like that,"

"You're... you're so warm," you whisper, your voice hitching as your thumbs brush against the velvety tip. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. "And so big..." He groans, his hips jerking forward, his hands squeezing yours tighter around him.

"I-I want to touch you too," he stammers, his cheeks flushing a soft shade of red. His hands hesitate, hovering over your thighs before slowly inching upward, his touch light and uncertain. "Is this... is this okay?"

"Mhm..." you breathe out, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his tentative fingers trace the hem of your skirt. His touch is like a spark against your skin, making you acutely aware of every inch of your body. "You can... you can go under..."

His fingers tremble slightly as he lifts the hem of your skirt, his gaze fixated on the soft fabric of your panties. He looks up at you, seeking permission, his heart pounding in his chest. You nod, and he lets out a shaky breath before slowly sliding his hand underneath your underwear.

"Oh..." you gasp, your back arching into him as he finds your center. His touch is exploratory, his fingers tracing your folds as if committing every detail to memory. "You're... you're wet," he breathes out, his voice laced with wonder and a hint of nervousness.

As he explores you, his own breath hitches in rhythm with your touches. His hips jerk forward, pushing into your fist as your hands continue to stroke him. "You... you feel so good," he pants, his voice strained, his fingers mirroring your rhythm against your core. "Like..."

"...like silk," he whispers, his fingers gliding through your wetness as he discovers your sensitive spots. "So smooth and warm." He looks up at you, his eyes glassy with desire, his face flushed. "Can I... can I put my finger inside you?"

"Yes," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please..." You guide his finger to your entrance, holding his gaze as he pushes it inside you. He lets out a soft gasp, his finger sinking deeper into your heat as he starts to curl it. "Oh god..."

He curls his finger inside you, feeling the tight, untouched walls of your vagina hug his finger tightly. He looks at you in awe, his eyes wide with wonder as he realizes he's the first person to ever be inside you. "You're so... so tight," he whispers, his voice shaking.

"And you're... so big," you pant, your hands squeezing him tighter as he withdraws slightly, only to push back in deeper. "I've never... never felt this way..." Your words trail off into a moan as he finds that spot inside you that makes your insides clench.

His face contorts in concentration, his brows furrowing as he tries to hold back. "You... you're gripping me so tightly," he hisses, his voice barely a whisper. "If you keep that up, I'm... I'm gonna... "

"...I'm gonna cum," he chokes out, his finger moving frantically inside you as he fights against the urge. But it's no use, the sensation of your tight, virgin hole is too much for him to handle.

His movements become erratic, his finger pistonning in and out of you as his breath hitches against your neck. His hips thrust into your grasp, his hot seed pulsing onto your fingers as he moans softly, burying his face against your shoulder. "I'm so... so sorry..."

Tears well up in your eyes as a mix of overwhelming sensations flood through you. Your insides feel deliciously sore from his finger, your body tensing as a few tears slip down your cheeks. "Ow..." you whimper, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

He stiffens behind you, his body tensing as he realizes the reason behind your tears. His finger stills inside you, his body shuddering as he looks at the tears on your cheeks. "Oh god, I'm so sorry..." He gently withdraws from you, cradling you against his chest.

"Don't... don't leave..." you hiccup, turning in his arms to face him. He pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping protectively around you as he nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving soft, apologetic kisses on your skin.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry if I hurt you. That wasn't supposed to happen. Not like that. Not our first time..." His voice trails off, his face flushing with embarrassment.

You sniffle, nuzzling against his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. "It's okay... it's just... it's new. It's... intense," you explain softly, your voice steadying. "But... it's not your fault. We're learning together..."

He sighs in relief, hugging you tightly against him. "Right. Learning together," he repeats, his voice filled with gratitude. "And I promise, next time will be better. I'll be more careful, more gentle..." He trails off, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The silence between you two was suffocating. After what had happened, you both found yourselves drifting, not in your feelings for each other but in the inability to navigate the awkwardness that came after. There was no guidebook for this—everyone talked about sex, whispered secrets and stories of excitement, but no one ever mentioned the part that followed. The silence. The shy avoidance. The lingering discomfort.

You avoided talking to Jungwon for days, each time you crossed paths, your eyes darting elsewhere, your heart thudding in your chest. It wasn’t because you didn’t care for him; it was because the weight of what had happened—the intimacy, the vulnerability—felt too heavy to put into words. You weren’t sure how to approach him, how to continue like everything was the same. And maybe it wasn’t the same. Something had changed between you two, but no one had taught you how to deal with that change.

Jungwon’s home had become your escape, a sanctuary from the chaos that awaited you back in your own. His parents had always welcomed you with open arms, offering warmth and safety in a way your own home never did. It was easier to stay at his place, easier to smile and laugh with his family, easier to forget the gnawing ache of shame and fear that clung to you whenever you returned to your father’s house.

But you couldn’t stay away forever.

When you did finally go home, it was always late, always when you were too tired to think about anything but sleep. You would slip quietly into your room, locking the door behind you, hoping that tonight would be one of the quieter nights. But then, the inevitable happened. The sound of something shattering echoed through the walls, sharp and jagged, followed by the familiar sound of your father’s raised voice—angry, slurred, chaotic. Your body tensed immediately, heart pounding in your chest as you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing for the noise to stop.

Another crash. The sound of something breaking against the wall, and you knew—another plate, another bottle, another item sacrificed to your father’s rage. You curled up on your bed, knees pulled to your chest as the noise continued. You had learned to brace yourself, to keep the panic at bay, but it never got easier.

And then, a sound from your window startled you out of your thoughts. A soft knock, hesitant but insistent. You turned, your breath catching as you saw Jungwon’s familiar face peering through the glass. His eyes were wide with concern, his breath fogging up the window as he knocked again, mouthing your name.

Without thinking, you rushed to open it, quietly unlatching the window and sliding it up just enough for him to slip through. “What are you doing here?” you whispered, your voice a mixture of surprise and panic as you helped him inside. His hands were cold, and his body brushed against yours as he climbed into the room.

Jungwon gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes flickering to the door where the sounds of your father’s outburst still echoed faintly. “I wanted to talk to you… we haven’t, you know, talked in a while. And then I heard your dad...”

His words trailed off, the concern in his eyes clear. You could feel the lump in your throat forming, a mixture of embarrassment and helplessness that made you want to shrink away. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor. “I didn’t want you to—”

Before you could finish, Jungwon pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. His chin rested on top of your head, his hands gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion. The tension in your body melted slightly as he held you, his presence grounding you, making the chaos outside feel a little less suffocating.

“Why were you avoiding me?” he whispered into your hair, his voice soft and full of concern. “Was it something I did? Was I too rough or...?”

You swallowed, your throat tight with the weight of your own feelings. You shook your head, not able to meet his eyes. “No, it wasn’t that,” you mumbled, your fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just... it was awkward, you know? After everything.”

Jungwon pulled back slightly, his eyes searching your face for answers, but there was no accusation there, only understanding. He sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t have to be awkward,” he said gently, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “We can talk about it. We’re figuring this out together, right?”

His words were meant to comfort, but the reality of it all still felt heavy. The awkwardness of crossing that line of intimacy, the weight of your father’s violence lingering in the background—it all felt too much to bear. But as Jungwon sat down on the edge of your bed, his familiar presence a reminder of everything good, you knew that avoiding him wouldn’t solve anything. He was here, and he cared. Maybe that was enough for now.

He reached over and flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness. The only sound was the muffled argument coming from downstairs, their parents' voices rising and falling in a heated debate. He moved to the curtains, pulling them closed to block out the faint moonlight peeking through the gaps.

The dim light cast long, dancing shadows on the walls as he turned back to face you. His hands trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, crinkled square - a condom. He hesitated, his cheeks flushing red, before finally blurting out, "Can we...?"

"Can we...?" he repeated softly, his voice barely audible over the distant quarrel. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting to meet yours then quickly flicking away, like a nervous bird. "Can we... have actual... you know...?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed his words. Actual sex. With him. Here. Now. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and terror swirling in your stomach. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "I... I don't know,"

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a secret. "I can forget about it if you want. Pretend I never said anything." His hands fidgeted with the condom, crumpling the foil between his fingers. He was nervous too.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his as you took the crumpled foil from him. His breath hitched at the contact, and he looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. You unfolded the condom, the quiet rustle of the package breaking the tense silence.

"No... I want this too," you admitted softly, your voice barely a whisper. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze, as you slowly began to unbutton your shirt. He watched, enraptured, his eyes following your fingers as they revealed more of your skin. "Really?"

You nodded, still focused on your task. You shrugged out of your shirt, letting it drop to the floor. As you began to get out of your shorts, he hesitantly reached out, his hands mirroring yours as he too started to undress.

Your hands froze mid-action, the unbuckled waistband of your jeans gaping open. The heated argument downstairs escalated, the sound of shattered glass punctuating your father's angry words. You bit your lip, uncertainty written all over your face. "What if... what if dad knows you're in?"

He paused, his own shirt halfway unbuttoned. His eyes flicked to the closed door, then back to you, concern etched on his face. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, the material rustling softly as he shrugged it off. "We'll be quiet," he promised, his voice low and steady.

He stepped closer, his bare chest inches from yours. The heat from his body radiated onto yours, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in. "We can... take it slow," he murmured, his hands tentatively resting on your hips. "And if you want me to stop... just say it..."

You nodded, leaning back on the bed as he gently laid you down. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he crawled onto the bed beside you. He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand tracing patterns on your bare stomach, his touch feather-light. "We'll be quiet,"

He leaned down, his mouth finding your center through your shorts. He kissed and sucked through the fabric, his hands gently pushing your legs apart as he went down on you. The sound of his mouth on your pussy was muffled by the fabric, but the vibrations sent shivers through your body.

He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours as he kissed through your shorts. "I've never... done this before," he admitted, his voice muffled. "But I want to make you feel good." You bit your lip, your heart racing as you were reminded that he was a virgin too.

"Show me what you like," he whispered, his hands gripping your thighs as he continued to kiss and suck through the fabric. You tentatively guided his head, showing him the pressure and rhythm that drove you wild. He followed your guidance eagerly, his own inexperience fueling his enthusiasm. "Like that?"

"Yes... just like that," you panted, your head falling back against the pillow. He doubled his efforts, his touch becoming more confident with each passing moment. The room filled with the sounds of your labored breaths and the soft, muffled noises of his mouth on you. "Please..."

His fingers deftly unbuttoned your shorts and slipped them down your legs, leaving you in just your soaked-through panties. He kissed the fabric, his warm breath sending shivers through your body. Then, with a gentle tug, he pulled your panties aside and buried his face between your folds.

His tongue was tentative at first, exploring your wet warmth with shy curiosity. It curled and licked, learning your folds, your ridges, your hole. You could feel his inexperience in every uncertain flick, but it only made the moment more precious. He was learning your body, mapping out your secrets with his tongue.

"Oh, God..." you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as he found your most sensitive spot. He latched onto it, sucking gently as he swirled his tongue around it. Your legs trembled, your hips rising off the bed as you sought more of his mouth.

"Shh..." he hissed softly, lifting his head for a moment. His face was glistening, his chin shiny with your essence. "Your dad might hear..." He ducked his head back down, his hands gripping your hips to keep you from bucking too wildly.

He continued his ministrations, his tongue a blur as he ate at you like a starving man. Your quiet whimpers were muffled by his mouth, your legs shaking violently as the pressure built inside you. He didn't stop, didn't relent, even when you thought you couldn't take it anymore.

"I... I don't know if I can be quiet..." you panted, your voice barely audible. Your body tensed, your legs squeezing around his head as the first waves of release hit you. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and worried. "Try, okay? For me?"

"Okay... okay, I'll try..." you gasped, biting down hard on your fist to stifle your cries. His tongue slid inside you, pushing deep as the first wave crested. Your body clamped down on him, your insides pulsing around his intrusion.

He swallowed your sounds, his throat working as he fought to keep you quiet. Your pussy squeezed him tightly, rippling around his tongue as he lapped at your clit, trying to draw out your orgasm. Finally, you managed to choke back a cry, your hips jerking against his face as you came hard.

He lifted his head, his face a picture of smug satisfaction. His mouth and chin were shiny with your release, his hair disheveled from your desperate fingers. "Good job," he praised softly, kissing your inner thigh. He sat up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Can I... can we try...?" he asked, his voice trailing off as he looked down at his hardened length. He was tentatively stroking himself, his hand moving up and down his length with uncertainty. You nodded, your eyes wide as you looked at his manhood for the first time.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his hands shaking as he guided himself to your entrance. He pressed the head against your hole, his face contorting with concentration. "This might... it might hurt a little," he warned, his voice barely a whisper.

"Condom!" you hissed, your eyes flying wide open. He let out a nervous laugh, "Yeah, condom..." He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a crinkly square. He tore it open with shaking hands and rolled it onto himself with a grimace.

He lined himself up again, his breathing growing heavier. He leaned down to kiss you, his mouth covering yours as he slowly pushed forward. You felt a brief, sharp pain as he broke through, your nails digging into his back. He froze, his face buried in your neck. "You okay?"

"Y-yes... keep going..." you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper. He nodded, his brow furrowing with concentration as he slowly eased the rest of the way in. You could feel every inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate his thickness.

He pushed forward, and you felt the sudden, sharp pain as your hymen gave way. You let out a soft cry, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound. He froze, his body stiff as he realized what had happened. "Oh God, I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

He held perfectly still, his heart pounding against your chest. After a moment, he carefully pulled back until just the head of his dick was inside you, then pushed back in gently. He repeated this process a few times, each push and pull sending small jolts of pain through your tender flesh.

You hissed softly through clenched teeth, your nails digging into his back as you tried to bear the discomfort. He kept his movements slow and gentle, his face contorted with effort as he tried to hold back. "You're so tight... it's so good..." he breathed, his voice hoarse with restraint.

After a few more slow thrusts, the pain began to ease, replaced by a strange, pleasurable pressure. You relaxed a little, your legs unwinding from around his waist. He took this as a sign to continue, his hips picking up a gentle rhythm as he slid in and out of your virgin hole.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as his pace quickened. He was being as gentle as he could, but his body had a mind of its own. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the room, mingling with your soft whimpers and his ragged breathing.

As he thrust into you, he felt a sudden wetness. He looked down between your bodies, his eyes widening as he saw the blood staining the condom. He let out a low groan, his hips stuttering as he realized that he was taking your virginity.

He leaned down to kiss you again, his mouth covering yours as he tried to distract you from the discomfort. He thrust deep, filling you completely as he groaned against your lips. He was trying so hard to be gentle, but your body was too much.

You bit your lip hard to muffle your cries, burying your face in his neck as he continued to move inside you. The headboard banged against the wall with each thrust, the sound echoing loudly through the house. You prayed that your dad's hearing aid was off, so he wouldn't hear.

Jungwon covered your mouth with his hand, muffling your noises as he increased his pace. He was so close, his body tensing with each snap of his hips. "I'm so sorry... I'm so close... I can't stop..." he panted, his eyes locked with yours.

You nodded, your eyes wide with trust. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he continued to thrust into you. The pressure was building inside you too, a heat spreading through your belly as he hit a spot deep inside.

With a choked cry, Jungwon buried his face in your neck, his hips stuttering as he came inside you. The condom strained against his shaft, the blood from your virginity leaking out around it. He held you tightly, his breath ragged against your skin as he tried to calm his racing heart.

He slowly lifted his head, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. You nodded weakly, your body languid from the intense experience. He carefully pulled out, making a face as he saw the blood-stained condom. "I'm so sorry..."

He quickly cleaned you up, his touch gentle as he wiped away the evidence of your lost innocence. He disposed of the condom in the trash, flushing bright red as he realized that he had just taken your virginity in your house. "We should be more careful next time..."

He helped you off the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist as you leaned against him for support. "Come on, let's clean up," he murmured, his voice soft with embarrassment. You nodded weakly, your legs still shaky as he led you to the bathroom. "You can barely walk..."

He turned on the shower, helping you step inside before joining you himself. The warm water felt soothing against your skin, but you couldn't shake off the lingering awkwardness. Jungwon stood behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you against his chest. "We're such idiots,"

"We are," you agreed softly, letting out a nervous laugh. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his hands roaming up to cup your breasts. Your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed as you let out a soft moan. "Jungwon... we can't... not again..."

"Shh, just relax," he whispered, his fingers gently squeezing your nipples. The water continued to pour down, washing away the evidence of your lovemaking. Jungwon's other hand reached between your legs, his fingers gently rubbing your sensitive folds. "You're so sore..."

"Mmm... It's okay, we won't do it again... just let me take care of you," he murmured, his fingers gently cleaning you up. He turned off the shower and helped you out, wrapping you in a fluffy towel. He gently dried you off, his touch tender and caring.

Jungwon carried you out of the bathroom and back to the bed, carefully laying you down before climbing in beside you. He pulled the covers over both of you, cuddling you close and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Just rest for now," he whispered, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead.

You nuzzled against his chest, feeling content and sleepy. But then reality hit you, and you tensed up. "Jungwon... what if my dad comes in?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. He stiffened, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"You're right... I should go," he murmured, reluctance clear in his voice. He carefully untangled himself from you and got out of bed, quickly dressing. You sat up, pulling the covers around you as you watched him. "I'll call you later, okay?"

You bit your lip, nodding. "Okay... be careful," you whispered. He crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the window. "I'll climb out the window. I don't want your dad to see me leaving," he explained in a low voice.

He pushed the window open and climbed out, waving at you before dropping down onto the lawn below. You watched as he straightened up and jogged away, disappearing into the darkness. You closed the window and locked it before climbing back into bed, your mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened.

The busy street buzzed with life, but all Jungwon could think about was shaking Mira off. She clung to his arm persistently, her grip tightening as she tilted her head with a coy smile, her words dripping with desperation.

"Jungwon, c'mon," she whined, batting her lashes in a way that might have worked on someone else. "It's just one date."

His face remained impassive, brushing her off with a subtle tug of his arm. "Mira, I'm taken." His voice was calm but firm, the words carrying a weight of finality that he hoped she would understand.

Mira, however, wasn’t one to give up so easily. She edged closer, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "You said she's in Canada, she won’t know."

Before Jungwon could even reply, a familiar voice rang out, light and full of warmth.

"Wonnie!"

His heart leapt at the sound of your voice, and he turned just in time to see you rushing toward him. Before he could process anything else, you threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you instantly, pulling you close as if it had been mere hours since he last saw you, not years. He held you like he had been waiting for this exact moment all his life.

"You're back?" His voice cracked slightly, a mixture of disbelief and excitement bubbling to the surface. He squeezed you tighter, as if to confirm you were really there, in his arms, tangible and warm. "Why didn’t you tell me? I would've picked you up from the airport."

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him that you had missed more than you could admit during those long years apart. It had been almost three years since graduation, and four since the start of your relationship. Three excruciating years of video calls, texts, and waiting, all because your mother had finally divorced your father and moved to Canada, taking you with her. Jungwon had promised you he'd wait, and wait he did—patiently, devotedly, even though the distance often felt unbearable.

Tears began to spill uncontrollably down your cheeks, soaking into his shirt as you sobbed into his chest. The emotions were overwhelming, the relief of being back in his arms after so long mixing with the sadness of having missed him so much.

"Why are you crying?" Jungwon asked softly, his voice filled with concern. His hands moved up to cradle the back of your head gently as he rocked you back and forth, trying to soothe you. The steady rhythm of his movements grounded you, pulling you out of the swirl of emotions that threatened to drown you.

"I'm happy, so happy," you mumbled into his chest, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. You took a shaky breath, trying to regain your composure, and wiped your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand before looking up at him.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Mira still standing there, watching the intimate moment unfold between you and Jungwon with barely concealed irritation.

"Who's she though?" You asked, gesturing toward the girl who now stood awkwardly a few feet away, her smile strained and forced.

Jungwon rolled his eyes dramatically, the exasperation clear on his face as he shifted his hold on you. "She's just a casual friend," he muttered under his breath, his tone leaving no room for interpretation.

Mira took that as her cue to awkwardly introduce herself, though it was clear she was far from pleased with the situation. "Hello. You must be his girlfriend," she mumbled, her eyes flicking between the two of you as she watched the embrace dissolve.

"Yeah," you replied simply, your tone firm but polite, unwilling to give her any satisfaction from this moment. Your grip on Jungwon tightened subtly, a quiet assertion that he was yours, and you weren’t going anywhere.

As you broke away from the hug, Jungwon leaned down to whisper into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "She's annoying," he muttered with a slight chuckle. "She was trying to get me to date her without you knowing."

You turned your head slightly, hiding a grin as you whispered back teasingly, "You should’ve gone then."

Jungwon pulled back just enough to give you an incredulous look, his brows furrowing in playful annoyance. "How could I?" he whispered back, his voice full of mock indignation. "I love you."

Mira, sensing that she had no place in this moment, let out a soft huff and turned on her heel, walking away quickly with a flick of her hair, clearly defeated. Jungwon barely glanced her way, his attention solely focused on you, his arms still wrapped around you like a protective shield.

The two of you stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the world around you. After years of being apart, of missed touches and long-distance calls, nothing else mattered. The noise of the city faded away, and all that was left was the sound of your heartbeats, syncing up once again after so much time spent apart.

The warm water cascaded down on you both, the steam filling the bathroom and fogging up the mirror. Jungwon's arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. His fingers gently traced patterns on your belly, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat of the water.

"It feels different, doesn't it?" Jungwon murmured, his voice low as he nuzzled his face into your wet hair, inhaling your scent. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, pressing a soft, sucking kiss there before trailing up your neck. "Being together again..."

"...not just talking on the phone or facetiming," you interjected, your voice barely a whisper, enjoying the gentle touches. His hands slowly washed your body, cleaning you with care. You leaned your head back onto his shoulder, giving him better access to your neck. "I missed this."

"Mmm, me too," Jungwon hummed against your skin, his hands gliding down to your thighs, gently massaging them. The suds of the body wash made his touch slick. "I missed being able to touch you like this..."

"...to feel your heart race when I kiss your neck," he continued, his hands slowly sliding back up, skimming over your hips, your ribs, before finally resting underneath your breasts. "To hear your breath hitch when I..." He paused, his touch becoming more gentle. "Hold you like this."

His large hands cupped your breasts tenderly, his thumbs caressing the hardened peaks. He rocked his hips forward slightly, pressing his hardened length against the small of your back. "Even this... feels different. Better."

"It's... intense," you breathed out, your voice hitching as his touch became more insistent. His touch was gentle yet firm, reverent yet demanding. Your hands gripped his wrists, not to push him away, but to anchor yourself, to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensations. "Like..."

"...like we're trying to remember every detail, every feeling," you continued, your voice trembling. "Like we're starving for each other and can't get enough." Your breath caught as he squeezed your breasts gently, his thumbs rolling over your nipples. "Jungwon..."

His name fell from your lips on a soft moan as he grinded against you slowly, his mouth finding yours. His tongue delved in, deepening the kiss as his hands continued their slow exploration. The water poured down on you both, washing away the suds, but not the heat building between you.

His touch grew bolder as he turned you to face him, his hands sliding down your slick body to wrap around your thighs and lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back as he pressed you against the cool tiles. "Look at me," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, his eyes dark with need. His hardness prodded at your entrance, pausing there. "Remember how it was, before?" He flexed his hips forward slightly, filling you just a little. "Remember how we fit together?"

"Yes..." you whispered, your nails digging into his shoulders. He slowly pushed into you more, inch by inch, his face contorted with pleasure. "Just like that... we fit..." You threw your head back, gasping as he sheathed himself fully inside you. "Jungwon..."

His length was thick and long, stretching you to accommodate him. He pulled out slowly, his hips rolling forward again as he thrust back in, his pace measured and deliberate. His hands gripped your ass tightly, spreading your ass cheeks slightly to grant himself deeper access. "Your eyes... they get so big,"

He leaned forward, his mouth latching onto one of your hardened peaks, sucking hard as he continued his slow thrusts. He was taking his time, drawing out the pleasure for both of you. His length glided in and out of you easily, the water and the body wash acting as natural lubricant.

"Jungwon... it's... so good..." you moaned, your voice barely a whisper. Your hands clutched his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his flesh. Your breaths came in short pants, mingling with his harsh breaths. "You're so deep... I can feel you..."

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more insistent. The sound of water splashing filled the bathroom, accompanied by your soft moans and his ragged breathing. His mouth found yours again, swallowing your cries. His thickness caressed every inch of you, his pelvis grinding against yours with each thrust.

"You're... so warm... so tight..." he groaned against your mouth. His hands tightened on your bottom, his fingers spreading you wider as he increased his pace. The sound of their bodies slapping against each other echoed in the bathroom, accompanied by their heavy breathing. "I can't... hold back..."

"Don't... don't hold back..." you whimpered, your body tensing as he nailed a particularly sensitive spot. "Harder... Jungwon... please..." Your head lolled to the side, your breath coming in short pants.

His thrusts became brutal, his hips slamming against yours with abandon. The water in the tub splashed wildly, nearly overflowing as he fucked you with reckless abandon. His mouth latched onto your neck, biting and sucking hard as he chased his climax. "Fuck... fuck... FUCK!"

"Jungwon... yes... yes!" You cried out, your body tensing as your release neared. His thickness rubbed against you perfectly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body clenched around him, your inner muscles milking him as you shattered around him.

"Ahhh!!" He threw his head back, his body stiffening as he found his release. He slammed into you one last time, his body shuddering as he spilled into you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you flush against him as he rode out his release. "Ahh..."

Finally, he collapsed against you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You remained suspended in the water, his softening length still buried inside you. After a moment, he gently pulled out, his thick seed dripping from your stretched open hole.

You leaned back against the tub, your legs splayed wide open as you gazed at your dripping hole. A satisfied smile spread across your face as you felt the warmth of his seed coating your insides. You reached down, gently probing your stretched hole with your finger, feeling his thick load inside you.

Jungwon watched you with hooded eyes, his face flushed and his breathing still heavy. "You look so... satisfied," he commented, his voice lazy and content. He reached out, his hand mirroring yours as he gently touched your slick hole.

You looked at him, your eyes glinting mischievously. "Mmm... I am... but there's still some left..." you purred, pushing two fingers deep inside yourself and scooping out some of his seed. He watched as you brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean.

His eyes widened, his pupils dilating as he watched you clean your fingers. "That's... so dirty..." he murmured, his voice laced with approval. He reached out, his own fingers mimicking yours as he gently pushed them into your stretched hole, scooping out more of his warm seed.

You moaned softly, your eyes rolling back as he fingered your hole, his fingers coated in his own seed. Jungwon brought his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking them clean just like you had done. You watched him, your heart racing at the sight of him devouring his own essence.

"You're insatiable..." he groaned, his eyes glinting hungrily as he looked at you. His fingers delved back into your hole, pushing deep as he sought more of his release. "Let's get clean, hmm?" he suggested, his voice low and gruff.

You nodded eagerly, your body tingling with anticipation. He slowly cleaned you up, his touch gentle and caring as he washed his own essence off your body. Then, he lathered up a washcloth and began to clean himself, his face flushed and his breathing heavy. "Turn around..."

You turned around, your back pressing against his chest. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The washcloth gently cleaned your back, your sides, your stomach... and then lower. You moaned softly as he cleaned between your legs, his touch gentle yet insistent.

"Spread your legs wider..." he whispered against your ear. You complied, your thighs parting to give him better access. The warm, soapy cloth cleaned your folds, your crease, your tight little hole.

He spent extra time cleaning your hole, his fingers gently spreading you open as he washed inside you. You felt so clean, so refreshed, as he finished up and set the washcloth aside. His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as he nuzzled his face against your neck.

"Let's dry off..." he murmured, helping you stand. He stepped out of the tub first, then helped you out. The bathroom was filled with steam, the mirrors fogged up. He grabbed a towel and began to dry you off, his hands roaming over your body reverently.

You stood there, letting him dry you off, feeling his warm breath on your skin as he worked. When he finished with you, he dried himself off as well, his eyes never leaving yours. Once he was dry, he picked you up in his arms and carried you out of the bathroom.

You didn't know when you fell asleep but the first thing in the morning you noticed was the warmth of Jungwon’s body pressing close against yours, his arm draped lazily around your waist. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the tangled sheets that barely covered the both of you.

Your mind was slow to piece together the events of the night before, the hazy memory of falling asleep together in each other’s arms, feeling completely safe and enveloped in warmth. The soft rise and fall of Jungwon���s chest against your back was a comforting rhythm, and you let yourself linger in the moment.

Then, a sharp knock on the door broke the serenity. You stirred, blinking sleepily as you felt Jungwon’s arm tighten around your waist, his head buried deeper into the crook of your neck.

"Jungwon, there's a knock," you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep as you tried to shift his arm off you, your fingers brushing over his in a half-hearted attempt to wake him.

"They can wait..." he grumbled, barely audible, pulling you closer as his lips ghosted against your shoulder, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment, you almost believed him—whoever it was could definitely wait. Until the sound of a familiar voice echoed from behind the door.

“Jungwon-ah, are you awake?”

You bolted upright, eyes wide, your heart immediately racing. His parents. You could barely register Jungwon’s groggy response as he rubbed his face with both hands, clearly still half-asleep, while you were already scrambling to find your clothes. You glanced over at him, eyes wide with panic as you whispered, "Are they here unannounced?"

Jungwon shot up from the bed, instantly awake at the realization. His eyes widened in disbelief, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Oh my god,” he muttered, quickly grabbing for his clothes. You hurriedly followed suit, pulling your shirt over your head as you glanced at the door nervously.

“I’m coming!” Jungwon called out, his voice slightly strained as he hopped around on one leg, trying to pull up his pants in a rush. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and you could see the flush creeping up his neck as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

You sat back on the edge of the bed, pulling your knees up to your chest, watching as Jungwon took a deep breath and stepped out of the bedroom. The door closed softly behind him, and you could hear the muffled sounds of his conversation with his parents in the other room.

“Oh… hi mom, dad,” Jungwon greeted, his voice tinged with an awkwardness that was impossible to hide. You could picture him standing at the door, scratching the back of his neck, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. “You… you should’ve told me you were coming.”

His mom’s voice was lighthearted, as if nothing were amiss. “Do we really need to tell our son when we’re visiting?” she teased, stepping into the dorm uninvited. You could almost hear her footsteps as she walked around the room, probably inspecting every corner like mothers do.

His father’s voice came next, gruff but not unkind. “At least your dorm is clean,” he commented, as if his primary concern was whether or not the room was up to his standards. Jungwon let out a small, nervous laugh in response, clearly trying to keep the conversation light.

You could hear the subtle tension in his voice as he continued. “Uh… I’ll be right back, I just need to… shower,” he stammered, clearly struggling to act casual as he hastily excused himself. “Just… sit here for a bit, okay?”

The door to the bedroom opened again, and Jungwon slipped back inside, closing it quickly behind him as if that simple action could shield both of you from further embarrassment. His face was flushed, his ears a deep shade of pink as he leaned back against the door for a second, eyes shut.

“They’re really here,” he muttered, as if trying to process it himself.

You shook your head, laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation despite the tension swirling in the room. "Of course, they are. At least you got us out of that one... sort of."

Jungwon groaned quietly, moving towards the dresser to grab a towel, muttering under his breath about needing a miracle. You could only smile, watching him shuffle around with an awkward energy, knowing this was one morning neither of you would forget anytime soon.

After quickly showering and changing into something more comfortable—Jungwon in a loose sweatshirt that conveniently hid most of his neck, and you in one of his oversized tees—you both exchanged nervous glances before stepping out of the bedroom. The awkward tension still hung in the air as Jungwon reached for the door handle, the two of you silently hoping that his parents hadn't picked up on anything too obvious.

As the door swung open, the comforting smell of breakfast greeted you both. His mom was busy setting plates on the small dining table, her movements efficient yet graceful, while his dad sat at the table, scrolling through his phone. You noticed the slight pause in his mother’s actions when she caught sight of you, her brows raising in surprise before she quickly composed herself.

“Oh,” she said, the surprise melting into a knowing smile. “Is she your girlfriend? The one from Canada?”

Jungwon’s ears instantly turned red, his fingers tightening on the door handle as he gave a shy nod. “Y-Yeah,” he mumbled, glancing nervously at his father, who looked completely oblivious to the conversation until now.

His dad blinked, clearly confused by the sudden revelation. “Canada?” he repeated, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked between you and Jungwon, trying to piece things together.

Feeling the awkwardness settle around the table like an unwanted guest, Jungwon led you both to the dining area, where you carefully took your seat next to him. You made sure to sit up straight, shoulders relaxed but composed, not wanting to make any wrong impressions. After all, meeting your partner’s parents for the first time, especially under such unexpected circumstances, was nerve-wracking enough.

As you slid into the chair, you nudged Jungwon lightly with your elbow, your voice soft but filled with curiosity. “You told them about me?”

Jungwon let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck—his fingers brushing dangerously close to the hickey he’d tried so hard to hide. “Well… kind of?” he replied, his voice rising slightly at the end, as if even he wasn’t sure of his own answer.

You barely had time to react when his mother appeared by the table, a warm smile on her face as she set down plates of egg toast in front of everyone. The golden, buttery aroma filled the room, momentarily easing the tension, but only for a moment. Just as you reached for your fork, his father’s voice cut through the silence.

“What’s that?” His dad’s eyes were narrowed in on Jungwon’s neck, specifically the faint purple mark peeking out from under his sweatshirt. The color drained from Jungwon’s face as he instinctively slapped a hand over the spot, clearly panicking.

“Oh, this?” Jungwon stammered, his voice suddenly an octave higher than usual. He swallowed hard before blurting out the first excuse that came to mind. “It’s, uh… a mosquito bite.”

You could practically feel the heat radiating from his embarrassment, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. His father, however, was far from convinced. He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical as he leaned back in his chair. “A mosquito bite that big?”

Jungwon’s fingers tightened around his fork, his face burning with mortification. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Desperate to save him from any further embarrassment, you quickly jumped in, plastering on the brightest smile you could muster.

“Oh, aunty!” you said, your voice filled with enthusiasm as you turned to his mom, completely shifting the conversation. “Your hair looks gorgeous! Where did you get it done? It really suits you!”

Jungwon let out a silent breath of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the attention shifted away from him. His mom, clearly flattered by the compliment, absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her expression softening as she smiled at you.

“Oh, thank you!” she said, her tone warming with motherly pride. “I got it done at this little salon near our house. I wasn’t sure if the color would suit me, but I’m glad you like it.”

You nodded eagerly, leaning into the conversation as if you hadn’t just saved your boyfriend from one of the most awkward moments of his life. “It really brings out your eyes,” you added, feeling Jungwon’s hand under the table give your knee a grateful squeeze.

As his mom continued to talk about her favorite salon, the conversation flowed smoothly—albeit with a few nervous glances exchanged between you and Jungwon. But for now, at least, the hickeys and last night’s chaos were safely tucked away, hidden under layers of polite conversation and egg toast.

You quietly took a bite of your egg toast, nodding along as Jungwon's parents chatted animatedly at the table. Suddenly, a familiar warmth settled on your thigh, and you felt a gentle squeeze that sent a shiver down your spine. You darted a glance at Jungwon, who was casually munching on his breakfast, acting innocent despite his hand now resting firmly on your leg.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, leaning slightly toward him, your voice low but urgent.

“Just touching my girlfriend. I’m allowed to, right?” he murmured back, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he took another calm bite, his hand lingering where it shouldn’t.

“You can, but not here,” you hissed, your eyes flicking quickly toward his parents to make sure they were still oblivious.

Jungwon’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Finish up quick then, I need you... but I can wait until Mom and Dad leave,” he murmured, his hand softly tracing patterns on your thigh.

“Wonnie,” you whisper-teased, trying to stifle a laugh, “you should wait.” You lightly slapped his hand away, giving him a pointed look.

He pouted, clearly enjoying the game, but kept quiet as you both continued breakfast, hoping his parents hadn't noticed the quiet exchange.

• september seventeen, 14:37

masterlist.

p.sh | upcoming.

© iconchae | tumblr

[urdreamydoodles]

Wolverine x Fem!Reader

Jealousy

Logan struggles to understand the unfamiliar feelings he has toward you, a kind-hearted and beautiful mutant loved by everyone at Xavier’s School. As jealousy simmers beneath the surface, he eventually realizes that you’ve had your heart set on him all along.

Logan watches you from the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to scowl. You’re smiling, as always, laughing at something Gambit said, your eyes glowing with warmth. It’s a look that seems to be meant for everyone around you—but never for him.

He grunts, glancing away, trying to shake the feeling that's been gnawing at him for days. It’s ridiculous, really. Why should he care that every single guy in the mansion seems to orbit around you like you’re the sun?

You’re a teacher at Xavier’s now, like him. A mutant whose powers are as impressive as they are mysterious, though no one seems to care much about that. The way everyone talks about you, they’re more focused on how sweet you are, how you have a way of making anyone feel at ease, even in a place full of battle-hardened mutants.

And you’re... well, Logan’s never really put much stock into beauty, but there’s no denying that heads turn when you walk into a room. The sight of you, with your gentle smile and graceful movements, draws attention whether you intend it to or not. It’s irritating how many men around the mansion make fools of themselves trying to get you to notice them. Gambit, with his endless charm. Angel, always hovering around with those damn wings. Nightcrawler, with his shy smiles and sweet words.

It shouldn’t bother him. He doesn’t get jealous. He’s Logan, for crying out loud. Wolverine. He’s been through too much, seen too much, to be worried about a pretty face.

But here he is, in the back of the room, glaring at Gambit like the Cajun just insulted him. Which he hasn’t. Not yet, at least.

You say something to Gambit, and his grin grows wider. He leans in closer to you, brushing a hand against your arm like he’s always been allowed to touch you that way. Logan feels his fingers twitch, an unfamiliar anger rising in his chest.

Get a grip, Logan, he tells himself, gritting his teeth.

“Logan?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, soft and warm, and suddenly you’re standing in front of him, looking up at him with those bright eyes of yours. He didn’t even notice you walking over.

He clears his throat, straightening. “What?”

You give him that smile, the one that knocks the breath out of everyone around here. “I’ve been trying to say hi all day. You’ve been avoiding me?”

Logan huffs, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “Ain’t avoiding you. Just busy.”

“Busy glaring at Gambit?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. It’s like you can see right through him, and that makes him all the more uncomfortable.

“I wasn’t—” Logan stops himself. Damn it, you’re too good at this. “What do you want?”

You tilt your head slightly, your expression softening. “You alright, Logan? You seem... off.”

“Off?” He frowns, his brow furrowing. How are you always so perceptive? He should be better at hiding this. Hell, he’s had centuries of practice keeping people at arm’s length, but with you, it’s like you’ve been cutting through that barrier since the day you arrived.

You reach up, laying a gentle hand on his arm. Your touch is soft, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch—not because he doesn’t like it, but because it sends a jolt through him. Like something raw and unexplainable stirring in his chest.

“You can talk to me, you know,” you say softly. “I’m here if you need anything.”

There’s no pity in your voice, no patronizing tone. Just genuine concern, like you actually care about how he’s doing. It confuses him. He’s used to people being wary of him, keeping their distance. But not you. Never you.

Logan shifts, feeling the weight of your hand on his arm, and glances away, unable to meet your eyes. “Ain’t nothing to talk about.”

You give him a small smile, dropping your hand, but not stepping back. “Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m around.”

You turn to walk away, back toward Gambit, who’s still waiting for you. And Logan feels something sharp twist in his gut.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches out, grabbing your wrist gently. “Wait.”

You pause, turning back to him with a curious expression. “Yeah?”

Logan hesitates, his grip loosening slightly. He’s not good at this—never has been. Words fail him more often than not, and emotions? Well, he doesn’t like dealing with those either.

But the thought of you going back to Gambit, of you laughing with him again, letting him get close to you... Logan doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I—” He struggles to find the right words, his jaw tightening. What the hell is wrong with him? “I don’t like... seein’ you with all those other guys.”

Your eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Logan lets out a low growl of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it when they’re all over you. Gambit, Angel, all of ‘em. They act like you’re some... prize or somethin’.”

You blink, clearly not expecting that. “Logan, they’re just being friendly. We’re all close here.”

“Yeah, well, they’re too damn friendly.” The words come out harsher than he intends, and he curses under his breath. He didn’t mean to sound possessive, but that’s exactly what it sounds like. He doesn’t even know why he’s saying this. What’s it to him if you like Gambit or Angel?

But the thought of you being with someone else, of you smiling at them the way you smile at him, makes something ugly twist inside him.

You look at him for a long moment, as if trying to piece together what’s going on in his head. And then, to his surprise, you smile—really smile. Not the polite kind you give everyone else, but something softer, more real.

“Logan,” you say gently, taking a step closer. “Are you... jealous?”

He bristles immediately, his face hardening. “Jealous? Hell no. I don’t get jealous.”

“Uh-huh.” Your smile widens slightly, and for a moment, Logan swears he can see a hint of amusement in your eyes. “You sure about that?”

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath, unable to come up with a proper response. Damn it, how did you manage to get under his skin so easily?

“Logan,” you say again, softer this time. “If you want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to keep pushing me away.”

Logan feels his heart clench, the sincerity in your voice throwing him off balance. He’s not used to this—to someone actually caring. Especially someone like you.

“I just don’t like sharin’,” he mutters finally, his voice gruff. “That’s all.”

You tilt your head, stepping even closer so that you’re standing right in front of him. “Sharing what?”

Logan swallows hard, his gaze flicking away from yours. “You.”

The word hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, Logan wonders if he’s crossed a line. If he’s said too much. But instead of pulling away, you smile, your eyes softening.

“You don’t have to share me, Logan,” you say quietly. “I’m not interested in Gambit or Angel. Or anyone else for that matter.”

His gaze snaps back to yours, surprise flickering across his face. “What?”

“I’m saying,” you continue, your voice gentle but firm, “if you want my attention, you’ve already got it. You always have.”

Logan stares at you, his mind racing to process your words. You... what? How long has he been trying to figure out what the hell he’s feeling, only to find out that you’ve felt the same way this whole time?

He lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You laugh softly, stepping even closer, until you’re almost pressed against him. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, Logan lets his guard down, just a little. He reaches out, resting a hand on your waist, and looks down at you, his voice low and rough. “You sure about this?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his with unwavering certainty. “I’m sure, Logan.”

And just like that, the tension that’s been building between you for what feels like ages finally breaks. Logan pulls you closer, his grip tightening on your waist, and for once, he lets himself be honest with what he wants.

You.

Only you.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Five different perspectives on Nanami Kento.

Tags: Angst, humour, mystery, character study.

Warnings: canon-typical violence.

"I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful‚

The eye of a little god, four-cornered."

~ The Mirror, Sylvia Plath

Yoshinari remembers that day well. Even now, decades later, his team leader's near-panicked expression stands out with harsh clarity in his mind. Yoshinari had just mentioned that he hadn't finished the analysis due that afternoon because he'd been struck down with a bad bout of flu. Whirling on his heel, the team lead had really let fly with his irritation.

"But we had an agreement! You were to complete the analysis the day before yesterday! There'll be no excuse at all for us walking into that meeting unprepared!"

"But sir ... I had a lot to catch up on that evening. And I - "

"I'm done with this conversation! Come up with something, or explain to the chief why you couldn't finish your basic tasks on time."

Left standing in the empty hallway, Yoshinari had let frustration, anger, self-pity and helplessness wash over him, bitter as a brackish tide. Nobody ever listened to him. Nobody ever understood how the demands of this job couldn't be humanly met unless he practically lived at the office. Nobody cared what his state of health was. Nobody -

"Are you all right?"

Hastily wiping off the corner of his eye, he turned to see none other than Nanami Kento standing in the doorway leading from the hallway to the main office floor. Nanami, whose reports were always turned in on time. Nanami, whose suits were never rumpled, whose clients never complain, whose presentations were always meticulous, who never spilled a drop or wasted a crumb when he ate -

Tamping down the rising envy and resentment for the tall man standing before him, Yoshinari sighed and embraced the inevitable. It isn't Nanami's fault. Nanami is simply doing the job, like the rest of them. He just happened to be a lot more competent at it than most. 

"I'm a bit ... under the weather, that's all. There's a meeting this afternoon. I won't be prepared because I haven't had time to get the quarterly analysis done."

Nanami watched him in silence. Yoshinari continued, chest feeling slightly less heavy as he vented to his quiet companion.

"I just wish ... that we were given more value, you know? We're not robots. We're people. And sometimes, we ... I can't get all my tasks done. I just wanted ... some understanding. That's all."

Yoshinari realized just how petulant he sounded the more he spoke. His voice trailed off, and he avoided the other man's gaze. What must Nanami think of someone like him? Did he pity him? Was he annoyed by him and his complaining? Was he indifferent, like everyone else? It was hard to tell.

Nanami never lost his composure, never expressed strong emotion, never seemed anything other than cool and detached. He must think that someone like Yoshinari was worthy of pity and contempt. Nothing more.

Without waiting for Nanami's reply, Yoshinari turned and made his way to the elevators, trying to focus on the client briefing lined up (and not the humiliation and reprimands he'd have to endure later.)

The humiliation never came, though. Walking into the meeting that afternoon, Yoshinari was met with the huffy, slightly startled demeanor of the team leader when he was complimented on his 'sterling work', handed a steaming cup of coffee and patted on the back. He sat through the rest of the meeting in a daze, mind still struggling to grapple with what had occurred.

When he got a chance, he snuck a look at the analysis that supposedly came from him. There, in the phrasing, the layout, the orderly sequences of figures and the in-depth breakdown of each element, he recognises the hand of Nanami Kento.

When the meeting was over, he tried to find Nanami, to thank him for that unexpected favour. A part of him was beginning to take the assistance with a pinch of salt; what did Nanami expect in return for this?

When he eventually spied Nanami, he paused, the report crumpling slightly in his hand. Coat draped over his chair, tie cast over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up and chair reclining, Nanami's hollowed eyes and sharply-defined cheekbones were covered with a white handkerchief, the marks of exhaustion clear in his bearing.

Many years later, watching his grandchildren chase each other around the darkened trunk of a plum tree, a soft, secret smile finds its home on Yoshinari's face as he remembers that day. He glances up at the delicate blossoms, pushing their heads insistently into the fresh bite of a new spring day and wonders if Nanami ever had grandchildren of his own.

Warmth. Kinship. Command.

When Master calls me out, I recognise the tug and relentless pull into another place. This place. This world of scent and colour and sound, where I am given form.

My Master's hands smell of paper, freshly cut apples and grass. They are firm and familiar as their fingers run through my fur. Sometimes, Master brings us out of the other place without urgency, simply to keep us at his side.

Megumi.

That is my Master's given name. He is dark in spirit, light of foot, and his mouth seldom curves, like the other humans. But when we are all together, pack, bodies curled up and sharing warmth, Master's eyes are like a distant lamp, flickering softly.

The white-veined one names my Master as Megumi. He is the one with power like a great summer storm, sweeping with acrid sharpness across the senses and scorching the unseen world in his wake. His hair is white too, his spirit leaping from one focus to the next, lightning and laughter.

The white-veined one is trustworthy. He is pack, but even though Master trusts him completely, he makes others nervous.

And then, there is the Blademaster. This one is almost familiar. He is like Master in many ways. He smells of good food, old leather and the sharp tang of polished metal. His power is an underground river, swift and subtle, rising to a well-controlled roar when he calls upon it.

The Blademaster avoids pack. He likes to sit alone on the benches at sunset, sometimes, with his food in an oval box at his side. He stares a lot into the sky. Only he knows what he sees there.

The sky doesn't hold much interest for me, but the smells from the Blademaster's box always call for attention. He has meat in there. And cheese. Sometimes, if I press my nose into his hand, he shares his food. It is good food. It tastes better when he offers it out of his own palm.

The Blademaster's hand is bigger, rougher around the fingers than Master's. He is an experienced warrior, and he has been in many fights. The scent of it is on him, in ways that cannot be disguised. He carries the smell of old wounds, of battles that etched away at the parts of him than leave no visible scars. 

Sometimes, his pain is great. Those times, he needs pack, even if he doesn't know it. I find him, at his bench. Even though he has no food, I sit with him. His fingers in my fur are different, but warm, like Master's.

We watch the sky together.

It's the bustle of the lunch rush that brings him suddenly into her mind; tall, broad-shouldered, imposing in his dark, pinstripe suit. She's seen many, many salarymen enter her establishment over the years, but none quite like him.

He'd seemed hard, humourless, exacting, a man of substance and character, whittled away bit by bit by the hundred inconveniences and troubles of everyday life. Her attempts to cheer him up always fell flat. Her jokes landed like stale bread on a food critic's plate.

"Hey, Nanami! Good to see you! Decided to loaf around on your lunch break again?"

"How am I loafing?"

"Ah, that was just a pun. You know. Because you come here to buy sandwiches."

"Do you charge extra for the puns? Because I'm not paying for that."

"Wow. So cold ... "

And on another occasion:

"Hey Nanami! Knock knock."

" ... "

"You're supposed to say 'who's there?'"

"Who's there."

"As a question, not a statement!"

"Does it matter?"

"Fine. It's doughnut."

"Doughnut who?"

"Dough nut enter the shop without checking out the specials!"

"Please just give me the sandwich."

Ah, those were good times. Maybe he did appreciate her silly attempts at humour on some level. She'd never know.

Sometimes, she wonders if she shouldn't have asked him for help. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut about that pesky stiffness and pain in her shoulder joint. There was no way she could have known what would happen next.

She recalls, with perfect clarity, the sudden change in his demeanour. The subtle straightening of his posture, the focus of that intense honey-brown stare, the way he'd looked at and past her, as if glancing through some secret window into an unknown she could never fathom. And then, he'd raised his arm, swung it in that swift, decisive motion, and her pain disappeared in a matter of seconds.

She still wonders how exactly he'd accomplished that. Was he a spiritual healer of some kind? She couldn't think of an occupation less suited to someone like him. All the same, she was thankful. She'd even packed a free almond croissant and coffee with his sandwich the next day, kept aside for the lunch rush.

Except, he'd never shown up. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that. Nanami simply disappeared from the normal routine of his life altogether.

Of course, she made some enqueries. She was somewhat concerned, considering how sudden his absence had been. What if he'd overworked himself enough to end up in hospital? It wasn't unheard of.

His work colleagues, some of whom also frequented the bakery, told her that he'd suddenly up and left. Handed in his resignation and promptly disappeared.

She'd never heard from him, ever again. It wasn't that she was upset or offended. Customers changed their whims daily. But with him ... something about it concerned her. What would prompt a creature of habit, like Nanami, to suddenly change his routine? There was probably a perfectly sound explanation for it, but it worried her all the same.

After all these years, even now, as manager of her own small dessert shop, not far from the original bakery she'd served at, she'd never taken the casse-croûte off the menu.

It would remain there, for the day he might come through the door once again, and she'd say it, just like she'd rehearsed in her mind so many times. 

"Welcome back, Nanami. The usual?"

Pain. This is all that she thinks, all that she feels. It is all-consuming. It isn't like the time she broke her finger after a particularly bad fall when she was ten years old. Not even like the wound left when her mother died; gaping, raw around the edges, on display for all that looked her way.

This pain was, somehow, even worse than that. Pain that twisted and tore through the fabric of her, agony piled on agony, neverending. It stretched beyond her, into a night of unknown horrors that she had no means of comprehending.

Something was very, very wrong with her body. This much she could tell, even as she wove in and out of consciousness. The sense of change to her own form, of being maimed in some fundamental sense, was so strong that she wondered how she was still alive.

His hands. So cold. Pain beyond imagining. She doesn't want to enter that forbidden entryway in her thoughts. Someone did this to her. Someone made her helpless, controlled her. Turned her into this grotesque travesty of a living thing. She should feel furious, that this had been done to her. But she doesn't have the capacity for anything but pleading, begging for a swift release from this torment.

Something is shifting around her now. She cannot even brace for the agony, because there are no known muscles for her to do so. Her body feels like a shapeless, amorphous mass that changes according to the unknown puppeteer's will.

Now, she feels the brush of fetid air on her flesh, the dank, mossy wall of some subterranean feature, a dizzying sense of being propelled at high speed through a narrow space.

Someone is moving alongside her, dodging, weaving. Not the puppeteer. Another. Their movements are swift, strong, filled with a measured grace that dances around her striking, flailing limbs (if they can still be called such) with dexterity. She tries to fight back against the overpowering will, to stop any harm coming to that person. It is futile.

Another shift, her body stretched in another direction. And - oh! Air! Damp and rank in scent, something like a sewer, but never more welcome. Her senses had been cloaked, due to the current nature of her body, but now, she was aware of eyes, ears, nose, a budding mouth that opened in a soundless cry for help.

He heard her.

He was standing over her, feet braced on her alien form. A man in dark glasses and a suit, a strangely patterned sword at his side. The sensation of the strangely blunt blade cleaving her flesh as she hurtles at him is weighted, some kind of energy behind it.

He can cause damage to her in this form! He can ...

But her mouth doesn't work the way it's supposed to. She can't beg him, can't plead with him to end this abysmal existence that only serves as torture. The terror, anger, frustration and hopelessness have no channel by which to reach the outside world any longer.

No! Please! Help me!

Wrung from dregs of her despair, a single tear forms at the corner of her existing eye, rolling down the distended, distorted skin.

Is this it? Is this all she can summon?

But he sees it. His hand is reaching down, towards where she lies, helpless beneath his feet, helpless to the whim of another. His thumb is warm, so warm, as he strokes beneath her eye, dashing away the trace of the tear.

In the moments that follow, before her consciousness finally descends into blessed, blessed darkness, she memorizes the feel of that touch, the last thing on this earthly plane that she'll ever know.

For all her suffering, let it never be said that she hasn't known true kindness.

Gojo and Namamin. Side by side, they're day and night. Yuuji can see that, and often delights in it. He thinks about it now, as he brushes his teeth, one hand carding absently through the tangles in his hair.

Gojo operated on a certain wavelength Yuuji had been attuned to since the very beginning. Nanamin, less so.

When Yuuji really thinks about it, it reminds him somewhat of the recipes his grandfather taught him. Gramps's house was one run on self-sufficiency. There was never an excuse for slacking off.

Gojo was like the spicy miso ramen he'd learned to make, the one with the specially crafted chilli oil and the perfect ramen egg for topping. A wash of heat, scorching the tongue and throat, a burst of flavour that somehow lingered long after it had rushed past your teeth like a flashflood. It entertained, it sustained, it left you feeling warm and energized.

Nanamin was like bread.

Now, Yuuji wasn't crazy about bread. He was more of a rice-bowl kinda guy. But the baking of bread was something he'd never quite managed to get the hang of, to begin with. His grandfather eyeballed ingredients, kneaded with rapid, dexterous fists, added an extra pinch of salt here, or a splash of milk there, depending on the type and texture of bread he wanted. It was as if Gramps could envision an end product that Yuuji had no concept of at all.

Namamin had been just as difficult to gauge in the mixing bowl of Yuuji's experience. Practical, rule-following, collected and proper. Spontaneity could take a hike, as far as Nanamin was concerned. Not the kind of man to pretend to be dead and then hop out of a box when you least expect it.

Ha. Anyway.

Bread. That's the analogy he was going with, and the one he was finding increasingly appropriate.

Pulling on his uniform jacket, Yuuji felt the familiar tug and rumble of hunger ascend from his stomach. He tied the laces on his signature red sneakers and grabbed his backpack, heading for the Tech cafeteria for breakfast.

Thinking over it further, bread was ... a staple. It was not to everyone's taste. It was simple, filling, a great companion piece for more flavourful ingredients. And hellishly difficult to bake correctly. For Yuuji, at least.

Yeah. Bread. It was a good comparison.

Turning the corner, Yuuji nearly ran right into the current occupant of his thoughts.

"Ah ... Nanamin! You're here early today!"

"Good morning, Yuuji. Please be careful. I have a cup of hot coffee here."

Falling into step beside the stoic sorcerer (uninvited) Yuuji decided to share some of his thoughts, an uncharacteristically serious expression adorning his face.

"Nanamin, there's something I've been thinking about."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. If I had to compare you to a food, it'd be bread."

A silence meets this statement. Nanami takes a sip of his coffee. Undeterred, Yuuji continues.

"Like, I love a good katsudon, but when it's midnight and I've been training hard, and I wake up all tired and my body's all sore ... I just go make a sandwich, ya know? Even when Gramps was in hospital and I used to get back from school, and oh, yeah, I sometimes forgot to buy groceries ... there was still bread. Just a loaf, there on the counter. And it didn't matter if there were no other ingredients to cook with, or anything, because you can't go wrong with a fried egg on some fresh, crispy toast. Ahh, yeah. The best."

Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.

"Itadori ... is this your way of informing me that you find me reliable?"

"Huh? Oh ... I mean, yeah. But that's not all."

"It isn't?"

"Nah. 'Cos I baked bread with my Gramps, see? And it was hard to get right. But I did, at some point. And it felt ... great. And I never got it wrong again. And Gramps is gone now, I know. But when I miss him, kinda, baking bread helps me remember what it was like having him around."

Having said his piece, Yuuji folded his arms behind his head, marching peaceably alongside Nanami, lightly humming the theme song to the latest show he'd been watching. Nanami was now looking down, into his coffee. He didn't take another sip. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter than usual.

"I like sandwiches. Trying different fillings is something of a hobby of mine."

Yuuji nods, a light grin forming on his face.

"I can tell."

"Having said that ... I'm partial to fried chicken and beer on a Tuesday afternoon. It ... reminds me of when I was younger."

"Whoa. For real?"

"Yes."

"But Nanamin ... isn't fried chicken and beer the kind of thing you share with others?"

"It is."

"Hmmm."

Yuuji appears to give this some serious thought, before slapping his fist into his palm as an epiphany strikes.

"But wait! Let's get it together next time! I won't drink the beer, don't worry. I can get a soda or something."

"What - "

"And we can order the MegaBox deal that also comes with a medium pizza and cheese croquettes!"

"Yuuji - "

"Oooh, I'm so excited! I wonder what their pizza base is like? But hey, Nanamin, I've gotta run ahead. Maki-senpai's training with me today and she'll kick my ass if I'm late. See ya on Tuesday!"

All thoughts of bread firmly shelved for the present, Yuuji trotted further up the corridor and through the sliding doors of the cafeteria, pausing to wave at Nanami as he left his line of vision.

Yuuji doesn't get to see the small smile that temporarily eases the harsh lines of the sorcerer's face. It is fleeting, gentle, an echo of a smile he'd worn for another, long ago.

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

[sinceaki]

You sit at the edge of the training mat, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above doing little to chase away the shadows of frustration and exhaustion that cling to you. Gojo Satoru stands in the center of the room, effortlessly stretching after yet another sparring session that ended in your defeat. The room feels like it’s closing in, suffocating you with its silence and your own self-doubt.

“Not bad this time,” Gojo’s voice breaks through the silence, light and teasing, as he gives you a reassuring smile. “You’re getting there.”

But his words ring hollow. You look down at your hands, still trembling from the exertion, and feel the weight of his greatness pressing down on you. “Am I really?” you ask, your voice laced with bitterness.

Gojo steps closer, his playful expression fading as he notices the frustration in your eyes. He crouches down to your level, concern evident in his gaze. "What’s going on? You’ve been off for a while. You can talk to me, you know."

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "It’s just… I feel like I’m always falling short. No matter how hard I train or how much I push myself, I never feel like I’m getting any closer to being like you."

Gojo’s brow furrows. “You don’t have to be like me. That’s not what I want.”

You shake your head, the frustration bubbling over. “But I do. Because I feel like I’m not worthy of being by your side if I’m not. You’re Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer. And here I am, struggling just to keep up. What am I compared to that?”

Gojo watches you quietly, the usual playful spark in his eyes dimming. “You’re not supposed to be me,” he says softly. “You’re supposed to be you.”

“But being me doesn’t feel like enough,” you reply, your voice trembling. “I’m always losing. Not just against you, but against my own self-doubt. I keep trying, but nothing changes. I don’t feel like I’m ever really winning.”

Gojo is silent for a moment, his gaze searching yours. He then gently places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "I know you feel like you’re not enough right now," he whispers. “But you are. You always have been.”

His touch is warm and grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe things will be okay. But deep down, the feeling of inadequacy lingers, a weight that you know won’t lift easily. You wish you could fully embrace his reassurance, but the shadow of doubt remains.

Gojo’s hand moves from your shoulder to gently brush away the tears that have started to fall. His eyes hold a soft, understanding look, his smile tinged with sadness. "Take your time," he says quietly. “I’ll be here, waiting.”

His words are a bittersweet comfort. You know he means it, that he’ll stay by your side even if you never feel worthy. Even if you continue to feel overshadowed by his brilliance.

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "Okay."

Gojo offers you his hand, a familiar gesture that’s always been a symbol of his support. You take it, standing up beside him once more.

In the end, you understand that this feeling might never fully go away. But with Gojo’s hand in yours, maybe you’ll find a way to stand beside him, even if you never feel like a winner.

[abyssal-author-and-artist]

Brief Little Drabble

Mabel you've made me want to do something again. How dare you/lh

Mabel -- @drifting-stars-mabel Dipper -- @drifting-stars-dipper (me actually, go check it out) McGucket -- @it-is-unseen (sorry for the ping i just got inspired)

Dipper's not sure why he's running or why his heart is beating so fast. He's panicking, and it's a familiar feeling at this point, spurred on by months of wandering the multiverse, months of seeing horrible things and not sleeping due to the pervasive nightmares.

But whatever he's running towards is worse, and he can't explain why it is, but he also can't shake the feeling.

Mabel, Mabel, Mabel, some part of his brain is whispering, the part that tells him when there's a monster behind him or when he's going to have a particularly bad nightmare. Mabel, Mabel, Mabel. She's in danger, isn't she? She has to be. He wouldn't be able to hear his heartbeat in his head if she wasn't.

And she's been so bad recently. So stressed and uncomfortable. She won't tell him what's wrong and it hurts because even if she says she trusts him, it doesn't feel like she does. It briefly crosses his head that she's protecting him, but he shakes that thought away. It's not that it's wrong - it's that he can't afford distractions right now.

The communicator in his vest screeches with feedback, and he follows it, turning it down slightly as it gets louder and louder, more staticky and more staticky, more and more persistant and keeps just getting loude-

Mabel.

She's standing in front of a man who looks like Fiddleford McGucket when he was younger. On the memories they watched. He's holding the memory gun to her head.

"Ready to forget, little lady?" he's asking, and Dipper's running, he's pushing himself as hard as he can go.

Mabel swallows audibly, or maybe she doesn't and he's just imagining it based on the little lump in her throat and the minute bob of her head. Her hands are shaking so badly he can see it as he runs towards her.

"Y-yeah. I think I-"

"MABEL," he's screaming, wedging his body between her and the young man McGucket, batting the gun away with one hand. His chest is facing her and he turns slightly to fix McGucket with a glare with all the rage in his tiny little body. So, so tiny, so helpless, so pathetic.

"Dipper?" Mabel asks, her voice breaking in a way that her voice never does. "W-what are you doing?"

"What am I doing? Mabel, what are you doing? That's the memory gun. Were you really gonna go behind my back like that? Just wipe your memory?"

"Dipper, you weren't supposed to be here, I-"

"

I wasn't supposed to be here? Oh, so you're upset at me for stopping you from wiping your memory? Mabel you know what that thing does to people. You were there when we got McGucket's memories back. That- that thing drives people insane! It does the same thing that drugs in movies always do. Do you wanna end up like Old Man McGucket? Mabel, I-I can't believe you. You went behind my back to do this. To wipe your memories. Would it have stopped here?"

"What are you-"

"Would you have just wiped this? Would you have wiped something else next?"

"No, Dip-dop, I was just gonna wipe this one thing."

"Oh, really? And you wouldn't wipe anything else? Bill possessing me? Gideon kidnapping you in a giant robot? Anything?"

"No, really."

"I don't believe you."

"Dipper, you don't understand," she pleads, her voice cracking. "I'm a wreck over this. I-I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can barely think." She lifts her shaking hands. "I'm a mess, Dipper, I need this. I just, I just need it this once. You don't understand what I've been through, what I'm struggling with."

"I don't understand? Mabel, I've seen shit too," he says, cursing without even thinking. Her eyes go wide but she doesn't stop him. "Do you know what I've been through? I haven't slept in literal months. Sure, I've tried, but that's no excuse for actually doing it. Mabel, I can't even touch you without being terrified you'll turn to bugs in my hands."

His hands shake as he lifts them, nearly as much as hers do, and a flash of panic rushes through him, the intrinsic fear of her dissolving into a mass of wriggling creatures, writhing in his hands.

He grabs her shoulders, holding her arms as steady as his own trembling ones can manage.

"We're both suffering, Mabel. I may not know what you're going through, but I can. I can learn. I can listen. Just- just tell me, Mabes. Let me into your messed up head."

"I..." she glances behind him, and belatedly he remembers that he shoved McGucket to the side to get to her. He glances at him to see McGucket with his arms crossed, tapping one finger on the memory gun.

"Are y'all done yet?" He makes a pointed expression. "I offered to help, not watch whatever this slop was. Little lady, do y'all want yer memory wiped or not?"

"I..." she glances back at Dipper. He's so close to her, and it's terrifying him but he does nothing but hold her closer.

Mabel stops shaking.

"Thanks for offering, Mr. McGucket. I... I think..." she takes a deep breath in. Her arms wrap around Dipper and he's so happy she's chosen him.

Then she's pulling him to her chest, one hand on the back of his head.

"I think you should do us both."

The memory gun hurts. He forgets it in seconds.

[yeonban]

Send me ✔ and I’ll bold what my muse would do with/for yours.

@effigist asked: ✔ ash for tobias 💪

Acquaintance:

hold the door for them | help them carry something | let them borrow something | let them use their (primary) phone (that has all of Tobias' important contacts in it) | smile at them when passing in the streets | shake hands with them | flirt with them in a bar | share a taxi with them | give them a ride home | lend them money | sit next to them on public transportation | offer them some food | help them find something they lost

Friendship:

let them stay the night | listen to them complain at 4 am | help them get over a break up | go out shopping with them | pet sit for them (or alternatively, babysit Ash's gang/allies) | help them move houses | help them find a lost pet | go on vacation with them | stay up all night with them | help them hide a dead body | provide an alibi for them | take their side in a break up | talk about their future plans | be maid of honour/best man/etc. at their wedding (Tobias just laughed at this one I'm sorryadhyuasgdsahd) | share food with them

Lover/Fling:

let them stay after sex | gentle sex | rough sex | experiment | handcuffs | bdsm | whips | orgasm denial | aftercare | cuddles after sex | tea/coffee/etc. after sex | gentle kisses | rough kisses | passionate kisses | sloppy kisses | lazy kisses | hang out without sex | hide their relationship | cheat on them | cheat on someone else with them | dirty talk | loving talk | gentle touches | rough touches | nervous/shy touches | say “I love you”

Married/Dating:

take them on expensive dates | pay for dates | make them pay for dates | go to the movies | put out on the first date | get an arranged marriage | stay at home most nights | cuddle in front of the tv | propose first | drop hints until they propose | give a big/expensive/elaborate proposal | have a quiet proposal | say yes to a proposal from them | have a big wedding | have a small wedding | elope | get married in Vegas | go on an expensive honeymoon | go on a cheap honeymoon | have kids | get a pet | move in together (Tobias with his dozen houses: :) ADHASDHSAJD 😭) | laugh during kisses | laugh during sex | tickle fights | fight over who’s cuter | make them sleep on the couch after fights | make up sex | angry sex | no sex | let their parents/siblings stay over | let their family visit often | tell them “I love you” every day

Sibling/Platonic:

fight (SPAR! SPAR! SPAR!) | hug (Tobias isn't against properly hugging him but boy does he think it'd be so awkward the first few times he'd do it. so typically Ash would instead get those half-hugs/half-lounging on the other's shoulder kind of embraces that men always love to give each other) | laugh at them when they get hurt (for the minor/stupid injuries) | help them hide a dead body | provide an alibi for them | tell them they’re annoying at least once a day | share food with them | help them move houses | walk them down the isle | try to sell them online | set up an online dating account for them | set them up on blind dates | try to set them up with your friends | listen to their problems | help them cook | cook them food | make them watch shows they don’t like with them | tell them they’re an idiot/loser/dork/nerd affectionately

Enemy:

fight them | take petty revenge | kill them (thank GOD Ash isn't the type to betray him for no reason so this will never come to pass 🙏) | try to smother them in their sleep | hire an assassin | work harder to beat them at something | follow their social media just to get mad about it | make passive aggressive remarks towards them | spread rumours about them | laugh at them when they get hurt | take pleasure from them being upset | ruin their life

[billymayslesbian]

Before Lionblaze could argue, another shape burst through the billowing smoke to stand beside Squirrelflight. His eyes glared; his gray fur was matted together and stuck with bits of burnt leaf and twig. Confused by the smoke and flames, Hollyleaf almost thought she was seeing one of her warrior ancestors, until she recognized Ashfur.

Squirrelflight dropped the branch. “Help me push it into the fire!” she yowled.

Grabbing the branch in strong jaws, Ashfur thrust it past the wall of flame and into the ever-narrowing patch of ground where Hollyleaf and her brothers huddled. But Hollyleaf didn’t feel any sense of relief. There was a look in Ashfur’s eyes that she didn’t understand: the look of a cat who had just spotted an unexpected juicy bit of prey.

The branch made a bridge through the flames, but Ashfur stood at the other end of it, blocking the way to safety. Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his paws; Hollyleaf took a step toward the branch, then paused. She felt a cold weight in herbelly when she looked into Ashfur’s glittering blue eyes.

“Ashfur, get out of the way.” Squirrelflight’s voice was puzzled. “Let them get out!”

“Brambleclaw isn’t here to look after them now,” Ashfur sneered.

Hollyleaf felt her fur beginning to rise. What did Ashfur mean?

Lionblaze’s golden pelt was bristling, too. “What have you done with my father?” he howled through the flame.

Ashfur looked at him pityingly; his eyes were twin points of fire amid the burning forest. “Why would I waste my time with Brambleclaw?”

The main branch was too solid to catch fire easily, but the leaves on it had shriveled and the twigs were beginning to smoke. Hollyleaf realized that they didn’t have much time before their bridge to safety would be ablaze.

Squirrelflight staggered up to Ashfur. Hollyleaf had never seen her mother so angry. Her fur bristled with fury; she looked like a warrior of TigerClan. Yet it was obvious that the climb to the top of the cliff, followed by her struggle with the branch, had weakened her, and she was exhausted.

“Your quarrel with Brambleclaw has to stop,” she hissed. “Too many moons have passed. You have to accept that I’m Brambleclaw’s mate, not yours. You can’t keep trying to punish Brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be.”

Ashfur’s ears flicked up in surprise. “I have no quarrel with Brambleclaw.”

Hollyleaf exchanged a shocked glance with Lionblaze. “That’s not how it looks to me,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t care less about Brambleclaw,” Ashfur continued. “It’s not his fault he fell for a faithless she-cat.”

Faithless? A growl began to build in Hollyleaf ’s throat, but then she stopped and watched the cats on the other side of the blazing branches. Something ominous was taking place in front of her, and even with flame roaring around them she felt a sudden chill. She shrank closer to Lionblaze and Jayfeather, whose head was up, his sightless eyes intent, as if he could see the confrontation between his mother and Ashfur.

“I know you think I’ve never forgiven Brambleclaw for stealing you from me, but you’re wrong, and so is every cat that thinks so. My quarrel is with you, Squirrelflight.” Ashfur’s voice shook with rage. “It always has been.”

Horrified, Hollyleaf took a step back and felt her hind paws begin to slip on the edge of the cliff. Her head spun as lightning stabbed out and thunder drowned all other sounds, even the roaring fire. For a heartbeat she dangled over empty air, and she let out a strangled yowl.

Then she felt firm teeth meet in her scruff; blinking against the smoke, she realized that Lionblaze was hauling her back to safety. But there was no safety: only the hungry flames, and Ashfur blocking the end of the branch with fury in his eyes. Fiery sparks floated down on all three young cats, scorching their fur, and flames licked the underside of the branch; fear flooded afresh through Hollyleaf when she saw that it was already beginning to smolder.

Ashfur has to let us get out! But Hollyleaf couldn’t find any words to plead with him. What was happening here didn’t have anything to do with them, even if they died because of it.

“All this was moons ago.” Squirrelflight sounded puzzled. “Ashfur, I had no idea you were still upset.”

“Upset?” Ashfur echoed. “I’m not upset. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood. . . .”

His eyes clouded and his voice took on a wild, distant tone, as if he could see the blood spilling out of him now, sizzling on the burning ground. Terror burst through Hollyleaf and she pressed closer to her brothers. This cat was more dangerous than the storm or the fire, or the fall lurking perilously close to her hind paws.

Desperately she tried to step onto the end of the branch. At once Ashfur rounded on her, fully conscious again, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stay there!” Turning to face Squirrelflight but keeping one paw on the branch, he hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t know how much you hurt me. You are the blind one, not Jayfeather. Who do you think sent Firestar the message to go down to the lake, where the fox trap was? I wanted him to die, to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain.”

Hollyleaf ’s shocked gaze met Lionblaze’s. “He tried to kill Firestar?�� she gasped. “He’s mad!”

Determination glittered in Lionblaze’s eyes, and he bunched his muscles for a giant leap. “I’m going to fight him.”

“No!” Hollyleaf fastened her teeth in his shoulder fur. “You can’t!” Her words were muffled now. “He’ll just push you into the fire.”

“Brambleclaw saved Firestar then,” Ashfur went on to Squirrelflight. “But he’s not here now. He’s not here—but your kits are.”

Squirrelflight’s eyes blazed. For a heartbeat Hollyleaf thought she was going to pounce on the gray warrior, but she knew that exhausted and in pain, her mother would have no chance. Squirrelflight seemed to realize it, too. She drew herself up, head high; she was trembling, but her voice was clear and brave.

“Enough, Ashfur. Your quarrel is with me. These young cats have done nothing to hurt you. Do what you like with me, but let them out of the fire.”

“You don’t understand.” Ashfur looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time; his voice was puzzled and petulant. “This is the only way to make you feel the same pain that you caused me. You tore my heart out when you chose Brambleclaw over me. Anything I did to you would never hurt as much. But your kits . . .” He looked through the flames at Hollyleaf and her brothers, his eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “If you watch them die, then you’ll know the pain I felt.”

The flames crackled threateningly closer; Hollyleaf felt as if the heat was about to sear her pelt into ashes. She edged backward, only to feel the edge of the hollow give way under her hind paws. The three of them were pressed tightly together, so close that if one of them lost their balance, all three would be dragged off the cliff. Hollyleaf couldn’t control the trembling that shook her whole body as her glance flickered between the cliff and the fire.

Jayfeather was crouched close to the ground, looking tinier than ever with his pelt slicked flat by the rain. Lionblaze’s claws were unsheathed, glinting as the lightning flashed out again, but the tension in his haunches didn’t come from preparing to leap at Ashfur; it came from the effort of keeping himself on the top of the cliff.

Squirrelflight raised her head, her gaze locked on Ashfur’s crazed eyes. “Kill them, then,” she meowed. “You won’t hurt me that way.”

Ashfur opened his jaws to reply, but said nothing. Hollyleaf and her brothers stared at their mother. What was Squirrelflight saying?

Squirrelflight took a step away from them, and glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Her green eyes were fiercer than Hollyleaf had ever seen them, with an expression she couldn’t read.

“If you really want to hurt me, you’ll have to find a better way than that,” Squirrelflight snarled. “They are not my kits.”

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[awearywritersworld]

megumi's teacher — gojo satoru x reader

tags/warnings: fluff. fem!reader. gojo beefing with an eight year old. 700 words.

ever since megumi started the second grade, it's been (l/n)-sensei this. (l/n)-sensei that.

gojo picks up megumi's favorite ice cream, only to be scolded by the young boy. "(l/n)-sensei's favorite flavor is strawberry, so that's my favorite now!"

gojo tries to help him with his math homework, and it's "(l/n)-sensei did it this way. that means you should too!"

gojo reaches down to tie megumi's shoes for him, before his hand is promptly smacked away. "(l/n)-sensei said big boys tie their own shoes!"

honestly, gojo is starting to feel a little jealous. megumi's known you for what? two months?

he's been raising megumi for the past few years, but does that earn him an ounce of the adoration the young boy seems to have for you?

apparently not, though he perseveres nonetheless.

he and megumi are spending the afternoon out in the city and they stop at a small bakery for lunch.

while megumi is distracted looking at all the sweets behind the glass counter, the bell on the door draws gojo's attention.

his eyes fall upon a pretty young woman. actually, you might just be the prettiest woman he's ever seen.

and of course, a smirk forms on his lips when he catches you looking his way. he's puffing out his chest, running a hand through his hair.

he's always had a certain effect on the ladies, and he's never been more happy about that until this very moment—

"megumi?" you call from a few feet away. the wide smile adorning your face makes you look even more radiant.

while gojo visibly deflates, megumi's head whips around at the speed of light. "(l/n)-sensei!"

oh.

gojo very quickly comes to understand why the boy is so enamored by you.

megumi launches himself at you, while you crouch to meet him with open arms.

"i'm so happy to see you!" he practically sings, clinging to your neck.

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "i'm happy to see you too, 'gumi."

gojo clears his throat, hoping that megumi will take the chance to introduce you two, but he is completely ignored.

"what are you going to get? i'll buy it for you," he states proudly, despite having zero money of his own.

your gaze shifts to gojo for the first time, and having your attention even just for a brief moment takes his breath away.

"that's very sweet megumi, but that's alright." you ruffle his hair when he pouts at your words, standing back up. "who's this?"

"oh that's just gojo. don't worry about him," he states with a wave of his hand.

the white haired man gawks at him in response. the nerve on that kid! he silently decides megumi will be losing dessert privileges for a week. no, two.

you stifle a giggle before offering your hand to him and introducing yourself as megumi's teacher.

he repeats your name, taking satisfaction in the way it sounds rolling off his tongue.

"that's a pretty name," he compliments, trying to recover from megumi's dismissal. "heard a lot about you. in fact, the kid never shuts up about you."

this earns him a glare from megumi, but gojo is too preoccupied with the shy look that crosses your features to notice.

gojo insists on paying for your order, a show of appreciation for taking such good care of megumi in class. you chat with the pair of them for a little while longer before eventually excusing yourself.

"thank you again, gojo-san. i'll see you on monday, megumi!"

just as you're turning on your heel, gojo calls your name and you look back at him expectantly.

"when, uh," he struggles, scratching the back of his neck. "when do i get to see you?"

nice.

"oh! well, parent-teacher conferences are only a few weeks away! i'll look forward to seeing you then," you answer sweetly, misunderstanding the meaning behind his words.

you bid them goodbye once more and they both watch your figure disappear down the street.

megumi turns to look at gojo smugly. "weeks? that sounds like a really long time—"

"shut it, kid."

[spencerreidenjoyer]

addicted to you | spencer reid x reader

Spencer isn’t inclined to be affectionate with you. He’s a socially awkward germaphobe, and you’re perfectly fine with it. However, being three months into your relationship, you can’t help but want more. Once Spencer gets a taste, he wants more too. A lot more.

part 1 | part 2 - insatiable

wc: 6.1k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: established relationship, first times, virgin!spencer, early seasons spencer, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering praise kink, morning wood, morning sex, sex in unconventional places (like, not in public but not the bed lol), cunnilingus, creampie, implied multiple orgasms

a/n: no excuse for this insane fic but i was strangely inspired by a post i saw on twitter that i wanted to put a lighthearted (and horny) spin on. i definitely felt crazy writing this and i feel crazy posting this now so i sure hope you enjoy this insanity! (p.s you can also find this fic on ao3!)

You don’t mind that Spencer isn’t touchy. You understand, with Spencer being a germaphobe and a little socially awkward, that he isn’t inclined to kisses on the cheek or holding your hand. You’ve only been dating for three months, and he’s already getting better at doing these things, which makes your heart sing. 

Spencer is sweet, willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. He used to shy away from your touch, but he’s gotten more comfortable with you. He lets you hold his hand when you’re out on a date, or he’ll kiss you chastely out in public. He lets you drape yourself over him when you’re sitting on the couch together watching a show, his arm around your waist to pull you in close. 

While you can understand Spencer’s hesitance towards public displays of affection, due to his awkwardness and anxieties about germs, you’re surprised he hasn’t initiated anything more in the privacy of his apartment (or yours). You’re starting to itch for it, something more, your attraction to Spencer Reid simply too overwhelming for it to simply be sweet and innocent anymore. Your body craves him desperately, because he’s so lovely and so fucking handsome. You’ve caught yourself staring at his hands more than once.

Tonight, you decide you’ll get what you want. You’re going to fuck Spencer Reid.

With your head buried in his shoulder during movie night, your hand runs down his body, getting dangerously close to his crotch – he jumps up off the couch, almost comedic, and stares at you like your touch had burned him. He looks positively freaked out. 

“Spencer,” you say, very confused that he’s not into this. What kind of man doesn’t like his girlfriend initiating sex? Hell, what kind of man doesn’t like sex? 

“I just–” Spencer pauses, like he’s struggling to find the words. “I can’t. Not right now, I–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You assure him. “We don’t have to. Ever, if that’s what you want.”

His eyes widen again. “No! I want to, just– It’s difficult, right now.”

You cock your head slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Spencer frowns slightly, seeming to know that talking about it is the most rational thing to do, but it’s not like that makes him want to do it. “Well, I– I’ve never done it before.”

Your mouth falls open, just a little, and you look up at him. While you don’t mean to judge, it certainly isn’t surprising. Spencer was fourteen when he was starting university, and his general awkward demeanour and extreme nerdiness would likely rule out any sexual encounters for him during his time in college. Spencer’s line of work would clearly make it difficult for him to maintain a relationship – you definitely lucked out with getting to date him – and he’s too much of a softie for one night stands. So, Spencer Reid being a virgin at twenty-seven definitely checks out.

“That’s okay,” you say softly. “It’s totally normal.”

Spencer’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, you know it took me a while to get used to being affectionate with you, so I think–”

“Being intimate with someone else is going to be a hurdle you’ll need time to cross, too?” 

Spencer looks up at you, eyes wet, looking at you like you’ve read him like an open book. He whispers, “Yeah.”

“That’s okay,” you repeat, even though you’re trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re not going to fuck Spencer Reid tonight. “I’ll– We’ll take it slow, if you want to try.”

“Yes, please.” He has a small smile on his lips as he looks up at you. “I– We could try doing something tonight, too. I just– I wasn’t expecting it earlier. I’m sorry for pushing you off like that.”

You shake your head, reassuring him that you aren’t offended by it by any means. Then, you ask, “You’re sure you want to try? Tonight?”

Spencer nods, as he reaches for your hand. He holds it gently, resting it on his thigh. “Yeah. I haven’t– It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone, but I want to, with you.”

You lean in to kiss his cheek gently. “I’m glad you trust me.”

His eyes are soft and syrupy when he meets your gaze. “Of course I trust you.”

You squeeze Spencer’s thigh before pressing your lips to his, the familiarity of kissing Spencer making you both ease up a little more. Your kiss is gentle, sweet, just like every other kiss you've shared, but you let your hand slide up his thigh as you kiss him, and you can feel Spencer tensing up under your touch. You squeeze his thigh to reassure him, and you feel Spencer wriggle underneath where you're leaning your body weight on him to loosen up. 

Your hand skirts over his crotch, a hardness under your palm that makes you feel somewhat proud of yourself. Spencer’s breathing is heavy as he keeps kissing you, and keeps letting you touch him. You think he’s so cute. You just want to make him feel good. 

You push the waistband of his sweats down, tugging him out of his pants. His cock is the same shade of red as his cheeks, his shyness turning you on extremely. 

He doesn’t look down at himself, where you’re holding him – instead, his eyes are intently focused on your face. You don’t push him about it, instead leaning forward to kiss him as you start to stroke his cock. 

This time, it feels desperate. Spencer kisses you with more fervour, like a fire’s been lit within him, the pleasure running through his veins almost like liquid courage as he kisses you deeply. You’re more than happy to be doing this, letting Spencer lick into your mouth while you jerk him off. You appreciate the weight of him in your hand, imagining him inside of you – but perhaps you’re getting ahead of yourself. 

“You can touch me, Spence,” you say, in between Spencer kissing you fervently. His hands have been cupping your face, but otherwise he seems awkward with them. You pull back slightly, and while it’s adorable that he’s still holding your face sweetly, you drag his hands down to your chest, in the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from Spencer’s drawer. “Like this.”

Spencer’s large hands cup your breasts through the shirt perfectly. He squeezes tentatively. You bite your lip as his palms brush over your nipples, as he manhandles you just a little. It’s more force than you’re used to from Spencer, kneading and squeezing and feeling you, and that makes your head spin. 

Daringly, Spencer’s hands slip under your shirt, as he leans back in to kiss you. You feel his calloused hands on your skin as he feels you up, making you shudder. His touch isn’t demanding nor pushy, simply exploratory as he feels your soft skin under his fingertips. 

Your arousal is pumping through your system, Spencer’s gentle submissiveness like a drug you can’t kick. The more you touch him, the more he reacts; touching you more, whimpering and gasping against your lips, into your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you coo in his ear, your hand speeding up on Spencer’s hardness. He’s leaking pathetically, wet in your palm, and he squirms underneath you. 

“I’m– It’s too–” Spencer cuts himself off with a helpless whine, like he can’t control himself. His hands grip your waist tight. “Please–”

“Mm,” you hum sympathetically, while you thoroughly enjoy seeing Spencer like this. “Wanna cum like this, baby?”

Spencer’s breathing hard. He can’t get the words out, but he shakes his head. You slow your strokes, to an excruciating pressure on his length. “No? Then tell me, Spence.”

“Inside you,” He gasps, eyes squeezed shut. 

You absolutely should not let Spencer fuck you for the first time on his couch, but he’s desperate and your resolve is steadily crumbling. “You– You’re sure?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, his eyes pleading with you helplessly.

So, you pull your hand back and push your shorts off instead. Your panties come off in one fell swoop, and you sit back onto the couch with your legs spread. Spencer’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted as he looks at you, takes the sight of you in. 

Then he’s like a baby deer, standing up and fumbling to get his sweatpants off. You can’t help but giggle at his awkward movements, in his excitement and eagerness to get to touch you, to get to fuck you. He’s quick to get between your legs, his hardness nudging at your entrance already. 

“Mm, not yet, Spence,” you hum. You reach for his hand, taking his wrist as you guide his fingers to your clit. “You know what to do, right?”

He turns his wrist so his fingers – God, his fingers – are poised almost elegantly above your clit. He presses down and starts to circle his fingers against you. You gasp.

“Thought you didn’t– oh– Didn’t have much experience,” you gasp. You hold onto Spencer’s forearm tight, throwing your head back as Spencer pleasures you.

Spencer huffs out a laugh. “I might not be experienced, but I’m not a prude– I remember the… stuff I’ve seen. Eidetic memory and all.”

“Stuff,” you laugh. “I’m sure the porn you’ve watched must’ve helped, darling.”

He slips his fingers into your wetness with an unsurprising ease, considering how turned on you are by him. He hits spots inside you you’ve never thought were possible to reach, but they make electricity zip up your spine. You moan as he crooks his fingers into you, rocking them in and out with a wet squelch.

Spencer grins at you. “You were saying?”

“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?” you huff, your tone teetering between awfully turned on and mildly annoyed. 

“You like it,” Spencer says, assured of himself, and you smile, because you really do.

“My love,” you moan, as Spencer presses his fingers into you, back out. “You should try fucking me now.”

Spencer’s fingers are still inside of you, and his eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “You think so?”

You smile at him. “If you think you’re up for it.”

You mourn the loss of Spencer’s fingers, but as he’s mumbling to himself and lining his cock up with your entrance, you can only coo at how adorable you find all of this. And how turned on you are, but that’s more than obvious to the both of you by now. 

He looks to you, like he’s looking for reassurance. You nod. Even in the silence, he’s gotten the confidence to push his cock into you, the thickness of his tip breaching your hole. You gasp as you stretch around him, your cunt making space for him as he slides in, excruciatingly slow. “Spencer–”

Spencer lets out a whine as your tight heat engulfs him, his length swallowed up by you as he sinks deeper into you. “Oh, my God–”

“Just like that, baby,” you moan, your leg hooking around Spencer’s leg to coax him forward, closer to you. “Fuck.”

“Do I– When should I–” Spencer gasps, unable to form a coherent sentence with the pleasure swimming through his bloodstream. 

“You can start moving when you don’t feel like you’re going to blow your load if you breathe the wrong way,” you joke, but Spencer does seriously look like he’s going to finish any second. “Hey. Deep breaths, baby.”

Spencer’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are squeezed shut as he breathes in hard, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’d told you to do that when he’d helped you through a panic attack one time, and while you feel bad that he feels so nervous about all this, it’s extremely amusing to you right now. 

“Look at me,” you say, trying your best not to laugh. “You’re doing great, love.”

Spencer pulls his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes looking to you for validation. 

“So good for me, darling,” you coo, your hand on his hip, while your thumb draws little circles into his skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer shudders, voice high-pitched and a little breathy. “I– You feel really good.”

“Yeah? It’ll feel even better when you start moving, sweetheart,” you hum. “You think you can do that for me? Slow, out then back in.”

Spencer whimpers, nodding, and he takes another deep breath in. His hands on your waist, he pulls out halfway before pressing back into you, and he moans so loudly your ears ring. “So– So tight, you–”

“That’s good, yeah? Feels good?” you coo. “Come on, baby. More.”

Spencer rests one of his arms on the back of the couch, holding himself steady and getting him that much closer to you. He starts to thrust in and out, starting off slow as he finds a rhythm. 

His thrusts are erratic, but you’re so wildly turned on and it still feels amazing, because it’s Spencer. 

Spencer is frantic, desperate, bracing himself against the couch as he fucks into you. Maybe pounding into you is a better phrase to use, because he’s fucking you like a madman, till the couch is squeaking under both your weight. You cry out, feeling Spencer drilling into you – and it feels so good.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whines. “You– It’s so good, oh–”

“Yeah, baby?” You rock your hips along with him, burying Spencer deeper into you. You clench so each thrust is a little tighter, and each time Spencer fucks into you, he moans a little louder. 

Amidst Spencer’s whines and pretty noises, you watch his face morph with pleasure, feeling assured that he’s enjoying this as much as you are. In fact, he’s probably enjoying this more. As you’re lost in your train of thought, admiring Spencer’s gorgeous face, you’re startled when you feel Spencer’s load inside of you, hot and slick. His hips flush against your ass, Spencer shudders as he rides out his orgasm, body trembling from the force of his pleasure.

“Oh, Spence,” you giggle, a little dizzy from how turned on you are, from watching Spencer lose himself just like that. You reach up to cup his face, your thumb gentle on his cheek. “Was that good?”

“Oh,” Spencer mumbles, seemingly brought back to reality. He pulls back, taking the sight of you in. “I’m– I’m good, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” you say. “You’re so cute. It’s so hot.”

“I mean, you are too, but– But you haven’t–”

“You wanna make it up to me, then?” You smile, gentle and warm and Spencer nods like he’s eager to please you. 

You kiss him while he pulls out, replacing the thickness of his cock with two fingers, which fit into you easily. Like before, Spencer presses his fingers into you, slick and wet and squelchy. Spencer curls them and fingerfucks you like a pro, like he’s done this a hundred times. With his face pressed into your shoulder and your arms slung around his neck, Spencer fucks you on his fingers until your toes are curling and you’re screaming his name. You cry out as you orgasm, shaking as Spencer fucks you through it. 

You’re almost embarrassed when you finally come back to your senses, no longer reeling from the intensity of your orgasm. Spencer is kissing your jawline sweetly, his clean hand stroking your hair.

“Hey,” Spencer says softly, somehow knowing you needed to hear him. He parrots you from earlier, “Was– Was that good?”

“So good, my love,” you murmur into his shoulder. Then, after a quiet moment, “I thought you needed some time to get comfortable with being intimate.” 

Spencer pauses for a moment, like he’s pondering it, before he says, “I know. But for you, I think I’d do anything.”

That’s all Spencer manages to get out before you kiss him again. It’s tender and sweet, the intensity behind your kiss no longer lustful but full of adoration and love. You feel like you could sob right now, but you manage to hold it back.

Spencer gets into the shower with you, which you’re surprised by, but his hands are soft on your body as he cleans you up. You shampoo his hair for him, even though he has to lean forward a little so you can reach. 

You end up falling asleep in Spencer’s bed, curled up in his arms. 

You don’t dream at night, but when you wake up with a hardness poking against your thigh and Spencer’s gentle snoring in your ear, you think you might be. 

In your dreariness, you reach behind you, the angular sharpness of Spencer’s hip bone under your palm. He’s warm, cuddled up against you, and the tickling of his breath on your neck tells you that this isn’t a dream. 

“Spence,” you whisper, shaking him slightly. You watch as he blinks himself awake, drowsy as he comes to focus on your face. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” Spencer says, his voice rough with disuse. “What’s up?”

“You are,” you smile, a little too pleased, as your hand snakes down toward his crotch. 

He squeaks at the contact, your soft hand on his hardness, “Um, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” you laugh. “Had a good dream?”

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “About you, yeah.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” you goad, wiggling your eyebrows. 

Spencer’s cheeks somehow get even redder than they already were, but he shakes his head. “I want– I want to have sex, though.”

Your eyes widen. “Now?”

“Do you have the time for it?” He asks, sheepish. “I– I want to fuck you again.”

Your cheeks flush at Spencer’s sudden crudeness. You think about what Spencer could’ve possibly dreamt up, wonder how Spencer could possibly be confident enough to tell you straight up that he wants to fuck you. That phrase probably hadn’t been in Spencer’s lexicon until about twelve hours ago – while Spencer was smart – a literal genius – his innocence was completely understandable. 

“We have time,” you exhale, looking back into his eyes after looking at the clock. “I only have to be at the office in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” Spencer says, leaning in to kiss down your neck. His hands are frisky already, slipping underneath your shirt. Spencer splays his hands over your stomach, before reaching up to cup your breasts in his hands. 

“You like touching me like this, don’t you, baby?” you chuckle breathlessly, already feeling weak in the knees from the way Spencer holds you. “Mm, I’m surprised.”

“Why is that?” His words are slightly muffled against your skin, too busy kissing you to make himself sound coherent. His hands are rough against the softness of your skin, and you moan from the way he’s handling you.

“Yesterday you couldn’t even tell me you wanted to fuck,” you croon, thoroughly pleased. “And now you’re touching me like you know what you’re doing. It’s so hot.”

“I– I just can’t get enough of you,” Spencer admits, his earnest words turning you on extremely.

“Now you’re just horny,” you laugh, feeling Spencer’s hand slide over your underwear.

“Mm, you’re so wet right now too,” Spencer murmurs in your ear, his warm breath and raspy voice sending a shiver down your spine. Where’d he learn to talk like that? You squeeze your thighs together, but that doesn’t stop Spencer from feeling the wetness between your legs, soaking through your panties. 

“All for you, baby,” you gasp, as Spencer’s fingers slip past the band of your underwear, deftly stroking your clit. “Spencer–”

“Can I fuck you? Please?” He pleads, breathy, his hips already rutting forward against your ass. 

His eagerness makes your head spin, his sudden confidence in the realm of sex surprising – maybe it’s cockiness, but you still find that stupidly attractive – but it is certainly welcomed. 

“Yes, Spence, please,” you shudder, the word yes leaving your lips enough for Spencer to pull your underwear down, over the swell of your ass. He fumbles with his own boxers for a moment, but soon you feel his hard, leaking tip pressed to your butt. He rocks his hips back and forth, desperately seeking whatever friction he can get. 

Lost in his own pleasure, Spencer is quick to slide his cock between your legs, the wetness from your cunt making it easy for him to rut into the tight, slick space. Like this, his length rubs up against you, the head of his cock nudging at your clit with every thrust of his hips. It feels primal, Spencer so far gone that he isn’t even fucking you proper, content with the slick, tight space between your thighs and your pussy. You wonder if you need to tell him, but Spencer’s groan in your ear is shaky as his tip catches on your hole.

His arms wrapped around you, both of you moan as Spencer finally sinks his cock into you. He slides in too easily, so easily you almost think he’d hadn’t meant to do it. Maybe he hadn’t, but you’d gotten there in the end, where you both need to be; Spencer buried inside of you.

It’s so different from yesterday, the angle when he presses into you from behind so exhilarating, so good. He’s just as desperate as last night, but there’s a sort of reckless confidence in his movements. His hands slide under your shirt to grab at your tits again, rocking his hips while he practically gropes you. It’s so hot your head spins. You feel like you’re going to explode.

“Spencer!” You cry out, your voice ripping its way out of your throat. Pleasure surges through you like electricity, Spencer’s thick cock hitting all the right spots from this angle. His eager desperation turns you on to no end, as you let him take you from behind. While you weren’t expecting lazy, morning sex at all, the intensity and desperation he fucks you with right now makes you think you could get used to this.

Spencer’s whine has your head spinning. His hips don’t slow, more rhythmic than yesterday but still as needy. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You coo breathlessly. You’re so fucking turned on, and every time Spencer drives his hips into you you can hear how wet you really are. “You’re doing so good for me, Spence, fucking me so good.”

“You like it? Is it good?” Spencer gasps, always so eager to please you.

“So good,” you moan. You’re still sore from last night, but the pleasure Spencer is giving you right now overrides all of that. You would love for him to wake you up like this every day. “I’m close, baby.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, like he’s surprised you’re already getting off on this, on him– “What do you need me to do?”

“Just keep going, Spence,” you gasp. “Keep fucking me just like this.”

Spencer’s hum is breathy, high-pitched. Somehow, his grip on you gets tighter, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The force he fucks you with is so wildly arousing. You’re so enamoured, and so turned on.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and steady as it bubbles up inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the dirty, rough way Spencer fucks you, and then you feel his soft lips on your neck again. He isn’t properly kissing you – more like slobbering all over your neck, but you cry out as he does so, thighs pressing together as you reach your orgasm. You’re shaking through it, clenching around Spencer as you come, and Spencer’s gasping as your tight pussy pushes Spencer over the edge too. You feel his come inside of you, cock twitching as his load spurts hot and heavy into your cunt. You sob, feeling Spencer slow his thrusts as he rides out his orgasm.

“Holy shit,” you say, your voice coming out ragged and hoarse. You feel like a different woman, being fucked ruthlessly by your boyfriend in his bed for the first time. You can’t get enough. 

“I love you,” Spencer says quietly, earnest. It makes you shudder. 

“You’re crazy,” you laugh, taken aback at how Spencer’s returned to his gentle, soft self. “I love you too, you madman.”

“I can’t resist you,” he murmurs in your ear, the vibrations of his raspy morning voice almost soothing.

You turn around to face him, Spencer still holding you in his arms. He smiles warmly at you, and you lean in to kiss him. “You’re so cute.”

“Wanna go again?” he asks, somewhat timid. 

Your eyes widen. You try to hide your grin, but it doesn’t work. “Someone’s desperate, huh?”

Spencer flushes a gorgeous red. “Maybe a little?”

“I have to get ready for work,” you sigh, actually a little bummed that you can't spend all day fucking Spencer. “Maybe tonight?”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles. “Want me to drive you back to yours?”

You grin. “You’re the best!”

Work is relatively uneventful, numbers and Excel spreadsheets; and all you can think about is Spencer’s rapid change in demeanour over the last twelve hours, his innocence torn away by you, leaving behind a horny, insatiable man. You’re kind of proud of yourself for that. 

So, you can’t blame yourself for being excited to get back to Spencer’s. Lately, you’ve been staying over more, your apartment simply a place to house your wardrobe. Maybe you’ll talk to Spencer about living together.

“Hey, Spence,” you say, pleased when Spencer kisses you as he greets you at the door. 

Even with all the probable germs on you from being out all day, Spencer’s surprisingly clingy, hands on your waist as he stumbles in behind you, as you set the takeout you’d brought over on his dining table. Spencer leans in behind you, kissing your cheek then down your neck.

“Hey, what’s with you, baby?” you chuckle, very much enjoying the way Spencer’s hands slide down your waist to your hips, grabbing the meat of your thighs through your dress pants.

“Missed you,” Spencer answers simply, but even you can tell there’s something in his voice that implies he’s looking for something more. 

“I’m sorry I had to leave you alone the whole day, my love. I’m sure you must’ve found something to busy yourself with, though?” You hum, teasing. You have a good idea of where this is going.

Spencer’s quiet for a moment, so you turn to look at him. His lips are pressed into a thin line, looking almost nervous, and his cheeks are flushed red. Spencer finally presses his body close to yours, and you feel it–

“Spence,” you grin, “Someone’s happy to see me.”

“Thought about it– Thought about you all day,” Spencer mumbles. “You promised.”

“What did I promise, baby?” you egg him on, eager to hear him say it, even though you definitely know what he’s going to ask. 

“That we would do it again tonight,” he answers, but you shoot him a look. “You said we would have sex again tonight.”

“Twice in one day? I don’t know, baby,” you pretend to sound disinterested.

Spencer looks at you with wide eyes. Respectful as ever, he clears his throat. “Please? If you’re tired we don’t have to, but I really want to. Only if you want to, though. This involves both of us, I don’t want to impose–”

You giggle, reaching to hold his hands. “God, you’re perfect.”

“What–?” Spencer barely gets the word out before you’re kissing him. He’s happy to do so, holding your face gently, matching your energy perfectly. You feel his cock pressing against you. 

“I turned you into a sex fiend,” you laugh, between kissing him, “And you’re still thinking about making sure I’m into it too.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer’s brows furrow slightly, like he can’t comprehend how he could be into it if you weren’t too. “And I- I’m not a sex fiend, I just–”

Smiling, you whisper sultrily, “I think you should take me right here, baby.”

“Oh–” You cut Spencer off with another kiss, and he squeaks as you reach for his half-hard cock through his sweatpants. You’re positively delighted that Spencer’s like this, for you.

Spencer kisses you deeply, leaning forward until the small of your back hits the edge of the table. His hands coming up to your ass, he lifts you up, getting you to lay back on the table. You gasp, as Spencer kisses down the column of your neck, his hands making quick work of the buttons of your dress shirt. His lips are soft against your skin, at the swell of your breasts. Your shirt gets pushed off your shoulders. You feel him unhook your bra with a surprising ease, tossed aside, and then his hands are grabbing your tits like they were made for him. His thumbs brush over your nipples, a little forceful as he kneads at you, and your head is spinning. 

“Spencer,” you moan, as he kisses down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants to reveal your soaked-through underwear. He smiles up at you, his messy mop of hair a lovely sight. 

“Can I…?” Spencer’s big brown eyes dart down to where you’re soaked, then back up at you.

Your eyes widen. “Yes. If you want to.”

Spencer grins. “Of course I want to.”

His fingers are gentle on your hips as he pulls your panties off, wasting no time in spreading your legs so he can get between them. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, feeling kind of self-conscious over how eager he is to be doing this. Knelt between your thighs, he lifts one of your legs and swings them over his shoulder. You can feel his stubble on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his nose nudging against your clit. His tongue comes up, wet and hot, as he tastes you for the first time. “Spencer–”

He presses his face impossibly closer, more urgent in eating you out. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, his jaw flexing as his tongue works on you, and you’re trembling already. Spencer’s extremely good with his mouth, and you’re surprised at how good he’s making you feel, considering he likely hasn’t done this before. The sounds of his mouth are wet and squelchy and so obscene, and you would feel almost embarrassed, were it not for how into this Spencer seems to be too, 

With your hands in his hair, you cry out when Spencer’s tongue circles your swollen clit, jolts of pleasure sent through your body. You can’t think straight when Spencer’s face is buried between your legs, eating you out like he was made for this. All you can think about is how gifted Spencer is with his tongue, and how you wish you could do this all night. 

“Please, love,” you moan, “Need you to fuck me.”

Spencer hums in approval, the vibrations between your legs making you jump. He makes a little wet slurping noise before he comes back up, and you feel your cunt throb when he looks up at you with his lovely, wide brown eyes, and his chin wet and messy with your slick. Spencer wipes his face with the back of his hand, and you’re so turned on you might just explode.

“I love you,” you tell him earnestly. “I think this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I love you.”

“What is? Having sex on my dinner table?” Spencer quips, as he sets your legs down and stands back up. He has a cocky grin plastered on his face. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “First time for everything, right?”

Spencer nods, smiling, before he leans forward to kiss you sweetly. You watch as he pulls his sweatpants down, his cock bobbing up, red and angry and rock hard. You feel yourself salivating at the sight, but decide that he needs to fuck you right now.

“Spencer,” you mewl, feeling breathless as you watch him wrap a hand around himself, stroking his length. Concentration is written all over his face and it makes you want to kiss him. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” Spencer says, pressing his cock forward until he’s lined up with your entrance. It’s so tantalising, the way the blunt head of his cock threatens to slip into you. You’re so wet and so loose for him, and you need him inside of you now.

You gasp when he finally pushes in, his thick cock splitting you in half as he slides into you. The pressure is so perfect, the slow draw of his hips as he takes care not to rush, wanting to take care of you. Even with all this still being new for Spencer, he still focuses on you, puts you first. You’re not sure if you’re swooning over him, or the way his cock fits inside you perfectly.

You don’t need to encourage him to start moving. He rocks his hips slowly, somehow already familiar with your body, and makes you feel like you could explode with pleasure. 

He leans forward, pressing his body to yours as he kisses you. Like this, Spencer presses into you deeper, fucks you slow and deep and loving. The edge of the table is absolutely digging into your back, but you don’t care when every sense of yours is filled with Spencer, getting to taste and touch and hear him. You taste yourself on his tongue, hear the sloppy way he thrusts into you, your skin burning wherever he’s pressed up against you. 

Burying his face in your neck, Spencer pants in your ear, hot and heavy as he fucks you, giving you everything you need. Your head is swimming with arousal, as Spencer presses you against the table and fucks you like his life depends on it. “You feel so good, fuck, so good–”

“I’m so close, baby,” you cry out, the pace absolutely ruthless as Spencer fucks you. You didn’t think his stamina would be this good, considering your boyfriend’s lanky stature and abhorrence towards exercise. You certainly wouldn’t mind doing this kind of cardio with him more often. “Please, Spence–”

“Let go, I– I’m here for you,” Spencer stumbles over his words, but he’s so sweet that you’re losing yourself, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave. You scream as you reach your peak, your toes curling while Spencer fucks you through it, shaking as pleasure and arousal zips through your body. Spencer’s hips stutter as the tightness of your pussy has him reeling, too close too quickly. 

While his hips keep a steady pace, you’re feeling loopy as Spencer continues to fuck you. You hold his head close to you, kissing his forehead as you murmur, “You’re so hot, Spence. Made me come so quickly, and you held out for me? So good for me, baby. Are you close?”

Spencer whines, a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. “Please, I’m so close, need you–”

“I’m right here, baby,” you coo, stroking his sweat-matted hair sweetly. You’re so enamoured with him. “Gonna cum inside me, Spence? Fill me up with your–”

You don’t even get to finish your dirty talk before Spencer is moaning, coming inside of you. It feels like he’s released so much inside of you, hot and messy as he fucks you through his own high. His chest heaves as he pants, trembling as he reels from the intensity of his orgasm. Spencer’s hips slow to a stop, and he mouths at your neck mindlessly until he seems to get his bearings back. You imagine you must look a mess, sweat and spit all over you, your makeup from a long day of work likely running by now. 

Spencer gets up off of you, so both of you have space to catch your breaths. You feel Spencer slip out of you with a slick ‘pop’, and feel his release trickle out of you just moments after. You stifle a quiet moan, but when you look up at Spencer, his eyes couldn’t possibly leave the sight between your legs. His lips are parted slightly, pupils blown wide, as he watches you drip with his release. You feel Spencer’s cock, resting against your inner thigh, twitch slightly. 

“Woah there, cowboy,” you chuckle, out of breath. “Give me a minute to recover.”

His eyes practically twinkle when they dart up to look at you. He’s like an excited puppy as he asks, “Again?”

You shake your head, laughing, and sit up to kiss Spencer again. “Maybe we could try something new?”

Spencer grins, nodding eagerly. It definitely seems like he’s down for whatever, as long as it’s with you. 

[mostly-imagines]

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

[g0dlyunsub]

don't pretend.

spencer can see through all of your lies, including the bruises you’re hiding behind makeup.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of prisons, physical violence, bruises, reader gets injured, patching up, fluff

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: oh, looks like i’ve spawned another hurt/comfort fic yet again…

accompanying song :: who hurt you by role model

you’re an ambitious profiler. 

you’re such an ambitious profiler that you interview offenders with the most extensive list of records whenever you have time. you want to understand more than just the simple question of why they did it. you want to explore the how’s and what if’s.

and you’re soft-hearted, so much so that you jeopardize your own safety. 

things should’ve gone smoothly with your fifth and last inmate of the week, had you been a little more aware of your surroundings.

but you placed too much faith on your ability to make peace with the man who unyieldingly worshiped violence.

that was your only mistake, but it was a costly one. 

you had kindly asked the guard to release the handcuffs, even though he insisted that they stay on. 

it’s alright, you told him with the wave of your hand. 

but you should’ve noticed the look of challenge on the inmate’s face. it was like he was taunting you, almost as if to say, do you really feel safe being in the same room as me?

it was your soft-heartedness that almost got you severely injured. 

he managed to land punches to your left cheek and scratched his nails into the flesh of your leg as he fell, right as he was tackled to the ground. 

he laughed when he saw you holding your hand against your throbbing cheek.

you arrive at the office as early as you can, a layer of makeup thicker than usual coating the bruise swelling your left cheek. 

you pretend to bury your head in the case file that you retrieved from your desk when the rest of the team started to flood into the room.

when spencer arrives, he gives you a nod and gleefully chirps good morning as he takes his seat beside you. 

spencer knows your routine like the back of his palm – he knows you’re busy with interviews at the federal prison on saturdays and sundays, and he knows you always need a caffeine boost the next morning. you gladly accept the cup of coffee that he sets in front of your hands with a small smile.

as hotch is debriefing the case with garcia, however, you can’t help but feel his eyes drilling into the side of your face, as if he can see through your cover. 

your makeup can’t be that obvious, right?

your thoughts are interrupted when hotch closes the cover of his case file, stands, and announces wheels up in 20. 

you lift yourself with the support of the table and wait for everyone else to exit before you follow, doing your best to disguise the limp in your walk.

---

“alright. jj and prentiss, go to the morgue. morgan and reid, go to the crime scene. dave, you and l/n can set up with the local p.d. i’ll go talk to the victims’ families.”

as hotch assigns roles to the team, everyone nods when their names are called out. but spencer raises his hand slightly and clears his throat.

“actually, hotch, do you mind if i switch with rossi and set up with l/n and the locals instead?”

hotch hesitates for a second, but nods slowly. 

“sure. dave, you okay with that?”

the italian agent cocks up a questioning eyebrow but gives a warm smile. “i don’t see why not.”

you’ve never heard spencer contest hotch’s orders before, so you’re stumped as to why he’s suggesting an alternative role this time. but you soon brush off the thought, and decide to occupy your time re-reading the case files before the jet lands.

you sink into your seat with a heavy sigh, forcing your eyes shut as pain travels down your legs. you’re thankful that hotch assigned you to set up at the local p.d., since it doesn’t require much locomotion and spares you the struggle of getting up constantly. you watch as spencer spreads the corners of the map and sticks push pins into the corkboard. 

“how did your interviews go yesterday?” spencer breaks the silence first and moves to grab a red marker. with his practiced hand, he quickly circles the areas of the crime scenes on the map.

you gulp.

“they went pretty well, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

spencer caps the tip, and a click sounds as the plastic edges meet. he nods, wets his lips with his tongue, and turns to look at you. you meet his gaze for a brief second before you look away, pretending to busy yourself with the m.e. reports that jj sent over.

“green neutralizes red.”

his sudden remark startles you. you drop the papers in your hands and look up. “i’m sorry?”

“green contains the wavelengths that are missing in red light, so when they mix, the colors neutralize each other. that’s why concealers with a green base are better at covering up more reddish bruising,” spencer elaborates, and starts to match up the photos of the crime scenes to the locations marked on the map.

you blink. oh.

there’s no way he’s talking about you, right?

“um, yeah, green’s a common color corrector,” you mutter as you nervously tap your fingers against the wooden table. “but there weren’t any bruises or marks of assault on the victims.” 

spencer scoffs as you finish your sentence.

“it’s not about the victims. you. i’m talking about you.” 

you swallow slowly. 

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try, a fake smile plastered over your face as you shake your head left and right. 

spencer studies you with a scrutinizing stare, eyes boring into yours like he’s counting the number of times you blink.

“could you grab that for me?” he asks at last, pointing to the book that’s two tables away, the one titled florida’s topography and bathymetry. without thinking, you nod and stand.

fuck.

what a clever way to set you up. now you have to somehow mask the limp in your steps and pretend like the pain coursing through your legs is nonexistent.

you do your best to walk normally, but it’s hard to tell if you’re doing a good job from his unreadable stare. you hold the book out with a bemused smile, hoping it’s enough to cover your pained expression.

he doesn’t look convinced. 

“that,” spencer points to your leg with an accusatory gaze, “why are you walking like that?” 

he swiftly takes the book from you, and your hand instinctively grips the side of the table for support.

“like what?” 

you’re going to make him pry the confession out of you. 

“like you’re hurting,” spencer utters quietly. his last word catches your breath completely.

“is that why you asked rossi to switch with you? so you could interrogate me?” 

“who hurt you?” spencer ignores your question, setting the book aside and leaning over the table to get a closer look at your face. 

instinctively, you retreat and look down, but he walks around the table and kneels in front of you. your brain buzzes with the words he’s just declared. it’s not what did you do, or what happened to you. instead, it’s who hurt you. 

“i… it’s nothing.” you shift in your chair, but he stops the seat from turning completely by laying a hand on the headrest.

“tell me. please.” 

you can’t fake it anymore, especially when he’s already hammered the nail into the hole perfectly.

you rub your sweaty palms on your lap. “one of them tried to hurt me during the interview. i-it was my fault, i asked the guards to take off the cuffs. i thought they’d be more willing to cooperate that way.”

spencer’s expression mellows as you speak, but he doesn’t return a comment. somehow, this makes you even more nervous.

a second after, he lifts his hand and slides a finger along the slightly swollen area of your cheek. he hesitates when you start to wince in pain.

tapping his knee with his index finger, he instructs, “let me take a look at your leg.”

you comply.

when you lift your leg, spencer’s hand slips between the wedge of your platform's heel, and gracefully sets your foot on his knee. 

you observe him gently push the thin fabric of your trousers upwards. you hold your breath when he leans in to inspect closely, and you almost shudder when the vapor of his warm breath tickles the gash on your flared shin. 

spencer steps back to retrieve a first-aid kit lying nearby and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. without saying a single word, he pulls a cotton pad and a gauze roll from the bag.

as he wraps your leg with the gauze, he looks up to meet your lowered gaze.

“tell me his name.”

you bite your lip.

“it’s fine. you should focus on the geo-profile instead.” you exhale as spencer unfolds the rolls on the hem of your trousers to cover your leg again.

“you do know that it won’t take me long to go through every incident report,” he retorts back with a challenging glint in his eye. your cheeks heat up with a hot flush of red.

goddamnit, spencer reid. 

you hastily brush yourself away from him.

“what are you going to do?”

he pauses, every second of silence only feeding your suspicions. you watch the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

“you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

you huff.

“don’t use my words against me.” 

he shrugs with an indifferent expression, but chuckles before standing back up.

“his name. or do we want to do this the hard way?”

[fictionadventurer]

Pop culture reduces It's a Wonderful Life to that last half hour, and thinks the whole thing is about this guy traveling to an alternate universe where he doesn't exist and a little girl saying, "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings." A hokey, sugary fantasy. A light and fluffy story fit for Hallmark movies.

But this reading completely glosses over the fact that George Bailey is actively suicidal. He's not just standing there moping about, "My friends don't like me," like some characters do in shows that try to adapt this conceit to other settings. George's life has been destroyed. He's bankrupt and facing prison. The lifetime of struggle we've been watching for the last two hours has accomplished nothing but this crushing defeat, and he honestly believes that the best thing he can do is kill himself because he's worth more dead than alive. He would have thrown himself from a bridge had an actual angel from heaven not intervened at the last possible moment.

That's dark. The banker villain that pop culture reduces to a cartoon purposely drove a man to the brink of suicide, which only a miracle pulled him back from. And then George Bailey goes even deeper into despair. He not only believes that his future's not worth living, but that his past wasn't worth living. He thinks that every suffering he endured, every piece of good that he tried to do was not only pointless, but actively harmful, and he and the world would be better off if he had never existed at all.

This is the context that leads to the famed alternate universe of a million pastiches, and it's absolutely vital to understanding the world that George finds. It's there to specifically show him that his despondent views about his effect on the universe are wrong. His bum ear kept him from serving his country in the war--but the act that gave him that injury was what allowed his brother to grow up to become a war hero. His fight against Potter's domination of the town felt like useless tiny battles in a war that could never be won--but it turns out that even the act of fighting was enough to save the town from falling into hopeless slavery. He thought that if it weren't for him, his wife would have married Sam Wainwright and had a life of ease and luxury as a millionaire's wife, instead of suffering a painful life of penny-pinching with him. Finding out that she'd have been a spinster isn't, "Ha ha, she'd have been pathetic without you." It's showing him that she never loved Wainwright enough to marry him, and that George's existence didn't stop her from having a happier life, but saved her from having a sadder one. Everywhere he turns, he finds out that his existence wasn't a mistake, that his struggles and sufferings did accomplish something, that his painful existence wasn't a tragedy but a gift to the people around him.

Only when he realizes this does he get to come back home in wild joy over the gift of his existence. The scenes of hope and joy and love only exist because of the two hours of struggle and despair that came before. Even Zuzu's saccharine line about bells and angel wings exists, not as a sugary proverb, but as a climax to Clarence's story--showing that even George's despair had good effect, and that his newfound thankfulness for life causes not only earthly, but heavenly joy.

If this movie has light and hope, it's not because it exists in some fantasy world where everything is sunshine and rainbows, but because it fights tooth and nail to scrape every bit of hope it can from our all too dark and painful world. The light here exists, not because it ignores the dark, but because the dark makes light more precious and meaningful. The light exists in defiance of the dark, the hope in defiance of despair, and there is nothing saccharine about that. It's just about as realistic as it gets.

[uniquexusposts]

Little surprise - C. Leclerc

Summary: Y/n is pregnant and meets her husband Charles at the track as a surprise.

Y/n turned off the tv and got up from the sofa. She was satisfied with the results from her husband, Charles Leclerc. Monaco was one of his favourite circuits, mainly because it was his home Grand Prix, but faith didn't agree with those previous years. It's sad to say he had never finished the Monaco Grand Prix before. However, this weekend seemed to be good.

"Are we going to see daddy?" Y/d/n asked and looked hopeful at her mum. The three-year-old had been waiting to walk down the streets to see her dad. It was a weird situation for Y/d/n; her dad was never home at a race weekend, but this weekend he was.

Y/n smiled and nodded. "Shall we go then?" Y/d/n heavily nodded. "Go put on your shoes, love."

Y/d/n crawled off the sofa and ran to the hallway to grab her shoes. It made Y/n happy to see her daughter excited. You would say: 'you live in Monaco, there's a race, why not visit it?' Well, it sounded easier than it looked. Y/n was pregnant with her second child, which was the best thing that ever happened to her - and to Charles, but she struggled a lot with sicknesses. It made it challenging to show up at races; it was uncomfortable.

"Mummy, can I bring Raf and Peter?" Y/d/n walked back to the living area with her two favourite stuffed animals; she held the giraffe and rabbit up in the air.

"Are you sure you want to bring them both?" Y/n asked and packed her bag. "Are you sure you won't lose them again?"

"No."

It happened one time before Y/d/n lost Raf and Peter. They were relaxing at the Ferrari facility, but the trouble and drama it caused... Y/n and Charles preferred not to be in that situation again.

"Sure, but they are your responsibility now." Y/n softly smirked; she knew Y/d/n would leave them somewhere around anyway. "Are you ready?"

The little girl started to jump and happily giggled. Y/d/n was a daddy's girl, so there was nothing more exciting than going to see your dad. She had been watching the third free practice all morning - well, the parts with Charles. Obviously, Y/d/n was too young to understand what Formula 1 was, but seeing her dad and his friends was all she needed to enjoy herself.

"Raf and Peter are happy to see daddy too," Y/d/n said and looked at her teddies when she stepped in the lift. "Can I press the button?" She looked up, and her arm reached for the button. Y/d/n grew a few centimetres by standing on her tiptoes.

"You are getting tall, sweetheart," Y/n proudly smiled. "I think daddy is happy to see Raf and Peter too.” She stroked her daughter’s hair.

She quickly looked in the mirror; it was the first time in days Y/n dressed up. She was wearing a maxi dress. It covered up her 20-weeks bump, but it showed she was carrying a tiny human. As shoes, she picked Birkenstocks, just for the comfiness. Her hair was curly, and her makeup was minimal. At first, she doubted what to wear. As a wife of a driver, people expect you to look stunning and stylish all the time. Over the years, it became less for Y/n, but it was still bothering her in some ways.

"Give me your hand," Y/n instructed Y/d/n. As soon as they left the apartment building, they stepped into the busy world of racing. Every spot in Monaco was busy and chaotic due to the race weekend.

Y/d/n grabbed her mum's hand, but quickly let it go. "Can Raf sleep in your bag?"

A soft smirk rolled over Y/n's lips; there you had it. "Of course, love." Y/n opened her bag and lowered it for her daughter. "Sweet dreams, Raf."

Y/d/n gave Raf a kiss. "Sleepy sleepy, Raf," and carefully put Raf in the bag. "Are we going to see uncle Pierre too?" She grabbed her mum's hand again, and they started to walk towards the entrance of the track.

"I don't know, love. Maybe we will see him, or uncle Carlos. We will look for them, yeh? But first, we need to find daddy."

"Yes, we need to find daddy first."

Once Y/n and Y/d/n arrived at the track, they scanned their passes. Y/d/n excitedly imitated the check-in sound of the gates and walked on the stairs. Y/n followed the small girl, also trying to find out where Charles possibly could be. They crossed the track and entered the paddock/pit lane area.

"I see daddy!" Y/d/n cheered and started to run away.

Before Y/n could stop Y/d/n from running, it was already too late. Y/n looked up and noticed Charles was still in an interview in front of his garage. She pressed her lips into a tin line and followed her daughter to her husband; this escalated...

"Daddy!"

Charles recognised the high voice, but he assumed this couldn't be his daughter since she wouldn't be here today. He continued talking to the reporter, but squeezed his eyebrows together when he heard the voice again. Charles looked behind the reporter and cameraman, and a small girl was running towards him. It was Y/d/n.

"Daddy," Y/d/n breathed and raised her arms up in the air.

"Bonjour, mon amour," he greeted and lifted her up from the ground. "What are you doing here?"

Y/d/n smiled. "I wanted to see you," she giggled. "Mummy is here too!" She pointed at a woman who was walking towards them as well.

Charles' face softened; he really didn't expect to see his wife at this Grand Prix due to the heavy sickness. It was a real surprise. "That is a surprise," he chuckled and looked back at Y/d/n before looking back at the reporter. "I'm sorry," he mentioned and politely smiled. "Thank you," he ended the interview and gave the reporter a nod. Charles stepped away and walked towards Y/n. "Hey," he said, surprised. "You here as well?" A teasing smile grew on his face.

"What a coincidence," Y/n cheekily said.

"I really didn't expect you to be here," Charles honestly said. At first, he was disappointed when he and Y/n decided she would attend the race, but safety and health first.

Y/n smiled. "That is kinda the point of a surprise," she said. "I'm feeling good, and Y/d/n wanted to see you. So if you don't mind, we are gonna watch the qualification here?"

Charles couldn't be happier; this really made his weekend better. "Of course." He looked at Y/d/n, who was hugging him like she hadn't seen him in a while - they saw each other this morning before Charles left to prep for the day. "I'm really surprised. It's good to see you, babe," he said and gave her a kiss. "You look beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

"Thanks..." She shyly smiled. "You had a great morning. It's too early to say it, and I hope I won't jinx anything, but it seems like a good weekend."

"Please, don't cheer too soon," he replied and looked painfully at his wife. "We have said this for years, and it just... escalates every time."

"Maybe it won't this time."

They started to walk towards the Ferrari hospitality. "My weekend is already amazing because you all are here. How is the baby?"

Y/d/n laid her head on Charles' shoulder and looked around her. It wasn't all new to her, but it surely was overwhelming. Her eyes fell on someone who was waving at her; it was Pierre Gasly. Y/d/n looked up and happily waved back at Pierre.

"Good, she's calm now, and the sickness is gone." That was something huge; this was the first time in the pregnancy this happened.

Charles proudly smiled. "That's good. If you don't feel good or need anything, you will let me know, okay?"

"I will, don't worry, Charles."

It was the second time Y/n showed up at a Grand Prix during her second pregnancy. People adored the young family; they were happy to see the family together. And to see the baby bump. 

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313@blodwyn4u

[feyascorner]

before my nails dig

summary. in which one of Astarion's especially vivid nightmares results in him waking up to Tav at the mercy of his own hands...and the shame that comes with it.

warnings. angst, fluff, comfort

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. someone pls get this man therapy that's all i ask,,, also this takes place sometime during act 3 before you confront cazador!! first post too so pls forgive typos

Had breathing always been this hard?

It's not like he had to breathe anyway. The undead have more perks than one would think, and having no need for air was one that became particularly useful in unexpected ways. Yet as he stands in Cazador's dungeon again--a place he longs to rid from the darkest corners of his mind--all he can do is stumble over his own breath, crimson eyes darting around frantically in search of an exit.

And suddenly, his siblings are at the mercy of the ascension, floating helplessly in the chains of a red aura--Cazador's aura. Despite the chaos, Astarion's eyes narrow in on the one pedestal with no occupant, and he realizes it's his own designated place.

It's getting harder to breathe now.

A breath creeps up behind his shoulder, sending pure dread throughout his entire body as he hears Cazador's voice far too close than he ever wanted it to be.

"Wake up, child. This is all you've ever been meant for."

Astarion whips around and lunges at the man, his hands wrapping viciously around the throat he's fantasized about ripping apart for the past two hundred years. His nails dig into the flesh of the vampire lord's neck, leaving indents in the shape of crescent moons, just enough to cause panic but not enough to draw blood. But Cazador only cackles, his eyes staring right into Astarion's as he hollers over and over again.

"Wake up."

"Wake up!"

"--Astarion!"

The spawn's eyes snap open, recognition finally flooding his expression as he finds himself staring down at you. The very face he sees in the softest of dreams, the lips he longs to kiss at every waking moment, and the eyes that gaze at him with the love and adoration he's been missing for most of his wretched eternal life. Though he'd never admit it, you saved him. From the moment he'd threatened your life at the nautiloid crash to the moment he held you close to his chest in the confines of his tent, he would be by your side until you tired of him and threw him away.

All he wanted--all he could wish for--was only a fraction of it in return. And you'd given him that, and so much more.

But now, you're scared. Terrified, even. Of him.

With horror, he realizes his fingers are digging into your throat. Your precious, tender throat that you offer him not for something in return, but simply because you care for him.

All at once as he tears his hands away, he wants to cut them off and bury himself in his own grave again. He doesn't meet your eyes, afraid of what disgust might be held in them, but he knows you're too kind for that. Too kind to see the kind of monster he is.

You're gasping for your breath, and his stomach knots in a way that would have sent him hurling if it weren't for the fact that he's too occupied drinking in what he's done. To you.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, Astarion," you choke out, perching on both your elbows as you struggle to recover. Even now, all you seem to care about is him. He almost hates you for it--hates you for not stabbing a stake through his heart the moment his hands met your neck. "Astarion-"

"Your throat," he croaks, despising the slight crack of his voice as he reaches for your cheek, but stops before he even gets close. He doesn't trust himself to open his mouth again.

"It's okay, really, I can just get Shadowheart to heal me," you shake your head, and he finds himself in disbelief as you crawl toward him, tossing the sheets to the side. He shifts the slightest away and you understand, immediately sitting back down. You look like you want to say something, but you close your mouth and watch him patiently, as if waiting for him to make the first move.

After a suffocating silence, he turns his back to you. "I'll be sleeping elsewhere tonight."

He intends of never sharing a room with you again, in fear of what he could possibly do to you as a result of his selfish desires to keep you close, and you seem to pick up on the tone of his words. You always do. "Astarion, please."

"I do apologize, sincerely. I'll form a better apology tomorrow, but for now, I'll fetch Shadowheart or that damned wizard and-"

He fights the urge to shiver when he feels your hand on his. How you manage to have such an impact on him with a simple touch he does not know, and does not care because all he wants is more. To pull you close, to beg you to keep him, to use him, to punch him, strangle him for all he cared, in hopes you'll even consider ever speaking to him again. Instead, he turns to look at you.

Gods, you're beautiful.

Even with those terrible bruises he'd go to hell and earth to take back, your beauty in unmatched with anything he's ever seen. Even with the bed hair and the anxiousness pursing your lips, he can't bring himself to look away again.

"Please stay. I'm not mad, nor afraid."

The words sound like honey on your tongue.

"Please," You say again, slowly this time. "Stay."

His chest feels tight, threatening to tear itself apart as his voice comes out in a crooked whisper. "I could have killed you."

"You didn't."

"If you died too, I don't know--what would I even do with myself? What would I-" He hates it when he sounds like this. Vulnerable, or as Cazador liked to call it: pathetic. But he can't help the words tumbling out his blasted mouth with the way you're gazing at him with nothing but worry. Somehow, with you, it feels strange.

Refreshing, almost.

Your hand squeezes around his as if to remind him you're still here. He meets your eyes again and it's all it takes to break what little will he has left, as he lets you pull him close in a crushing hug--one that's all too welcomed.

And as the two of you lie awake in each other's embrace, he thanks all the gods he doesn't worship for putting you on his path.

[ellecdc]

Can i request something bit angsty? 🥺 its totally fine if you dont wanna write it tho!

I was thinking, wolfstar x reader got into an argument and reader started to occlude and the boys got scared they might be out of line bcs she only occlude when shes really hurting?

this is my SHIT - love me some hurt/comfort. thanks for requesting, lovie 🫶

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: hurt/comfort, arguing, mention of past family discourse, toxic family memories

“I’m sorry. You did what?” Sirius beseeched, walking into the living room from the kitchen and interrupting the points (arguments) you and Remus were each in the process of making. You gave him an unimpressed look, knowing he wasn’t actually asking you to repeat yourself, he just couldn’t believe what he had heard.

“She gave Mary-Ella over a grand.” Remus muttered bitterly.

“I did not give Mary-Ella money, I loaned her money.” You were quick to correct.

Sirius just scoffed. “Sure you did, dollface.” He sneered, making his usual pet-name burn to the touch. “You are never going to see that money again.”

“What were you thinking?” Remus implored.

“I was thinking that my friend was in a bind and needed help. I hardly think that’s a crime.” 

“You didn’t just loan a little bit of money, though. You loaned a lot of money to a friend who is not reliable in the slightest.” Remus asserted.

“We have been working so hard trying to save up to move. To move closer to Diagon Alley so that Remus can be closer to work, and we can finally get out of my uncles flat.” Sirius added.

“I know we’ve been working hard, Sirius. I know this because I too have been working hard. But I’m not going to watch my friend struggle when there’s something I could do to help!”

“This choice impacted all of us. You had no right to make this decision on your own.”

It was your turn to scoff as you turned to glare at Remus incredulously. You had been trying to stay patient, knowing that this close to the moon, Remus was feeling extra sensitive. But him ganging-up on you with Sirius quickly found what little patience you had running thin. “I 'had no right' to make a decision about money that I made on my own?”

“You have no ground to stand on, buttercup. You’re now out more than a grand because of this choice; we’re all out more than a grand because of your choice.” Sirius growled, tone full of derision.

“If the roles were reversed, Mary-Ella would help me out!” You tried to reason, only for Remus to bark a laugh.

“That doesn’t even matter, dove. Because you’d never be in her position and likewise, she’d never be in yours. She’s irresponsible, unreliable, and a mooch.”

You tried to ignore the burning sensation in your sinuses as you spoke to the back of Remus’ head; he apparently had grown so disgusted with you that he couldn’t even look at you anymore. 

“I don’t like you talking about my friends like that. I don’t understand why we’re making such a big deal about this, I jus-” but you were cut off as Remus stood abruptly and turned on you. 

“We’re making this a big deal because it is a big deal!” he bellowed. “You leave this apartment in the morning and it’s like Sirius and I don’t exist anymore. You conduct yourself like some single woman with no responsibility to anyone else but herself.”

“You’re being selfish. You can’t possibly expect to drop a bomb on us like this and, what, expect us to just reply with ‘yes dear’? You fucked up, Y/N.” Sirius added, arms crossed defensively over his chest and cold silver eyes glared daggers that permeated your entire being. Remus carried on, unperturbed by the effects this conversation was having on you.

You felt like you were seventeen again, like you were eleven, nine, six. You felt like a babe whose hand had been slapped for reasons beyond your comprehension.

Do you ever stop and think about the consequences, Y/N?

You were sitting at the dining room table as your father lashed you with his words, each sentence punctuated with the slamming of his fists on the table. You were standing on the platform having just reunited with your parents after the school year as your mother’s claws dug into your arms, warning you that punishment was to come later if you didn’t smarten up. You were cowering in the backyard as your father screamed at you in front of the entire neighbourhood – a free show for all to enjoy. 

You think crying will earn you any sympathy here? You’re a manipulative little witch if you think that will work on me. Keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about. 

You felt naked – like your figurative clothes had been violently ripped from your body – and there you stood, stripped bare for all to leer at. Standing before two people...who were meant to love you unconditionally...as they laced their words with venom and spat vitriol at you.

You couldn’t even hear the point Remus was trying to make anymore. It didn’t matter anyway.

He hated you. You were hated. You were a disappointment, a burden, unwanted.

But you couldn’t cry – could never cry. You’d just be manipulating them. You were deceitful. Emotions were deceitful. The way you felt was wrong. And they were right.

Always right. 

So, you did what you always did; you made it quiet. 

You began layering rows of stones around your being. Protection. Space. Distance. Safety.

They couldn’t hurt you from all the way in here, not from the other side of your wall. You’d be safe here. Here in the quiet.

It was safe in the quiet. 

Sirius felt disgraceful at how long it took him to notice the signs of you pulling away from the conversation. Away from them. Away from him.

Remus – always more sensitive than the two of you when it came to the likes of money, combined with feeling extra flustered with the upcoming full moon – had no reason to expect nor recognize signs of occlusion. 

Suddenly, Sirius was fourteen again. Walburga was standing over him with her wand aimed at his chest, but all he could see was Regulus. He had prayed at the time that his brother could hear him begging in his mind:

Turn it off, Reg. Just turn it off. It can’t hurt you if you turn it off. 

Sirius himself sat in an almost constant state of occlusion during his fifth year, knowing somewhere deep in his gut that the beginning of the end of his life as the heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black (or the end of his life in general) was near. 

Growing up wasn’t a whole lot easier for you, it seemed. And he knew that when things got to be too much, you did what you needed to do to protect yourself.

He suddenly hated himself. You weren’t supposed to need to protect yourself from him and Remus. It was their job to protect you; just like you always protected them. 

How you protected Remus from wasting away on the days leading up to and recovering from the full moon. You never let him go hungry or thirsty, you always made sure the space was clean and tidy, and you never let him fall into his typical pre- and post-moon self-loathing.

And you protected Sirius from himself; from saying things that he wouldn’t be able to take back, from being the worst version of himself, from losing you and Remus completely. 

He didn’t deserve you.

You didn’t deserve this.

For fuck’s sake all you had been doing was being kind.

Being a good friend, someone that others could rely on, protecting people who meant so much to you. 

All you were doing was being your kind, courteous, protective, generous self that Remus and Sirius had fallen in love with from the very start.

“Moony!” Sirius pleaded, causing the lycanthrope to pause in his tangent. You didn’t even flinch at the sudden change in the atmosphere as Remus looked at Sirius bewilderedly. 

“We’ve lost her.” Sirius murmured quietly, causing Remus to spin to observe you. 

“Well...” Remus began, still struggling to shake off his anger and the need to argue. “But I-”

“It’s enough, Remus.” Sirius hissed quietly, staring at Remus with a look he hoped conveyed no nonsense.

He apparently succeeded as Remus let out whatever breath he’d been holding as he turned again to face you.

“Dove, I’m sorry.” Remus whispered as he tried to move towards you, but you instinctively took a step back to maintain the distance between you; your arms wrapped around your middle protectively as if that was all that was holding you together. 

Sirius’ heart felt like it split in two – and based off of the look on Remus’ face, he wasn’t fairing any better.

“Y/N?” Sirius tried. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you hummed in quasi-acknowledgement.

“Can you look at me?” He tried quietly, but you shook your head no. 

Remus made a pained sound as he tried to move towards you again, ducking his head down in an attempt to make eye contact with you. You didn’t back away from him this time, but your arms tightened in their hold around your middle.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I...I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m...I was out of line.”

“Come back?” Sirius pleaded. “Please.”

You took a deep breath and turned your face towards your boyfriends, but Sirius could tell your eyes were still foggy – you were still hiding.

“We won’t talk about it anymore. That conversation is done.” Sirius said.

“But-” you started, voice grating from the tightness in your throat, but he cut you off.

“The conversation is done. You did what you thought was right, you were being your kind lovely self, helping your friend when they needed you. We shouldn’t have yelled at you, sweets. I’m sorry.”

Remus made another pained sound and moved closer to you again.

“Dovey, I’m so sorry. Please, can I- would you like a hug?”

Sirius watched as you looked at Remus, seeming to weigh your options before you nodded once at him. Remus needn’t any more invitation and quickly (though gently) made for you, enveloping you in his arms. 

The three of you stayed like that – Remus with his arms around you, you with your arms around yourself and your face pushed into his chest, and Sirius standing helplessly at the side – before Sirius started to notice some tension leaving your shoulders.

“Why’d you go?” He asked you quietly, gently placing a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades and rubbing in a way he hoped was soothing.

“I didn’t want to cry.” You admitted into Remus’ chest, neither boy missing how tight your voice seemed to be, even as your voice barely raised above a whisper. 

“Oh, dolly. Just cry. Cry, okay? Make us feel like tossers, but don’t leave.” Sirius said.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad.” You muttered wetly, finally turning so Sirius could see your red and wet face. 

“But we deserved it. Oh, my love.” Remus cooed as he all but picked you up and locked your legs around his hips, forcing you to move your grip from around yourself to around him.

“I’m not s’posed to make you cry. I’m s’posed to make you smile.” He muttered pitifully, pressing his lips into your hair.

“And cum.” Sirius spoke in the same pitiful tone, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

You laughed wetly and the last of your occlusion appeared to slip away which was what Sirius had been aiming for. It didn’t make him feel all that much better though.

“Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry, Pads is right. You were just being your lovely self, and I’m a bastard.”

Sirius watched as your brows furrowed. “You’re not a bastard.”

“No,” Sirius agreed readily, “he was just being a bastard. Both of us were. Do you think you can forgive us?”

You nodded quickly but Remus tsked in response.

“Don’t let us off so easily, dovey. Make us pay for it. What do you need? Do you need a foot rub? You want cake? Ice cream? What about a kitten? You’ve always wanted a kitten.”

You had been shaking your head at everything Remus said until the last one, your curiosity obviously piqued.

Fuckin’ hells, Sirius thought, if she gets a kitten everytime one of us acts like an arse, we’re going to be overrun with cats by next month.