#Guts deserves better! Free Guts!

[javierduffy]

“uh … it’s a bit girly … no?” javier examines himself in the reflection of his knife’s blade, looking this-a way and that, the dark blue of a large silken bow now peeking sheepishly around his neck as it sits gently in his hair. next to him, kieran clams up a smidge, hands still held close to his chest nearby his completed ribbon project on javier’s head. he finds it in himself to wring his hands a time or two rather than immediately undo his work as javier seems to continue to formulate his final opinion. “you … think so? look at me?” kieran asks, politely as a mouse. javier easily complies, turns at his hips and looks behind, up at kieran where he sits on the stump above him.

kieran, as he peers over, can’t help the meadow of flush that blooms over his neck, then his ears, then his nose and his cheeks. he can tell javier is deep in thought by the look on his face, mouth twisted just a might sideways, cocking his mustache awry, and the deep wrinkle sat between his brows. the ribbon he used matches javier’s vest perfectly, and the shine of the silk warms bright in the sun, just like every piece of jewelry and metal javier has adorned himself with. with this ribbon, javier’s hair sits lower on his head, ponytail draped down his nape and more hair framing his face in his bangs. kieran resists an urge to tuck one side back behind his ear.

kieran thinks that he looks like a painting, a muse, a love letter so heartbreakingly full of adoration that the only language it could be written in is bright swipes of pigment on a canvas. as he makes eye contact with the silk squinting around the red of a necktie, he thinks that javier may be right, if ‘girly’ could sum up ’poetry written in effeminate reverence’.

kieran always did think women made better art, wrote better books- found a better way to love. softer. warmer. prettier. like javier.

the world sounds like it’s underwater.

“i think … it’s very pretty. it suits you real well.”

earnest to a fault, the look in kieran’s eye dances gingerly with javier’s internal voice. it dips and sways him, and javier, despite his instinct, finds himself charmed by its rhythm.

“-b-but! i could take it out! if you don’t-“ javier looks down at himself in his knife again, the sunlight filtered through the leaves glinting a yellow green around his dark features, and kieran hands him patience on a silver platter. a rich blue makes friends with bright green quite easy, javier thinks. this is how he must look through kieran’s mossy lens.

“pretty … yes. you know, i think you may be right. i’ll keep it. gracias.”

[yanderenightmare]

Okkotsu Yuuta

♡ TW: noncon, yandere, kidnapping, bondage, revenge, bully reader 

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the major power trip Yuuta went through once he figured out how to control his cursed energy. 

Here’s this loser who’s been bullied all throughout life for being such a loner, who suddenly gains unlimited and unsupervised power to do whatever he wants. And he’s never once stood up for himself out of fear that Rika would take it too far—but he’s fully in control now and free to do all those things he’s been too scared to do before.

You used to be one of those bullies back in the day—one of those pretty girls who would laugh and sneer at him while other goons would do their worst of swirlies and wedgies and gut punches. He hasn’t seen you in years already, but there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t thought about you. Old, twisted emotions of hatred and want brewing in the darkest pits of his gut. He can still remember that evil look of glee in your eyes each time you’d say or do something horrid.

He wonders if he has that same awful look in his eyes now as he stands over you—terrified, lying in his bed with your hands and feet tied.

He doesn’t even remember how he got you there. He must have blacked out completely, and yet, the knots of rope are tied so neatly he must have known what he was doing.

You’re in what you wore to bed—a pair of panties and a little crop top. He’s actually never seen a girl so bare before—only two flimsy articles away from being naked. It makes him blush—big and dour-eyed, scanning every curve of your smooth skin, feeling his throat get tight.

Your mouth’s taped shut—he isn’t interested in anything you’d have to say. But he’s left your eyes. He can’t tell if you recognize him. But the fear within them makes him feel so good he’s never been harder in his entire life.

Still, he doesn’t know if he can go through with it. It’s a strange feeling—how your shivering and tears make him feel both ashamed and yet so very horny he might cum in his pants just from looking at you. 

He thinks of the you from back then—what an absolute bitch you were—all your mean words and hard glares, ugly comments whispered in your friend’s ear while looking down on him, giggling behind a hand as if it were some big secret you were talking shit—as if you hadn’t just poured rotten milk over his head in front of everyone.

Yeah… you deserve this.

You try worming away from him once he crawls on top of you, but the way he’s tied you makes it a pointless struggle. It should make him feel worse, but oddly enough, it just makes him want to touch you more. Your skin is so soft it gives him chills, manhandling you just the way he sees fit. 

It seems crazy to him that something with teeth as sharp as yours can also look like the sweetest thing in the world. To anyone else, he must look like the bad guy. But he knows, and you know—you’re no victim.

With your hands tucked under your back, you’re completely pinned beneath him as he straddles your legs. You whine, but he pays you no mind—carefully lifting your top up further.

His body sags with a sigh at the sight. They’re even more perfect than he’d dreamed, and they feel even better in his hands—soft and squeezable.

It’s so fucked up—you have the ugliest personality he knows, and yet you're just as pretty as he remembers. He hates you, and yet you’re the only one he wants this way.

He bends down and wraps his mouth around your nipple—it’s perky and warm and makes him groan with a shudder—rocking his clothed bulge against your thigh with a string of moans.

He can’t believe your pussy is just a thin little layer of cotton away—waiting for him just beneath a pink print of cartoon bunnies. He doesn't know why, but he really likes that more than the black lace he’d expected. 

Suppose it makes you fit the role more—his prey.

Just knowing he’s going to fuck you makes him feel like the most powerful guy in the world. He wants to make you cum until you can’t even remember your own name.  He wonders if you’re a virgin, too, but he doubts it.

“I’ve seen you had so many tongues down your throat, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve had dick just as much.”

But that’s okay. He’s going to make sure this time is special. 

His body drapes yours with all its weight as endless thoughts of what he’s going to do to you flood his head. He moans, making drool spill over your chest where his mouth covets your breast while he keeps rutting into you—he’ll make you feel so good you fall in love with him.

And it’s sad how the thought alone instantly makes his boxers fill with stickiness.

And it’s only sadder as the post-nut-clarity hits because he’s left with a heavy feeling of grief for not having filled your womb instead. 

♡ OKKOTSU YUTA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[shitpostingsapphic]

One of the worst parts of seeing the internet say that Caitlyn doesn't deserve Vi, is Caitlyn is already aware of that herself.

And before I get into this, let it be known that if I see any caitvi antis in here try and say that the toxic dynamics in the other ships--with both timebomb and jayvik trying to kill each other, jinx killing several of ekko's comrades, and jayce having anti zaunite biases that he says to viktor's face--are somehow less severe than the shit going on with caitvi, don't bother. You will be blocked for your stupidity.

Caitlyn knows she's done unforgivable things. She says as much repeatedly. She knows she doesn't deserve Vi. But she tries to be better to at least come close to it. Why? Because Vi will love her anyway. That's just who Vi is. She never gives up on the people she loves. That's why Caitlyn fell in love with her to begin with. So what can Caitlyn do? She can try her fucking best to one day deserve it. And she does try. She facilitates the circumstances in which Vi can free Jinx. She lets go of her hatred for Jinx by doing that. Lets go of her need for revenge. She betrays Ambessa at great risk to herself and the people of both Piltover and Zaun, but it was a necessary break. Ambessa is an imperial power that cannot be bargained with. She leads the charge in the battle against both Ambessa's army of Noxians AND Viktor's glorious evolution. She loses an eye and nearly dies in that battle. She could have surrendered, but never did. She gave it her all. She fought Ambessa, an opponent she knew outmatched her, with a KNIFE IN HER GUT. When the battle is over, she gives her council seat to Sevika so that Zaun can be represented. (And yes, realistically, Sevika will more often than not be outnumbered so the practical application is lacking, but it's something Caitlyn CAN do as an attempt to right her wrongs. Oppression doesn't get fixed overnight. It's a step in the right direction and it's a step SHE makes, and we know she's the one who makes it because that used to be her mother's seat, and it's the seat she occupies when Jayce calls on all the great houses to war in the council room.) And at the very end, we see her looking at the blueprints of the hexgates, where we now know Jinx likely escaped. She's not only let go of her hatred, but she's looking for signs that Jinx is alive, likely for Vi.

All Caitlyn does for the entirety of act 3 is try to right her wrongs. All she does is try to deserve Vi. For some people, it will never be enough. But all it needs to be enough for is Vi. Vi is a grown woman, guys. I'm pretty sure she can decide for herself whether the woman she loves is deserving of that love.

[neontiger]

red-handed

♡ MDNI 18+

♡ jason todd x fem!reader

♡ you catch jason doing something a little...inappropriate.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

A thought knocks at the back of Jason's skull as he lays in your bed long after you'd left for work: maybe he was spending a little too much time here.

He was getting comfortable. Too comfortable. His clothes hung in your closet and his toothbrush sat in the cup next to yours. His boots had taken up residence next to the front door near the slippers you wore around the apartment. After patrol, yours was the only bed he wanted to greet. He was scattered around the space, in the corners and the blinds and the cushions of the couch.

And what did he do to repay you? Mess up your sheets and pile dishes in your sink. You'd posed the question - why not move in? - but Jason felt too strongly that he didn't deserve it. If he took that step, how much you'd discover...you'd grow to hate him.

With a sigh, a heave of shoulders, he sits up. Ugly, purple bruises paint his back, a result of last night's messy patrol. You'd been asleep by the time he crawled back to you, and as hurt as he was, as much as he needed you, he'd remained quiet. Stripped off his gear and left it on the armchair by the window, changed into a pair of sweats. You'd rolled over when you felt the bed shift from his weight, pressed your back into his chest. Like instinct.

And he hadn't even noticed you leaving.

Up. There were dishes in the sink, junk mail scattered over the kitchen counter, clothes to be washed. He'd earn his keep. He'd show you he deserved to be here.

Jason grabs a shirt from the closet and tugs it on, wincing at the movements required. Take care of the laundry first - that's a walk down the stairs to the laundromat. Then back to wash the dishes. Another idea - he should make dinner. He can do that. Maybe.

He can definitely order dinner. Something nice. You'll like that better, he feels.

The basket of dirty clothes sits on the bathroom floor. The pile is close to collapsing, and with another wince Jason realizes half of the items are his. It's too much for one trip. He needs another basket, a bag, something to hold half of it...

He grabs a trash bag from under the kitchen sink. It's only for a little bit, but he's careful to only grab his dirty clothes and stuff them into the bag. It's important to take care of your things first.

Done, Jason leaves the bag in the bathroom and carries the basket of your dirty clothes to the living room, sets it on the coffee table. He needs...he needs his shoes...

He swallows.

Atop the clothes is a silky red thong, a tiny black bow adorning the front. At one point, there was a plastic diamond at the center of the bow, but it broke off that night he nearly tore the panties ripping them down your legs. His gut tightens at the memory of that night, of you draped across the bed like a piece of art, hickeys on your thighs and breasts and neck, your nails in his back as he fucked you so rough the headboard scraped the paint from the wall.

Jason glances at the door, where there's no movement at all, before down at the growing trouble in his sweatpants. A quick one, just to get it out of his system. Then he'll do the laundry. Can't be productive with these distractions, can he?

He grabs the panties from the basket. They'll get washed after he's done. You won't know; he doubts it would bother you anyway. It'll be faster with the stimulation.

His eyes close as he brings your panties to his face. God, your fucking smell. A little sweet, strong, delicious. He lays his head on the back of the couch as he sinks into comfort, one hand dipping under the waistband of his sweats, and sniffs again. Like he's buried between your thighs, lips wrapped around your clit, your fluids dripping from your aroused cunt onto his tongue.

Jason pulls his cock free. Pre-cum beads at the tip, and he smears it over the head with his fingers as his tongue darts out to taste you on the fabric. Not as strong as having you spread open in front of him, but close enough for more pre-cum to dribble out, streaking down his cock.

God. You. He grunts as he gives his almost painful erection a single pump, and licks the panty crotch again, this time saturating the silk with his spit. He wraps it loosely around his cock and gives himself another pump. The silk is smooth, soaked with pre-cum and spit, brushing the sensitive underside of his cock head with every stroke.

His hips stutter upwards. Buried in you, your tight walls soft, warm...that's what he needs. Needs you wrapped around him and milking his cock, bouncing in his lap, your tits matching your eager rhythm as you chase your release. His hand tightens, stroke quickens, at the image in his head.

He misses the sound of the lock clicking on the front door.

The scrape of the door on the threshold, that he does notice. He shoots up, quick to untangle your panties from his cock as the door opens wide. He fixes his sweatpants as you step inside - as if that makes a difference with the way his erection tents the fabric, immediately drawing your gaze downward.

Your mouth hangs open. Everything fits together in little pieces: the laundry, the pre-cum staining the front of Jason's sweats, the panties bunched in his fist.

"Hi." You blink, meet his wide-eyed stare. The tips of his ears burn red. "You're up."

Jason buries his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "Yeah. I was...gonna do your laundry. For you. While you were at work. You're not at work."

"I left early. Migraine." The slight throbbing behind your eyes is so light you nearly forgot it was there. More an excuse to leave early than anything else. "When you say 'do' the laundry, do you mean you were going to wash it, or fuck it?"

Jason's mouth flaps wordlessly. He clears his throat. "I was gonna take it down," he insists. "I got distracted."

You close the door before taking a step forward, letting your bag drop to the ground. "You did? How terrible."

"I didn't mean - I'm sorry." His fists clench in his pockets. "I mean, I was gonna wash them anyway, I just thought..."

His words fade as you approach and shift off your coat. "You poor thing. What am I going to do with you?"

Jason's gaze drops to your lips, entranced by the way they form around the question, no doubt imagining them in other, more provocative situations. You reach into his pocket to free your panties from his fingers and hold them up in front him. "They're drenched." You sigh, fighting to keep up the facade and hide how soaked the panties you're currently wearing are.

"I'm sorry," he says again, this time a little more out of breath, a little less apologetic. In his pockets, his fingers dig into his palms as he holds on to control. All he wants - no, needs is to pick you up and throw you onto the bed, and fuck you until the metal frame breaks and you're screaming his name at the top of your lungs.

Heart beating in your fingertips, you push down his waistband. His stare remains locked on your face until your fingers brush his engorged cock, the touch cool and soothing as well as infuriating. You tie your panties loosely around the base of his member.

Jason lifts your chin and brings your eyes back to his again. "What're you doing?"

You don't answer, not out loud, but your fingers do. They undo the buttons on your top, strip the fabric from your shoulders, before slipping down the straps of your bra. Jason lifts his hands in an attempt to help. "No," you say, taking his hand as you undo the clasp at your back. "Not yet. Punishment first."

"Punishment?" He grins. Hand in yours, he follows your lead to the bed. You let go of him to unbutton your jeans.

"Strip," you order.

He's quick to listen as you climb onto the bed and lie back against the pillows. Your core is in knots, pulsing internally with rhythmic need. When he's undressed, he places a knee on the bed, one destination in mind. You stop him with a foot to his chest.

"Since you want to taste me so bad, go on." You spread your legs for him, inner thighs wet with the arousal that drips from your cunt. He salivates at the scene, you so exposed and drenched for him. It's better than his imagination.

Jason grips the backs of your thighs and lifts your legs, opening you further for him, until your knees are at your chest. His cock twitches with excitement as he lowers his lips to your pussy. You inhale sharply as he drags his tongue flat through your slit and flicks it over your clit. Another drag, wetter, hotter, his tongue thrusting into your cunt to taste you.

"Good," you whisper. You take a breath, back arching and hips lifting. His grip tightens and keeps you in place as he fucks into you with his tongue, upper lip just brushing your clit - enough to entice but not enough to stimulate. You swallow. "Good boy, but I need more than that, Jason."

His tongue drags up to give your clit a few teasing circles before his lips wrap around and trap the bud. You scrape your fingers through his hair and hold tight, cementing him against you as the suction from his lips and the vibration from his moans bring you higher. Your movements are restricted but that doesn't stop your body from trying, seeking more, more, more.

You whimper, fingers tangled at the back of his head, heart pulsing in your core as it knots. "Almost. So close, Jason..." Your head lifts off the pillow and you meet his intense gaze. His hips jerk, cock in desperate need of friction, but at the moment he can only get it from humping the bed. Forget telling him off; that desperation is what throws you over the edge.

You cry out as your orgasm reaches boiling point and rips through your body, causing you to collapse against the pillows again. Release drips from your cunt to his lips, and he drinks it messily.

"Stop," you pant, body trembling with the aftershocks. Jason drags his tongue up your slit one more time before moving to kiss your stomach. A trail of wet, messy kisses marks his path up, attention slathered at each of your breasts in turn. You sigh and moan when he wraps lips around a pebbled nipple and sucks.

Teeth scrape your neck but never break skin. His lips are shiny and wet when they meet yours, the taste sweet. Your legs make attempts to wrap his waist and goad him on but he keeps you folded into position and aching in want. All you get is his cock grinding in your slick, the head brushing against your overstimulated clit and your panties, still tied around the base, tickling your cunt.

"What punishment next?" Jason pushes up and slides his hands down to your ass, but you don't move your legs. "Or is that enough? Am I still in trouble?"

You shake your head, though he's not looking, too caught in playing with your pussy to notice. His thumbs spread your swollen lips for him as he continues to grind his cock on you.

"Jason. Jason."

He looks up. You reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock, keeping him still long enough for you to untie him. "You can fuck me now," you say.

"Yes, ma'am. Don't want to keep you waiting, huh?" He leans to give you another kiss, your legs crushed down by his broad shoulders. He takes your hands and places them at the backs of your knees. "I need you to hold on," he says. "Need you spread open for me, got it?"

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out - he takes that moment of stunned silence to sink his cock into your heat, slow and dragging, giving you seconds to adjust to his size before pulling back partway.

What's louder - the squelch of your pussy as he slams into you, the creak of the bed frame, or the cry he rips from your lips? You can't tell. You don't have time to figure out before he slams into you again. Your fingers dig into your own legs, the limbs already going numb as he fucks into you without abandon. Every thrust is accented with a moan, an almost breath, a grunt from him.

It's a steady pace, rocking and slamming into your cervix, fucking every thought out of your head. "So tight, babe," Jason pants, sweat dripping down is forehead, tracing his jaw. He grits his teeth, pleasure building at the base of his spine. He was never going to last, not after that so-called punishment, that taste of your orgasm still on his tongue. Though he's close, his pace doesn't relent, holding firm.

"This wet for me?" He manages to ask between groans. "You liked it, huh? Want more? Want me to fill this..." He grunts as your walls clench around his cock, sucking him in, threatening to end him. "Fill this pussy? Tell me, babe...tell me you want it."

Your entire body is in shambles, tightening and knotting and close to coming undone again. You nod because it feels like all you can do, crying out, "Yesyesyesyesyes." One long mess of a word, begging as that rope in your core snaps.

You can't hold your legs. You grab the headboard instead, slam it to the wall and silence it as your back arches and body tightens. Pleasure burns like lightning through your nerves. He doesn't give you space to break, to breathe, fucking you through the orgasm without mercy, relishing the way you clench and pulse around him. Exactly what he needs to send him crashing over the edge after you.

The feel of his cock throbbing as he pumps his release into you is enough to knock you off once more, this orgasm smaller and tighter and rough in your overstimulated state. Jason grinds against your cervix as you milk him for every drop, so much your combined fluids are already dripping out of your cunt, down your ass to pool on the bed. His lips crash on yours. You whimper into his mouth, heart about to leap out of your chest.

Then he's gone, pulling out of you, but his cum has no time to leak out further before his mouth is on your pussy again. You gasp - it burns, everything from your toes to your cheeks. His tongue circles your clit like a threat, everything in you wanting to run from the promise of pleasure you're not sure you can take anymore.

"Jason!" You whine, push at his head. "I can't - no more."

He sinks his tongue into your heat, tasting the combined flavors of the two of you, salty and sweet. "One more for me, please," he says. The words flush over your clit, the last bit of air the bud gets before it becomes trapped in his lips again. Fingers this time - two of them, not as thick as his cock, but thrust with precision, finding that rough patch of pleasure almost immediately as he sucks hard.

Your body resists; it doesn't have the heart for another orgasm, and the build-up is slow, dragging, riding the edge between pain and pleasure. It swells in your core as he thrusts his fingers harder, faster, increases suction on your clit.

"Right...there." The words leak through gritted teeth. Every muscle tenses, every bit of fiber in your body concentrating on this pleasure. You keen in frustration as the peak sharpens.

Then it snaps. Your vision goes white when his fingers press that spot a final time, the suction on your clit harsh, and your release squirts from your cunt with enough force to soak his face, drip down his chin to his chest.

Jason pulls back and quickly moves to kiss you again, to guide you through the aftershocks as your body trembles. "So good," he whispers, kissing your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Showering you in him as the orgasm ebbs. "All that for me, huh, babe? You did so good. I didn't think you'd make such a mess though."

You whine, punching his shoulder with weak fists. He laughs softly and wraps you in his arms before collapsing next to you.

Still shivering, you bury against his chest, chasing the wild beat of his heart as he comes down. His fingers make lazy circles on the small of your back as your breathing steadies.

"You still have to do the laundry," you mumble.

"Mm." Jason kisses the top of your head. "After a nap."

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK-A-CARD: What are your Special person's true thoughts about you? ✮⋆˙

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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For personalized 18+ readings, click here!

My KO-FI link: HERE🫶🏻

MY MASTERLIST 🫶🏻

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｡𖦹°‧Pile I

First of all, for some of them, your sp is literally screaming mentally, “OMG, WHO IS THIS CHAOTIC ANGEL?” ✨ Your SP sees you as someone so refreshing and unpredictable, very cutesy, like a brand-new Netflix series they just started and suddenly can’t stop bingeing. You bring this lighthearted, free-spirited energy into their life, and honestly? They’re kind of obsessed. Then we have the 9 of Cups, aka the "you’re literally everything I’ve been manifesting but now I don’t know what to do with myself" card. 💀 They see you as dream person material, like you check off boxes they didn’t even know they had. You’re fun, confident, and magnetic, and you probably don’t even realize how much power you have over them. The way they think about you? They’re imagining cute dates, shared playlists, and you laughing at their (probably bad) jokes. tch tch. BUT HERE’S THE PLOT TWIST, So, while they’re out here crushing HARD, The Devil reversed is exposing their inner demons (I was hearing positions by ariana grande here😭). You might not even realize it, but they’re fighting some deep-seated fears when it comes to you. This could be attachment issues, past heartbreak, or the fact that you make them feel vulnerable in a way they’re not used to. Like, one second they’re staring at your pictures like “😍,” and the next they’re having an existential crisis in the shower. i feel like, even though externally they might come off as really strong and brave but on an inside they are an emotional mess 24/7. And then we have the 3 of Swords, which is like the tarot version of "I want this but I’m scared of getting hurt." so here the interpretation from the devil is confirmed. Whether it’s because of past experiences or just their own insecurities, this person is lowkey terrified of catching feelings too hard. If this is a situationship or crush, they might be keeping their guard up, acting all nonchalant, but internally? They’re NOT having it easy. If y’all are together, there’s this underlying fear of messing things up, or even thoughts like, “Do I deserve this?”.

WAIT- YKW GUYS if you are thinking of dating this person, you'll cuz my cards are giving me a STRAIGHT NO. at least the first step shouldn't be yours.

although SP is so into you but doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s like they wished for their dream person (you), and the universe was like, “Bet,” and now they’re sitting there like, “Wait… I wasn’t ready.” 💀 They adore your free-spirited energy, think you’re hot, fun, and exciting, but there’s this internal battle going on where they’re both obsessed with you and terrified of their own emotions. Classic. I HATE THIS SITUATION. Expect them to act a little hot-and-cold (CUE KATY PERRY) while they figure their sh*t out. But, they think about you all the time.

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｡𖦹°‧Pile II

BEFORE I START, THIS PILE WOULD'VE BEEN MUCH BETTER AS AN 18+ READING.

Okay, first things first, your SP sees value in you. The Ace of Pentacles is big commitment energy. It’s like they’ve looked at you and thought, “Damn, this could actually be something real.” They’re not just seeing you as a casual situationship or a passing crush. Nope.

BUT The 9 of Swords here is SCREAMING late-night anxiety spiral. This person is overthinking EVERYTHING. Like, “What if I mess this up? What if I’m not good enough? What if they don’t feel the same way? What if I trip and fall in front of them and they ick forever???” 🫠 (DUDE. CHILL.) They’re self-sabotaging in their own head, thinking about worst-case scenarios that probably don’t even exist.

So while they see you as someone who could bring stability, growth, and something long-term, they’re simultaneously battling their inner demons like it’s the final boss fight. They want to go all in, but they’re terrified. Why? Because you’re not someone they can just forget if things don’t work out. (THAT'S THE ENERGY WE NEED IN OUR LIVES)

The Ace of Wands is straight-up....UHM- intense attraction YKWIM (I might as well start writing 18+ readings now because these SPs are not thinking Bible-friendly thoughts💀) . This person is super into you, and not just in a “wow, they’re cute” way, but in a “why do I suddenly want to write poetry about them at 2 a.m.?” way. The chemistry is INSANE. They think about you constantly (and yeah, in that way too.). You’re literally igniting something in them that they haven’t felt in a long time, and it’s driving them absolutely feral. Because while their brain is going “OMG, they’re so attractive, I want to risk it all”, their conscience is like… “Be serious. Think long-term. Respect yourself.” 💀 they’re genuinely torn between wanting to run wild with their feelings and doing things the “right” way, whatever that means to them.

So imagine them trying to focus on their daily life, work, school, responsibilities, and then BAM, a thought of you hits them like a truck. They could be in a meeting, at the gym, grocery shopping, whatever, and suddenly they’re blushing like an idiot thinking about you. It’s bad.

Your SP is down bad in every possible way, emotionally, mentally, PHYSICALLY and spiritually. 😵‍💫 They see you as someone they could build something REAL with, but their brain is doing the absolute most trying to figure out how to handle these feelings. They’re excited but scared, obsessed but hesitant, respectful but completely feral. Expect them to move slow but with purpose. This isn’t someone who’s gonna play games or act reckless with your feelings, they’re genuinely trying to be the best version of themselves for you. But in the meantime? Yeah, they’re definitely losing sleep over you.

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｡𖦹°‧Pile III

Alright, dear pile 3, see a place around you and sit down because I need you to understand something…

Your SP? Losing their mind. Crumbling. Rewriting their entire emotional hard drive because of you. They’re obsessing, spiraling, questioning every life choice that has led them to this exact moment. And frankly? It’s hilarious. 😭 (this SP reminds me of my fanfiction era). This person is lying awake at night staring at the ceiling, replaying every interaction with you like a Netflix series they can’t pause. The romantic tension is REAL. out of all the piles, they have them most " helplessly obsessed but want to keep it to themselves" kind of energy

Their inner monologue is something like:

“Why do I feel like this???”

“This wasn’t in my 5-year plan???”

“Am I in love or just dehydrated???”

“No, but seriously… do they like me back or am I delulu??”

It’s giving panicked rom-com protagonist, except instead of confessing their love in the rain, they’re avoiding eye contact and internally combusting every time you’re around. 😭 But here’s the tea, The Lovers is here. Meaning? They’re feeling some type of way about you, and it’s not casual. This is deep, meaningful, life-altering type of interest. You might be their “oh sh*t, this could be THE ONE” person, and that realization is SENDING them into a full existential crisis.Your SP have been through it. They’ve got this heartbreak kind of vibe and emotional walls taller than the Burj Khalifa. They weren’t even planning to catch feelings! But then you showed up radiating main character energy, and suddenly… They’re rethinking everything.

10 of Wands reversed means they’ve been carrying too much for too long, but something about you makes them want to put the emotional backpack down and breathe. Like, “Wait… I don’t have to be the strong, exhausted, emotionally unavailable person forever???” And THEN we have The World, which is literally the card of completion, wholeness, and leveling up. In short? You’re the plot twist they didn’t see coming. You make them feel like they’re stepping into a new phase of their life, and that’s both exciting and terrifying. They’re realizing they can’t just keep running from their emotions, because the way they feel about you? It’s real. It’s big. It’s undeniable.

Your SP is in emotional shambles over you, bestie. 💀 They’re out here stressing, catching feelings, and trying to figure out whether to fight or surrender to this connection. So if they’re acting weird? That’s why. They’re literally experiencing an existential crisis over YOU. 😭They see you as THE person. The one who could change their life. The one who makes them feel safe, understood, and lowkey terrified because the feelings are TOO STRONG. So now they’re trying to decide whether to run away from these emotions… or risk it all. Moral of the story? Sit pretty and let them suffer. 😌✨ They’ll come to their senses eventually. Or they’ll continue panicking. Either way? You win. 💅🔥

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

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[raccoon-in-the-danger-room]

Logan and Wade's relationship post movie is slow burn in the most infuriating way cause they have so many hang ups about the relationship

On Logan's side: He fell in love with Wade first. Which mortifies him cause 1) Wade is still in love with Vanessa 2) they're roommates in a one bedroom apartment with Blind Al until he gets his life together in a parallel world where he's technically dead and his SSN is donezo 3) Wade Winston Wilson is probably the most embarrassing person to have a crush on, let alone be in love with. Logan will defend him to heaven and hell and back, but even he knows it's crazy to fall for the Blowjob Queen of Sasqatoon.

He's fully aware of his feelings but tries to squash it down, acts like he hates Wade's guts. Even though every morning he wakes up early to make coffee for the both of them before Wade wakes up. Even though he's memorized what's his favorite gun cleaner and oil are, then stocks them up before Wade even notices his supply is running low. Even though he's the most at peace when Wade and Laura are having Girls' Night in the living room, wearing face masks and watching A24 horror films, while he's kicking back with Blind Al in the kitchen, sipping shitty beer.

On Wade's side: He has no idea Logan likes him. Or, better to say, he has no idea WHY Logan would like him. He might be gods perfect idiot, but if 2+2 = 22, then if someone tells you to shut up and stabs you in every argument to be had, they can't possibly LIKE like you. So even when the initial hostility of being new roommates dies down, he takes the domesticity they find together a side effect of being a Wolverine over the age of 40 with a teenage daughter and no active income in sight. "Beggars can't be ungrateful bastards who couch surf for free" and all that jazz.

Wade is also still hooked up on Vanessa. She'll always be his soul mate, and that will never change. So they try to talk it out. They go on a couple dates. They try to work something, anything out, but in the end they both agree it just isn't right anymore. They still love each other, but that doesn't mean they should be in a relationship. They both deserve better than to be stuck in the past.

So by the time Wade is single for real, Logan is already set on them not getting together. Previous points aside, he's no rebound chick. He just got promoted from Worst Wolverine to Okay-est Wolverine (via the coffee mug Laura got him from etsy) -- so he's absolutely NOT fucking gonna be a sloppy bitch and make a move on his roommate after he got out of a whatever the fuck situationship with his ex-dead, ex-fiance.

When they finally get together, it's so far down the line and so slow-burn, that they genuinely don't know how they got there. All they know is that they share a new one bedroom apartment together, alone (but Blind Al lives on the same floor of the complex) and that they are so far gone in domestic bliss that they're arguing with each other over how to properly assemble a pet condo for Mary Puppins.

[minkieater]

selfish — choi san ⋆˙⟡

san x fem!reader | smut minors dni san is rough | 2.8k

San isn’t, and has never been, a cocky man by nature. 

Always humble, always giving rather than taking, San couldn’t imagine himself living a life only worried about his own needs. His friends, his family, his staff, the elderly woman he helped cross the street just last week, San never ran out of pieces of himself to give away. Always smiling, always empathetic, always there when you need him. 

Always attentive. Talents aside, singing, dancing, his ear for music, your favorite thing about him was how much he knew about you. He could read your thoughts before you had them, read your feelings on your face, he even kept a period tracker on his phone so he could bring you what he called a ‘feel better basket’, he filled the same wicker basket every month with every single snack you like (he keeps a list of them in his notes app). 

Tonight was a big night for him. It was his company’s annual gala thrown to celebrate their achievements throughout the year, a true extravaganza with a buffet, live music, the whole thing. All eight of them were here with their partners, who you were gathered with at a standing table in the back, watching them go one by one, speaking on the stage. 

San was an incredible speaker, his stage presence wasn’t exclusive to performing music, when he spoke, the world listened. He looked incredible. Hair styled back to perfection, suit tailored to his body down to the millimeter, his posture so straight he radiated elegance. You couldn’t be happier for him, your beautiful boyfriend was succeeding, growing, under the spotlight. He deserved it all and more.

Yet you were sulking– and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Several glasses of champagne and too many horderves deep, you let the group surrounding you lead the conversation while you shift your weight back and forth on heeled feet. You scowled at the black glitter and silver stars scattered across the table, wondering why you couldn’t let yourself shine as brightly as they were. 

You knew why, deep in your gut, but it was selfish, and you couldn’t admit it to yourself let alone out loud. The room was filled to the brim with people, his coworkers, staff, employees and important people from other companies who came to network and enjoy the free food. They all came to gawk at the eight boys who were to thank for their companies success, San had spoken to and thanked every single one, of course he did, leaving you to your own devices for ages. Too fucking long. 

You had the partners, you’d made a group of your own, but you didn’t have him beside you. Neglect, abandonment, he left you all alone. Why not introduce you to all the important people filling the room, drinking up every single moment of his spare time? Let them learn your name, your face, so everyone would know you’re his, and have been his for years now? It pissed you off.

As he walked off the stage after a deep, low bow, you shot the rest of whatever was left in your glass down your throat. You were feeling the buzz, your irritation dancing on the edge of rage, the champagne only encouraging you to act on it. 

You made eye contact from across the ballroom, your glass held up to your lips, your eyes meeting for just long enough to tell San everything he needed to know. He started for your table, body moving as quickly as it could in his form-fitting tuxedo, yet he was stopped. Pulled aside. Again. 

You rejoined the conversation when Yunho returned to the table, the only single one out of the group. If San wasn’t available to give you the attention you desperately needed, maybe Yunho would. Ears perking up just to hear the tail end of his joke, you giggled, eyelashes fluttering, body leaning inward, Yunho didn’t catch it, nor did anyone else, but you could feel San’s eyes on you. Out of your peripherals you watched his head turn back and forth, focus leaving the people currently holding him in conversation to you, still across the room, clearly flirting with his friend. 

Now it felt like a game: How far could you get before San reached you? Head tilted to the side, smile glued to your cheeks, one leg crossed in front of the other beneath your skin-tight evening gown. You even matched Yunho, the deep green of your dress corresponding to his tie, a detail you didn’t even consider. San did. 

When he finally reached you, heavy palms on your waist and a soft kiss pressed to your cheek, you wondered if he caught any of it at all. It wasn’t until Yunho excused himself to use the bathroom that San pulled you into his side, a sweet, dimpled smile on his cheeks, an opposing look to the words he growled in your ear. “Meet me in the east stairwell. Ten minutes.”

A shiver ran down your spine as a fire bloomed in your chest, quick to burn your body up to your ears as he left your side again. You watched him strut to where Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood, fingers toying with the buttons on his suit jacket, chin held high as if he didn’t just repeat what pissed you off in the first place. The stairwell? At a gala? San was always one to talk things out, to see a situation from all perspectives, one half of you assumed he wanted a private area to quickly hash this out, the other knew that tone he’d just used on you all too well. Either way, you knew he’d put you back in your place.

You scurried off to the bathroom, fixing your hair, your makeup, even adding some extra lip gloss before you began your hunt for the stairwell. You gave yourself a minute or two of extra time for your hunt, you’d never been to this hall before, nor did you know where he wanted you. 

Heels clacking against tiled floor was all that could be heard down the hallway as you carefully read each door you passed, until one opened up, pulling you through the threshold by the wrist. A yelp leaves your throat until you’re pressed against it, your boyfriend instantly pressed up against you, eyebrows laid heavy over his pointed gaze. “One fucking night that’s all about me.”

You glance around, eyes grazing the cement painted walls, the platform of the second floor under your feet. Your breathing comes out heavy yet scattered, a tremble to your voice from the shock of being pulled inside so harshly, San’s grip on your wrist tight. “W-what?”

“Every year,” you can feel his breath against your face, his forehead just centimeters from yours, “I have one night that’s all about me. You couldn’t let me have that?”

Your eyes go wide, you must be numb, you can’t feel the anger stabbing you with each pointed word, instead all you feel is the fire from ten minutes ago. His eyes were crazed, pupils blown, a smirk so devious stretched across his face it could’ve been sent from hell itself— his chuckle is dark and low, sinister, your knees threaten to buckle at the sound. “So needy for my attention it’s embarrassing. Didn’t think I saw you with Yunho?” 

He lets go of your wrist, planting his hand against the door just behind your head. You can’t answer, not with him so close, frozen in confusion because you didn’t know if you were scared or horny. “Didn’t think I saw you down there, miserable, as if you’d rather be anywhere else than celebrating me?” 

You swallow, words at the tip of your tongue, but all you can do is shake your head. San lets out a sound of amusement, but nothing about this was amusing to you. “You were chatting it up with Yunho, now you can’t speak? Funny.” 

You shake your head again, fighting your chest to let words out. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and your body pushes forward, leg lifting to graze his own, your front pressing against his. San typically treated you nicely, your sex life was just a step up from purely vanilla, no choking, no slapping, no role playing— this felt like something neither of you have explored before, and god, you wanted it. Needed it. The pulsing in your core answered all your questions for you. 

“Too fucking bad,” he grabs onto your thigh and pushes you backward against the door again, your skin hitting the cold metal with a thump, a whimper leaving your lips at the contact. 

He kisses you with that same anger, with force behind it, not the sweet and passionate kisses you were used to receiving. He pushes his body into yours instead, pulling your dress up your leg so it rests on your thigh, his fingers gripping at your bare skin. You whimper again, core grinding into his, kissing him back with that same roughness while balancing one heeled foot on the floor. You wouldn’t just take it, no, but challenge it. 

“Still gonna be a brat?” He asks against your lips, mouths barely a centimeter apart as he slips his fingers farther up your dress. “Be good and take it.” 

“Why should I?” You counter, breath still hot and heavy, arms swung over his shoulder pads. “You ignored me all night.” 

“I was doing my fucking job,” he hisses, fingers slipping up to your panties, fingers toying with the elastic. You gasp, hips bucking forward, and he places his thumb over your clit and presses. You jerk forward, met with a wall of a man as a moan slips through, and that devilish smirk plasters itself across San’s face once more. “Still gonna be a selfish brat? Or are you gonna let me have my way with you?” 

You look up at him through your lashes, a sweet face spitting words. “I don’t want anything from you.” 

“Who said anything about you wanting it?” He asks as he steps back, and a full body shiver racks through you. San, always selfless, always humble, this was a side of him you’d never seen before, you didn’t want him to stop. Luckily for you, he had no plans of stopping, especially not now that he’s cracked through your bratty exterior. “On your knees.” 

You drop, your dark, tight evening gown met with the cement of the floor, knees screaming but you barely hear them as San slips off his jacket, laying it over the railing beside you. He makes quick work of his belt, pulling his cock out without barely pulling his pants down. 

“Put that mouth to good use.” 

You nearly moaned, but your mouth was too full too fast. Wasting no time, you let your tongue glide on the underside of him, his cock heavy in your mouth as he pushes in. His palm goes to your hair, gripping at your roots despite how you’d styled it for the night, pushing your head down. You gagged around him, not quite opened up yet, you tried your hardest to relax your throat, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched at your sides. 

San is insane above you, a crazed smile on his lips, pupils still blown and wide. “This is what you needed, huh? Some attention? A cock to fill your throat?” 

You looked up at him through wet lashes as he bobbed your head for you with his tight grip in your hair, San’s demeanor almost cracked, eyebrows bending inward with his lips parting just slightly. You’d smile if you could, but you were focused now, spit gushing around your lips as you took him down to the hair at the base of his shaft. 

“There you go,” he groaned out, looking down at you like you were nothing. Your thighs clenched, core still pulsing, begging to be touched. “Just like that, slutty fuckin’ mouth taking me so well. You love this cock, huh?” 

You tried to say mhm, tried to nod your head, and he laughs. “Can’t talk now with that mouth full, can you?” 

He pulls out of your mouth while still holding you by the hair and you gasp, clearing your throat, trying to give yourself some form of reprieve. “Stand up. Wanna see if that slutty cunt can take me well, too.” 

You stand, mind starting to get fuzzy around the edges, losing your thoughts as quickly as they come. You turn around without him asking, placing your palms against the door, legs spreading on their own. He’s on you in an instant, hoisting your dress onto your hips, and he whistles. 

“So fucking wet, you like this?” 

“Yes.” 

“Of course you do,” he laughs, pulling your panties down to your thighs. “Who would’ve thought you were such a fucking slut?” 

“F-Fuck,” you cry out as he slips two fingers inside, your head hanging below your shoulders, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. 

“Shut up,” his voice is sharp, commanding as he lines his cock up with your entrance. “The whole party doesn’t need to hear you crying like a dog.” 

He pushes inside and your arms give out, one hand slapping over your mouth as your other elbow hits the metal of the door, catching you. He sets a brutal pace, giving you no time to adjust. “Look so pretty in this dress, would have taken you home and treated you right.” 

Your back arches, moans muffled by your palm. “Instead you wanted to mope around like a fucking child that didn’t get what they want. Is this what you wanted, baby? Wanted to get fucked like a slut?”

“Yes.” 

“Yes what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Sir,” he repeats from behind you, pace still brutal, seeming completely unaffected. “I knew it, you fucking love this, love this cock, huh? Say it.” 

“I love it.” 

“Love what?” 

“Love your cock,” you cry, your other elbow pressing against the metal of the door to hold you up. “Love your cock so much, Sannie, feels so fucking good, please don’t stop.” 

“Say it again,” you finally hear the desperation in his voice, the underlying pitch of a whine, a crack in his demeanor. 

You turn your head over your shoulder, looking at him through lowered, glassy eyes. “Love your cock so much, Sannie, feels so good, wanna cum so bad.” 

You watch his face contort, stoic demeanor turning strained, eyebrows upturned, bottom lip between his teeth. “Please make me cum, I’m sorry I was a brat, love your cock so much. Please.” 

He moans, a low, deep noise, his head falling forward. You couldn’t afford to slip a hand between your legs. His pace grows harder, his hips twitching with each thrust and your eyes blow wide. Is he really going to do this? Going to fuck you without making you finish?

You whimper, tears filling your waterline, voice strained and high pitched. “Please, Sannie, shit— Please.” 

He wraps his arm around your hips, moving your dress out of the way as he circles his fingers tightly over your clit, still thrusting into you steadily. You sob at the relief, knees buckling, your orgasm almost immediately approaching from stimulation and how long it’s been building. 

“Cum,” he barks out with an edge that hasn’t left him yet, and you can’t do anything but obey. Head drooping as your orgasm rips through you, his hips still inside you, feeding you shallow thrusts to ride you both through it. Your orgasm lasts, aftershocks making your knees threaten to really give out, tight fists you formed finally releasing their grip. 

He pulls out slowly and lays your panties over the mess, pulling your dress back over your legs, and your body gives in to the door. He smiles as he tucks himself back in, pulling you into him by your hips. 

“You okay?” He asks sweetly, pressing a kiss to your temple, moving a hair out of your face. “Wasn’t too much?” 

“Fuck no,” you breathed, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder, eyes closed. “You need to get like that more often.” 

He chuckles and it vibrates through you, you let out a hum of comfort. “Let’s get you home.”

“Let’s say goodbye—”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth when he sees your face. “We should Irish goodbye, trust me.” 

You scowl, and he smiles sheepishly. He gives you a pat on your butt, ushering you forward. “Come on, when we get in the car you can tell me why all this happened, anyway.” 

You groan, “Sannie, you already fucked it out of me. Can’t we leave it at that?” 

“No,” he says shortly, simply, and it leaves no room for argument. “We’re gonna talk it out.” 

masterlist

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eight: carnations & chisels

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop for free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. soooo sorry for the long wait but originally I had only 11 chapters planned and already wrote some of them. then decided to change things and make joel grovel/like show his feelings more.

Joel deserved this.

Hell, he deserved worse. If you had screamed at him, thrown something, cursed his name until your voice broke—maybe then, the guilt wouldn’t be sitting so heavy in his chest. But you hadn’t. You just looked at him, eyes filled with something quiet and aching, before calmly asking him to leave.

That hurt the most, how you could care so much and so little at the same time.

He left like you wanted, but that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you. In fact, he couldn’t stop. It gnawed at him, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and prevented him from eating anything more than a few bites before his stomach twisted. The memory of your face, the way your voice stayed so steady even while your eyes gave you away—it haunted him.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew why he had pushed you away. It was the same reason he always did.

Loving someone meant losing them.

Maybe not right away, but eventually. One way or another, life had a way of taking. Joel had learned that lesson the hard way, learned it the day he held Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, his skin—like if he just held on tight enough, maybe he could keep her here. Perhaps she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like everything else.

But she did, and he had never really let go of her.

Sarah had been his whole damn world. The center of everything. Sure, he had Tommy. And yeah, he loved his brother—would take a bullet for him without hesitation. But Sarah? She was different. She was his little girl, his reason for waking up every morning, the best thing he’d ever done.

Until he blinked, and she wasn’t so little anymore.

Time had slipped through his fingers too fast, moving in ways he couldn’t control. One minute, he was teaching her how to ride a bike, his hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to catch her. The next, she was sixteen, holding her brand-new driver's license with that big, proud grin, which made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

He could still hear her voice sometimes. Dad, can I drive? C’mon, you gotta let me practice. She was terrible at first, stopping too hard at red lights, overcorrecting on turns. But she got better. He always knew she would.

Now she’d never drive again.

It hit him like a punch to the gut every time he thought about the things she never got to do. The things she’d been looking forward to. The things he’d been looking forward to.

He wondered what kind of woman she would’ve become. Would she have gone off to college like she’d always talked about? Would she have stayed close to home, still calling him every day just to check in?

Would she have liked you?

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes.

Sarah would’ve liked you. Hell, she probably would’ve loved you. She would’ve teased him about how soft he’d gotten, about how much he smiled when you were around.

Maybe that’s why this all hurt so much.

Because as much as he fought it, as much as he tried to keep people at arm’s length, he had started to imagine a future again. A life that wasn’t just about surviving but living. And now, thanks to his own damn stubbornness, he was watching it slip away.

Just like he had with Sarah.

The grief sat heavy in his chest, familiar and suffocating. It never really left him. He just got better at carrying it. But right now, it was pressing down on him with full force, reminding him of everything he’d lost—and everything he was about to lose again if he didn’t do something about it.

That loss had settled into his bones, making a home inside him, whispering in the back of his mind whenever something good came into his life. It told him to keep people at a distance. It told him that caring too much, letting himself get comfortable, was just asking for it to be ripped away.

But then you came along with Ellie. Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what he always did: He pushed, built up walls, and chose the comfort of old habits over the terrifying unknown of letting himself be happy.

Now he was alone.

Joel had spent years surviving, convincing himself that was enough. But now he wasn’t so sure. Because as much as he wanted to believe that losing you would be easier than loving you, his empty bed, his sleepless nights, and the hollowness in his chest told him otherwise.

____________

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Tommy’s voice carried through the dimly lit room as he leaned back against Joel’s worn-out couch, a beer resting lazily in his grip. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was full of exasperation, like he’d finally been waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be told.

Joel didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back with some sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just sat there, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held all the answers he’d been too damn scared to find.

Tommy took a sip of his beer, watching him. When Joel still said nothing, he exhaled and shook his head. “No witty remark? Nothin’?”

Joel just gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumped, his whole damn body looking tired.

And that’s when Tommy sat up a little straighter, his teasing edge fading.

“Shit, man.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes narrowing as he studied his older brother. “I knew you liked her, but this is worse than I realized.”

Joel let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t about what I feel.”

Tommy scoffed. “Like hell it ain’t. You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here? You think I don’t know you, Joel? You’re pushin’ her away ‘cause you’re scared.”

Joel’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Man, I know you. I know how you get. You think if you keep people at arm’s length, it’ll hurt less when they leave. But you’re wrong. It just means you end up alone.”

Joel exhaled slowly, gripping his beer tighter. He hated that Tommy was right.

“I lost Sarah.” His voice was quieter now, rough, like the words were scraping his throat on their way out. “And I—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Tommy sighed, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a small thud. “I know you did, Joel.” His voice softened. “And I know that kinda loss—it doesn’t ever go away. But she’s not Sarah. Neither is Ellie. They ain’t replacin’ her.”

Joel swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

Tommy sighed again, but he wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Listen, man… You think you’re protectin’ yourself. Maybe even protectin’ them. But all you’re doin’ is makin’ everyone miserable—including yourself.” He shook his head. “She likes you, Joel. And if you don’t do somethin’ about it, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep, trying to keep himself together.

Tommy leaned back again, taking another sip of his beer before muttering under his breath, “Dumbass.”

Joel let out a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”

Tommy glanced at him. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure there was an answer.

It had been two days since you asked him to leave your shop—two days of silence, of walking around with a weight in his chest that wouldn’t let up. He’d thought giving you space was the right thing to do, but all it had done was leave him stewing in his own regrets.

What was there to do?

Showing up unannounced felt wrong. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to talk to him. Didn’t want to make you feel like he was forcing himself back into your life when you’d been so damn clear about needing him out of it.

But at the same time…

The thought of doing nothing was unbearable.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I dunno, Tommy.” His voice came out rough, tired. “She doesn’t wanna see me. Ain’t like I can just waltz in and—” He gestured vaguely. “Fix it.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Joel, I know this is hard for you, but you gotta quit makin’ excuses.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy wasn’t wrong.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “Just don’t wanna make it worse.”

Tommy scoffed. “Worse than sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Because, yeah. Maybe Tommy had a point.

Maybe he hadn’t gone to you yet because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face you. Wasn’t sure he could handle whatever look you’d give him—whether it was anger, disappointment, or worse… indifference.

He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

“Look, man.” Tommy’s voice softened. “I ain’t sayin’ you gotta show up at her door with a grand speech or some shit. But you love her, don’t you?”

Joel’s grip on his beer tightened. The word made his chest ache. Love.

Like it was something he could have again. Something he deserved.

Tommy saw the hesitation in his brother’s eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta say it. I already know. But if you sit around waitin’ for the perfect moment, you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Joel stayed quiet, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Tommy sighed again, standing up and clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Think about it, man.”

____________

Three days.

Three days since you told Joel to leave.

You had needed to do it. It was the right thing.

So why did it feel so goddamn awful?

The first day, you told yourself you were fine. You pushed through work, kept your head down, and ignored how your chest ached every time the door opened, but it wasn’t him. By the second day, Ellie had noticed something was wrong. She asked why Joel hadn’t stopped by, why you kept staring at your phone like you were expecting a message you’d never actually get. You made up an excuse about him being busy with work, but she wasn’t stupid.

By day three, the ache had settled in, deep and constant, and you hated it. Hated that despite everything, part of you missed him.

Because you shouldn’t.

Joel had spent years making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He glowered at you from across the room, spoke in clipped, dismissive sentences, and acted like your kindness was something he had to tolerate. You didn’t owe him anything.

Yet…

You curled your fingers around the counter, gripping it like it could anchor you and prevent you from sinking into this mess of feelings you didn’t want to deal with.

The truth was, you’d always liked Joel even when he was gruff, even when every conversation felt like pulling teeth. Even when you told yourself you didn’t.

There was something about him. Something steady. He had that quiet kind of strength that made people trust him without realizing they were doing it.

Joel was a good man. A good man. Even if he’d never shown you that side of himself.

Until he did.

Suddenly, he was fixing your floor without hesitation—without complaints, without a smug told-you-so attitude—until he kept finding more things to fix, as if he wanted a reason to stick around. Until he sat with Ellie, humoring her endless questions and listening as if what she said actually mattered.

And God—Ellie.

Your daughter had never warmed up to anyone so fast.

She wasn’t shy, but she was cautious. She tested people first, observed, and waited before she trusted them. But with Joel?

It was like she knew.

Like she’d been waiting for him just as long as you had.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

No.

You shut the thought down because this thing with Joel—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—was complicated. Messy.

Yet, standing there in the quiet, with the hum of the shop settling around you, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache curling deep in your chest.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe Joel hadn’t just been fixing things to make himself feel better. Perhaps he’d been trying—really trying—to make it up to you. To make room for you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter's edge like it could steady the spiral of thoughts spinning in your head.

Because the truth was, if you let yourself believe that… if you allowed yourself hope…and you were wrong? It would break something in you that might not be fixable.

But hadn’t Joel already cracked something open inside you?

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that you didn’t like him—that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter but then he started showing up. Not just in small ways, but significant ways.

Maybe, deep down, he’d always cared. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to show it.

You rubbed at your temple, frustration bubbling up because nothing was simple. Joel had spent years keeping you at a distance. Years convincing you that getting close to him wasn’t an option. That he didn’t want it.

So what changed?

What if this wasn’t real? What if he thought he wanted this, but deep down, it was just guilt or obligation?

God, you didn’t know what was worse—the possibility that you had let yourself get pulled into something doomed from the start, or the thought that maybe…Joel had finally figured out he wanted you too.

____________

You hadn’t planned on running into Tommy.

When you walked into the diner to grab lunch, you knew there was a chance. Knew this was his usual spot. Knew there was a slim possibility Joel could be here too.

But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here for them.

Yet, Tommy was sitting in his usual booth with a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him.

You tried to be subtle, to slip past before he noticed, but it was too late.

He was already sliding out of the booth, heading straight for you.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Don’t." You put up a hand before he could even open his mouth. "I don’t care what Joel told you—"

"I ain’t gonna defend him." Tommy’s voice was even, firm.

That made you blink. You had expected him to try to smooth things over, offer some kind of excuse, and “That’s just how he is” nonsense.

Instead, he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Trust me, I ain’t here to say he handled things right. He’s an idiot. Always has been."

That… surprised you. Your arms slowly lowered as you hesitated, watching him warily.

Tommy exhaled, glancing toward the window before looking back at you. "Look… Joel’s an odd one. Always has been. He’s never been good at bein’ open with how he feels, even before—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. You knew what he was going to say.

Even before Sarah.

Your stomach twisted.

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "But I know him. And I know he wouldn’t have offered to fix your shop’s floor if he didn’t want to."

That made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for because, deep down, you knew that.

Joel wasn’t the type to do anything he didn’t want to. He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent all that time fixing your shop, eating lunch with you, answering Ellie’s endless questions if he hadn’t wanted to.

But then why had he said what he said?

Why had he made it sound like your kindness was the problem?

"He didn’t just shut me out, Tommy." Your voice was quiet, but the hurt bled through. "He made me feel like I was too much. Like being nice to him was some kind of…burden."

Tommy sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know." He hesitated before continuing, his voice lower now. "Joel’s scared of shit he can’t control. And you… you make him feel things he doesn’t know what to do with."

You swallowed hard.

"That ain’t an excuse," Tommy added quickly, shaking his head. "He messed up. But I also know my brother. And if you think he ain’t been beatin’ himself up over it the last three days, you’re dead wrong."

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad for Joel after what he’d said.

You inhaled deeply, staring at the floor before glancing back at Tommy. "What do you think I should do?"

Tommy just raised a brow. "Ain’t my decision to make, darlin’."

You chewed on your lip, torn, emotions warring inside you.

You could walk away. Let this go. Pretend none of it mattered.

Or—

You could find out if Joel still had anything left to say.

____________

You barely recognized yourself. You had actually done it. Asked Tommy to send Joel to the shop—had lied to get him here.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms clammy as you gripped the counter, trying—and failing—to steady your breath.

Your phone buzzed—a message from Tommy.

He’s on his way. Thinks the back door fell off the hinges. Don’t be too hard on him.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t just a lie.

It was a trap.

The bell above the shop door chimed, and your stomach twisted.

Joel stepped inside, brow furrowed, toolbox in hand. His flannel was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and dust lingering on his jeans like he’d been in the middle of another job. His sharp eyes swept the shop before landing on you.

"Where is it?" he asked gruffly, nodding toward the back, already moving like he didn’t want to waste time.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the counter. "Joel." Something in your voice made him pause.

His shoulders stiffened, his back straightening as he turned to face you fully. "There’s nothing wrong with the door, is there?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "No."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the toolbox down with a thud. His jaw tightened like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

"So why am I here?" His voice was low, guarded.

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Joel was still. Unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look—if this is about the other day—"

"Of course, it’s about the other day, Joel." You stepped around the counter, arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me."

The words hung heavy in the air between you.

Joel flinched barely, but you caught it.

"I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I was an ass. Always have been."

"I don’t need an apology, Joel. I need to understand." You swallowed, your voice softer now. "You said you didn’t like that I was kind. That it bothered you." You exhaled slowly. "Why?"

Joel dragged a hand through his hair, looking away, tension bracketing his shoulders.

You waited. You wouldn’t push him, but you wouldn’t let him run either.

After a long moment, Joel sighed. "‘Cause it made me feel somethin’ I didn’t want to feel."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Joel's fingers flexed at his sides like he was wrestling with the words before he forced them out.

"I spent years keepin’ people at arm’s length. Safer that way. Easier. And then you came along—" He huffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "All sunshine and patience and...just wouldn’t quit, no matter how much of a bastard I was to you."

Your throat felt tight. "And you hated that?"

"No." His voice cracked, and that did something to you.

His eyes met yours, and Joel Miller looked wrecked for the first time since you’d met him. "I was scared of it." 

The confession sat heavy between you, raw and real.

You took a slow step closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

Joel hesitated. “Sarah.”

Your heart clenched. You’d known. Tommy had told you. But Joel had never said her name before.

His voice was rough, like it scraped against something inside him. "She was sixteen. Had just gotten her license. Was drivin’ with a friend. Some asshole ran a red light." His throat bobbed, jaw clenched. "She didn’t make it."

A breath shuddered through you.

"Joel."

He shook his head like he didn’t want sympathy. Like he couldn’t take it.

"After that, I told myself I wasn’t gonna feel that kinda loss again. So I kept my distance. Didn’t let people get too close." His voice went even lower. "Then you show up. And Ellie—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "And suddenly, I got this ache in my chest I don’t know what to do with."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for his hand.

Joel tensed at first—like the touch was foreign, like he wasn’t used to being comforted—but he didn’t pull away.

"Let me be here for you." Your voice was soft and steady. "As a friend. As someone to lean on."

Joel's gaze flickered downward, settling where your hand rested against his.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, his fingers curled around yours—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold onto anything good. But he didn’t let go.

His hand was warm and rough, with calluses, but you squeezed it anyway, offering something solid and real.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t deserve comfort."

Your chest ached at how he said it—like it was fact, like it was something he’d told himself so many times it had become a part of him.

"That’s not true."

"It is." His voice was quiet but firm. "I failed her."

"Joel." You squeezed his hand tighter, forcing him to look at you. "It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what happened."

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering with something raw—something close to breaking.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was hoarse like the words were physically painful to say. "I was her damn father."

You swallowed hard, stepping closer, letting your free hand rest lightly against his forearm.

"And you loved her," you murmured. "With everything you had. And I know she knew that."

Joel let out a slow, shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

You watched him carefully, giving him a moment, letting him process.

Then, barely above a whisper. "You remind me of her." Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, searching like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud.

"Not that you’re the same," he added quickly, shaking his head. "But the way you…care. How warm you are. How you make people feel safe just by bein’ around." He exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "It scared the hell outta me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I never wanted to scare you, Joel."

"I know." He sighed, glancing down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed absently against your skin, and you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

You gave him a small, sad smile. "I see you. And I know what it’s like to carry something heavy alone."

Joel’s throat bobbed, his grip on you steady—solid in a way that felt grounding, like he wasn’t just holding your hand but holding you there, keeping you from slipping away.

For so long, he had only seen one version of you. The warm, unwavering light, the person who always had a kind word, a soft smile, a gentle touch.

But there was more to you.

You inhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him, something fragile in your expression. "I may seem like I have it all together, but..." Your voice wavered, fingers tightening slightly around his. "I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, Joel."

His brows furrowed, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I have moments where I feel like I’m failing Ellie. Like I’m not enough."

Joel stilled. That was a side of you he had never seen before.

Not once had he heard you doubt yourself. Not once had he seen that uncertainty in your eyes. You were always sure, always certain about everything, about everyone.

He had spent years pushing you away, thinking you were too good, too bright, too much of something he couldn’t handle.

But you weren’t invincible, and that realization wrecked him.

"I don’t always know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I try my best, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If I’m enough."

Joel shook his head immediately, as if the idea alone was wrong. "You are."

You exhaled, blinking quickly. "You don’t know that."

"I do." His voice was firm, with no hesitation. "You love that girl more than anythin’. And she knows it. That’s enough."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, looking away for a second. "You sound so sure."

"‘Cause I am."

The silence stretched thick with something unspoken and tender.

"She was like you. Strong. Always put everyone else first." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I used to tell her she worried too much about other people. She’d just smile and say, ‘Somebody has to, Dad.’"

Something inside you broke at that. 

You blinked, caught off guard. "Sarah?"

Joel nodded, exhaling slowly. "She would’ve liked you," Joel added, his voice quieter now.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you pushed through them, stepping a little closer. "I would’ve liked her too."

Joel swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around yours. 

"Guess this makes us friends?" Your voice was light and teasing—an attempt to break the tension and bring back some of that familiar warmth between you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected some grand declaration, but that? That hurt more than it should have. 

You started to pull back, put some space between you, and guard yourself the way he always had, but then Joel’s grip on your hand tightened.

"You’re more than that."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you at first, just ran a rough thumb over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, like he was still getting used to the feeling of holding on.

"I don’t do this. Don’t talk about things. Don’t let people get close." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something he didn’t quite have the words for. "But you…"

His gaze lifted, finally meeting yours.

"You got under my skin. Drove me crazy, always bein’ so damn warm. Always smilin’, always makin’ sure everyone else was all alright." He huffed, shaking his head. "I told myself I hated it. Hated you."

His thumb kept moving over your skin, slow and steady, as it grounded him.

"But I never hated you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and warm all at once.

You swallowed hard, searching his face, trying to piece together what this was, what he was saying. "What does this mean?"

Joel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours like he was afraid to let go. "It means… I wanna try. If you’ll have me."

Your breath hitched.

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly. "If you feel the same. I don’t wanna push you or—"

"Joel." You smiled—soft, reassuring.

His eyes flicked to yours, cautious, uncertain.

"I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t feel the same."

Something shifted in him, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching.

His gaze dropped briefly, like he needed a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Then let me take you out." His voice was quiet but steady, rough around the edges in that Joel way, but full of something real. "A real date. Nothin’ fancy, just… me and you. See where this goes."

Your chest ached in the best way.

"You’re really askin’ me on a date, Miller?" you teased lightly, but there was a tremor of genuine emotion beneath your words.

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Damn right, I am."

Your fingers curled around his, a warmth spreading through you.

"Okay."

Joel blinked, like maybe he hadn’t let himself believe you’d actually say yes.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a full smile, but enough to make your heart stutter.

"Okay." He echoed, his voice quieter now, as if he was letting himself have this moment.

Like he was letting himself have you.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock, @forpunishers, @yallgotkik, @cuteanimalmama, @worhols

[evieelyzabethh]

I'd DIE for more arcane collage au.

thinking thoughts of collegeau!Jayce who is too big for his own good. His huge thighs are barely contained by the lecture hall chair, a problem made even worse by his instinctual habit to manspread. He already sits impossibly close in class, damn near on top of you in the back of the classroom where he sits so his height can't be a problem for those behind him. His size is a problem everywhere. He hates sitting in big, old lecture halls, so old that the desks are barely big enough to accommodate a single notebook and writing utensil and the seats are closed in, forcing him to sit with his legs crossed at the ankles and arms pressed into his sides.

collegeau!Jayce who takes advantage of classes who don't have a strict attendance policy. He tells himself that it's not skipping if he's using the time to get coursework done for other classes, which is how it usually starts, him sitting at his desk with his laptop open and you sat on his bed reading some book for your class. And then he gets antsy. His leg starts bouncing, he gets stuck on the same paragraph for five minutes, his eyes drifting from line to line, from you back to his laptop, until he sits with his head resting on his palm staring at you.

"Babe", he calls out, to which you hum in response, still focused on the studying you both agreed to be doing. "I can't focus." You roll your eyes. You should've known better. Not only is Jayce is physically big, he's also a big liar, which is exactly how you end up riding his cock as he babbles into your neck. What was supposed to be a little make-out session, which even that had to be argued for, evolved the second his hands tugged at your his shirt and his dexterous fingers unbutton your jeans, and you couldn't find it in yourself to tell him no.

"Just the tip", he bargains, snapping you out of your slight trance. "N-No, Jayce. You said you were going to study." He groans, rutting into your clothed pussy, a wet spot already forming in his boxers the longer he put off the inevitable. "I'll study later. Need you - fuck - now. Please" And you underestimate your resolve, feeling it steadily slip the more his hips buck into you and his groans get louder as his tip gets stickier and his cock gets harder. "F-Fine", you whisper out breathlessly, but he was so eager to hear those words from your pretty lips it was deafening.

He makes quick work freeing his dick, the head red and angry at having to wait so long, but at least it is just the tip...at first. His eyes glaze over, and his jaw goes slack, looking up at the smooth ceiling because he knows if he looks down at you, seeing the way your face scrunches up, how your pussy swallows him up, he'd ending up pounding into you until he bruises you from the inside out. But the way you feel around him, wet, and warm, and goey, and gods he doesn't even realize he's pushing in further until your hands scratch at his stuttering hips and your breath hitches. He's gone as soon as your open your mouth, saying nothing but pretty whimpers of his name. collegeau! Jayce who's just so big he splits you open before he even bottoms out but he's just so sweet about it.

Hips stopping as soon as his cock hits your cervix, he at least tries to slow down, cooing out saccharine apologies. He just can't help it. And he leans down to place wet apology kisses in between the valley of your breasts, along your collarbones, his thumbs wiping the hot tears that bubbled from your eyes before kissing your eyelids and your lips until your breath even outs and the intrusion of him in your guts feels less heavy. The pervert in him likes to rest his hand on your tummy for the still moment, it sets off something in his brain being able to see the imprint of his dick in you. And when he presses down you clench against him, causing him to hiss, but he's determined not to move. If it can't be just the tip, at least you can cockwarm him for the time being. He certainly doesn't deserve a reward, but who's to say it can't be your reward for being such a pretty studious girlfriend.

it's not even five minutes before he's ramming into you and painting your guts white

[starzify]

brat *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | p in v | brat!sub!reader | dom!dean

"Why you gotta be so damn mean, huh?" Dean grunted, one hand on the headboard to steady himself, the other tangled in your hair, yanking until your scalp screamed.

"Just gotta run that mouth, huh? That's all you do? Just run that fuckin’ mouth?” A particularly hard thrust annunciated his irritation, leaving you gasping, a gut punch of a feeling to your cervix that had you breathless.

He was being mean, so mean, you'd made a point to tell him that too. You supposed you deserved it, for how mean you'd been earlier.

"What? You got nothin' to say now? No rude comments? C'mon, baby, let me hear you. You were so loud and obnoxious earlier." Dean sneered, pulling back on your hair so you whined, pulling you into his chest. His hips didn't stop, hands moving to hold you lightly by your neck, just enough pressure to have you clenching and whimpering.

"You gonna say you're sorry to me?" Dean rasped, nose pressed to your temple, hands snaking up your throat to grab your jaw, pull your face towards his. "Say you're sorry."

“I’m n- not sorry." You whined, legs wobbling when his hips snapped into you, sending you reeling all over again. "You were the one ignoring me-oh!"

“I was working, you little brat." Dean sneered, fingers curling and pressing into your jaw. "How about I come to your fuckin' job and start actin' all horny and desperate? See how you like it, huh?"

You pouted, satisfied that you'd gotten him so flustered and furious. "You'd like that though. I know you would. You'd like it if I came in and-and distracted you like this? Desperate." Dean growled.

"N-No, 'm not." You whined, your voice lilting and nasally, that pitch that had his abs clenching, waves of pleasure shooting through his own body.

"You are." Dean huffed, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, the ghosting of a whine trailing. "Say you are."

"No." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, desperate for friction. You were already so close.

"Say it, or you don't get to cum." Dean commanded, yanking your jaw towards him so you faced him, noses brushing. "Say you were actin' desperate or I stop. I'll cum either way, but you... fuck, you won't get to cum."

You knew he was being serious. He'd jack himself in front of you, probably tie you up and make you watch while he told you what a bad girl you were. You huffed, bratty and petulant, making Dean suck his teeth.

"I-I was..." You leaned against his chest, head lolling back in pleasure when his free hand rolled your nipples. "I was desperate." You muttered, eyes closed, refusing to look at him when you grumbled the phrase.

"Look at me." Dean growled. "You know better, look at me."

You blinked, looking at him through hazy, blurred vision, lust drunk and so close to your own orgasm that it was painful. "I-I was desperate, Dean, please." You whined, lip jutting out in the perfect pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lip, teeth baring and resisting the urge to bite your lip. Roll it between his teeth, pull it so he could hear you whine and cry. His cock twitched at the thought, hammering into you.

"Say you were a bad girl." Dean commanded, his free hand gliding down to your mound, fingers ghosting over your puffy lips, purposely avoiding your clit when he knew you were so desperate for him to touch you there- knew it would send you over the edge. "Say it."

"I-I was...a bad girl.” You sobbed, his pointer finger pressing on your clit, rubbing just enough to have you bucking in his arms, legs shaking and flooding his cock, overtook by your own orgasm.

Dean held you while you shook, slow rocks of his hips until your eyes were glassy, body still shuddering with aftershocks. "There she is. There's my bad fuckin' girl." Dean grinned, lying you against the pillows, sprawled out and whimpering.

His hips ground slow against you, feeling your spasming clenches, hearing the wet squelch that filled the room. "Can you be good for me?” Dean tilted his head to the side, tapping your cheek lightly to look at him, hovered above you with piercing eyes and flushed cheeks.

You nodded like you were high on drugs, muttering some sort of agreed nonsense. Dean snorted lightly. "My sweet girl…” He mumbled softly, looking down at you with loving eyes as all of his frustration cleared away.

tags: @urloveada @floralscented @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @ultravi0lence14 @beausling @figthoughts @deansbeer @deanangel @titsout4jackles @bluemerakis @haunteres @vampteeths @rafespreciosa @frosttbitessam @drewstarkeyzwhore @inspiredangel @pointocean @chevroletdean @checkedoutghost

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BRUCE WAYNE | BATMAN (generalized fanon | wfa)

—

Bruce Wayne w/ a Rastafarian S/O (Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

Headcanons

SFW, slice of life, BATMOM, batfamily appearances, fluff, established relationship(s) - caribbean!reader

Pic source — Batman: Wayne Family Adventures webtoon

Bruce initially being the only person allowed to see your locs.

Each kid takes it as a rite of passage when they’re allowed to see your hair as well. You do your best to stress to them not to make it seem like an obligation or some huge sign of your love or anything, but they tend to give it more weight than you want them to regardless.

It’s just that when you’re in your home, and around your people, you can trust your locs to be free.

The first time when the house was quiet (no risk of guests) Bruce suddenly found one night that he was allowed to see your locs after you finally convinced him to get out of the Batsuit and come sleep upstairs in a bed instead of on a cot in the cave.

You don’t make a big deal of it, and he doesn’t comment right then, but he is very pleased.

You and Damian bond over ‘vegan’ dishes and desserts.

There’s plenty of times when you’re making a Caribbean dish ‘vegan’ (ie: compatible with your Ital diet to a natural medicinal-esq degree) that he acts as your taste tester or is the accomplice to any failures you make in the kitchen.

Something about ‘Rasta Pasta’ does vex you, though. There’s just something so antithetical about something that explicitly has ‘Rasta’ in the name having meat in it most of the time that boggles your mind even though it isn’t a big deal.

You share your feelings about this with Bruce and he nods sagely while Duke busts a gut behind him with his hands slapped over his mouth. Duke does think you have a point but the way you’re talking about it and just how seriously Bruce is taking your otherwise trivial complaint is killing him.

Jason picks out pretty wraps for you to wrap your head with from wherever he’s traveled. A lot of them you sew into skirts you buy to make them longer but still give them a personal touch.

Everyone eats your food; no one misses the meat (and all the other things you don’t cook with) and Alfred supremely enjoys the day off from the kitchen because if you're asked to make dinner you’re making breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dessert too.

Dick will come all the way from Bludhaven for your fungi and (meatless) veggie stew, please do not play. You make extra just for him to take home every time.

Bruce loves at night when you’re going to bed and you drop your hair. Loves getting to see your locs knock into your back and fall over your shoulders. Your hair is your crown and Bruce treats it with every bit of reverence it deserves.

Whenever he can he likes to twine his fingers through your locs when you kiss.

On slow days when the Bat isn’t needed and Bruce Wayne doesn’t have to make an appearance you spend the day around each other. You alternate from his office to your bedroom while he works and you oil and retwist your hair on the bed or on the couch in his study.

The two of you have your dumbest conversations on days like these which is how Duke and Damian end up walking in on you both debating the logistics of whether capri pants were an acceptable fashion choice.

Both Duke and Damian sided with you saying they were not, but then Tim walked in on the conversation and - even after explaining your reasoning to him - sided with Bruce saying they were a perfect choice for when you couldn’t decide between shorts or pants.

When Steph passes by the open door she shakes her head at Tim, clicking her tongue like you usually do, and asks you if she can borrow one of your blouses even though you can see it already under her arm.

You make it mandatory that you all go out as a family to connect with nature, not just be around it, and to get some actual sun.

Hikes are absolutely your jam, and it’s not like Bruce likes anything better than to show off for you. Rock climbing in nature, taking trips to swim in the Caribbean, cave explorations, plant scavenger hunts, star gazing, and more are all on the table too when free time comes into play.

You and Bruce also go on regularly scheduled walks (that is when he’s not too torn up to walk) where you take the time to catch up and re-familiarize and ground yourselves through growing your connection even more.

You also have the room — and Bruce is more than happy to give you it — to have a giant garden where you grow a lot of your own food, and you maintain it as a family.

You wake up to pray every morning like clockwork, and Bruce doesn’t join in but he does wake up for a short stint of time to watch you before passing back out.

If there was one thing your husband wasn’t, it was a morning person (within reason, most of the time).

If he is up and moving (and home) when you’re going out he likes to wrap your locs up for you. The first time he offered you raised a brow at him, but he eased the fabric from your hands and turned you around to show you what he meant anyway. When he wraps the fabric around your bundled locs exactly like how you do without any instruction you’re shocked, but the smile you give him afterwards is dazzled enough that Bruce winks at you.

When he’s really calm, usually before he’s about to slip into sleep after a long time running around and plotting as Batman, he’ll go soft and as floaty as he ever does. While one of his hands will be wrapped around you, the other often gravitates towards the wooden ankh you wear (if you still have it on). He winds it between his fingers, playing with the beads that adorn the necklace like he’s in a trance as he presses sleepy kisses to your brown skin.

You pray for him most often when he’s like this, your touch on him soft and your hand a gentle balm in his hair in turn; his life was always on the line after all, and so were your children’s. It couldn’t hurt, that was for sure.

You make the Manor a little louder relatively often; keeping the energy in your adopted home alive (when you don’t have a full house, especially) with the music you play. It’s healing. Makes everyone in the house get a little more energy in their step at the reggae and Caribbean hymns in the background.

Plus, watching Dami’s head bounce to the music when he’s not paying attention is too cute.

Whenever you’re blessed enough to hear (what’s typically) Jason, Steph, or Duke singing familiar lyrics under their breaths or humming well worn and loved tunes, too, you can’t help how your heart swells.

Dick will full on just sing along with you if he’s around, in all his off key glory, and you love that just the same.

You’re in your garden a lot and out of all your kids Cassandra enjoys being out there with you the most. You two often gather from and maintain the garden together in silence. You suspect she likes how visibly non-demanding it is; it gives her brain a break.

Alfred has his roses and you have your produce/aromatics and you share irrigation tips.

You share your beliefs with your crew whenever they ask but are perfectly content to let them choose their own paths in life.

Cass listens to your prayers the most, you don’t think she believes in the Most High (or any ‘higher power’ that people praise for that matter) but you love that she appreciates the messages regardless.

The elites and the press act absolutely ridiculous about you and your natural appearance, but you just don’t pay them no mind and go about your business unbothered. That hatred was their prerogative, not yours; you would not bow to their system, to the machinations of Babylon.

You’re single-handedly making Bruce Wayne (Gotham’s ‘Crown Prince’) smell inarguably like incense; just from him being so obsessed with you and always wanting to be around you as much as possible he’ll smell like any variety of sages to cedars (& etc.).

If there’s anyone that’s going to hasten Wayne Enterprises shifting to more eco friendly practices and renewable energy it’s going to be you. It’s not like you had to do much though, Bruce is pretty advancement friendly on his own.

You start a good amount of community gardens throughout Gotham through W.E. — villians mostly leave them alone outside of Ivy occasionally making the plants mutated enough to ‘come to life’.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I’d like to make it known that most of the information I put here was gained through observation (& some lived experience), but also that while the person I garnered this information from is a Rasta, that they aren’t a particularly ‘traditional’ one, so take that as you will. Also, not every Rasta practices the same way so don’t hold me as a source or anything either.

I’m also a non-Jamaican Caribbean, just fyi.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

Alt. Banner (scrapped) —

[yanderenightmare]

JJK x curse darling

♡ TW: NSFW, yandere, kidnapping, captive darling, degradation

♡ FEM reader

Can’t stop thinking about all the little vulnerable curse darlings that exist and how easily they fall prey to the merciless Jujutsu Sorcerers that go hunting them down for pleasure.

Geto Suguru x The Curse of Virginity

Doe-eyed, chubby-cheeked and makeup-free. She's always chewing her lip nervously. Spawned from all the sweet, silly virgins out there who're afraid of having their virginity robbed.

Though always so fucking wet for it at the same time that it’s embarrassing.

Geto got lucky and swallowed her up before anyone else could get a taste. Keeping her in his bedroom. He kisses her cheeks while fucking her into a moaning, squealing little mess every night. Making sure all her sweet little virgin fantasies are met and satisfied.

Gojo Satoru x The Curse of Beauty

A defiant little brat who thinks her beauty will enslave any and all men who dare look at her. Cold and dismissive, she never lets anyone touch her – because, in her mind, she’s a goddess no one’s worthy of having or holding.

But Gojo scoops her up and keeps her locked up in his place like a pet cat. Smiling at her awfully condescendingly when she warns him not to lay his filthy hands on her. 

She'll hiss at him, backing up with eyes going wide under the crushing realization that a pretty face stands little chance paralleled with a real force of strength. Understanding with a hitch in her throat how she better start using her looks to please rather than upset him.

Fushiguro Toji x The Curse of Insecurity

The cutest little crybaby who thinks every aspect of her is unappealing and gross. She’s always trying to hide her tear-streaked face, making herself as small as she can by curling herself into a ball, hoping no one’s able to notice her. 

Toji just grins his devil-grin with her doughy thighs spread around his hips – keeping her wrists pinned above her head so she can’t do anything but whimper out small denials when he gruffs out how fucking adorable she is, thinking she can keep herself away from him.

Nanami Kento x The Curse of Shame

Born from the guilt of every shameful nympho who can’t help but feel so awfully filthy after indulging in their dark desires. 

She's always naked and needy – quaking with heat and dewy from the fever of it – rubbing her thighs closed with such a sorry expression it would make any man rush to comfort her.

Nanami takes good care of her, though. The poor thing. She can’t go a single day without getting her wet little pussy pounded – always coming to him with her coy eyes and sultry whines, riding the thick muscles on his thigh with such a terribly needy pout on her lips. Begging him to make it okay, to sanction her so she needn’t feel so awfully sinful as she cums while still whimpering for his cock like a needy wonton little slut.

Zenin Naoya x The Curse of Misogyny

Born from all the chauvinistic self-indulgent thoughts men have of what a perfect woman should be – having resulted in the most plaint sweetest little thing – one who only feels comfortable when she's either welcoming her man home, cock-warming him during dinner or when he's rearranging her guts into the late night.

She's the happiest little bride with Naoya. Smiling nicely and humming while he lists all his troubles after coming home in a foul mood like always – she'll play with his hair until he leans into the touch with a moan, possessively tugging her closer – palming her soft skin with a pouty scowl on his face. She'll kiss his chin and tell him how grateful she is for everything he goes through, and it's exactly what he needs to hear – beginning to brush his lips over her skin, undressing her while she continues soothing him with her devotion – telling him she'd be lost without him, that he should take whatever he wants from her as a reward for working so hard, that he deserves it for being so good to her, that he's the strongest and smartest and greatest man in the whole world, and that she'll never ever want to be or do anything but serve him until the day she dies.

Choso x The Curse of Misery

Manifested from the minds of all the world-weary and burned-out college girls who're simply too exhausted to do any of the things they want to do anymore.

Don't worry, big brother Choso is here, and you can leave it all to him. Just sit on his lap and cry into his collar and tell him all about what worries you, and he'll tell you how it will all turn out okay.

Global warming? Don't worry about it, sweetie. Capitalism? He won't let it hurt you. Work? No, you don't need to work. Real life? That's okay, you can just stay in bed. He'll take care of everything.

♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[alicentsgf]

shauna is a bad person because she was a good one and its fucking fascinating. "I didnt start out a bad person" is one of the Best lines in the show because it sums her up so succinctly and melanie lynskeys delivery is a gut punch

she naturally cares so much about people thats literally why shes like this. she was always flawed (impulsive, self-destructive, etc) but there were so many moments in season 1 where she went out of her way to be kind. its why she cant ever accept anythings her fault because deep down she feels so much of it is and if she ever acknowledges that even slightly its over. too much has happened and she cares too deeply for it to not totally fucking destroy her. she had to lie to herself to survive. its why her subconcious regularly revives the person she loved most just to say mean things to her. it is the worst punishment shauna can imagine and so thats exactly what her imagination delivers. at least then its someone else saying it. it means she can still hide from herself. pretend the punishment isnt self-inflicted. as an adult she creates her own demons. no one damaged the breaks or locked the fridge, it was always only her. she even kills the one person who helped her feel happy and free for the first time in 25 yrs just because he seemed too good to be true. ghost jackie warning her on the bridge that someone was going to get hurt was shaunas own mind creating a self-fufilling prophecy. it couldnt end well, shes not allowed to be happy (she had to make sure)

even the awful things we see shauna doing this season as a teenager, the person she's become, came about because of how much she cared. in keeping them all alive, she destroyed her entire sense of self. she emerges from it all convinced she's a terrible person now so she should just accept it. embody it. and shes so full of pain and rage that its so easy. someone needed to be okay with the worst parts of it, otherwise they didnt eat. otherwise they were vulnerable. she just cares too much. its the root of it all. it would be so easy to take extra rations (she doesn't). shes lost her child, imagined him ripped apart and eaten. (she'll cut into someone elses. rip him apart. they’re depending on her.) there's a purpose and fulfilment in the act. (she hates herself for feeling it but she needs to). shes lost everything and maybe she'd rather curl up in the snow by her babys grave and sleep. (they have to eat, she has to feed them.) they don't even thank her. she'll resent them for it later. (she still cares.) she hates them.

shauna may be be paranoid and vengeful but shes not a narcissist and shes not righteous. there's no wilderness god, no greater good, just reality. the place where they grew hungry enough to hunt each other. she wonders aloud why the hell melissa likes her, because shes aware shes unlikeable. it might not be a conscious choice but its deliberate. its a form of self-harm and its self-preservation. better to be feared and hated than pitied, at least then theres some power in what shes lost. (shes so desperate to feel powerful. she's earned it hasn't she?)

even when shes older and she tries to move on, always quick to blame others for her problems, deep down she will always feel responsible. its her fault jackie died so it has to mean something, her relationship with jeff has to be real. so she marries him out of guilt and has a child so she can continue to punish herself indefinitely. ofc it makes sense she can hug a confused old man because hes seeing his daughter instead, but she cant hold her own daughter the same way. cant love the way she wants to. (she could never let her go. she’d leave claw marks in her skin) she doesnt deserve her. cant let herself love callie like that. (she loves her anyway). because shes no good. because she knows what she could become (again) if she lost callie. she hurts people. shes a bad person and she deserves to be feel like this, to be blamed for everything, to freeze to death (because karma).

so yes shaunas a bad person. but shes not very good at it. and it wasn't pre-destined. she took on too big a burden, lost too much, and it broke her. that's what makes her tragic. most innately bad people dont spend their entire adult lives self-inflicting emotional torture.

[wwooyology]

Six Feet Under | P.SH

「paring」 : ceo!sunghoon x stripper!fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.5k

「synopsis」 : even a busy ceo needs a well-deserved break to release some pent-up frustration and you just so happen to be that escape he finds himself returning to. he was married and you swore you'd never fall in love again, however, what happens when you find yourself wanting more?

「genre」 : smut, angst, forbidden romance

「warning」 : cheating (I do NOT condone cheating irl, this is for the sake of the story!), making out, pet names (baby, princess, kitten, good girl, also slut is used), unprotected sex (big no-no, wrap it before you tap it), fingering, oral (m. receiving), cursing, mirror sex, teasing, mentions of breeding, creampie, choking, hair pulling, begging, hoon spanks the reader like once, public sex(?), lmk if I missed anything!

All you wanted in your life was to live a life of luxury, surrounded by pretty things. So much money that you live the rest of your life in peace with a fancy glass of champagne. A little life without having to deal with someone else, without commitment, without love. 

However, nothing in life came for free and you of course had to work for it. Just like any other normal Friday night here you were in a tiny two-piece that left very little to the imagination and heels that were ungodly tall. Twirling around the pole effortlessly, money pooling on the ground underneath you. The catcalls and provocative remarks weren’t anything new to you if anything they spurred you on more.

Just then you caught sight of a familiar face, sitting at the bar that trailed the length of the stage. His eyes watching you from over the rim of his glass, studying your every move. Sunghoon wasn’t a stranger to you, far from it actually.

Sunghoon was always here Friday nights, maybe Saturday if he could sneak out without raising too many questions. He was a busy man, running a well-known company wasn’t for the weak. This also meant that he pent up frustration from the earlier days of the week he needed to get out so where did he find himself? At the most popular strip club in all of Korea, watching the very dancer that has held him captive since the beginning.

Landing on your feet with a satisfying click of your heels you walked around the pole, your hand still tightly wrapped around the metal. Stopping in front of the black-haired male with a smirk, dropping to your knees you rolled hips forward, your hand in your hair gaining some hollars from the other drunk men around you. 

While many others had their gaze set on you, your gaze was solely on the man in front of you. Sunghoon’s eyes never left your figure as you crawled in his direction, giving him a better view down the skimpy top that hung loosely on your body.

“Hey, kitten give us another show, yeah?” A man that was standing next to Sunghoon reached forward tucking a wad of cash in the band of your bottoms before giving your thigh a small tap.

You leaned down on your forearms, giving him a wide smile and a wink before turning your gaze back to Sunghoon. Watching his chocolate brown eyes darken, his knuckles white as he gripped his glass a little too tight.

The look he was giving you was already enough to have heat pooling in your gut. 

Crawling forward, you reach forward tracing your manicured fingers along his jaw feeling the muscles tense under your touch. This wasn’t completely out of the norm for you so it didn’t raise any suspicion from those around you. However, you got a few jealous remarks as you leaned closer to Sunghoon, your fingers trailing down his neck right over his pulse point. You could feel his rapid heartbeat under your fingertips as your lips brushed his ear. Saying a simple ‘you know where to find me.’ before moving away just as the music faded, ending your performance.

--

Finding you was exactly what Sunghoon did, finding you sitting in front of your vanity in your dressing room. Your eyes flickered up to meet his dark ones through the mirror as the door clicked shut.

“Took you long enough.” Your words were more teasing than annoyed, however, the taller male didn’t say a word. Looking at you through the mirror with a hard-to-read expression.

Seeing as you weren’t going to get a response you let out a huff before grabbing your hair brush to untangle your silky strands. Your eyes trained on your reflection as you repeated the same cycle of pulling your hair through the thin bristles.

Until movement caught your eye, Sunghoon moved to stand behind you as you sat the hairbrush down. His slim fingers then traced along your jaw much like you had done to him just an hour ago. They were cold against your burning skin, leaving a chill to go down your spine.

Light gleaming off of the metal band that hugged his ring finger reminded you that the man behind you, the man who has fucked you senseless multiple times in this very room wasn’t a single man.

“What about your wife? Won’t she be wondering where her husband is so late?” You smirked at Sunghoon through the mirror.

His hand was quick to grab your face, squishing your cheeks tightly and you let out a surprised yelp.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep her out of your mouth?” Sunghoon’s breath fanned over your ear, “or do I have to remind you what happened last time?”

Your throat went dry as the memories of him denying you release so many times flashed through your mind. Looking over you met his dark eyes, but no words left your tongue.

“Cat got your tongue princess?” The deep tone of his voice had you squeezing your thighs together, which of course didn’t go unnoticed by the dark-haired male.

His grip on your face loosened as he softly caressed your jaw, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. As if instinct took over you let your mouth fall open allowing him to insert the digit into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. 

You closed your lips, encasing his finger in your warm heat while he watched you with an intense gaze. Sucking softly, tongue swirling, drenching his digit in your saliva, eyes never leaving his.

“On your knees,” Sunghoon demanded, pulling his hand away from your face, and motioning to the ground. You obey, sitting on your knees on the cool faux wood ground, an ache already starting to form in your joints. But that would be a problem for future you to deal with.

Looking up you were met with Sunghoon’s blown-out pupils, the same cold expression on his face. However, there was a tinge of annoyance because of how slow you were going.

Reaching down he ran his fingers through your hair and you relished in the feeling of his nails softly scraping your scalp. Until he grabbed a fist full of your hair, tugging harshly causing a whine to leave your lips. He leaned down, his breath fanning your face, a dark look in his eyes that was enough to tell you that you were in for a long night.

“You know what to do, so-” He tugged on your hair again eliciting a whimper from your lips, “Do. It.”

Letting go of your hair he stood straight on his feet once more, watching as you hastily reached for his belt. Pulling it loose you let his slacks fall, pooling at his ankles and leaving him in his boxers. You ghosted your fingers over his bulge that was pressing against the fabric, “aw how long have you been like this?” You teased, but the dark spot was evidence enough that he had been like this for some time.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched as you continued to tease him through his underwear. Opening his mouth to tell you to get on with it but he was cut off as a choked groan tore through his throat, your fingers squeezing him through the fabric. The sound alone was enough to have your core throbbing, and your underwear becoming uncomfortably sticky.

Looking up only added to the burning in your stomach, his bottom lip was trapped in his teeth, his eyes hooded watching your every move. You didn’t want to wait any longer to have a taste of him again, it’d be a lie if you said you weren’t addicted to him. Something about fucking around in secret excited you even more, though you did feel kinda bad for his wife.

The sound of your name falling from his lip in such a surly tone was enough to snap you out of your daze. Raising higher on your knees you grabbed the hem of his button-up shirt, pushing it up revealing his toned abdomen. Pressing feather-like kisses over the skin, trailing along the waistband of his underwear. Listening to the hushed curses that would fall from his lips gives you the confidence to press a firm kiss right on his v-line. 

Feeling his muscles contract under your skin spurred you on, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouth kisses along his abdomen. Stopping right under his belly button, nipping at the skin softly, his hand falling softly on your head.

“No marks.” He groaned as you nipped a bit harder at the skin. Oh how badly you wanted to mark his perfect porcelain skin, but you knew better than to disobey. Pulling away you let his shirt fall back down, hooking your fingers in the band of his underwear. Tugging them down, you let the fabric join his pants on the ground.

You take him in one hand, pressing a thumb against his leaking tip resulting in a low groan to tear through his lips. Spitting in your palm you replace your other hand, rubbing up and down his shaft. Your saliva and his precum allow your movements to become fluid. His hand gripped the back of your vanity chair, knuckles turning white. You bring your head closer and lick a stripe up his cock, eyes flickering up watching as his head falls back soft moan-like sighs leaving his lips. Swirling your tongue around his tip, the taste of precum tingled in your mouth causing you to hum softly, making the volume of his moans increase. “Fuck princess, stop- fuck, stop teasing.”

Releasing his vice-like grip on the chair, Sunghoon gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Looking down he’s met with your lust-filled gaze, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight. Your face was painted a beautiful shade of red and your pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock. He groans when you take him deeper, his hold on your hair tightening as his hips buck forward into your throat, making you gag at the sudden intrusion.

“Hmm fuck baby,” He hums as he thrusts his hips forward once again shivering at the feeling of your throat contracting around him. You focus your breathing through your nose, allowing him to take charge. His head falls back again, his pace picking up causing tears to prick in the corner of your eyes, your nails digging into the skin of his thighs.

“Why talk about my wife, when- fuck, when you can just suck my cock like the little slut you are.” He growls, picking up his pace once more taking the air right out of your lungs as you hum around him. Your thighs and knees burning in protest from sitting in the same position for so long, but the sight of him getting lost in the feeling of your throat was enough for you to want to endure it.

“Shit…” Sunghoon suddenly pulled out of your mouth, afraid that he’d cum then and there. Tugging on your hair, enough for a whine to fall from your swollen lips. “Get up.” his raspy tone instantly had you swooning as you scrambled back to your feet. He kicked his pants and underwear off his ankles. Latching his lips to yours, he groaned at the taste of himself on your tongue. He pushes you back until your lower back hits the vanity behind you, lips trailing down your neck as he picks you up, setting you on the surface.

Your fingers comb through his hair as he sucks on the hot skin of your neck, his canines scraping across your pulse point have a shiver going down your spine. He could feel your heart rate accelerate under his lips as he colored your skin in shades of reds and purples.

“Hoon, wait- fuck!” You exclaim as he bites down on the junction of your shoulder and neck, the stinging makes your head spin. 

“You’re mine.” He growled against your skin, fingers undoing your robe. You both know that wasn’t true, you would never truly be his, he was married and you’d rather be buried six feet under before committing to a serious relationship. But just for the night, you’d pretend. 

“My little slut to ruin.” His lips latched back on yours in a fervent kiss, teeth clashing, drool seeping from the corner of your lips. Your finger worked in a rush to undo his white button-up, desperate to feel his skin on you. Once the shirt was undone you ran your fingers down his torso, nails scraping his skin softly.

His lips never left your skin as he pushed the robe off of your shoulders, letting it lay on the table behind you, fingers tracing the lace fabric of the underwear set you had changed into. A low groan fell from his lips as he leaned down by your ear, “You’re fucking insatiable.” 

You whine as he squeezed one of your boobs, harshly before letting his fingers trailed down, parting your thighs further. He pulled away to watch as your eyes pleaded with him to touch you. 

“Hoon, please.” You squirm under his touch as his finger brushes over your core.

“Please what princess?” He smirked, enjoying the way your eyebrows scrunched together in desperation, your fingers wrapped loosely around his forearm while the other gripped the table underneath you.

“Touch me please,” A soft moan slipped past your lips as he ghosted over your clothed clit before whining when he took his hand back to your thigh.

“But I am touching you.” Frustration bubbled in your chest as you gazed up at him, the want to smack that smirk off his face was strong, but not as strong as the want of his fingers in you. “You mean like this?” He traced the area right before where you really wanted him, you whined, grip tightening on his arm.

“God dammit Sunghoon, just fuck me with your fingers please!” You exclaim and before you could even blink his other hand wrapped around your throat, limiting your oxygen supply.

“You better watch your fucking tone princess.” His lips ghost over your own as his other hand moves to cup your heat making you let out a choked moan. His fingers press against your clothed cunt feeling you soak your underwear further, “you’re so wet baby, fuck.”

The lack of proper oxygen and his teasing touch was making your head spin. Sunghoon kissed you deeply as he moved your underwear to the side, feeling your warm and slick folds. You whimper against his lips as his thumb finds your clit, circling it sharply.

“Only I can make you this wet, not those other assholes out there, me.” He growled as he inserted his finger into you and you cried out, back arching and nails digging into his skin. Your head was spinning, everything becoming overwhelming. He let go of your neck allowing you to breathe properly before finding purchase on your hip as he worked his finger in and out of you.

“Fuck… Hoon,” Moans fell from your lips as he pushed another finger into your sopping pussy, picking up his pace. Your head falls back in pure bliss allowing Sunghoon to latch his lips to your neck once more.

Sunghoon relished in your scent and the way you wrapped around his fingers so perfectly knowing that he would have to stop soon, his dick painfully hard and he wanted to be in you. Tilting your head back up you cupped his face with your free hand, bringing his attention to your already fucked out expression.

“Hoon-” You were cut off as his fingers brushed over your sweet spot causing a loud moan to tear through your lips. He smirked devilishly as he kissed the corner of your lips.

“What were you saying, baby?” He teased as he abused your sweet spot, pulling you closer and closer to your release. 

“Please, Hoon, I need you, so bad.” You were growing too impatient and quite frankly so was he.

“Need my cock princess?” He teased, watching as you nodded your head furiously, lips caught between your teeth. Pulling his drenched fingers out of your pussy making you whine softly before he wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you to your feet.

Your legs felt like jelly and if Sunghoon hadn’t been holding on to you, you surely would have fallen to your knees. Before you could even process it Sunghoon had you turned around and bent over the surface of the vanity.

“Now be a good girl and watch as I fuck you.” His finger trailed up the back of your thigh before grabbing a handful of your ass. You hummed loving the feeling of his warm skin on you, eyes fluttering shut.

A cry left your lips, eyes snapping open at the sudden sting on your asscheek. “What did I say, princess?” Sunghoon rubbed the red skin with his thumb, eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

Pushing your underwear to the side once more, lining his cock up with your entrance, eyes never leaving yours even as he slid in with a sudden thrust. A loud cry was torn from your lungs, head fell down at the sudden feeling.

Sunghoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up and making you look in the mirror. He didn’t give you a chance to fully adjust before he started thrusting his hips at a fast pace, grip tight on both your hair and hip. The movement had your eyes rolling as broken moans fell from your lips.

“Such a good girl, taking my cock like the slut you are.” Sunghoon chuckles, ramming his hips into yours, driving his cock deeper into your pussy eliciting moans from you.

“H…hoon.” You whine out, reaching behind you, nails digging into the skin of his hip. He hissed before releasing your hip, grabbing your wrist instead. Pulling until your back arched and a pornographic moan left your mouth.

Tears blurred your vision as you tried your hardest to keep looking in the mirror like he told you to, but the pleasure was just becoming too much. Letting your head hang, you whimper as Sunghoon pulls your head right back up.

“Am I fucking you that good that you can’t even listen?” He mocks with a smug smirk, hand leaving your hair to wrap around your neck, pulling your body flush against his as he keeps up with the animalistic pace. A gasp escapes your parted lips at the change, almost doubling over when the head of his cock brushes over your sweet spot.

“‘S too deep-'' Another cry cuts you off as Sunghoon’s fingers find your clit, abusing the small bundle of nerves. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, falling back on his shoulder.

“Fuck- you’re squeezing my dick so tight.” He groaned, feeling his climax creeping up, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer, but he’ll be damned if you don’t cum before him. Picking up the pace of his fingers on your clit had you crying out again.

“Hoon-””Don’t worry princess, I’ll fill your sweet pussy so good, knock you up maybe so everyone knows your mine.” His words didn’t register in your foggy mind, your ears ringing as you felt so close.

With one final thrust of his hips, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, soaking his cock that still pounded into your abused hole. He groaned as you tightened around him like a vice, his orgasm right there.

“Too much…” You whined, grabbing his hand that had left your clit, now on your hip. 

“Just a bit more, I’m almost there.” His once deep and husky voice came out almost whiney as he continued to thrust harshly, throwing you into overstimulation. “I’mma fill you to the brim,” He bit down on your shoulder and you clamped down on him, tipping him over the edge. A loud groan leaves his lips as he pumps his hot, thick cum into you, filling you to the brim just as he promised.

His hips slowed to a stop and he released your throat, wrapping his arms around your body encasing you in his warmth. The room was filled with heavy breathing as you both came down from your highs. Sunghoon whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you held onto his forearm.

You wished you could stay like this forever, in his warmth, his scent, his touch, his taste, stuffed by him, but…

Your thoughts were cut off as a shrilling ringing filled the room, reminding you that this was the end. It was probably a good thing because again he was married and you’d rather be caught dead before falling in love again. Yet here you are hoping for just a few more minutes with him.

He really was going to have you six feet under.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[sirxaibs]

Red Haired Shanks X Reader

𓆉 𓆝 𓆡 “Red Tides and Restless Hearts”𓆉 𓆝 𓆡

So like, I know very little about this character other than I find him hot. So tiktok and youtube was my best friend while writing

masterlist

SYNOPSIS: You’ve never been one to settle, drifting from ship to ship, never truly belonging to any crew until you crossed paths with Red Haired Shanks and his band of misfits. For a time, you sailed alongside them, teasing, fighting, and even falling for the infamous captain himself. But your free spirit always called you elsewhere.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 You stand there, your fists clenched, your gaze unwavering as you stare at Shanks. The tension between the two of you is palpable, the salty sea breeze whipping through your hair. Shanks just grins at you, as if completely unfazed by the storm of emotions brewing in your chest. It’s been a long journey with this ragtag crew, but you’ve never quite gotten used to the way they tend to leave a mess in their wake, and Shanks, the infamous Red Haired Pirate, is no exception.

“I don’t care if you’re a pirate bigshot, Shanks,” you growl, every muscle in your body screaming for action. “You let a kid eat the Devil Fruit? What were you thinking?”

His grin doesn’t falter, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You know how it is,” he says, leaning back against the mast of his ship. “Luffy’s got a spirit that just can’t be ignored. Besides, I didn’t think the kid would be so… special.”

The name Luffy hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve seen the kid his boundless energy, his infectious smile, and that wild determination in his eyes. But this? This is a different side of him, one that makes your stomach churn. You had always been the type to keep moving, drifting between ships, never really settling in one place for too long. But the sight of Luffy, innocent and full of dreams, awakening a maternal instinct inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Shanks,” you mutter, the anger shifting into something more complex. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. He’s just a kid, and now he’s tied to something he doesn’t fully understand.”

Shanks raises an eyebrow, his smile softening just a bit. “I’ve seen a lot of people with dreams, and Luffy’s got one that burns brighter than most. Maybe he’s got something special in him. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t screw up.”

Your eyes narrow. This was the same man who could stand there and laugh, without a care in the world, even when the weight of what he did sank into you like a stone. But as your gaze flickers back to Luffy, you see it the spark that Shanks was talking about. The boy was destined for something great. And if no one else would look after him, then damn it, you would.

A deep breath escapes your lips, and you take a step back from Shanks, shaking your head. “I’m not going to let him end up like you, Shanks. He deserves better.”

Shanks chuckles, crossing his arms. “I think he’s got more heart than any of us, don’t you? Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” you warn him, but there’s a soft determination in your voice. Your ship’s already waiting to sail, but something about Luffy keeps you grounded, and just for a moment, you feel like you’ve found a new direction one that involves more than just drifting.

Shanks watches you carefully, but the playful glint in his eye is still there. “Just don’t be too hard on him, okay? He’s got a good heart. Trust me on that one.”

You give him a final glance, not a single ounce of backing down in your demeanor. “We’ll see.”

Then, you turn, heading toward Luffy. Maybe it’s time to stop running from something and take a stand for once.

You sprint toward Luffy, the instinct to protect him overwhelming you. Your heart races as you close the distance, and before he can even blink, you scoop him up in the biggest, tightest hug he’s ever felt in his life. The kid squeals in surprise, his arms flailing a bit, but you’re not letting go.

“You better be good, Luffy!” you say, your voice full of both care and frustration. “You’re just a kid! Don’t go doing anything crazy, okay? Promise me!”

Luffy’s face lights up, his grin as wide as ever despite being squeezed out of breath. “I promise!” he says, his voice muffled as he struggles to wriggle free.

You pause, holding him for just a moment longer, then, without warning, your hand snaps forward. Wham! You smack him right on the back of his head, making him let out a small “Ow!”

“That’s for eating the Devil Fruit, you little idiot,” you mutter, your tone now a mix of exasperation and affection. “I swear, if you end up turning into some sort of monster because of this, I’m holding you responsible!”

Luffy rubs the back of his head, unfazed and still grinning. “I’ll be fine! I’m gonna be the Pirate King!”

You sigh, ruffling his hair, though you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, you will. But don’t think I’m not keeping an eye on you.”

With one last pat on his head, you set him back down, looking into his eyes. “Now be careful, alright? Stay out of trouble, and if you need me, you know where to find me.”

Turning away, you head back toward Shanks’ ship. As you board, you glance over your shoulder, making sure Luffy’s still standing there, eyes wide, watching you.

Shanks calls over from the deck with a smirk, “Did you give him a good talk?”

You give him a sharp look. “He needed it. Someone’s gotta keep him in line.”

Shanks laughs, a hearty sound that echoes across the dock. “Well, I think that kid’s gonna be just fine.”

You roll your eyes but feel a strange warmth in your chest. Despite everything, maybe you’d just found something worth sticking around for.

As the ship sets sail, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull and the wind in your hair feels like the start of another adventure. You take a deep swig from your drink, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your chest. It’s a moment of calm before everything inevitably gets chaotic again.

You walk over to Shanks, who’s leaning against the mast with that signature grin of his. He notices you coming, flashing you that smile that’s almost too charming for its own good.

You plop down beside him, your back against the wood of the ship, and you let out a contented sigh. The drink in your hand sways slightly as you raise it to your lips again, then set it down.

“Shanks,” you start, your tone a bit too serious for the carefree pirate you’ve come to know, “I think I finally figured it out.”

His smile only widens, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh? What’s that?”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing in playful disbelief. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

His reaction is immediate: he bursts out laughing, his deep chuckles booming in the quiet of the open sea. “Oh, really now?” he teases, looking over at you with that infuriatingly perfect smile. “I’m flattered.”

You smirk, taking another sip from your drink. “Yeah, you’re amazing, Shanks. You’ve got this whole thing figured out, huh? Everyone loves you, you’ve got the world at your feet, but” You pause for a moment, letting the gravity of what you’re about to say sink in. “One day, you’re gonna be in deep waters, and no one’s gonna be able to pull you out.”

The playfulness in your voice is still there, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You watch Shanks carefully, wondering if he’ll actually take your words seriously for once.

Instead, he just chuckles again, slinging an arm around your shoulder casually, his grin never leaving his face. “You think I don’t know that?” he says, his voice warm and carefree. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? No one ever gets out of deep waters, whether they want to or not.”

You glance at him, not sure if you’re more frustrated by his lack of seriousness or relieved that he wasn’t taking it as a threat. Maybe he wasn’t as reckless as he seemed or maybe he just knew something you didn’t.

“perchance,” you reply, a smile creeping up despite yourself. “But don’t get too comfortable. One day, you’ll need someone to drag your ass out.”

Shanks raises his drink to you, his smile never wavering. “I’ll take my chances.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back against the ship with him. Despite the mystery in his words, you can’t help but admire his unwavering confidence. One thing was for sure: Shanks was the kind of man who didn’t fear deep waters.

As the wind whips through your hair, Shanks suddenly pulls you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders with surprising force. Before you can protest, his hands squish your face in a teasing, almost obnoxious manner, pushing your cheeks together until you’re left looking ridiculous.

“Jeez, for a pirate, you sure have a problem with living for adventure,” he says with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with that familiar teasing glint. He holds you there for a moment, making it impossible to escape his playful hold.

You let out a dramatic, exaggerated groan, clearly unimpressed by the way he’s treating you. “Are you seriously calling me out for not living for adventure when you’re the one who’s been causing messes across the seas for years? All im wanting is to minimize that” You squint at him, trying to free your face from his grip. “Who’s the one who can’t sit still, huh? The great pirate, Shanks, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

He laughs, letting go of your face but keeping his arm around you, clearly amused by your attempt to resist him. “I see you’ve got quite the sharp tongue, as always.”

With a playful shove, you push him back slightly, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you’re a walking contradiction, Shanks. I swear, you are an amazing pirate but you sure don’t act like it half the time.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you should spend less time being a happy go lucky guy and more time being a serious pirate.”

Shanks shrugs nonchalantly, a chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m serious enough when it counts. Besides, you’d be bored without me.”

For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence between the two of you, the sound of the waves filling the space. Then, out of nowhere, his expression softens slightly, his usual teasing demeanor disappearing for a brief moment of seriousness.

“The kid will be fine,” Shanks says quietly, his voice devoid of the usual joking tone. It’s not a statement of doubt or uncertainty, but one of quiet assurance.

You blink at him, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift in his attitude. You’ve never heard him speak so seriously about anything, especially when it comes to Luffy.

You look at him for a long moment, trying to gauge the sincerity behind his words. Shanks may act carefree, but there’s a weight behind his gaze that you can’t ignore. “You really believe that?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Shanks meets your gaze, his smile returning but with an odd softness to it. “I do. Luffy’s got a strength in him that you can’t just teach. It’s in his blood. He’ll find his way, just like I did.”

You nod, the feeling of protectiveness over Luffy tightening in your chest, but you can’t help but feel a little more reassured by Shanks’ words. Maybe, just maybe, the kid really would be alright.

Before you can fully process his serious words, Shanks flashes that mischievous grin of his again, and without warning, he squishes your cheeks once more this time, more playfully than before. But the next thing you know, he leans in, and in a swift movement, presses his lips against yours.

The world seems to pause for a split second, and your eyes widen in surprise. The taste of alcohol still lingers on his lips, but there’s something deeper in the kiss a playful but intense spark that makes your heart race in a way you didn’t expect. It’s a brief kiss, just long enough to leave you reeling, your mind struggling to catch up to the moment.

Shanks pulls away, his eyes twinkling as he watches your stunned expression. “What’s the matter? You’re usually quick with a comeback,” he teases, clearly enjoying your reaction.

The crew members, who had been going about their business on the ship, seem to freeze in place as the scene unfolds before them. For a moment, there’s an awkward silence as they take in what just happened.

Then, one of the crew members, a burly guy with a thick beard, stumbles back, wide eyed. “Oi, did that just happen? Shanks actually did that?”

Another crew member, a younger man with a nervous laugh, scratches his head. “I I thought what they had was a joke! Like, one of those really weird jokes, y’know?”

A third, a tired looking yassop, raises an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by the spectacle, but with an amused smirk playing at her lips. “Well, if it wasn’t a joke, I guess the captain’s finally making his move.”

Shanks casually drapes an arm around you, the cocky grin never leaving his face as he glances at his crew. “What’s the matter, guys? Never seen a pirate kiss someone before?” His voice is light and teasing, but there’s a touch of seriousness in it that only a few people would catch.

You, still trying to process the sudden shift in the air, slap his arm away lightly, turning your face away to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, but despite your attempt to seem unaffected, your voice betrays a small, flustered tremor.

The crew, seeing the two of you interacting, exchanges knowing looks, but no one dares to push it further. They’ve seen enough of Shanks’ antics to know when to let him have his fun.

The bearded crew member grins, elbowing his mate next to him. “Looks like someone finally got to the captain.”

Another crew member shakes his head with a laugh, muttering, “Only Shanks could pull something like that off without it being completely out of left field.”

Shanks, for his part, looks completely unfazed by the crew’s reactions. He looks back at you with that same, unshakable grin. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t like it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

You roll your eyes, trying to push down the strange fluttering in your chest. “You’re impossible,” you retort, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

The crew continues to buzz with quiet excitement, but they all know better than to say too much. After all, with Shanks, you never quite knew what to expect next.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

A few weeks had passed since that day, and while the memory of Shanks’ surprising kiss still lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the itch for something new. The sea, vast and untamed, was always calling to you its promise of freedom and adventure tugging at your very core. It was a familiar feeling, the urge to jump on a different ship, to discover unknown lands, to experience the world from a new perspective. It was what you did best.

You stand at the edge of the Red Haired Pirates’ ship, watching the sun dip low on the horizon. The orange and pink hues of the sky cast a warm glow over the sea, and the sound of the waves crashing against the ship’s hull almost seems like a song to your soul.

You’ve had fun with Shanks and his crew more fun than you thought you would, honestly but the pull of adventure is far stronger than any comfort you’ve found here. The thought of staying with them forever, as much as you care about them, feels like a chain you’re not willing to wear. The world out there is just too big, too full of possibilities.

As you turn to head below deck to grab your things, you hear footsteps behind you. Shanks, ever the observant one, approaches with that same laid back swagger of his, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

“You’re leaving, huh?” he says, the tone of his voice making it clear he already knows. It’s not a question it’s a statement, the kind only someone who knows you well can make.

You pause, your hand resting on the ship’s railing as you turn to face him. “Yeah. It’s time to keep moving. There’s more out there, Shanks, and I can’t just sit still.”

He gives you a soft smile, the same grin he always wears, but there’s something more contemplative in it now. “I figured. You’ve got that look about you. The one that says you’re ready to chase after something new.”

You nod, a small sigh escaping your lips. “I just… I need to see more of the world. I’ve had my fill of this ship, for now. I’m not like you I can’t be tied down, no matter how much fun I’m having.”

Shanks chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve always been like this, huh? Never content with just one place, one thing. But I get it. You’ve got that fire in you.” He steps closer, his smile never fading. “But don’t think you can run from me forever. The sea’s big, but not that big.”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree despite the underlying emotions you’re trying to bury. “You won’t be rid of me that easily. I’ll be around. Just not here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he says with a wink. “But you better make sure to come back one day. Or else I’ll come find you myself.”

You roll your eyes at his usual overconfidence. “Sure, sure. I’ll look forward to it.”

Shanks’s gaze softens for a moment, his expression becoming more serious than you’ve seen it in a while. “Just… don’t get yourself into too much trouble out there, alright? You’re not invincible, you know.”

You give him a teasing smile, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “You’ve been hanging around me too long if you think I’m the type to get into trouble.”

“Maybe,” he replies with a grin. “But I still worry about you.”

The sudden warmth in his voice catches you off guard. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how much you’ve come to care for the crew, for him even though you’re still not one to settle. You appreciate the concern, even if you know it won’t stop you.

“Don’t worry, Shanks,” you say, your voice a little quieter now. “I’ve got this. I’m just… doing what I’ve always done. Searching.”

“I thought we were having fun. You sure you’re not just bored of us?” He goes and grabs your hand You tense for a moment, trying to hide the way his touch makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip, the playful spark in your eyes hiding the truth you don’t want to admit. “I’m not bored,” you reply coolly, though your voice betrays a slight edge, “I just… need to keep moving. That’s all.”

Shanks chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Is that so? Because I think you’re just trying to run away from something. Or someone.”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, holding you close as he shifts so he’s facing you now. His lips are dangerously close, and you can feel the playful challenge in his gaze. “You’re the one who can’t sit still,” you murmur, your lips brushing his slightly as you speak.

Before you can even process it, Shanks pulls you toward him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss that makes your mind short circuit. It’s intense, almost desperate like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t act now. His hand move to cup your face, the kiss deepening, his tongue gently coaxing yours to respond.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you can’t decide whether you want to break free or give into the pull of him. But the more he kisses you, the more the walls around your heart crack, the uncertainty vanishing in the heat of the moment.

“Thought you were just going to walk away from me,” Shanks murmurs against your lips, his grin mischievous as he pulls back just slightly to catch your breath. “Guess I’m not that easy to forget, huh?”

The teasing lilt in his voice fuels the fire inside you, making your chest tighten. You bite back the urge to tell him how wrong he is, how hard it is to let go of someone who’s so… Shanks. But instead, you reach up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in for another kiss, this time harder, more demanding. There’s no holding back now no teasing, no banter. Just raw, unfiltered desire.

The kiss grows more urgent, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you even closer, as if trying to make you stay without a word. You let your body respond to his, the heat between you two building as if there was no time left to waste.

When you pull away, breathless and flushed, your heart racing, you both stand there for a moment, unable to say anything. The world seems to have slowed down, the noise of the crew and the sea a distant hum.

Shanks, ever the tease, is the first to break the silence, his grin never fading. “Told you you’d get bored of running eventually,” he says with a wink, the smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “Guess you’ve found something better to do.”

Before you can even process what just happened, Shanks doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. With a mischievous glint in his eyes and that confident smirk still plastered across his face, he wraps his arm around your waist, effortlessly pulling you along with him. You barely have time to react before he’s leading you towards his quarters.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” he teases, his voice playful but laced with an intensity you can’t quite ignore. “You think you can just walk away after that?”

You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. “Shanks, stop! I need to leave,” you protest, though the words come out weaker than you intend. The closer you get to his quarters, the more your resolve crumbles under the weight of his touch.

He grins down at you, unbothered by your protests, clearly enjoying the way you’re squirming. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you,” he says with a wink, and before you can even muster a response, he opens the door to his quarters, pulling you inside.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the room feels smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside doesn’t matter anymore. The space is dimly lit, with the scent of wood and the salty air of the sea lingering in the air. It’s a familiar, comfortable like the man himself.

You turn to face him, trying to muster some defiance, but the look in his eyes is too consuming. “Shanks, I’m serious. I don’t have time for”

Before you can finish, he’s right there, his hand brushing the side of your face, his touch almost gentle now. “I know you don’t have time,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like he’s savoring the moment. “But you’ll make time for this. Just for a little while longer.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. You’ve always known how easily he could change the mood, how he could draw you in with just a few words, a touch. But now, the air between you feels heavier, charged with something deeper than just playful teasing.

Shanks steps closer, closing the distance between you. “I don’t want you to go just yet. I’m not ready to let you leave.”

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. The kiss deepens, and your body responds before your mind can even catch up. His hands move to your back, pulling you in closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as the kiss becomes more urgent, more desperate. You can feel the tension building, the desire you both tried to ignore now taking over everything else.

You push back for a moment, your hands on his chest, breathing heavily. “Shanks, I”

He silences you with another kiss, this one longer, filled with an intensity that leaves you breathless. The world outside, the ship, your plans to leave they all seem so far away now. It’s just you and him, wrapped up in this moment that you never quite expected.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Shanks whispers against your lips, his voice rough with desire. “Not yet.”

The room around you feels like it’s shrinking, as if time itself is slowing, stretching, just for the two of you. There’s no escape now, not from him, not from the pull of something more than just fleeting attraction. Something deeper, something you weren’t quite ready for, but something that feels impossible to deny.

And for now, you let yourself give in to it, the need to feel alive, to be consumed by the feeling of his touch. The adventure, the unknown, the pull of the sea… it’s all still there, but in this moment, you’ve found something else something you didn’t expect, but maybe, just maybe, something you needed more than you realized.

His ship may rock in the distance, but inside, the world seems to have paused, the only sound being the rhythm of your breathing as Shanks stands in front of you.

You tilt your head back, glancing up at him, your voice playful but laced with desire. “You know, it feels weird not being able to grab you properly with just one arm,” you tease, a mischievous smile curling your lips as you pull him closer to you, feeling his warmth press against yours.

Shanks raises an eyebrow, that familiar grin of his creeping back into place. “Oh?” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You think that’s going to stop me?” His fingers slide along your waist, his touch deliberate, like he’s testing the way your body reacts to his proximity.

You feel your heart race as his hands drift downward, the heat between you rising, yet you can’t help but laugh lightly, despite the tension. “I guess it’s just not as satisfying,” you tease, your fingers lightly tracing the outline of his chest. “Can’t quite get a proper grip.”

His gaze darkens slightly, his lips curling into a sly smile. He steps forward, closing the gap, so close now that you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice, still playful, drops to a more sensual tone. “Trust me, darling,” he whispers, his words like a caress. “One arm or not, I can make you feel good.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you in fully, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that feels like an invitation, a promise. His other arm, strong and free, wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles coiling with desire as he deepens the kiss, urging you to surrender.

You try to pull back, but the heat of him is overwhelming, the way he holds you like he’s not going to let go. “You sure?” you joke again, your lips brushing against his as your hands wander to his back, where you feel the muscles tighten under your fingertips. “I don’t know if one arm is going to cut it for what I want.”

Shanks chuckles darkly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. “I’m more than capable,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky now, full of that intoxicating confidence. “You’ll see. I’ll make sure you feel every inch of it.”

With a quick motion, he pushes you back against the edge of his bed, your body feeling the soft thud of the mattress behind you as he hovers over you. His lips trace a path down your jaw, to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, sending shivers through your body.

“You’re going to feel things you didn’t even know you wanted,” Shanks murmurs, his lips now dangerously close to yours, and you feel every word in the pit of your stomach. His kiss is soft at first, teasing, but it quickly escalates, the hunger between you both undeniable. “I told you I could make you feel good. Now let me show you.”

Your body responds almost instinctively, the teasing, playful banter between you both shifting into something deeper, something more intimate. His arm that’s free grips you tightly, anchoring you as if he intends to keep you right here, right with him. You can feel the pulse of his desire, the way he pulls you closer, and there’s no escape. No desire to run away from this pull that’s magnetic and impossible to resist.

Shanks moves over you, kissing you again, this time deeper, as if trying to convey all of his intentions in that one kiss. You feel it in every inch of your skin the promise, the thrill, the desire to see this through. And as his lips move from your mouth to your neck, his touch intensifies, making you gasp as your body reacts to his every movement.

“You like that, huh?” he mutters against your skin, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I was right. I don’t need two arms to make you feel good.”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

The Marineford battlefield is a storm of terror, with the clash of steel, the roar of flames, and the screams of combatants filling the air. Yet, amidst the turmoil, Shanks stands unwavering, his gaze fixed ahead. His crew moves with precision, navigating the madness of the war, his usual playful demeanor replaced with the weight of responsibility as he commands his crew to continue pushing forward.

As his eyes scan the battlefield, they momentarily catch on a familiar face, standing amidst the battle. You. The sight of you, despite the distance, causes a strange stir deep within him. His heart skips, the remnants of old memories resurfacing like waves crashing on a shore.

For a split second, time seems to slow. The roar of the battlefield dims, and all he sees is you standing on the opposite side, your figure cut sharply against the backdrop of battle. Buggy’s crew flanking you, but your stance, your expression, it’s unmistakably you.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t call out. His eyes narrow, a slight furrow on his brow, but the momentary flicker of surprise fades quickly into the calm, collected gaze of a captain. His focus returns to the task at hand. He’s here for a reason there’s a war raging, and the lives of many are at stake. His crew needs him, the fight is urgent, and there’s no time for distractions. Not now.

Still, in the back of his mind, your image lingers. A strange tug of longing gnaws at him, but he pushes it down, locking it away with the rest of the emotions that threaten to cloud his judgment.

Later, he thinks to himself. Once this is over.

But he doesn’t look away, not entirely. His gaze flits back to you one more time, the flicker of a smile almost crossing his face. He’s not surprised to see you he would’ve known you’d be here, somewhere in this madness, but there’s something in the way you carry yourself that pulls at him, a reminder of the connection that was left behind.

He doesn’t call out to you. He doesn’t wave. Instead, he turns back to the battle, his sword in hand, his crew around him.

For now, there are more pressing matters. But he can’t quite shake the thought of you, distant and still, from across the war.

The battlefield is a hellstorm of clashing wills, where the strongest forces in the world collide in a desperate struggle. The air is thick with the scent of blood, gunpowder, and salt from the sea so much destruction, so much disaster . And yet, amidst it all, Shanks finds himself momentarily distracted.

His grip tightens on the hilt of Gryphon, his breath steady despite the turmoil around him. His crew moves seamlessly, cutting through the battlefield with precision, but his gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer.

The flickering fires cast an eerie glow over your figure, and despite the distance, he can still make out the subtle tension in your stance. You’re alert, battle ready, but you’re not fighting not yet. Buggy’s crew swarms around you, their garish colors clashing against the blood streaked battlefield, and he can’t help but wonder why are you with them?

It’s been years. Since the last time he saw you, since you stood at his side. Back then, your presence was a constant in his life, a piece of his world that he never thought he’d lose. But time, as it always does, had pulled you both onto different tides, leading you to opposite ends of the world.

And now, here you are.

His chest tightens, though his face betrays nothing. There’s no time to indulge in the past. Not here. Not now.

Benn notices the brief pause in his captain’s movements, the barely perceptible shift in his gaze. “Shanks,” he calls, voice low but knowing. A reminder.

Shanks exhales softly, his expression smoothing into something unreadable. He gives a small nod. “I know,” he says. His crew needs him. The war still rages, and he has a duty to fulfill.

But even as he turns away, even as he focuses back on the battle at hand, he can’t help but steal one last glance in your direction.

Later.

He’ll find you later.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

The war had finally reached its bitter conclusion. The bloodshed, the cries of combatants it was all coming to an end, leaving nothing but destruction and silence in its wake. The Marineford battlefield was now littered with fallen warriors, allies, and enemies alike, their fates sealed under the weight of the war.

You stood beside Buggy, hands on your hips, glaring at him with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. The battle had subsided for the moment, but Buggy, as always, managed to keep up his ridiculous antics.

“Buggy, what the hell were you thinking?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling over after hours of his nonsensical decisions during the battle. He had done more harm than good at times, running headlong into danger with his usual lack of care.

Buggy, of course, was completely unfazed, grinning widely as ever. “What do you mean, huh? I was a total genius! I took down some Marines, didn’t I?” He gave a ridiculous gesture as if he had just performed the most incredible feat in the world, his rubber arms flailing around in a display of triumph.

“By accident, Buggy!” you retort, throwing your hands up in the air. “You somehow managed to make things worse, and I’m the one left cleaning up your mess!”

He chuckles, oblivious to the irritation that practically radiates from you. “Oh, you love me for it, come on now,” he says with a wink, completely missing the point.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, grumbling under your breath. “I should’ve just stayed with Shanks,” you mutter.

As if summoned by your words, a sudden, familiar presence looms at the edge of the battlefield. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. The aura of familiarity, that ever present feeling of a connection you couldn’t quite break, fills the air. The distinctive, confident gait of the Red Hair Pirates is unmistakable.

Shanks steps forward into the clearing, his crew behind him, the calm after the storm settling over him like a cloak. His eyes immediately scan the area, and they land on you. The moment his gaze meets yours, there’s a brief, almost imperceptible shift in his expression a flicker of recognition, of longing, of something unspoken. It’s there, but fleeting.

Buggy notices Shanks’s arrival before you do and, of course, reacts in his usual obnoxious way. “Oh, look who it is, the big shot himself!” Buggy says, hands on his hips, a grin spreading across his face. “You think you can come here and just waltz in after all this time, huh?”

Shanks smirks at Buggy, unfazed by his antics, before his attention shifts to you. His smile softens, and there’s an almost imperceptible shift in his eyes a familiarity that you both know all too well. He takes a step toward you, the movement so subtle, so calculated, that it feels as though time itself has momentarily stopped.

You feel the pull, the weight of everything that had happened between you both. The quiet ache of his absence, the unresolved feelings that were left behind when you had parted ways. But the war is over now, the dust settling, and there’s nothing but you and him left in the silence of it all.

“You’re still here, huh?” Shanks asks, his voice softer than you expect, the teasing tone replaced with something more sincere. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, yet comforting all the same.

Buggy’s voice cuts through the tension, as always, loud and obnoxious. “What, you think you’re gonna take her away now, Shanks?” He throws his hands in the air, mocking the idea. “Not after all I’ve been through with her! I’m the one who actually fought beside her!”

Shanks doesn’t flinch at Buggy’s outburst. Instead, he gives you a look an almost knowing look, as if he’s waiting for you to make the next move. His eyes flick back to Buggy for a moment, but there’s no real hostility there. Just that old, familiar smirk, the one that always made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“I don’t know, Buggy,” Shanks says, his voice playful yet carrying a subtle weight. “Maybe she’s just tired of your nonsense.”

Buggy throws his hands up in mock indignation, but before he can continue his argument, you step in between the two of them, shaking your head. “Enough, you two. This isn’t the time.”

Shanks’s gaze shifts back to you, a brief flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression. Then, that trademark grin creeps back onto his face, like it never left. “I’ll let you handle him, then,” he says, his voice teasing. “But you know… I’d prefer it if you were with me, and not him.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice light but carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “I think I can make my own decisions.”

Shanks doesn’t push further. Instead, he simply steps closer, his hand brushing against yours, a fleeting touch but one that sends a spark through you. “I’m sure you can,” he says softly. “But maybe, just maybe, you’d reconsider joining us again… at least for a while.”

And in the wake of the war’s aftermath, as the world begins to rebuild itself, the space between you and Shanks feels smaller. What happens next? That’s still up in the air. But for now, the tension between you both is thick, palpable, and the future is unwritten.

somehow, amid it all, you found yourself standing in front of Shanks again.

He looked the same too much the same, honestly. Like war and time had barely touched him, like he could still laugh just as easily as he did years ago, like he could still read you like an open book without even trying. His gaze held that same unreadable depth, his presence as steady as ever.

“its been so long” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “Same to you.”

There was a pause, the weight of old memories hanging between you both, before

“OI, OI, OI, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

Both of you turned your heads in sync, just in time to see Buggy stomping toward you, flailing his arms wildly. His face was red though whether from rage or exhaustion, it was hard to tell and he looked offended on a personal level.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, TALKING TO THAT GUY?” Buggy jabbed a finger at Shanks like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “Have you been brainwashed?! Threatened?! Are you suffering from some tragic, incredibly inconvenient amnesia?! Because there’s no way in hell you’d actually want to stand around talking to this bastard!”

You exhaled through your nose, already feeling a headache forming.

Shanks, on the other hand, just looked amused.

“You really haven’t changed, huh, Buggy?” he said, crossing his arms.

Buggy’s rage intensified. “DON’T SAY MY NAME SO CASUALLY, YOU ONE ARMED FREAK!” He turned to you, wildly gesturing between the two of you. “Seriously, what is this?! Do I need to remind you that this guy is IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST?!”

“You’re just mad youre not getting any attention” Shanks teased.

“THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS! AND ALSO, YES IT DOES, BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

You let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Buggy.”

“WHAT?”

“Shut up.”

Buggy made an offended wheezing noise, clutching his chest as if you had personally stabbed him. “[NAME]?! After everything we’ve been through?! After I let you stay on my ship?!”

“You say that like I didn’t pay for my place there.”

“Details!”

Shanks snorted. “You’ve been sailing with Buggy? That explains a lot.”

“OI, WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!” Buggy yelled, whirling back on him. “Listen, I don’t care what unfinished romantic subplot you two think you’re having right now, but I refuse to stand by and watch this disaster unfold!”

You blinked. “Romantic what?”

Shanks let out a full laugh at that, shaking his head. “You really are dramatic, Buggy.”

“DRAMATIC?! DRAMATIC?! I AM THE ONLY SANE ONE HERE!”

You and Shanks exchanged glances.

Neither of you spoke.

Buggy’s eye twitched violently. “I hate both of you.”

“You’ll get over it,” Shanks said cheerfully.

Buggy let out a scream of rage, throwing his arms up in frustration before storming off, grumbling loudly about betrayal, stupidity, and how he was surrounded by absolute morons.

You and Shanks watched him go.

“…So,” you said after a moment, glancing back at Shanks. “Where were we?”

Shanks chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Something about not expecting to see each other.”

You hummed. “Right. Well. I still don’t know how I feel about it.”

Shanks’ grin softened just a little, something unreadable in his gaze. “Then I guess we’ll have to figure that out.”

“Guess we will.”

And with Buggy’s distant ranting still filling the background, the two of you stood there, caught between the past and whatever came next.

The tension in the air feels thick, almost suffocating, as Shanks steps closer to you. The battlefield around you is silent for a moment, the echoes of the war finally dying down. The weight of everything you’ve both been through, everything that’s been left unsaid, seems to hang heavy between you.

Shanks lets out a soft laugh, his eyes warm, but there’s a hint of something else there, something more vulnerable that catches you off guard. “Idiot girl,” he mutters, though it’s far from cruel. It’s almost affectionate. Before you can even respond, he pulls his coat from his shoulders and wraps it around you, his movements gentle but firm. His hand lingers on the edge of the fabric, like he’s trying to pull you closer without speaking a word.

“Both of us are getting too old for this,” Shanks says quietly, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Chasing after adventures, running from one place to the next, never stopping long enough to let things settle.” His smile fades, the usual mischievous glint replaced by a more solemn expression. “We’re past the point of just being carefree pirates, you know?”

The weight of his words hits you harder than expected. A part of you wants to laugh it off, to keep the teasing banter going as it always has. But it’s different now. The battle and the aftermath are finally sinking in, and so is the truth behind Shanks’s words. You’re not the same people you were when you first met, and neither is he. Time has passed, and you’ve both been through so much. The thought of that, of change, of all that you’ve lost, sends a wave of emotion crashing over you.

You feel the familiar sting of tears pricking at your eyes, and before you can even stop yourself, a few escape, trailing down your cheeks. It’s been so long since you let yourself feel this much, to let the emotions rise to the surface, and it feels raw, painful.

But even through the tears, you can’t help yourself. You turn your face toward him with a tearful smirk, your voice a little shaky but still laced with that teasing tone he’s come to expect from you.

“Getting old, huh?” you say, your voice cracking just slightly. “You, the great Shanks, admitting it? You’ve been chasing after adventure for so long… but now that it’s caught up to you, you’re ready to stop?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you with that familiar gaze. His expression softens, his eyes filled with something unspoken. Then, he pulls you a little closer, the warmth of his coat enveloping you.

“Yeah, well i dont know about stopping” he says quietly, his hand reaching to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “Though I guess we both are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still live, right? Even if things change, we’re still us.”

You feel the weight of his words, and it stirs something deep inside you. There’s so much history between the two of you, so much shared, so much left behind. And as you stand there, in the aftermath of the battle, wrapped in his coat, you realize that maybe this this is what really matters.

With a shaky laugh, you lean your head against his chest, your voice thick with emotion but still carrying that familiar playful edge. “Idiot,” you whisper, your words barely audible, but the affection in them is clear. “You’ve always been full of crap, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Shanks chuckles softly, his hand resting on your back as he holds you close. “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot too.” His tone is light, but there’s a sincerity there that makes your heart ache.

You both stand there for a moment, the weight of the war behind you, the future uncertain, but in this moment, at least, you’ve found a strange sense of peace. The tears still linger, but there’s warmth in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel the need to run.

“I guess we really are getting old, huh?” you say, your voice quieter now, but the teasing still there, as always.

Shanks doesn’t respond right away, his hand still gently resting on your back. Instead, he pulls you just a little closer, his breath warm against your hair. “Yeah,” he whispers. “But we’re still alive. And that’s all that matters.”

[starkeyslibrary]

STILL YOURS

sypnosis: When Rafe Cameron left chasing bigger dreams, he never thought he'd lose her along the way. Years later, fate — and one reckless basketball game — brings them back together, but old scars make second chances harder to earn. They aren't the same kids who once promised forever — but maybe this time, love won't have to wait.

pairing: you x rafe cameron

word count: 8.7k

basketballplayer!rafecameron x nurse!reader

Rafe Cameron was feeling himself.

Fresh off a win, city lights glittering outside the stadium, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. The crowd loved him. His bank accounts loved him. And he loved the way people looked at him - like he was invincible, untouchable, something more than human.

Especially tonight.

After the game, his teammate Jordan had taken a nasty hit - nothing too serious, just some bruised ribs but enough that the team doc wanted him checked out at the nearest hospital just to be safe.

Rafe came along for the ride, mostly out of loyalty, partly out of boredom.

He strolled into the ER with his hoodie up.

And then he saw you.

Across the room, standing at the nurse's station, scrolling through a chart. Hair up in a messy bun. Scrubs hugging your curves. Smirking at something the nurse beside you said - that quick, sharp smile he remembered like a goddamn punch to the gut.

Rafe froze.

No fucking way. You? Here?

The girl who used to patch up his scraped knees and roast him for missing free throws?

The girl he hadn't seen in years, not since he blew out of your shared hometown without looking back. He didn't even think. Didn't stop to question it.

He strode across the room like a man possessed, cocky grin sliding onto his face like armor.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter, blocking your view. "If it isn't my favorite nurse."

You looked up, a polite, professional smile already in place, the kind you probably gave to every annoying patient.

Than you actually registered who it was.

Your eyes flickered over him - tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos snaking up his arms and then flicked away like he was nothing special.

"No visitors past this point" you said crisply, barely glancing at him.

Rafe blinked.

You knew exactly who he was. He could see it. You just... didn't care.

And holy shit, if that didn't make something tighten painfully in his chest.

He laughed, flashing that grin that usually had people tripping over themselves.

"Come on, you don't even say hello?" he teased, voice low, coaxing. "It's me, baby."

You raised a brow. "Baby? You been dropped on your head recently, Cameron?"

Jordan, behind him, choked on a laugh. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "I like her already."

Rafe ignored him, laser-focused on you.

"You work here?" he asked, folding his arms, tattoos flexing. "Since when?"

You shrugged, flipping a page in the chart, completely unfazed. "Since I decided I deserved better than small-town bullshit."

He grinned wider, loving and hating how you didn't fawn over him. "Better than me, you mean."

You looked him deadly in the eye. Cool. Flat. Deadly.

"You were never on the list."

Jordan wheezed in the background.

Rafe's smirk faltered, just a hair, but he masked it with a low chuckle.

Damn, you were good.

You turned to Jordan without missing a beat. "You the one with the bruised ribs?"

"Yeah," Jordan said, still grinning. "Not broken though, right?"

"Probably just bruised," you confirmed, professional now. "But we'll do a quick scan to be safe. Come with me."

He stood there, reeling.

For the first time in a long, long while, Rafe Cameron didn't know what the hell to do.

FLASHBACK TO WHEN IT ALL FELL APART

It wasn't always like this between you and Rafe.

There was a time, back before the fame, the pressure of being an NBA star, and the endless media coverage - when you were everything to him. Well, almost everything. You'd grown up together, inseperable, sharing secrets and dreams of what the future could hold. He'd never been the cocky athlete, just Rafe, your best friend.

But as soon as he got drafted, everything started to shift. It was gradual at first. Small things, like his texts coming fewer and farther between. The way he started cancelling plans, promising to make it up to you and never doing it. But you didn't think much of it at first - he was busy, right? He was going to be famous, and you were happy for him.

Until one day, you realized that the only time he reached out was when he needed something. When it wasn't about you, it was about him. His schedule, his career, his life. Your texts and calls started going unanswered for days, sometimes weeks. It wasn't like the old Rafe. The one who'd always made time for you, who'd showed up when you needed him.

It happened after that last phone call. The one where you'd finally had enough.

"Rafe, we need to talk," you said, your voice tight with frustration.

It had been a month since you'd last heard from him, and now, you were standing in your apartment, staring at his name on your phone screen as it rang for the third time that week.

You loved him. You did. But he wasn't the same anymore. You weren't even sure you liked the person he was becoming.

You hit "answer" and put the phone to your ear, heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey," his voice was thick, like he'd just woken up. "Sorry I missed your call."

"Yeah, well, you've been missing a lot of calls lately," you shot back. The frustration in your chest was starting to boil over, but you were trying to keep it cool. "It's been weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And I haven't heard from you once. You know, you could've at least tried to reach out."

There was a pause on the other end, like he didn't really know how to respond. Finally, he spoke again, his tone quieter. "I know. I've been... busy."

"Busy?" you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "That's all you've got for me? Busy? You're busy being a superstar, and I'm supposed to just sit around and wait for you?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sounding defensive. "It's just... everything's changed, Y/N. I didn't think you'd understand."

“No, I don’t understand,” you said, your voice rising now. “You used to make time for me. You used to care about me. But now? Now you’ve got a hundred people demanding your attention, and I’m just some background noise. I’m not gonna be a part of your life when it’s convenient, Rafe.”

You could hear him sigh on the other end. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want things to change, but they have. I didn't mean to push you away."

“Well, you did,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “And now it feels like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

There was a long silence, and for a moment, you thought he might say something — something that would make it better. Something that would make you believe he cared. But then, the truth of it hit you. The truth you’d been avoiding for weeks.

He wasn’t the same Rafe anymore.

The next few days were a blur of heartbreak and anger. You tried to reach out to him again. Texts. Calls. But each time, it felt like a slap in the face. His replies were short, delayed, or non-existent.

And you couldn’t help it. You felt yourself slipping. The Rafe who used to be your best friend, the guy who told you everything, had disappeared. And in his place was a stranger who only remembered you when it was convenient.

The final nail in the coffin came when you saw the pictures.

It was late one night when you scrolled through your social media feed, your heart already heavy from the way things had been going. You should’ve known better than to check, but there it was: Rafe, front and center, surrounded by his new teammates, flashing that signature smirk that made every camera in the room snap photos.

And there was a girl beside him. Pretty, tall, blonde, all smiles, laughing up at him like she was the only person in the world.

You stared at the picture for a long time. The caption was simple: "The squad’s all here. Couldn’t have made it without these guys."

But it wasn’t the picture that stung. It was the realization that Rafe had already moved on. He was already living the life he wanted, and you weren’t even a blip on his radar anymore. The girl in the picture wasn’t you. It never would be again.

That’s when you made the decision.

You stopped calling. You stopped texting. You stopped waiting.

You moved on.

LATER

He waited.

Of course he waited.

Sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room, cap pulled low over his eyes, ignoring the people sneaking glances at him.

He waited until you finally walked back out, clipboard tucked under your arm.

Rafe shot up, following you down the hall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called, catching up easily. “Hold up.”

You kept walking.

He grabbed your wrist – gently, spinning you to face him.

You glared up at him, unimpressed.

Now, standing in front of him - the man who once meant everything to you - you had to fight the urge to crumble. Your heart was still scarred from the way he'd slipped away so easily. The way he'd left you in the dust when he got what he wanted, like you didn't matter.

"I didn't know you were here," Rafe said, voice quieter but still laced with that trademark arrogance, like he couldn't quite believe you'd slipped past his radar.

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly make a habit of checking in." You replied harshly, arms crossing over your chest.

He took a lazy step closer, and even though the fluorescent hospital lights weren't exactly forgiving, he still managed to look good enough to ruin a life. Hoodie still up, cap pulled low, but his eyes burning into yours like you were the only person in the room.

You raised your chin, refusing to let him rattle you.

"You were busy," you added with a shrug, the casualness in your voice undercut by pounding of your heart. "Busy being Rafe Cameron: NBA star, city legend, certified heartbreaker."

He chuckled low under his breath, the sound rich and smug. God, he was annoying. God, you hated that part of you still loved it.

"You forgot devastatingly handsome," he said with a wink, stepping even closer.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. "Must've slipped my mind."

Before he could answer, Jordan limped out of one of the side rooms, a grin splitting his face when he spotted you both.

Jordan was cleared. He was fine.

"Hey, Y/N", Jordan called, patting his side. "You fixed me up good. Still breathing. Thanks."

You offered him a smirk. "Miracles happen every day."

Jordan laughed and clapped Rafe on the shoulder. "You ready, man?"

"Yeah," Rafe said easily, but he didn't look at Jordan. His eyes were glued to you.

Jordan noticed, and with a knowing smirk, he started hobblin toward the exit on his own. "I'll be in the car," he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "Try not to get kicked out."

You shook your head. "Your friend's gonna need another trip here if he keeps playing wingman for you."

Rafe grinned, undeterred. If anything, he looked even more pleased.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, voice dropping a little lower, just for you. “Won’t be the last.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, to remind him exactly how badly he’d screwed up – but he beat you to it.

“I am not giving up,” Rafe said, and suddenly, there was steel under all that cockiness. “Not this time. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You stared at him, heart thudding.

“You say that now,” you said, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “But give it a week. Maybe two. You’ll be back to your busy, superstar life. Just like before.”

He smiled – slow, lazy and infuriatingly confident.

“Yeah?” he said, cocking his head. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

You huffed a laugh under your breath, because goddammit – he was so annoying. And so gorgeous. And he wasn’t backing down.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered.

He grinned wider, reaching out to tug gently at a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your bun.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, bold as hell. “Still the best thing I’ve ever seen in this city.”

You glared at him. “Flattery’s not gonna work.”

He just chuckled, stepping back like he had all the time in the world. Like he already knew the game wasn’t over. Not even close.

“See you around, Trouble,” he said, backing toward the exit, hands in his pockets, cap low over his eyes again. “And don’t bother changing your number. You know I’ll still find you.”

Trouble.

He hadn’t called you that since you were kids – back when you’d drag him into late-nigh adventures, when you’d dare him to climb fences and sneak into the empty gym just so you could shoot hoops under the stars.

Back when you were his whole damn world.

And with a cocky salute and a wink, Rafe Cameron disappeared through the ER doors. Leaving you staring after him, heart pounding, pulse racing and a very, very dangerous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

A FEW DAYS LATER

You figured he’d get bored.

You figured he’d move on.

He was Rafe Cameron, after all, the guy who had an attention span about as long as a TikTok video and an ego big enough to feed a whole village.

You were wrong.

It started the very next morning.

A knock at your door – way too early, interrupted your sad attempt at sleeping in after a night shift.

You opened it, bleary-eyes and wearing old sweatpants, expecting Amazon or a neighbour or maybe some aggressive Girl Scout.

Instead?

A huge, obnoxiously gorgeous bouquet of flowers was waiting on your doorstep. Roses, lilies and some wildflowers you didn’t even know the names of – so big you could barely see the delivery guy behind them.

There was a card tucked into the mess of blooms.

You rolled your eyes but snatched it up anyway.

In his messy, familiar scrawl, it read:

“Since I never properly apologized for being an idiot. This is step one. Step two’s gonna be way more fun. – Trouble’s #1 Fan.”

You let out an involuntary laugh – a real one, before quickly thanking the delivery guy and slamming the door, cheeks burning.

Cocky. Arrogant. Bastard.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

Everywhere you went – the hospital, the little coffee shop near work, even the damn gym where you took your pilates classes – he showed up.

Always casual. Confident. Always looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

At work, he started showing up with Jordan – who, for some reason, seemed way too amused by all of it.

Jordan would limp into the ER, milking his injury for all it was worth, while Rafe would lean against the wall like he had all the time in the world, cap pulled low, hoodie half-zipped, giving you that stupid, heart-melting smirk.

"You sure you don’t need to check me out, too, Trouble?" he’d call, hand pressed to his chest dramatically. "I think my heart’s bruised."

You didn’t even blink. "You think you have one?"

Jordan almost collapsed laughing.

Another time, you spotted him across the hospital cafeteria, holding a smoothie cup in both hands — the kind the nurses always fought over when the shifts got long — waving it at you like a bribe.

You tried to ignore him.

You really did.

But every time you turned around, he was there — cocky, relentless, unbothered.

And somehow... underneath it all, sincere. Every flower, every smoothie, every shameless wink — it chipped away at you, little by little.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Loss. You should’ve been used it by now.

It came with the job, you knew that. Sometimes you fought like hell and it still wasn’t enough.

But tonight... it hit different.

The patient had been young. Too young.

One minute you were laughing with them, promising they’d be fine. The next, you were watching monitors flatline while doctors shouted and hands moved too fast to make a difference.

You stayed until the family came. You stayed until the room was cleared. You stayed until the hospital felt like it was swallowing you whole.

And when your shift finally ended, you dragged yourself out into the dark parking lot — bone-tired, heart heavier than it had been in months.

You didn’t even see him at first.

Not until you reached your car, fumbling your keys, and a voice cut through the night.

"Baby."

You turned sharply, breath catching.

Rafe.

Leaning against the hood of his own car a few spaces away, cap low, hoodie zipped halfway up, hands shoved in his pockets — like he’d been waiting for hours.

He pushed off the car slowly, crossing the few feet between you.

And for once... he didn’t smirk.

He didn’t crack a joke.

He just looked at you — really looked — and somehow, he knew.

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, wiping at your face even though you weren't sure if there were actual tears yet.

"Bullshit," he said quietly.

You laughed — a hollow, broken sound — and shook your head.

"Not everything’s a game, Rafe."

"I know," he said.

He reached out, hand hovering — not grabbing, not pushing, just offering.

And for once, you didn’t shove him away.

You let him cup the side of your face, rough palm gentle against your cheek.

"You don’t always have to be the strongest one, Trouble," he murmured. "Not with me."

Something inside you cracked at that — sharp and aching.

Because you remembered, now.

This was why it hurt so much when he left all those years ago.

Because even then — arrogant, reckless, stubborn — Rafe Cameron had always made you feel seen. Made you feel safe.

Even when you hated him for it.

You leaned into his hand, just barely, letting your eyes flutter shut for one brief second.

Just breathing.

Just feeling.

And when you opened them again, he was still there — still steady, still waiting — blue eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

"I’m not giving up on you," he said, voice low and certain. "You can hate me. You can run. I don’t give a shit. I’m still gonna be here."

Your heart twisted so hard it hurt.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn him for making you want to believe again.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes.

"You’re such a pain in my ass," you whispered.

Rafe just grinned — that stupid, heart-aching grin — like he was proud of it.

He let his hand drop slowly from your cheek, but he didn’t step away.

Instead, he tilted his head toward the parking lot behind him.

"Come on," he said. "Let me drive you home."

You opened your mouth — to protest, to tell him you could handle yourself — but the exhaustion caught up with you all at once, weighing down your limbs, your chest, your heart.

And the truth was...

You didn’t want to be alone tonight.

You nodded once, silent.

He exhaled softly — almost like he’d been holding his breath — and led you to his car without another word.

The car was warm and quiet, the faint hum of the engine filling the silence.

He didn’t blast music like he usually did. No cocky rap songs. No show-off playlists.

Just the soft buzz of the heater and the occasional swipe of the windshield wipers.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in a mess of neon and rain-slicked streets.

After a minute, you felt him glance over at you.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low — not the teasing, cocky tone he usually used — but something careful. Gentle.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening in your lap.

"No," you said honestly. "Not really."

You half-expected him to make a joke, to deflect, to do something Rafe.

But he just nodded, hands loose on the steering wheel, giving you space to breathe.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked, quieter.

You hesitated.

And then, for some reason you couldn’t quite explain — maybe because it was dark, maybe because you were tired, maybe because it was him — you started talking.

You told him about the patient. About how helpless you felt. About how no matter how many times it happened, it never got easier.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t offer dumb advice.

He just listened.

Really listened.

When you finished — voice thick and raw — he was quiet for a beat.

Then he said, simply, "I'm sorry, Trouble. You didn’t deserve that kind of day."

You blinked fast, staring hard out the window so he wouldn't see the tears trying to burn their way free again.

Another few blocks of silence stretched out between you — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was... safe.

"You know," he said after a while, glancing sideways at you with a half-smirk, "if you ever get tired of saving lives, you could come be my personal trainer or something."

You snorted. Loudly. "Yeah, because coaching your lazy ass to do two push ups is really gonna heal my emotional trauma."

He laughed — a real, full-body laugh — and you found yourself smiling despite everything.

"There she is," he said softly.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

"You’re unbelievable."

"I know," he said easily. "But you love it."

He pulled up to your curb and put the car in park, but didn’t kill the engine.

Neither of you moved.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag, suddenly nervous.

"Thanks for the ride," you said finally, voice small.

He reached over, his fingers brushing yours lightly — a barely-there touch, but enough to ground you.

"Anytime, Trouble," he murmured. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

You opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air — but before you closed it, you leaned down slightly, meeting his eyes across the cab.

"I’m not ready to forgive you," you said, honest and sharp.

"I know," he said — steady, sure. "I’ll wait."

Your heart twisted painfully.

Stupid Rafe Cameron. Stupid loyalty. Stupid beautiful, reckless, infuriating boy who somehow still knew exactly how to get past your walls without even trying.

You closed the door without another word and hurried up the steps to your apartment — refusing to look back.

But you didn’t have to.

You knew he stayed parked there for a few minutes longer, engine rumbling softly in the night, watching over you until your light switched on upstairs.

Just like he always used to.

Just like he promised he would.

THE NEXT MORNING

You were exhausted when you finally stumbled into bed last night, still reeling from everything — the patient, the parking lot, Rafe.

You thought maybe you’d dream about it.

But instead, you woke up to your phone buzzing loudly against your nightstand.

You groaned, burying your face in your pillow, but finally cracked one eye open enough to check the notification.

1 New Message: Unknown Number

Your heart stuttered.

You opened it.

Rafe Cameron: Hope you’re free tonight, Trouble. Left you a little something downstairs. Wear it loud. Front row’s waiting for you.

Your stomach dropped — in a good way — as you sat up quickly, shoving the blankets off.

You padded down the stairs to the lobby of your building where the sleepy concierge waved you over.

“There’s a package for you,” he said, lifting a sleek black box.

Your name was scrawled across the top in familiar, messy handwriting.

Inside:   — Two front-row ticket to tonight's game.   — One official jersey.

Not just any jersey. His jersey. Cameron.   #10.   And tucked between the folds of fabric — a tiny handwritten note:

Thought you might need something to wear when you’re screaming my name.

Cocky, arrogant, infuriating.

You laughed — actually laughed — shaking your head.

God, he was impossible.

You wore the damn jersey. (Over your loudest protests. Your best friend practically forced you into it.)

The crowd was insane, energy buzzing through the stadium as you slid into your seats right on the court line.

Your friend nudged you, smirking. “Bet he’s showing off just for you.”

You rolled your eyes.

Right as Rafe jogged onto the court — hoodie peeled off, tattoos on full display — he glanced toward your section.

Caught your eyes instantly.

Grinned. Winked. Winked.

And the whole stadium erupted like he just hit a three-pointer from half-court.

Your face burned as you sank lower into your seat, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

He played like a man possessed — quick, reckless, cocky as hell — and you hated how your heart raced every time he scored, flashing a grin like he knew you were watching.

But then late in the third quarter, It happened.

Rafe drove toward the basket, got clipped mid-air, and hit the court hard.

The whole stadium gasped.

You shot to your feet before you even realized it.

Trainers rushed onto the court. His teammates circled him. And you — heart hammering against your ribs — could only watch helplessly.

He sat up after a few tense seconds, rubbing his knee, wincing — but waved off the stretcher.

Still, he limped off the court, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Stubborn idiot.

Your friend grabbed your arm. "Stay calm. He’s fine. You know he’s a cockroach."

You wanted to laugh. You wanted to scream.

You wanted to see him.

As soon as the final buzzer blared — the win barely registering in your brain — you bolted toward the tunnels, trying to push through the crowd.

Security immediately stepped in, blocking your path.

“No entry, miss.”

“I’m not — he knows me! Rafe Cameron, we grew up together, I swear—” you said quickly, heart racing.

“Sure, sure," the guard muttered, already looking away.

You were about to lose it —   Until a familiar voice called out:

"Yo! She’s good."

You whipped around.

Jordan.

He jogged over, flashing a grin. "Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure he's been waiting for you all damn night."

You sagged in relief, flashing him a grateful look.

Your friend squealed as Jordan casually threw his arm around her, steering her back toward the players' lounge with a wink.

You barely heard them — already jogging toward the locker rooms.

You hesitated outside the heavy door, nerves buzzing under your skin. This was dumb. He probably had trainers, doctors, managers — a whole parade of people taking care of him. 

He didn’t need you.

You were about to turn away when the door cracked open.

And there he was.

Rafe stepped out into the hall, towel slung around his neck, hair damp, white tee stretched across his broad shoulders. His knee was wrapped, but he was walking — stiffly, carefully — and thank god he wasn’t seriously hurt.

He froze the second he saw you.

The cocky grin slid across his face like it was second nature, but there was something softer hiding underneath it. Something almost careful.

"Told you the jersey'd look good on you," he rasped.

You tried to glare — you really did — but your chest was too tight, relief crashing through you like a damn tidal wave.

"You scared the shit out of me, Cameron," you said, punching his shoulder lightly.

He shrugged, easy and casual — like it was nothing — but you saw the way his eyes clung to you.

Like you were something he wasn’t ready to let go of again.

You shifted on your feet, hesitating, then blurted it out before you could lose your nerve:

"Are you okay?"

The words were barely a whisper over the noise of the stadium still echoing down the halls.

Rafe’s smile tilted, slow and lazy — but his eyes... His eyes softened in a way that punched the air right out of your lungs.

He stepped closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough.  "I am now."

And the way he said it — low, certain, like it was the only thing in the whole damn world that mattered — made your heart break and heal all at once.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

It was just the two of you standing in that too-bright hallway, years of mistakes and missed chances hanging heavy between you.

Then he nudged your chin up with the back of his knuckles — soft, careful — and gave you that shit-eating grin you used to hate, but now... Now it just made your knees a little weaker.

"Come on, Trouble," he drawled. "I’m driving you home. Doctor’s orders."

You tried to roll your eyes, but it came out more like a breathless laugh. "You're not a doctor, Rafe."

"Good thing you are," he quipped, already steering you down the hall with his hand resting low on your back. "Means if I pass out behind the wheel, you can save me."

You snorted. "You're unbelievable."

He winked as he pushed open the side door leading to the players’ lot.

The inside of his blacked-out Mercedes was warm and quiet, a weird little bubble separate from the world.

You watched the city lights blur past the window for a moment, trying to get your heart to slow down.

"You sure you’re okay?" you asked again, voice softer this time.

Rafe glanced at you sideways, something serious flickering across his face.

"I’m good," he said. Then added, lower, "Better now."

Your throat tightened stupidly.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. "So cocky."

"You love it," he said easily.

You opened your mouth to argue — but stopped.

Because honestly? You kind of did.

Loved the way he made you feel seen. Loved the way he didn’t let you hide behind your walls. Loved the way he was trying — really trying — even if he still did it with that reckless, arrogant Rafe Cameron brand of chaos.

The drive continued in comfortable silence until Rafe pulled off the highway. The gentle rumble of the engine and the hum of the city around you felt like a little private bubble.

 “Uh…” Rafe glanced over at you, a little unsure. “I, uh, I was thinking... you wanna come over to my place instead? I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind, and honestly, I could use some company. Unless, you know, that’s too much or something.”

His voice trailed off at the end, but you could feel the tension in his hands tightening on the wheel.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the invitation. “You’re asking me to your place after all that... cocky, charming stuff?”

He gave you a look, the one that said don’t test me, but it was softer than usual. “Yeah. And if you say no, I’ll just drive you home, I guess. No big deal.”

You smiled, and maybe you surprised yourself more than you surprised him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Rafe’s grin was back in full force as he drove toward his apartment, the city lights flickering outside like a trail behind you. Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop the excitement that curled inside you.

You hadn’t expected this — hadn’t expected the nerves and the awkwardness that hit you as you stepped into his apartment. It wasn’t anything like you remembered. No more leftover pizza boxes or half-empty beer cans scattered across the place. This was clean. Sophisticated. Almost like he was trying to give off a “mature” vibe.

You could feel Rafe's eyes on you as you took in the space. It was cozy, but minimalist. The kitchen was sleek, the furniture modern and dark, the walls adorned with framed art you figured he probably picked up on one of his international trips. He’d clearly put thought into it, something that made you feel like you didn’t really know the guy who’d once been so reckless with his life, so careless about everything that mattered.

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, throwing an arm across the back like he owned the place. His gaze flicked toward you, cocky grin in place, but there was something else there too — something softer.

“Make yourself at home, Trouble. Gotta warn you though, I’m a pretty bad roommate.” His grin spread wider.

You arched an eyebrow as you slid onto the couch beside him, the comfortable distance you used to maintain now completely absent. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, mixed with the fresh smell of his apartment. It was strange, this feeling of both familiarity and unfamiliarity all at once.

"Let me guess, you leave your dirty socks everywhere?" You smirked, trying to fall back into the old rhythm.

He chuckled, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. "I was gonna say I don't do dishes, but sure, I leave socks everywhere too."

You laughed, but your heart wasn’t really in it. There was so much you wanted to say to him. So much that you didn’t know how to say.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you glanced at him, trying to gauge where his head was. "You’ve changed, you know that?"

He turned his head, meeting your gaze, a small frown forming on his lips. "You mean for the better, right?"

You shrugged, leaning back on the couch as your eyes met his. "Maybe. It's just... I don’t know. You’re different now. But you still have that Rafe Cameron cockiness."

"Can’t get rid of that if I tried," he said with a wink. "And I’m not sure I want to."

His eyes softened, a glimmer of something deeper flickering in his gaze. The cocky front was still there, but now there was more to it — something vulnerable, something real.

You shifted, suddenly feeling more exposed than you had earlier that night. "I just... I don’t know how you do it. You left. No calls, no texts. Nothing. I had to move on, and you just... disappeared." The words came out sharper than you intended, and you winced.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a long breath and sat up, turning toward you. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I never wanted to make you feel like you were... nothing. I was an idiot. I didn’t know how to handle everything back then. I thought distancing myself would make it easier for both of us.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap. "It didn’t. I spent years wondering what happened, why you didn’t even try. And every time I saw you on TV, I hated myself for still caring."

Rafe’s expression hardened slightly, but he didn’t look away. "I get it. I was selfish. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess, and I was so consumed with the game... I pushed everyone away. You didn’t deserve that."

The air between you grew heavier, but there was something else too. Something you hadn’t expected. A quiet understanding. The gap between the past and the present was closing, but there was still a lot left unsaid.

He reached out slowly, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand — a soft, careful touch. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that until now. It was like he was giving you permission to let the past go — permission to not carry that weight anymore.

But instead of responding right away, you just nodded, your hand still resting in his. "It’s... it’s okay. You’re here now. And I guess that’s all that matters."

For the first time that night, you saw the cocky edge fade entirely from Rafe's face. It wasn’t just an apology. There was something deeper there — regret, pain, maybe even longing.

He gave a small smile and pulled back a little, then grabbed the remote from the coffee table. “Wanna watch a game? Or... I don’t know, we could binge-watch something ridiculous?”

You snorted, a smile tugging at your lips. “Do you even know how to relax without a ball in your hand?”

His grin was wide and mischievous. “Not really.”

You didn't remember falling asleep.

One second you were side by side on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous show Rafe picked out, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. The next, the world blurred into darkness.

When you blinked awake, early morning sunlight was bleeding through the blinds, casting lazy strips of gold across the apartment.

And Rafe was still there.

Your head was on his chest. His arm was draped around you, loose but steady, like he’d just anchored you there without even thinking. His hoodie had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of warm skin, and you hated — hated — how good it felt to be this close again.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

You could feel the slow, even rise and fall of his chest beneath you. You could hear the faint, steady beat of his heart.

It felt safe.

It felt dangerous.

You shifted slightly, trying to untangle yourself without waking him — but the second you moved, his arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer.

"Where you going, baby?" he mumbled, voice rough and sleep-warm.

You froze, caught.

"I should..." you started, words catching awkwardly in your throat. "I should go."

His fingers brushed lightly up and down your arm, a slow, absent-minded touch that made your skin shiver.

"You don’t have to," Rafe said softly. No cocky smirk. No teasing. Just honesty. "You don’t have to run."

You closed your eyes, fighting the sting behind them.

He made it sound so simple.

Like after everything — the missed calls, the empty silences, the years of pretending you didn’t miss him — you could just stay. Like it was that easy.

"You don't get it," you whispered, voice shaking despite your best efforts. "You broke my heart, Rafe."

You felt him go still beneath you. Completely still.

And then he shifted — slow, careful — until you were looking at him.

His hair was a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something raw in his gaze. Something that stripped you bare.

"I know," he said, voice low and rough. "And I'd spend the rest of my life trying to put it back together if you'd let me."

Your heart cracked wide open.

You shook your head, blinking fast. "You can’t just... say things like that."

"Why not?" he said, and there was no hesitation, no bravado.

Just Rafe. The boy who used to follow you anywhere. The boy you used to trust with everything.

"Because I might believe you," you whispered.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, so carefully you barely felt it — Rafe reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jaw.

"I'm counting on it," he said.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it..

You weren' sure when it had shifted. When seeing Rafe everywhere stopped feeling like an accident and started feeling... inevitable.

It wasn't grand gestures. It wasn't sweeping apologies or dramatic confessions.

It was the way he kept showing up. Quiet. Consistent. There when you needed him. There when you didn't even realize you did.

A coffee left on the hood of your car after a brutal shift. A smoothie shoved into your hand after pilates with a lazy "you're welcome, Trouble."

A quiet presence leaning against his truck, waiting outside the hospital just to walk to your car.

You told yourself you were annoyed. You told yourself it didn't matter.

But somewhere along the way, the anger stopped feeling sharp. And started feeling a lot like hope.

Today, today he was pushing a little.

You were stepping out of the hospital after another brutal shift when you spotted him, leaning casually against his car, cap low.

He straightened up when he saw you, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth.

You groaned immediately. "What now, Cameron?"

"Good shift, baby?" he asked, ignoring the bite in your tone.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."

He grinned wider, cocky and smug, but there was something softer under it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"So," he drawled. "Got plans tonight?"

You eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

Rafe shrugged, all casual arrogance. "Big game. Afterparty. Open bar. A table reserved. Could use a date."

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he could still do that to you.

"Get Jordan to be your date," you said dryly, stepping around him toward your car.

Rafe matched your pace easily, his voice dropping low and teasing as he followed. "Jordan said he's busy. Something about your friend. Looks like it’s just you and me."

You threw a glare over your shoulder. "I'm not your backup plan, Rafe."

He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop. Not hard. Not demanding. Just... there.

"You were never a backup plan," he said, voice quieter now. "Not then. Not now."

You stared at him, your heart hammering.

For once, he wasn’t hiding behind cocky jokes or stupid winks. He just looked at you — the way he used to, before everything got so damn complicated.

"Come with me," he said. "Tonight. No games."

You swallowed hard, the war raging inside you — old anger, old hurt, old love — crashing like waves.

But somewhere deep down, you knew...

You were tired of pretending.

Tired of lying to yourself.

Tired of pretending he didn't still have you.

You exhaled slowly. "Fine," you said, pretending to be annoyed. "But if you start acting like an arrogant asshole, I’m leaving without saying goodbye."

Rafe grinned, that cocky light flickering back into his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Trouble."

The bar was packed.

Rafe was still in his post-game clothes — black jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up, cap tugged low.

You wore simple jeans and a leather jacket over his jersey, feeling oddly exposed but somehow right next to him.

People kept coming up to him — fans, random strangers — and he dealt with it all with lazy charm.

But his hand never left the small of your back.

Every time someone tried to pull him away, his fingers would brush your hip, reminding you: I'm still here.

And when Jordan finally showed up his arm slung around your best friend, who looked way too happy for someone who’d spent the whole night pretending she didn’t like him — Rafe leaned down, voice low against your ear.

"Wanna get outta here?"

The brush of his lips against your skin made your whole body tense.

You turned your head, your breath catching when you found yourself inches from his face.

“Where would we go?” you asked, voice lower than you meant.

His grin was slow. Dangerous.

"Anywhere you want, Trouble."

The air was cool and crisp when you stepped out into the parking lot. The noise from the bar faded behind you, swallowed by the night. You tugged your jacket tighter around you, feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed.

Rafe stayed close behind, just like he had all night — his presence a solid, steady thing at your back.

His hand brushed yours — light, casual, but not accidental. You knew him too well.

You reached his car and paused, the sharp scent of leather and cologne wrapping around you as he leaned lazily against the door.

He was looking at you — really looking — like he wasn’t in a rush, like he had nowhere else to be but here, waiting for you to decide.

"You're thinking too much again," he said, his voice low and warm, almost a smile.

You huffed a laugh, pushing a hand through your hair. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Rafe tilted his head, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes, but you could still see it — the softness. The patience. The want.

"You don’t have to figure it out tonight," he said, voice a little rougher now. "You don’t have to figure me out, either."

You stared at him, chest tight, heart stupidly loud in your ears.

Because he meant it.

For the first time ever — no games, no cocky smiles covering it up — Rafe Cameron was standing there asking for nothing but whatever you were willing to give.

No pressure. No demands.

Just... him.

And something in you — something tired and stubborn and scared — finally cracked wide open.

You stepped closer before you could think, before you could stop yourself. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Rafe froze, his body going perfectly still — like if he moved, you might bolt.

You stared up at him, at the familiar tilt of his mouth, the blue of his eyes, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then — almost without meaning to — your hands found the collar of his hoodie.

You tugged him down.

Soft.

Careful.

Like you were remembering him all over again.

You kissed him — a brush of your lips against his, fleeting but so full of everything you’d left unsaid.

You pulled back barely an inch, breathing hard, heart crashing against your ribs.

And Rafe... Rafe just stared at you, dazed, stunned.

Like you’d just punched him in the chest.

"You’re dangerous, Trouble," he rasped, his voice wrecked and raw, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth even as something fierce and bright flared behind his eyes.

You smirked up at him, cocky and confident and shaking like a leaf inside.

"Payback," you whispered.

For leaving. For hurting you. For making you fall first.

You started to pull back — teasing, playful, in control again.

But he didn’t let you.

One of Rafe’s hands caught your waist, the other finding the side of your neck — big, warm, a little rough — and then he was kissing you back.

Deeper. Slower. Like he had all the time in the goddamn world to undo every bad thing he'd ever done.

You gasped softly into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he kissed you like he was trying to memorize you. Trying to make up for every second he hadn’t been there.

The kiss broke finally, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the dark.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to.

"You kill me," he whispered against your skin.

"You deserve it," you whispered back, but it came out more fond than cutting.

He chuckled low under his breath, that soft laugh that you hadn’t realized you missed until now.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you — really look — and god, the way he looked at you.

Like you were it. Like you always had been. Like you always would be.

“Come home with me,” he said quietly, almost like a question.

Your heart slammed against your ribs — because you knew he didn’t mean it in a reckless way.

He meant just this. Tonight. Simple. Safe.

Just you and him and nothing else.

You nodded once, biting your lip to hold back the smile that wanted to escape.

He exhaled a shaky breath like you’d just given him the world.

And when he opened the car door for you, slipping into the driver’s seat with one last, lingering glance your way, you realized maybe — just maybe — you were finally ready to let him have it.

Not all at once.

Not perfectly.

But piece by stubborn piece.

The way only Rafe Cameron ever could.

The drive to his place was quiet, a different kind of quiet this time. Not awkward. Not tense. Just full — with things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.

When he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, he looked over at you.

No cocky smirk. No teasing grin.

Just him. Open. Real.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice low.

You smiled, small but sure. "Yeah."

That was all he needed.

Inside, the place was dim, the city lights spilling in through the windows. You dropped your bag near the door, kicking your shoes off. Rafe followed behind you, quiet, his hands jammed in his pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you too fast.

You sat on the couch, pulling your knees up under you.

He dropped beside you — close enough that his thigh brushed yours, but not pushing.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. The TV was on low — some mindless highlights from the game — but you barely heard it.

You turned to him slowly.

He was already watching you.

Always watching you.

"What?" you whispered, a tiny smirk tugging at your mouth.

Rafe shook his head, his grin soft — the kind he never showed anyone else. "You," he said simply. "Just you."

You felt your face heat, and you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "You're gonna make me puke with all that sweetness, Cameron."

He chuckled under his breath, looking down like he was debating something. When he looked up again, his eyes were brighter somehow — rawer.

"I’m serious, Y/N," he said, voice rough. "I spent so long being a selfish asshole. Pushing you away. Chasing shit that never meant anything."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling loose — a picture of casual, except for the way his shoulders were so tense he looked ready to snap.

"And all it did was make me realize..." He swallowed hard, shaking his head like he hated how stupid he sounded. "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught — sharp and sudden.

He glanced at you — fast, nervous — like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going.

But you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t move at all.

"I still love you," he said, quieter now. "Probably always will."

You stared at him, chest aching, every part of you thundering.

Because this wasn’t some big, planned speech. This wasn’t him trying to win.

It was just him.

Simple. Messy. Real.

Exactly the way you needed it to be.

You shifted closer without even thinking, until your knees brushed, until you could feel the heat rolling off him.

Rafe let you, his hands twitching like he wanted so badly to reach out but was waiting — waiting for you.

"You’re an idiot," you whispered, voice trembling.

He gave a soft, crooked smile — a little helpless, a little hopeful. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me."

You stared at him — at the ridiculous, reckless, beautiful boy who’d broken your heart and then spent every day since trying to piece it back together.

And you realized — you weren’t scared anymore.

You nodded once, voice barely there.

"I love you too."

The second the words left your mouth, something inside Rafe broke — his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally let it out.

He leaned in, slow enough that you could have stopped him. You didn’t.

You met him halfway, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was soft and deep and sure.

When you pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"So," he murmured, voice teasing now but thick with something heavier underneath. "Is this where I ask if you wanna be my girlfriend?"

You laughed, breathless, curling your fingers in the collar of his hoodie. "You planning on making it official with a handshake or something?"

He huffed a laugh, nudging your nose with his. "Nah," he said. "Gonna keep kissing you until you say yes."

You smiled against his mouth, your heart full to bursting.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good," he said, kissing you again, softer this time. "Because I’m not letting you go again, Trouble."

A FEW DAYS LATER

Hand in hand, you and Rafe walked down the crowded sidewalk, coffee cups in hand, the afternoon sun warm on your backs.

You caught people staring — double takes, whispers.

You didn’t care. Neither did he.

Rafe squeezed your hand a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, and leaned down to brush a kiss against your temple without breaking stride.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t running anymore.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

With him.

Home.