#and come back together stronger and better

[lessi-lover]

before we broke (2) II p.bueckers x reader

set in 2019, bit of a prequel and some high school flashbacks!

before we broke II p.bueckers x reader 2.7k

“you’re too slow!” paige called over her shoulder, her blonde hair catching the wind as she sprinted ahead of you. you whined in exasperation as she kept running, desperately trying to catch up with her as she ran faster towards her house.

“i am not!” you shot back, pushing yourself harder because you were determined not to let her win another one of your silly competitions today. you were always trying to keep up with her. she was faster and stronger, always a little bit ahead, but she never left you behind. not really.

finally with your last burst of energy, you lunged forward attempting to tackle her to the ground. both of you tumbled into the grass, giggling as you caught your breath. she turned onto her back, your body somehow ending on top of her.

“you cheated.” she accused of you, but there was no real bite to it. she couldn't pretend to be annoyed by you if she tried. “did not!” you huffed, staring down at the blonde in an adorable attempt to gain your innocence back. your hands migrated to your hips as you tried to stand your ground.

paige sprawled out on the grass, squinted up at you with an exaggerated look that told you she wasn't falling for your miss innocence act, her nose scrunching up in that way it always did when she was pretending to be serious.

"you're just mad cause i won p." you teased her, leaning over to press the weight of your hands into her shoulders. "nah," she said, turning her head to look at you. "i just like messing with you tiny." she teased, tapping your thigh with a grin, clearly enjoying her large height growth she'd had over the summer which unfortunately you had not been graced with.

flipping her hips easily she forced your body to the ground as the two of you rolled around on the grass. "get off me!" you demanded as she now sat on top of you, your hands naturally pinned under her knees.

paige only grinned wider, clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i actually think i like it up here.” you groaned dramatically, thrashing your hips around under her hold, but she barely even budged. “this is so unfair. you're crushing me under your weight.”

paige gasped placing a hand over her chest. "what was that?" paige questioned and you recognised the look she was giving you. you smirked despite the position, still struggling under her. “if the shoe fits.” paige let out a scoff in mock offense, shifting her weight just slightly to press down on you even more. “oh, now you’ve done it.”

your eyes widened in horror. “paige, no-” before you could even think about rolling out from underneath her, her hands shot to your sides again, fingers expertly digging in as she threatened the spots she knew made you squirm the most. you shrieked, kicking and wriggling under her as she dug into your skin, paige pulling loud laughter out of both of you.

"paige madison! get off her right this instant!" the voice cut through your laughter and you both freeze. paige immediately lifted her weight off you, though her grin remained obnoxious and true, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief that paige's dad had come to your timely rescue.

“i wasn’t doing anything dad!” paige protested, holding up her hands innocently, but you both knew better. you could still feel the faint sensation where her fingers had been moments ago. "you know better than to pick on her! she's half your size on a good day!" bob continued, ushering the two of you inside. apparently he’d been calling you in for dinner for the last twenty minutes, though neither of you had taken the time to hear him.

if there was anyone who could keep up with paige in a not so literal sense, it was you. it wasn't because you were the same though, the two of you worked together because you couldn't be more different.

paige’s world revolved around basketball. when she wasn’t out on the court, she was lost dreaming about the game. you could almost see it in her eyes, the way she could see herself dribbling down the court, passing defenders, and making that perfect shot just as the buzzer goes off. she loved the adrenaline when she made a great play and the satisfaction of pushing herself to be better.

if she wasn’t practicing, or running drills, she was either watching a game or talking about basketball, thinking about basketball, or just looking at basketball. it was like she could never get enough of it, could never tear her eyes away from it and unfortunately this meant you were dragged into it more than you'd like.

although you were nothing like paige. while she was always on the move, you were the kind of person who wanted to just sit back and observe, because you wanted time to appreciate the small details in life. you were always content to step back and just let the moment simply exist.

you were far too busy to find entertainment in a sport when you could instead find it in the pages of your next book. you had always loved what books offered you, the escape books gave you; the way they could take you to another world where nothing else mattered for a while. reading was much more appealing than spending hours running across a court when rather you could be swept away and be completely oblivious from the real world.

paige on the other hand could barely stay seated for a minute, let alone force herself to read. there wasn't a moment she was still or thoughtless, much to your frustration of her constant need to be active. you might have always been watching the world, but paige wanted to live it, to always be moving, she wanted to experience everything. if she wasn't thinking about a game, she was thinking about the next one because her mind was constantly racing with new ideas to burn her energy off.

she was loudmouthed, brazen and completely unapologetic about it. she didn’t hesitate to make her voice heard, regardless of who was around. she was fast and unfiltered like a river that couldn’t stop flowing. if she had something to say, she said it with a sharp tongue and without a second thought about how it would land.

you were kind, forgiving and always looking for the good in people even if it was just simply not there. you found reasons to believe in them, to give them a chance. where you saw the good, paige saw the game. if someone showed her even the slightest bit of disrespect, she would be the first to call them out because she's unafraid to confront anyone who crossed her. but you? you always believed that people aren't defined by their worst mistakes, something you were always keen to remind the blonde of.

it was a quality that sometimes made you seem naive in a way. after all, the world wasn’t always kind and it could be easy to get hurt if you weren’t being careful. but you didn’t mind. paige would sometimes roll her eyes at you. but deep down, she respected it. she respected the way you didn’t give up on people, no matter how many times they would let you down.

paige thrived off attention, loved the way she could make people laugh with just a few words, or get them to follow her lead without a second thought. paige was loud, and not in the subtle kind of way that people just add in when describing a person. no, she made sure everyone knew she was there.

she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and if you didn’t hear her the first time, she'd make sure you did the second. it wasn't just the way she talked; it was the way she carried herself. paige was untouchable, like she knew something everyone else didn't.

although if anyone tried to pick on you, paige was there in an instant, stepping in without any hesitation. she’d give them one look and suddenly they’d be backing the hell off, realising they’d just made a very bad choice of whom to mess with. it wasn’t like she had to prove anything, she never had to lift a finger when it came to defending you.

paige was the spark to your match, the fire to your ice and in the end, that was what made you both work so well.

when it came to you paige knew she had you hooked, she never felt the need to fight for attention from her best friend because you always gave it to her willingly. she’d always keep things level and even though she was full of herself in the best way possible, you were always there to ground her.

"no paige please i don't want to!" you whined, your feet scraping against the gravel as she pulled you by the hem of your shirt across the backyard. “come on, you know you want to!” paige smiled, tossing the basketball up and down in her hands as she stationed you next to the hoop.

she was leaning against the metal pole, clearly waiting for you to move. this was just another thing she could do to prepare for her game tomorrow, something to keep her head down. for you though, it was a different story.

“p, i really don’t feel like it today.” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to look serious even though you knew you weren’t convincing anyone. “don’t be lame!” she shot back, throwing the ball which gracefully hit your knees and bounced away.

"oh no! i guess we can't play, i'll see you tomorrow though bye paige!" you went to turn around before the blonde caught your wrist. “don’t pull that with me.” she said, reaching out to pull your arm and drag you back toward the court. “you know you’re not getting away with it.”

you sighed again but she wasn’t having any of it. before you knew it, the ball was being placed into your hands. “come on, just a quick game. if you win, i’ll leave you alone for a whole hour. but if i win..” she trailed off, giving you that knowing look. you knew exactly what that meant. if you won, she’d let you go, but if she won, you’d have to put up with her little training sessions for the rest of the day.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you reluctantly bounced the ball once. “it’s not impossible if you actually try,” paige retorted, eyebrows raised at your questionable dribbling abilities. “you know, maybe you are as bad at basketball as you claim.”

“paige!” you snapped, but she was already running past you, the ball now in her hands and a look of smugness on her face. she was fast, too fast. you barely had time to react before she was shooting a perfect three into the basket.

“oh, i’m sorry, was i supposed to let you just shoot?” she teased, pretending to throw it back to you. “this is so unfair,” you said, trying to get the ball back, but she was already moving again, making another sharp move that had you scrambling to defend. “seriously, paige! can you slow down a little?”

“nah,” she laughed, answering to your complaints without sparing you a glance. “you’re keeping up just fine.” she gave you a wink and a quick spin around your body, flicking the ball into the hoop once more. “three-nothing,” she said, barely even out of breath in comparison to your frustratingly red complexion.

“tired? please, you can’t be tired yet!” she teased, her grin never faltering as she put up another shot. “not until i’ve completely wiped you out.” she dropped the ball into your hands with a shove to your back. “now, let's see if you can keep up."

you groaned, but deep down, you knew you were going to have fun. it didn’t matter how many times you tried to pull away or how much you insisted you weren’t in the mood, paige was always going to win. she had a way of making everything seem fun, no matter how much you tried to act uninterested. maybe it was fun because it was paige.

“you’re relentless, you know that right?” you muttered, your smile now matching hers as you bounced the ball a couple of times. “and that’s why you love me,” she smiled back, pulling you into a headlock and kissing your cheek. “now stop wasting time and get moving!”

as much as paige’s mind was always thinking about basketball, it was always just a little more consumed by you. it wasn’t the kind of thing she would ever admitted out loud, but everyone could see it. paige was intense and if there was one thing that could compete with her obsession for the game, it was you.

her whole demeanor would change when you were around; she’d become a little less brash, a little softer spoken, but still with that spark in her eye, the same spark she had when she was on the court. the difference was, this time, it wasn’t basketball she was thinking about. it was you.

she never let on just how much you meant to her, unless you asked of course. to paige, showing vulnerability was a weakness, and that wasn’t something she allowed herself to be bar her best friend. she liked to be the strong one, the girl who could take on anything and anyone. but when it came to you, she didn’t need to play those games. you made her forget about all that.

you were the constant in her chaotic life, the one thing she knew she could always count on, no matter what. you weren’t like anyone else. there was no mistaking the way her eyes followed you around, always scanning for you in a room full of people.

she couldn’t help herself and she was always drawn to you. she did try to resist, she pretended not to care, but the truth was, she couldn't stop herself from being completely infatuated by you. it wasn’t something she could turn off, no matter how hard she tried.

paige knew exactly what you were to her. you were the calm wrapped tightly around her freed storm, the subtle stillness she silently craved that nothing could ever come close too. basketball was her passion, sure, but you were her obsession in the best possible way. you were different, and she loved that about you. she loved the way you made her think, made her want to be better, made her feel like there was more to life than just winning a game.

and as much as you two could drive each other mad, there was always an understanding between you and paige. people could see it, the way you both complemented each other without even trying.

those close to you had always known you were a package deal, always together, always at each other’s side. your parents loved seeing how effortlessly you had grown up side by side over the years, how you balanced each other out so naturally. she helped you when life felt too heavy, when everything threatened to pull you under and you were her voice of reason when she needed it.

so when the visits stopped and the mentions of each other grew scarce, everyone noticed. no one could quite grasp what had happened between the two of you, especially when it seemed so sudden.

eventually you had erased every memory of each other, brushing your friends and family off with a vague excuse that you had just drifted apart before college. it was easier than explaining that it wasn’t distance or time pulling you apart, it was something far more complicated, something neither of you could find the words for.

and no matter how hard you both tried to move on, to pretend everything was fine, that bitter feeling lingered like a knife beneath the surface, a secret only the two of you shared. blood drawn, yet cuts unequal. the secret still held you both pitifully in its grip, even as you tried to erase the pain it had caused you both.

~

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

I am NOT a smut writer and you're the resident monsterfucker so i bestow upon you my dream last night in hopes you can do something with it:

You're at a gathering of spellcasters, coming together from all across the land to show off your works to the high council, in the hope of impressing them and being taken into the fold. Unfortunately, they reject you, sending you away and accepting a group of your closest friends instead. What they don't tell you is that this is because you've already been claimed, marked in your very soul by an ancient force. You leave the lofty gathering, dejected and feeling quite sorry for yourself.

You wander the columns of a lush, intensely flowered ruin. The smell of the blossoms makes you feel a bit better, brings heat to your cheeks and a dull, throbbing sensation in your belly. You spin around when you hear gravel crunch behind you, only to catch a glimpse of a thickly furred, feline tail disappear into the foliage. You feel eyes on you, and start to panic. You turn to run- and collide with the muscular chest of a tall, powerful being. His face is that of a tiger, his fur mottled and shifting and *soft*. His wrists are adorned in gold, and he catches your chin, tilting your face up to look at him as his tail starts to wrap around your leg. He leans in to taste your scent, and purrs, "*There's* my queen. I've been looking for you, little morsel."

You try to back away in fear, but his tail holds you tight. You demand to know his name, who he is, where he came from. He rumbles deep in his chest, and his tongue flicks out to catch a nervous tear from your cheeks. "I am the lord of this place. And you, doll, are my mate. I've been waiting a *very* long time for you."

Before you can run, he's got you pinned against one of the columns, rutting into you, whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful and strong your kits will be, how he will rebuild his kingdom with you and elevate you to his side as a god. How your glory will be known and beloved by all, how there will be songs and stories of your beauty, how you will be his Queen and how your sons will be stronger than mountains and your daughters as radiant as the sun. First, though, the mating.

Ok! Spent quite a while thinking about this, and going to take a few liberties!

Probably going to be a few parts, because I cannot seem to do porn without plot lol, but anon I have not forgotten you!

I have about 500 words written so far though! Hopefully I’ll be able to post some stuff soon!

[kryptznnn]

♛/♡ -Tragedy II

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

➸ INTERESTS; - aged up!neteyam x omatikayan f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - Love at first sight doesn’t exist, everyone knows that. There’s attraction, reaction, and understanding someone to call something love. Neteyam wasn’t sure what it was that he felt for you, but whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc.6.5k, mentions of heat cycles, rejection, one sided love, unrequited affection, kissing, fluff, smut, p in v, fingering, ejaculation consumption, teasing, dominant fem lead, clouded judgement, mating, biting, blood mentions, etc.

➸a.i; - whoo!! finished this up i hope you guys enjoy it, sorry it took me so long it’s been a really bad week! but im working on other fics and reqs in my inbox (i’ve had since nov-dec) trying to get all the old stuff out first to get to new ideas!! thank u so much for the love! also this lowkey isn't proofread

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

♛/♡ Tragedy I

Neteyam was a good man, a good brother, a good if not great son. Which is why it was so surprising hearing and witnessing him speaking back to his parents for the first time ever. His father complained how worried his mother and grandmother have been about finding a mate for him in order to pass the responsibility Jake had been harboring for over two decades to the next, and Neteyam had simply responded how he didn't care.

He was lying their actions.

As soon as he had mentioned he found someone his father was quick to take his side, smiling at him softly before whispering with his wife to the side, who only shook her head. Her mother had already decided what needed to be done, with or without his approval, the average time of courting would naturally take months, and it was months they didn't have.

The people needed a strong ruler with an even stronger woman by his side. The position of tsahik wasn't a problem, Kiri could always fill it, as she's had the best and most practices from her grandmother, but Neteyam's situation was more complicated. Even as he watched his parents speak to one another he wasn't sure what kind of power his father had over his mother.

He would always give her some look, like a pleading look almost or just a caress to her face in order to swoon her, and it always worked. Maybe it was love, it had to be, his grandmother had spoken to him about how love comes in many shapes or forms but can never be denied. Somehow watching his parents interact before his father placed a kiss on his mother's forehead reminded him of you, and your interaction from earlier in the afternoon on the beach.

It was night now, the sky was bleak and cloudy, the stars hadn't shined as bright as they usually had, almost as if the night sky was mourning as he was. Mourning the loss of love, he was so close to having you to himself and now he felt as if he was going back to square one. It hurt him, but he didn't feel like crying, or getting upset to the point he'd lash out at others around him, he just sat on the cold wooded floors and propped his knees to his chest.

His back was now facing his parents as he watched the sky, asking himself what you were probably doing by this time. Maybe bathing or eating with your family, helping clean up the aftermath or reading to your younger sister. You could've been sewing or beading clothing together for you to wear on special occasions as he watched you do a few months ago.

Or maybe your family was all out and busy for the night and you were all alone at home, waiting for some company. He was sure he could provide you more than just company, making his time with you highly worthwhile, but yet again it would probably be better to talk things out about what happened earlier. Or maybe you two didn't need too talk anything out, when things happen between two people who can't help themselves it's meant to be.

The two of you were meant to be, that sounded satisfactory, it definitely pleased him, bringing a smile to his face. He was so used to growing up and sacrificing things for his sibling's happiness or just too tired to fight for it. He was grateful for that actually, listening to the way his father was raised and the life he lived on the stars from above pained him, no one should live a life like that, but his father always reminded him if he hadn't gone through any of that he wouldn't be blessed in the future to be reborn.

Maybe his father was right, thankfully to him he was grown into a responsible young man, athletic, intelligent, and handsome, there was nothing but greatness in him. He felt more than responsible about you though and just wasn't sure as to why. It was something like a craving or poison in his mind that was stuck there forever.

It would make his insides itch and his outsides hot; it's almost like when you sit out in the sun for too long with dry skin and start to feel discomfort. But the sun feels so nice when you've been in the cold for so long and have nothing else to turn too, that's how he felt about you. You haunted his mind in such an eerie way, and at first, he had even had his grandmother check him for illness 'just because', sure you had done something to him, but nothing came back.

He yearned and grieved for your affection as if you had passed away, like a ghost he could only breath in whenever he closed his eyes. He was sure if anyone was able to hear or read his mind, they'd call him crazy, but he didn't feel that way, he felt free. Soon enough, snapping him out of his trance was a woman walking beside him, one he hadn't seen before.

Or maybe he had seen her before, he just hadn't remembered. His head followed her movements as she made her way behind him, walking towards his parents and taking her side beside them. This immediately made Neteyam spring to his feet and follow behind, raising a brow.

His father introduced the two of them to one another, speaking of their affiliations and granting Neteyam the choice to at least keep their new guest busy and grow fond of her before making a solid decision of his future. He knew his father well, his voice was laced with responsibility and seriousness, but in all honesty, it was mainly code for 'be nice to her and go court whoever it is you wanted'.

He was listening, his ears flicked slightly listening to the woman introduce herself and pronounce her name. 'Fa'nyma', strange name, completely different from yours, but it seemed to suit her somewhat. She was shorter than you, he took notice of her hair was much longer on some part, and she wore lots of jewelry. Maybe it was to impress him, but he could only think of how those jewels would've looked against your skin, your smile.

He smiled to himself and nodded, quickly changing his face into a stir of a frown and turned his attention back to his parents in order for Fa'nyma to not get the wrong idea. He knew better than to be rude, especially to a woman, it's not the way he was raised to be at all, so he would be cordial with her, that he agreed on.

But that kind of promise became difficult to keep when it came to the fact that she practically followed him everywhere. He had planned to come and see you in your kelku, only for her to be right behind him. It would be very problematic to explain the fact that a woman is following him around the entire village as she's now his responsibility.

It had been three days since then, Neteyam had always thought to himself what was an easy way to say, "Leave me the fuck alone", not a nice way, he didn't want to be nice with her. He wanted to sound easy on the ears, but harsh enough for the conversation to get no farther than her understanding and leaving.

Then again, he's sure she wouldn't even understand what the word "fuck" means. It was a sky people term, and his parents had only used it whenever they hit their toe against something or messed up badly or were just upset beyond the point of explanation. His brother cursed often too, practically being more fluent in cursing than his mother's tongue. This is ridiculous, why is it that whenever he's so ready to get something for himself obstacles just throw themselves in his way.

"Fa'nyma" he spoke, placing his bow and arrow down in his hut before removing his headpiece, letting his braids rest on the side of his face before tying them back. She hummed in response, turning to him from the entrance of his kelku and smiling at him. "I'm going out somewhere now, so I'll need you to leave." He spoke solidly, turning his attention away from her when he noticed her cheeky look.

"Don't you want me to accompany you to wherever you're going?" She spoke, Neteyam sucked his teeth lightly before rolling his eyes. She must be one of the stupidest people he's ever met, even his youngest sister Tuk would know if he had said something like that, he would want to be alone. Did it genuinely look like he wanted her company? Or that he enjoyed her company so much he would've said yes?

"I don't enjoy your company, and I won't need it anymore." He said with an attitude, grabbing a small bag in the corner of his room and placing it over his shoulder with a clunk. He soon ushered her out of his room and hut before leaving himself, not even looking behind him to see her.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

"Y/n" he spoke with a smile, standing in the middle of the tree of voices. He had spent nearly all afternoon looking for you, now being nightfall as he saw you. Your back was facing him, but he knew it was you, he could tell by your scent, your hair, everything.

After spending nearly all of his time with Fa'nyma it was refreshing to see you, to breath you, and to touch you. He was quick to reach a hand out to your shoulder, watching as you spun around slightly for his hand to fall off your shoulder and back up slightly. You weren't smiling, which worried him, he wasn't sure what look you were giving him, but it wasn't one he was expecting.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, definitely taken aback wearing a confused but more hurt look on your face. After having such a passionate moment with a man, you weren’t surprised for it to end so quickly, what you didn’t expect was for him to leave you, especially for three days.

“I’m here to see you of course, I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you aga-“

“It’s been three days Neteyam.” You cut him off harshly, now beginning to become upset, he spoke as if no time had passed. “You kissed me and left me for three days, but it’s easy for you to walk around with Fa’nyma.” You said, earning a flared look from him at your last words.

He was quick to place the bag he was holding down, now holding both of your hands with his own hands. He looked at you with a look of desperation, pledging with you almost to hear him out.

“I don’t like her; it wasn’t up to me I swear it. I told her off this morning, I want nothing to do with her, only with you.” He said, smiling somewhat softly as you again to see you smile as well. He knew something like this would happen, he was ready for it of course, but he knew no matter how things would’ve ended he wouldn’t let you go.

He would apologize anyway he had to, such as bringing you gifts or flowers and fruits, maybe kneeling and pleading with you. He knew you well enough to know you had a soft spot for him, for everyone mostly. Maybe it was childish to feel a pang of jealousy broil in his chest over that topic, but he couldn’t help it.

He liked you, he really liked you, liked you so much he wasn’t sure what to do with himself and he would practically fuck himself over again and again. Maybe it was love, maybe he loved you, he had always had the perfect example of it growing now and all he cares about is making it a reality with you.

And he did just that, apologizing to you over and over and sitting you down on the glowing floor beneath the two of you as he gave you everything from his bag. He practically showered you in gifts you hadn’t seen before, small jewels and crystals from the star above as you had a wide smile on your face.

He had told you he wanted to court you, earn you the right way, in order to bring you towards his family, the proper way. He even slid in a joke about how if things had escalated on the beach everything would be entirely different now, making you laugh.

You were so beautiful, everything about you was so beautiful, your laugh, the way you fluttered your lashes at him as you listened to him speak, or maybe how you kept your skin in contact with his no matter where the two of you were. You weren't afraid to show him off or hint there was something between the two of you and it drove him mad.

He was so quick to mention your name to his family so often that they had no other choice but to force Fa’nyma out of the picture. He thought of himself as a bad person for a short while, purposely flaunting your capabilities and beauty in front of the other woman to watch her face stir with jealousy as he had a sinister smirk plastered on his face.

He must’ve been crazy, in both good and bad ways, but it’s deemed excused because he’s crazy in love, crazy in love for you. So crazy that now after just a few weeks of courting he’s itching to bring things to another level.

He was patient, everyone knew it. He was trained to be at such a young age, like when catching fish with his father, those lessons taught him nothing more than the importance of time. Good things come to those who wait, he had you, but to fully tie the bond between you two he had to be patient.

Love is something that can’t be rushed, patience is a large factor between two people, almost like a test to see what’ll happen under pressure. Sadly, as of right now it felt as if Neteyam was losing, if not losing his mind in the process. Laying on his bedside within his empty kelku, listening to the cold winds outside blow around it and pick up on the small, piped chimes outside his hut entrance his youngest sister made for him.

He couldn’t sleep, his mind was racing, and he felt so empty, and the thought of you was just making up upset. It stirred something inside him he couldn’t entirely understand, all he could think of now was wanting you.

No,

He needed you.

Attached to your affection and presence like a newborn to its mother or father’s skin in order to thrive and feel their love. He wasn’t sure why tonight was so different from the rest, but he couldn’t stay here, something felt off, so he did the only thing he could do and set out into the forests.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

A simple way of remembering people is by their scent, which Neteyam was familiar with. What he hadn’t been familiar with was your scent being so strong to the point where he paused in his steps and shielded his face, squinting.

It was strange he was able to pick up your scent here of all places, it was in the complete opposite direction of your home. So of course, he did none other than follow it to find you, but what he saw was nothing of what he expected.

“Y/n” he called out, removing his arm from his face to take in your state, hunched over on the floor by a tree whimpering. You hadn’t answered his call, and when he came to you and placed a hand on your skin you hissed at him, slapping his hand away.

He was appalled to say the least, your skin was burning, and your behavior was erratic, since when were you so defensive? A click quickly came to mind, you must’ve been uncomfortable, or afraid, especially to react that way with him of all people.

He was quick to scan the surroundings of the two of you to emphasize the fact that you weren’t alone, someone had definitely been here before he came towards you, lurking. Neteyam was quick to suck his teeth, already piecing together the situation playing out before reaching out to you again.

You were in heat, he felt so stupid letting it slide over his head as he had originally had it calculated. Usually within the middle of every month you disappear for only a handful of days before returning, only this time it seems to have come a little earlier than expected.

You had a shawl sprawled out to your side as you stayed huddled into a ball, fidgeting around as Neteyam made his way behind you, hugging you and rubbing circles into your back. Maybe it was because you weren’t in your best mind, but right now you felt like biting him.

Not in a bad way, in a good way, to draw blood and pleasure yourself, not necessarily to harm him. There was something about how soothing his scent felt that the scent of the other navi man lurking in the woods prior seemed to gently fade away. You paid no mind to him as you turned into Neteyam’s embrace, snuggling into his chest with a slight purr and whine.

You felt so hot, and itchy, the cool night breeze hadn’t helped you quick enough, but Neteyam’s body had. His chest was firm and cool, like how the ponds or lakes underneath the waterfalls felt, making you smile softly.

It wasn’t enough to stop your pain and itch, but it was just enough to calm you to a certain extent, his words slurring in your brain as he spoke. You had only responded with slight hums, not sure you’d be capable of responding back in sentences.

He was quick to pick you up to your feet, caressing your face and asking you something. Whatever it was he was quick to take your groan as an answer, now holding you hand in hand as he made his way through the forests, occasionally turning back to take in your ill state.

You weren’t sure what path he was taking, it certainly wasn’t the path to your home, or the main village, but the trees you two passed by before coming to a halt smelled similar to Neteyam. He was gentle, letting you climb up into an unfamiliar place before following right after you, his hand locking right back with yours as his other held your shawl.

He spoke to you again, but your ears remained out of focus, now picking up on the small sound of pattering coming from behind you. You turned slowly, your head hurting as you watched the rain fall. You turned back slowly, placing each hand on the sides of your head, feeling as if someone had taken a bone and hit the sides of your head repeatedly.

You only groaned, slumping over slightly before feeling Neteyam’s hands grab onto your side, ushering you further into the room and sitting you down somewhere comfortably. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, feeling his firm hands leave your body you shot them open, taking in your surroundings as you lowered your hands.

You placed your hands down at the bedside you sat on, dragging your fingers across the woven blankets. This must’ve been his home, the entire place was drenched in his scent, it seemed vacant and cold, it must’ve been the way he liked it. You were quick to bring the edge of the blanket to your nose, inhaling its scent with a slight moan, feeling a rush of adrenaline rush through your body and down to your core.

You lowered the blanket as you heard him returning shortly, crossing your legs and angling them in a position to give you pleasure. Biting back a moan as you clenched around nothing you watched as he came over, giving you a small bowl filled with water for you to drink. You smiled softly at him, taking the bowl into your shaky hands before he covered your hands with his before helping you drink it.

His hands are so large, just like you had remembered about him initially the first time he helped you pick out the fruits from the trees. They practically covered yours if not entirely in length, nearly striking a wave of embarrassment in you. As you finished you were sure he had told some sort of joke, pointing to outside before chuckling back at you.

You only batted your eyes and smiled even wider, nodding at him. You were sure that it had done something to him because he looked away and swallowed hard before leaving the room again. As he made his time quick he came to your side, now sitting beside you and taking your hands into his, speaking again, as your heat grew stronger another wave coursed through your body.

And of course you wasted no time turning to his side, resting your head on his collarbone and inhaling his scent. If you had some sort of shame left before your heat had stripped it from you there would be a possibility you’d have pulled back or apologized, but right now you just didn’t care.

His scent was driving you insane, practically flooding your mind as you caressed yourself into his skin with soft mewls and moans that echoed in his ears. He was more than flustered to say the least, but he had come to a decision on how to help you in any way possible. He simply brushed your hair away from your face to get your attention, which worked before he spoke in sure of you to hear him.

“Use me how you seem fit.” He said sternly, flashing you a toothy smile afterwards. He watched as your pupils blew out nearly full wide, no longer seeing the color of your irises before you turned your head back into his collarbone. You were quick with your actions, licking and nipping at his skin before making your way up to his neck.

A soft kiss was applied to a sweet spot before you licked it, prepping your canines into his flesh before sinking them in slowly. If it hurt it harsh enough you were sure that when you had sense again you’d apologize for it, just not now, not while you enjoyed lapping up the small trickles of blood that dribbled down his warm skin.

Not while you suddenly leap a leg over him, now straddling him as you continued to kiss him. He had barely moved as much as he wanted to, only following your lead and placing his hands on your back as support. He was quick to pull your head in for a kiss to your lips once you finished with his neck of course, this time being more forceful and sinister than the kiss you two had shared previously.

There was a small part of Neteyam that knew this wasn’t the right thing to do, at least some of it. You weren’t in your right mind and the two of you hadn’t been mated, well at least not yet. If anything, that small feeling quickly went away when he too felt himself slipping into the dizzy and foggy feeling of your heat now affecting him.

He had heard stories of something like this before, heats being able to spread towards one another to a certain extent. Things like that could only happen if that individual wanted to share it, and that seemed to be happening at this moment.

You wanted him to feel how you felt, understand how good it felt to be in this situation, as much as you itched or your skin burned, nothing could have been better than easing the pain with someone that made you feel so good.

You liked Neteyam, you were sure of it. Your family liked him too, he was considerate, gentle, humorous, and well put. He made you feel loved, cherished, and satisfactory; he could never say no to you and spoiled you with anything you wanted. Spoiling the one you love comes to a certain extent and giving them whatever they want comes with a price, like as of now when you began to untie your top and loincloth, attempting to untie his as well.

He was quick to grab both of your arms, bringing you to a short halt. You were completely nude now, watching as he took in your full appearance before looking up into your eyes. He was quick to shake his head, a signal of rejection to you, making you frown heavily and whine, tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

He spoke, not sure entirely what he was speaking of, but you were sure he muttered along the lines of ‘being responsible’ when reading his lips, the tears now rolling down your cheeks as you shook your head. There was no way he would leave you in a time like this after escalating the situation so far for the night, you yanked your arms from his grasp before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, whining.

“Please, please, please teyam, hurts so bad, need you, need you here.” You mumbled, grinding against his painful bulge from his shifted loincloth, taking his hand into yours and placing it over your lower pelvis. You watched as he groaned softly, turning his head as his ears flickered around, as if contemplating his next move. You were quick to turn your head in the direction his was turned too, kissing him first this time, wasting no time in forcing your tongue into his mouth.

He only melted at the action, quickly obliging and letting his hands roam your body. He was quick to squeeze you and tease you, letting his fingertips graze over your nipples as you moaned into his mouth, and he moans back. He kept his right hand over your breast, swirling small circles around your nipple and tugging on it every now and again as his left hand followed its way down between your legs.

Your moans now grew louder, more bass coming from them as they rumbled in your chest and throat, breaking the kiss with Neteyam as a small string of saliva was split between you too. You rested your head on the side of his cheek as your moans continued, rumbling directly into his ear, making his breath heavier than before. He only took notice to quicken his actions, his thumb circling your clit gently as his fingers thrusted inside of you.

This much arousal was getting painful in his case, he was sure he had never been this whipped ever no matter what woman he was with. You were so beautiful, your voice, your body, your movements had him captivated, if anything he wished he could stop time just for this moment. He could hardly even feel his fingers, the way they were coated if not dripping in your arousal he slipped in and out so easily it was insane.

What was even more foolish was the fact for just a split second he became jealous of his own fingers, wanting to be inside you himself with his tongue instead, but the way you fidgeted on his lap and begged for more he knew that was something to wait for another time. So, he continued, now drawing his full attention to your face as he watched your body shudder when he curved his fingers, his fingertips grazing against your insides.

He took his hand away from your breasts, now grabbing the side of your face and watching your expression, your skin was still hot, but that hadn’t bothered him. He was more focused on trying to not cum by just the sight of you. Your hair was a mess, your face was flushed and hot, saliva dripping down your lips wasn’t helping, especially when you were panting heavily like an animal with your hooded eyes.

And there it was, that cheeky little smile you do whenever you know you’ve got his attention, batting your lashes at him. He hated that you knew how to get to him so easily, especially at a time like this, it’s as if even though he’s the one pleasuring you, you were doing the same in his favor, and he was definitely right when he watched you come undone on his lap, practically shouting his name as your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into him as your body jerked forward, shuddering harshly as your orgasm washed over you.

You had no time to catch your breath as Neteyam kissed you sloppily, pulling his fingers out of you as you whimpered into his mouth at the feeling of the emptiness, clenching around nothing. You hadn’t pleaded or begged like before, only finishing your previous work and untying the rest of his loincloth before picking it up, watching as he sucked on his fingers with a small smirk.

You looked away nervously at his actions, placing his loincloth up to your nose and inhaling its scent, kissing it and tossing it behind you as you made sure Neteyam watched you. He only shook his head with a smile, his face flushed as he watched you, grazing his fingertips over your breasts yet again.

“Not satisfied?” He asked, cocking his head slightly to the side as he watched you, your eyes locked onto his body, trailing down until seeing what was hidden underneath his loincloth, making you shudder. After your intense orgasm prior, the heavy cloud of your heat wasn’t as thick as before, now you had at least a little bit of your mind left, now asking yourself if the size was too much to bear.

“Mm-mh” you muttered, shaking your head from side to side as you made your way to grab onto his sex, jolting slightly as you watched it bounce up to hit his lower abdomen. He only chuckled at you as he watched your actions, you had hardly paid any mind to him, now taking it into your hand and fisting it slightly, listening to his soft groans as the entirety of it was coated in precum.

You only smiled to yourself, raising your hips up high as you rubbed the tip onto your core, bucking your hips and moaning harshly as it flicked over your sensitive clit. As quick as the small cloud left your body it was just as quick to hit you, returning to your womb like a storm, making you chew down on your bottom lip out of frustration as you grunted.

Eywa, you felt so empty, as if you’ve been starving for days. Starving for a man to feed off of, starving for your man, your mate, to feed you. This was overwhelming, none of your heats had taken this much of an effect on you, and this physical connection wasn’t enough to share with him, you want him to see, hear, breath, and know you, not just feel you.

“Tsaheylu” you mumbled, reaching behind the back of your head to your kuru, bringing it over your shoulder as you looked down at him slightly. His reaction seemed to be one of surprise or understanding, you weren’t sure which to pick off of, no matter there were no words shared between the two of you in that moment, he only copied your movements.

Before the small tendrils of your kurus could fuse together, you sunk down onto him slowly, both of you breathy and sticky, moans mixing between the two of you. You hadn’t moved and neither had he, taking in one another before making tsaheylu, the same second of the bond between the two of you making you whimper as you rested your head on his shoulder, crying quietly.

It was so intense, as if flashing lights and music had been playing amongst the midst of everything already happening between the two of you. After a few seconds you could hear it, hear and feel how Neteyam felt for you, at first when you felt the warming in your chest you had initially expected it to be your heat, bubbling even harder now. That wasn’t the case, it was his feeling towards you, how his heart raced when he saw you or saw your smile, and how he felt now as he had you nestled on him.

It felt so nice, sharing this feeling and pain with another, lifting the burden off of yourself and having a mate to call your own. Before you were even able to speak Neteyam was quick to hoist himself up in a comfortable position, making you moan out softly.

“I know, I know tiwan. Gonna make you feel better yeah? Right here baby? I know what you need.” He spoke, placing his hand back over your pelvis and abdomen. The word he spoke prior sounded foreign to you, you could tell in the context it was a pet name, just not sure exactly what kind it could’ve been. Before you were able to pick up on that thought you felt Neteyam’s hands grab your behind in a firm manner before thrusting himself in and out of you at a kept pace.

You moaned into his shoulders now as he quickened his pace, making you clench around him. He didn’t like this position at all, don’t get him wrong you felt amazing, this moment was amazing, but he wanted to see you, see your face. He knew how you felt due to your bonding yes, but it wasn’t enough, he needs more.

Which is what led him to waste no time in standing up as he held onto you and turning around, laying you down as he towered over you, neither him leaving from inside you or your tsaheylu breaking. Cooing you as you whimpered and fidgeted against him, pulling him down onto you so you could inhale his scent from his side, but he wasn’t having it.

He rested in his knees now, thrusting into you painfully slow, listening to your groans and complaints with a grin. He liked being cocky, it felt good, especially if it got under your skin and he got to watch you react, it was amusing.

The longer the night continued the less amusing things became however, especially for the both of you. As of now Neteyam had lost track of time, and amount of positions the two of you had been in, but now you were on the floor, the room smelling like nothing but sex and sweat as you both moaned.

Neteyam had tried every other way to satisfy your needs without knotting you, but that’s all you had begged for at this time. None of your other orgasms being enough to get rid of the emptiness within you, he just hadn’t thought you were ready for it.

His last worries was getting you pregnant, it could only happen if he was also in rut, which wasn’t anytime soon, but knotting someone is dangerous (and also something he’s never done before). You were an animal, and that was no exaggeration, from the sweat and cum that had pooled on the bedside and floor your skin and fingertips had gotten wrinkly, along with Neteyam’s, but apparently you hadn’t even cared.

“Please, need it, so emptyyy” you whined, poking at the fat knot at the base of Neteyam’s cock that had been poking at your entrance for some time. Your face was wet with tears and sweat as you threw your fit, moaning as he postponed himself deeper in you to where his knot grazed against your clit.

In a matter of seconds, you were practically fucking him back, arching your back slightly as you pushed back with just as much force he thrusted into you. You could feel it, his knot was practically teasing you in a way you couldn’t explain, it felt like some sort of craze or rush that was driving you mad, mad in a way you drew a smile to your face, chanting praises over and over again before hearing a pop and a painful stretch.

Neteyam halted his movements, a loud moan escaping his lips as his knot had finally entered you. He had towered over you, his chest pressing against your back as you clawed at the floor in desperation. It wasn’t necessarily painful, more uncomfortable as it was a feeling you weren’t used too, and the cloud of your heat had covered most of it.

But oh how full you felt, the pain, tears, and cries from before all seemed to just vanish as you felt the knot lowering, now being filled with Neteyam’s cum at a quick pace. Now you felt full, and in the best way possible, it was all you had truly wanted and finally your needs were satisfied.

You sighed out in satisfaction, feeling him kiss on your neck and back softly before caressing your body. You purred back into him as you felt him move gently and slowly, picking the two of you up off the floor to his bedside, removing the dirty blanket from there before and laying there with you, still back to chest.

“Thank you” you said to him, taking his hand and kissing it with a smile as you felt him smile from behind you. He only played with your hair as he heard you yawn, taking in your small and tired state.

“Mm-hmm, so proud of you baby, did so good.” He spoke, placing a kiss onto your head as he drew faint circles in your back as he watched you drift off to sleep. He smiled to himself before remembering he was still stuck for a while, hopefully he wouldn’t wake you if he pulled out.

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[basilsnotemo]

What are your thoughts about creek’s dynamic in canon. aus like tfbw?

I love them in the fractured but whole, their relationship is shown I a way that is so complex in a way south park usually isn’t.

The fractured but whole is really interesting to me, because even though they spend the first half of the game broken up, and they are angry at each other, you can see that they are heartbroken. They didn’t want to break up, but that wedge got driven between them in the civil war and everything happened so fast they didn’t have time to act or think before being torn apart.

Most of their issues I feel came from their struggles with communication. This is a recurring theme in their relationship, best shown in Put It Down, where Craig tries his best to help Tweek with his anxiety, but kind of makes it worse because Craig struggles to figure out what he needs and Tweek struggles to tell him.

Despite being broken up, the don’t want to stay apart, Craig waits outside of the coffee shop, tweeks talking to stripe, you can tell that he misses Craig, even if he is calling him stupid, he looks so sad when the new kid leaves after giving him the note, when the new kid comes back with the receipt Craig looks sad thinking about tweek

During the scene where you fight the freedom pals, and craig and tweek are arguing, Craig is upset that Tweek didn’t stay by his side no matter what, Tweek is upset about the exact same thing, except the reason he needs Craig’s support is because he feels like he’s been wronged by Cartman, which he has.

During the relationship counseling scene, both boys are so willing to go to counseling, which seems odd for two people who are so headstrong in their beliefs but they immediately agree. After they are done they are already in a much better place. With Craig even supporting him during the fight. They are both smiling and happy to be back together and working on their relationship, which only grows stronger as the game goes on.

I really like the way they did it in the game, even if it does kill me everytime to see the boys so upset

[thompsborn]

no because like i have a fic i started that’s a super in depth heart shattering fic exploring harley and peter breaking up and spending 12 years apart and then coming back together and how it would explore them as individuals and as partners and

and also i have this little fic idea where peter and harley break up but also they had this plant that they took care of together and a week after breaking up peter shows up at harley’s door like “if that plant dies i will actually strangle you with my bare hands” and they begrudgingly post break up bitterness have to be around each other a few times a week to share custody of this fucking plant and that somehow leads to them falling in love again

and i plan to write both it’s only just a matter of time and how long it takes me to write them

[doyou000me]

"I realised that the time I thought would last forever had come to an end."

[walking-loather]

When it comes to hygiene tasks and self care with disability and chronic illness, its pretty much a constant case of: don't let perfect be the enemy of the good.

Basically: it's better to do something, than to do nothing at all.

TLDR: Just because you can't do something "properly" doesn't mean you shouldn't do it at all. Do it half-way. Do it shitty. Do it barely. Do it on a technicality. But do what you can. Just try, because doing something will help you.

If you don't have the energy to scrub your body with a sponge, just rub soap over your skin with your hands.

If you don't have the energy to wash your whole body with soap, just hit the places where sweat accumulates, or where you're smelliest.

If you don't have the energy to wash with soap AT ALL, just sitting in water is better than nothing. It will wash away dirt and oils.

If you can't bathe or shower at all, a warm wash cloth is your new best friend. If that's too much, then try bath wipes. They're a bit bigger than regular wet wipes, and a bit more heavy duty. They're designed to help keep bed ridden patients clean in hospitals.

If you don't have the energy to dry yourself after a bath or a shower, just put on a bathrobe and get into bed. If you don't have the energy to get dressed afterwards, just don't. It can wait until you can.

If you don't have energy to brush your teeth for two minutes, honestly, just a cursory scrub is better than not doing anything.

If you can't brush your teeth twice a day, brush in the evenings. It will help take away the build up of food from the day.

If you don't have the energy to brush AT ALL, honestly, just take a cloth and wipe the plaque off your teeth. Rinse with mouth wash after if you'd like. Something is always better than nothing.

If you can't floss twice a day. Try once. If that's too much, try a few times a week. If that's too much, try setting aside a day once a week as a goal. If you can't keep a schedule, do it when you're able to. Hell, I keep some floss next to my bed so that if I forget and don't have the energy to go get it, I can just reach over.

If you can't iron your clothes, don't bother. Wrinkles are fine. Wear jumpers over wrinkly t-shirts. No one will know, and honestly, most people won't even care. If it's really wrinkly and it's A Big Deal And It Needs To Be Ironed, here's my life hack. Step 1: take a spray bottle, and spritz the item of clothing (while you're wearing it is easiest) until it's lightly damp. Step 2: use a hair-dryer on the clothes until they're dry. It gets rid of creases like nobody's business, it's easier than lugging out the iron and ironing board, and you get to have nice toasty warm clothes afterwards.

If you can't fold your clothes, try just hanging them up. It's less commitment. It's quicker to do. Granted, you need to have the space in order to do this, but it is also good at helping you downsize, and lets you visualise exactly what you have.

If you can't put your clothes away, invest in a couple of laundry baskets, and then just keep your clean clothes in the baskets. You can then separate washed clothes into underwear, pants, and shirts baskets. You can just leave them like that. I'm giving you permission to never fold your laundry again if you can't. Just leave it unfolded. Who's going to care? Something is better than nothing. If you can, try to put those baskets into your closet so that you can keep the clutter out of sight, and give yourself a more restful environment.

If you can't separate your clothing out into different categories and wash them "properly" (whites, warm tones, cool tones, darks, delicates / switching between hot & cold washes / paying attention to laundry instructions on the label) then just don't worry about it. If you cold wash your clothes, colours won't bleed. Maybe gradually over the course of dozens of washes there'll be some changes in hue, but it's really not as high stakes as the One Red Sock In The Whites Turns Them Pink trope makes it out to be.

I've pretty much come to the point in my life where if a piece of clothing can't survive the washer and dryer, then it's just not meant to be. I colour separate my clothes, and if I have the energy/remember I'll take my bras and jumpers out of the washing machine to drip dry. But otherwise, I leave it to the universe.

If you can't separate out your recycling, then don't. If you have a large amount of rubbish you need to get rid of but the idea of separating it out properly is stopping you from doing so, then just don't worry about it. I know it's not ideal, but if you have garbage in your room/house and you need to get rid of it, please just get rid of it. Don't let the problem get bigger and harder to deal with. Don't let "doing something properly" get in the way of keeping your living spaces clean. Please. Give yourself understanding.

If you can't wash your dishes, get paper plates. Obviously, it's not ideal, but it is better that you eat food than skipping meals. It is better that you have a clean kitchen, rather than having dishes piling up and making it harder to look after yourself.

If you can't prepare meals for yourself keep making the tasks easier and easier. If you can't do recipes, then simplify. Use pasta sauce from the jar instead of making it. Eat canned soup. Buy food you can just stick in the oven. If you eat fish fingers and microwave veggies every night, it's better than not eating anything at all. It's better than having to fork out money on take-out. If you need ready-made meals, then get them. If you're literally just eating a raw cauliflower for dinner; 1) I see you, 2) me too, sis, 3) something is better than nothing.

These are the basic things you need to do every day to function as a person. They are your activities of daily living. Brushing your teeth. Bathing or showering. Using the bathroom. Getting dressed. Eating. Drinking. Sleeping. Keeping your environment clean. You don't need to do these things perfectly, but they need to happen in order for you to have a decent quality of life.

And it breaks my heart, because I know that so many disabled people can't do these things every day. I'm not saying this to guilt or judge, I'm saying that these are basic needs; you deserve these things. These things bring dignity. If a disabled person is unable to do these things, it diminishes their quality of life. It robs them of dignity.

If you need help to do these things, Its okay to ask for help. It's okay to need help. But if you can't get that help and you have to do these things by yourself -- or you just plain want to be independent and do it without help-- then don't hold yourself to standards you can't meet.

Don't let perfect be the enemy of the good. Doing something is always better than doing nothing. Even if it's not perfect. Even if it's not done well. Do what you can.

[wylldebee]

Gimme a new Hellsing anime that combines the og anime and the ova/manga, and the animation is done by the ones who've done the Castlevania series. The scene of Seras going blood crazy for the first time? Alucard vs Anderson or Incognito? Seras vs The Captain? The attack on Hellsing manor and Seras becoming a true vampire? The attack on London? Everything? Please. Please, I need to see this happen.

[candor-creator]

only realized after posting that last drawing that I never showed off my mortal/revived radi design, and then realized that i’ve never actually drawn it in full detail

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[dollishmehrayan]

# “WHY ARE YOU CRYING LAIN.” ── .✦ ( what it takes for batboys to cry about their s/o btw I don’t see this as angst!reader but I’m writing a angst fic soon!! )

a/n: this is a request by (here) anyways 620 followers under a month?!?! What the hell tysmm this was shocking to wake up to anywayss um yeah here, I genuinely think this was like only a general hcs of what only batboys cry over but I turned it into like a s/o hc too so sorry tags: ( batboys x s/o )

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Losing You, Even Momentarily: Dick is the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the idea of losing you whether you’re hurt, missing, or even distant emotionally breaks him in ways he doesn’t know how to hide. If you were ever critically injured during a mission or got caught in the crossfire or a health scare, he’d hold you in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he begs, “Don’t you dare leave me. I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me.”

When You’re Hurt Emotionally: Dick is empathetic to his core. If he ever caught you crying, struggling silently, or feeling like you couldn’t talk to him, he’d break down too. “Why didn’t you come to me? You’re not alone—you’re never alone.” His voice would crack as he hugs you, feeling helpless because he wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

A Fight That Goes Too Far: Dick hates arguing, but sometimes even he loses control. If words were exchanged that hurt you, he’d cry after you left, clutching his face in his hands because he knows he messed up. He’d spend the entire night trying to fix it because the thought of you being upset because of him kills him. (He has a bit of people pleasing tendencies like me 😭)

JASON TODD ── .✦

Thinking He Doesn’t Deserve You: Jason has deep-seated feelings of unworthiness, and if he ever felt like you deserved better or like you might leave because he’s “too broken,” he’d quietly lose it. You’d find him sitting on the edge of the bed, tears in his eyes as he mutters, “Why are you even with me? I don’t want to ruin you too.”

You in Danger: Jason prides himself on protecting the people he loves, but if there were ever a moment where he couldn’t save you where you were hurt or out of his reach he’d shatter. Holding your unconscious body, he’d whisper through gritted teeth and tears, “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m sorry—I should’ve been faster. Stronger.”

Fighting and Losing Control: Jason fears becoming the worst version of himself. If you ever fought and he lost his temper, saying something he didn’t mean, he’d be crushed afterward. He’d cry silently in his room, replaying the fight over and over in his head, scared you wouldn’t forgive him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

You Pulling Away: Tim doesn’t always know how to balance his work and love for you. If he noticed you drifting away or feeling neglected because of his vigilante life, he’d hit a breaking point. One night, he’d find himself sitting alone, staring at his phone, tears silently falling as he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do better—I promise.”

When You’re in Pain: Tim’s logical brain often protects him from his emotions, but seeing you in pain—physically or emotionally would be his undoing. He’d try to keep it together for you, but once he’s alone, he’d sit at his desk, head in his hands as sobs wrack his body because he hates seeing the person he loves suffer.

If You’re Gone (Even Temporarily): If you ever went missing or were presumed dead, Tim would break in ways no one else would see. He’d bury himself in work, desperately trying to find you, but in the quiet hours, he’d collapse on the floor surrounded by papers and maps, tears streaming down his face as he murmurs, “Please come back to me. Please.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Failing to Protect You: Damian is fiercely protective of the people he loves, and if you were ever hurt on his watch, it would destroy him. He’d stay at your bedside, barely speaking, but his tears would fall silently as he holds your hand and says, “You are strong so much stronger than me. I am sorry I let this happen.”

Realizing You’re Hurt by Him: Damian doesn’t always know how to express himself, and if he ever unintentionally hurt you—through sharp words or coldness—he’d crumble. He’d isolate himself, his back to the door as he mutters to himself, “I am unworthy of their love. I am no better than the monsters I fight.”

If You Were Gone: Damian doesn’t cry easily, but if he lost you, he’d lock himself away for days. No one would hear his sobs as he grips something of yours—a sweater, a necklace and whispers, “I failed you. I should have been stronger. I would trade anything to bring you back.”

GENERAL ( WITHOUT LOSING YOU OR GETTING HURT YK? ) ── .✦

Dick: He’d cry watching you do something incredibly mundane—like laughing at a joke or helping a stranger because he realizes how lucky he is to have you. The thought of a life without you, even for a second, shakes him to his core.

Jason: He’d cry when he thinks about how you’ve accepted him so completely. “You don’t look at me like I’m broken,” he’d say through tears, pulling you into a hug. “You love me. No one’s ever loved me like this before.”

Tim: He’d cry in relief after a near-miss—maybe you were almost hurt on patrol, but you’re okay. He’d break down in your arms, holding you tightly. “I can’t lose you. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

Damian: He’d cry quietly while watching you sleep, overwhelmed by how much he loves you. He’d brush your hair from your face and murmur, “You are my heart, beloved. Without you, I would have none.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The Fear of Losing You: Bruce has already lost so much his parents, allies, and people he couldn’t save. If you were ever gravely injured or put in harm’s way, he’d be stoic at first, tending to your wounds or making sure you’re stable. But when the danger is over and he’s alone, the walls would finally break. He’d sit in the Batcave, hands trembling, staring at the blood on his gloves and whispering, “I can’t lose you too. I couldn’t survive that.” His tears would fall silently because he rarely lets himself cry but for you, the thought of losing you would be unbearable.

When You Break Down First: Bruce is emotionally guarded, but if he ever saw you crying really crying because of something he caused or something he failed to protect you from, it would destroy him. He’d pull you into his arms, his voice shaky as he mutters, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear on everything, I will never let this happen again.” When you’ve fallen asleep, he’d sit beside you, quietly crying to himself because the person he loves more than anything is in pain.

During a Rare, Heated Argument: Bruce doesn’t lose control often, but when he does, his words can cut deep. If a fight escalated to the point where you walked away, leaving him standing there in silence, the guilt would eat him alive. He’d find himself sitting alone in the dark manor, hands in his hair as he whispers, “I can’t believe I let that happen. I promised I’d be better.” He wouldn’t hesitate to apologize immediately, but he’d cry later when he realized how close he came to pushing you away.

Realizing You’re the Light in His Life: Bruce is haunted by his past, and sometimes, the weight of his mission makes him forget the beauty in life. But when he sees you—laughing, smiling, or simply existing—he realizes you are the brightest thing in his world. He wouldn’t cry in front of you, but in a rare, quiet moment alone, he’d sit in his study with tears in his eyes, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve them. But I won’t let anything happen to them. Ever.”

If You Were Gone: Bruce would completely unravel. He’s already built his life around loss, but you? You were his hope, his reason to believe in something beyond the cowl. Without you, he’d wander the manor like a ghost, sitting by your favorite chair or staring at a photo of you for hours. In the dead of night, when no one is around, he’d finally let himself grieve—hands gripping the edges of a desk, shoulders shaking as he whispers your name like a prayer. (Madonna ref?)

MOMENTS WHERE BRUCE GETS EMOTIONAL ── .✦

Seeing You Safe After a Scare: If you ever came home late or after a dangerous night out, Bruce would hold you tightly, kissing the top of your head and murmuring, “You’re home. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” His voice would crack slightly, betraying the emotion he tries to hide.

When You Remind Him of His Humanity: Bruce isn’t always good with words, but when you’re there—kissing him goodnight, teasing him about his brooding, or cooking something terribly but with love he remembers what happiness feels like. He’d quietly brush a tear away as he watches you, thinking, “They make this life worth living.”

If You Call Him Out on His Guilt: If Bruce ever tried pushing you away because he thought you’d be safer without him, and you confronted him with a heartfelt speech about loving him no matter what, he’d break. He’d pull you into his arms, tears falling as he whispers, “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I can’t lose you. I need you.”

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[7s3ven]

Sex pollen w/ Simon Riley

Notes: MDNI, fem! reader, mature content, this is lowkey freaky (had this idea for a while), consensual, ghost x reader, tf 141 x reader, the rest of tf 141 are listening, y’all are in a warehouse but nobody’s there, sex pollen, reader isn’t part of tf 141 but working with them, reader has hair, make out, ghost and reader kinda switch who’s in charge, cussing

- You were starting to hate the unpredictable nature of the world. New plants were popping up everywhere, including a natural aphrodisiac that was apparently 10x stronger than those chocolates everybody raved about

- Jonny laughed at the thought of such a strong plant. “Ay, does that mean we gon’ a have ta fuck each other if we come in contact with it?” He laughs at his joke, not at all meaning it. You see Gaz’s face scrunch up in disgust

- You weren’t officially part of Task Force 141. You were merely asset, an extra pair of hands given to the unit to help with this specific mission

- “You think that sex pollen stuff is actually real?” You ask as you walk alongside Ghost, gun strapped to your back. The mission was a success. The harder part was regrouping with the rest of TF 141

- You and Ghost had been split from them and currently, the hints they were giving to you about their location were not helping in the slightest

- “Nah, load of bullshit.” Ghost replies. He wishes he could take his words back when he accidentally steps on an unknown plant, sending a puff of yellow pollen into the air

- Even through the masks, you both unintentionally inhale it. You cough, your nose stinging. Your body suddenly feels unusually heavy and… hot. There’s a pit in your stomach as you realise what Ghost stepped on. He seems to realize it too

- “Load of bullshit, you said?” You mock him. He sends you a glare, not appreciating your sarcasm.

- “L/N, Ghost, do you read?” You can hear Price’s voice as clear as day through your comm.

- “Yes, sir.” You reply since Ghost seems to be having a hard time maintaining his cool. “But we were exposed to the pollen. What are your orders, sir?”

- It takes Price half a beat to answer but that’s enough time for Ghost to grab your wrist and tug you into a nearby abandoned warehouse

- You squeak as he pushes you down. He’s trying his best to control his himself as he removes his vest from his sweating body. His actions have your mouth dry

- “Stay put, the both of ya. We’ll call a medic and find you.” Price says, oblivious to how you’re currently eyeing up his soldier.

- “Yes, sir.” You turn your comm off. “Ghost, you good?” He’s flushed but you aren’t in any better condition

- “Fucking hurts.” He mutters. He’s an inch away from you, his strong cologne washing over you. You press your thighs together, shuddering

- There’s a minute of silence as you curl yourself into a ball, almost trying to distance yourself from Ghost. He’s panting heavily, biting down on his gloved fingers to push away his thoughts

- And when you can’t handle it anymore, you pounce. You still have some dignity left as you hold his shoulders. “You sure?” You carefully ask. Ghost silently nods

- His hands rest heavily on your hips as he drags you back and forth, finally creating some friction that has you tilting your head back in relief

- But it’s not enough. You’re now lying face down, ass up, as Ghost ruts into you from behind, fingers sure to leave bruises on your soft skin. He’s hitting all the right spots and all you can do is quietly mewl

- Ghost grabs you by the hair, pulling you up until you’re pressed against him. Your knees ache from digging into the rough dirt below but you pay it no mind

- The pathetic noises the both of you, yours substantially louder, echo around the empty warehouse. You tilt your head back, unintentionally giving Ghost full access to your neck

- He leans his head down, nuzzling his masked face in the crook of your neck. His hands run down your body until they rest on your thighs, prying them open

- You’re grinding against the palm of his hand, small yet high-pitched huffs slipping past your lips

- And then your comm makes a noise. Ghost hears it too but he doesn’t slow down. “Do ya two know we can hear ya?” It’s Jonny speaking, his thick Scottish accent making it hard to understand his words

- As much as you want to actually turn off your comm this time, something prevents you from doing so. You tighten around Ghost at the mere thought of his teammates hearing what you’re doing

- “Think she likes it.” Ghost shamelessly tells his team

- “What position have yer got her in, Ghost?” You’re surprised Price isn’t yelling at the two of you. Instead, he plays along. Ghost shoves you back down and you narrowly avoid getting a mouthful of dirt

- “Put her back in doggy, Captain.” Ghost is speaking casually as if he���s not blowing your back out right now

- You whine, back arching at his hard thrusts. Beads of sweat run down your neck, a side effect of the pollen

- Ghost’s quiet grunts escalate in volume and the sound of such noises spurs you on

- You don’t have time to react until Ghost is turning you over, throwing your legs over his shoulders with ease. His large hands grip your shoulders as he lowers his head. You quickly slip his mask half up, eagerly pressing your lips against his

- It’s an intense kiss. There’s still a string of saliva that connects you when he pulls back. His hands trail down, stopping at your chest

- You almost forget the rest of Task Force 141 can hear you. Almost. “She come yet?” Jonny asks. Gaz is unusually silent but you can hear his heavy breathing as he listens

- “Not yet.” Ghost answers, “Probably almost there, though. Can feel it.”

- “Should make her ride you.” Gaz finally speaks up. He laughs, fully meaning it as a teasing comment but Ghost halts

- “Captain, your orders?” Ghost asks. You pout, bucking your hips up. Ghost stills you

- “What Gaz said.” Price answers, “Make her do the work.”

- You can only squeal as Ghost switches the position for the third or fourth time. You’re on top of him again but Ghost isn’t doing anything

- You crease your eyebrows in annoyance before rocking back and forth without his assistance. It’s an agonising slow pace but once you find your rhythm, you speed up

- You throw your head back, caught up in the moment. Ghost’s grunts are growing louder by the minute, which only fuels you. This time, you’re the one leaning down, tongue running over Ghost’s exposed neck

- It desperate and somewhat pathetic and… hot? The two of you are going at it like there’s no tomorrow. Like rabbits or animals in heat

- You pant, back arching even more. Your eyes are rolling back as Ghost finally helps you. You can’t help yourself from sinking your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard. You think Ghost likes it when he loudly grunts, hips harshly bucking up

- You’re nearing your release, you can feel it. It’s so close. Your movements are sloppy as you grow more tired and Ghost decides to take over again

- You’re drooling, saliva leaking out of your mouth and landing on Ghost’s chest. He doesn’t complain, only picking up his pace. Your tongue is lolling around and you no longer have control over your limbs

- “Practically going cross-eyed.” He says, though you don’t know if he’s talking to you or his teammates

- You know it’s over when Ghost’s lips wrap around one of your nipples. You’re practically sobbing as the coil inside your stomach snaps, your fluids staining the dirt below

- Ghost keeps going and you gladly take it. Your hands rest on his chest for support as he closes his eyes in bliss. He finishes not too long after you but there’s a mutual understanding that you both need more

- “Fucking like rabbits in heat, ay?” Jonny speaks, chuckling

- It’s filthy as you and Ghost try to rid your senses of the pollen. You’re humping him as he tries to catch his breath. His lungs are telling him to rest but the rest of his body disagrees

- It takes three rounds until the both of you are back to normal. You’re lying on Ghost, panting. His arms are wrapped around your waist, keeping you grounded

- “You two done?” Price asks, but there’s a strain in his voice

- You and Ghost scramble to pick up your discarded clothes, quickly getting dressed

- You regroup with Price, Jonny, and Gaz with hot cheeks. And as you climb back into the car that Ghost is unfortunately driving, you don’t miss the way they all eye you

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who’s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[heedthetenofwands]

ghost x (lowkey unhinged) sunshine f!reader

suggestive nsfw (but non-explicit)

His girl was the sweetest thing. Smile as bright as the sun and you looked at him like he’d hung the stars and the moon. Coming home to you was always the highlight of his day.

But something was amiss ever since a week ago.

He had come back from base, a day of planning for the next mission and cleaning up from the last, and his heart yearned to be at home with you. Stepping through the front door, he was ready to hear his bird chirping his name and telling him about the day. But the house was silent, the lights were off, and he couldn’t hear a thing.

He waited a moment before calling out your name. It was only when he walked up the stairs to the bedroom that he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed. Your back was to the door.

“Love?” He called to you. You turned your head back to see him before standing up and making your way around the bed to smile and greet him. You hug him tightly, a bit firmer than usual and he had to brace his core a little in surprise. You let go and look at him with an innocent smile.

“Did you have a good day?” You asked.

“It was OK, better now.” He replies. You continue staring at him, almost in contemplation and, without blinking, kiss his cheek and move out of the room.

Alarms bells are ringing.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"There's something wrong." He confesses to them at drinks after work a couple days later. "She's angry."

"Your bonnie? She doesnae seem ta have a malicious bone in 'er. I'm sure it'll pass." Soap says.

Ghost grunts dismissively. "Never been this long."

Gaz hums in thought, "Did you forget a date?"

Ghost stays quiet but Gaz doesn't miss the confused stare. He clarifies, "Birds care about 'em. 1st anniversary, birthdays, the milestones. Can fall through the cracks if you're not careful though."

Ghost replies, "Maybe." In his mind, he's already running his fingers through their calendar.

Price cuts through, "Why not just ask 'er?" Straight to the point, as Ghost expected.

He leans back, "Rather not." Ghost knows he's hiding the real answer. What do I do if I can't fix it?

Price looks at him, assesses him and sees right through him. But before he can press further, Ghost hears his phone buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and after reading the message from you, grumbles a quiet 'fuck' that draws the attention of his team. They lean over to catch a glimpse of the message.

The screen showed previous conversations between the lieutenant and his girl, you sending him your texts with smiley faces, hearts or emoticons with every message. That is, until your latest one which read:

Love: pick up bread on your way home.

The team winced at the cold tone.

"Good luck, mate."

"Warning ya, bakery closes earlier than usual today."

"You're fucked."

Ghost glares at them all before standing up and leaving.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rest of the week had followed similarly with you just not acting like you're usual self.

That Friday it was your turn to pick a film to watch, where you would usually put on a cheesy rom-com or a tense-filled drama, that night it was a R18 horror movie. Ghost did not utter a single complaint when you put it on. Or move an inch when you lay your head on his chest and smiled at a scene where a cheating husband and his mistress get sliced in two.

Where you two would usually stay in bed together to bask the warm glow of a slow Sunday morning, instead, Simon woke alone. He called your phone again and again until you came home a couple hours later. You ignored his questions. Fearing the worst, he let it go.

And the bite of your finger nails into his skin got stronger and stronger every night as you two lay in bed. It was as is if you were clutching or branding onto him with all your might.

It was later that week, that Simon decided to was time to ask. Time to confront the dissonance that was ringing louder and louder in his ears whenever you touched him, looked at him and smiled at him.

He was going to do it. Right after dinner, he was going to do it.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ghost, in fact, did nothing after dinner because as soon as you had gathered up the plates. You had returned with a cake.

You brought it to the table. “I know how much you love my desserts, Si. It's been forever since I've made one so I thought I would make your favourite today." You sit down before adding, "I've changed it up a bit, too. New ingredient and whatever.”

Ghost stills at that. “What’s the ingredient, darling?” He says as casually, as he could. Cyanide? Arsenic?

You smile sweetly at him, “It’s a surprise Si, where’s the fun in knowing before tasting it?”

“Right.” He replies, hesitantly.

You start cutting a slice, and place it on his plate before sitting down and waiting for him.

He takes the fork. "You're not hungry, love?"

You shake your head, "I want to see your reaction."

There's a moment where Ghost is trying to remember the poison hotline contact number so he could ring it after his 'taste test' but he finally breaks.

“Nope, can’t do this anymore.” He says.

“Can’t do what, Simon?” You asked with faux concern. You stand up and come to his side of the table to face him. “What’s wrong, baby? You're going to love it.”

“Did I forget an anniversary? Your birthday?” He thought aloud. He doubted it, but he must have done something wrong. He reaches for your arms and gently pulls you to stand in front of him, he holds your hands and bows his head before you. “Tell me love, have I been neglecting you? Spending too much time at work? You can tell me.”

You gently remove your hands from his hold, moving one hand to cup his cheek and the other to tilt his chin so he could meet your gaze. At first, he leans into the gentle palm of your hand but the cold look in your eye with that small smile of your lips makes him freeze.

“Don’t bullshit me, Riley.” Your voice cuts through the candlelit room. He has to fight to not let this do something to him. It gets worse when you use both of your hands to cup his jaw and force his head upwards to meet your gaze. “I found a second phone when I was sorting the laundry. There was a message from another woman. Asking if you would be coming over that night. What a greedy fucker you are.” He has to fight any sound that may escape from his lips at seeing you speak so harsh. “You listen to me, Simon.” His eyes widen as you close the distance of your face to his and your lips are so close. He wants to kiss you. “I will fucking kill her.”

Ghost had no idea what was happening, mind moving too fast and too slow all at once. All he could do was focus on his sweetheart's voice. You stand upright, move closer to Ghost, forcing him to spread his thighs so you can stand between them and press his face to your form, stroking the back of his head, his shoulders, his back as if to soothe and comfort. “I am yours. You made it so. And now, you are mine too."

He can't help the chills running down his spine as he laid his head against your body and felt the presses of your touch. You tell him, “All you need to do is give me her name and where I can find her. And after tonight, we can forget all about this, my love. If you work hard enough, I will forgive you. And in time, I will ask you what deficit I had to make you think you can replace me."

You sigh, "I gave you all week to confess, but you have no shame do you?"

Finally, Ghost's mind seems to catch up, "Wait, wait, sweetheart I don't have a second phone." At that, you tighten the hand in his hair, grabbing a good chunk of the back of his head. He whines at the sensation, "I swear, love." But you do not yield.

His mind is racing.

A second phone?

And finally, he realises. "Sweetheart, wait. It's Johnny's. He mentioned that he lost his phone, the idiot must've dropped in my gym bag. That's why you found it."

Your body stills. "Are you sure, Si?"

While you stay still, Ghost only wraps his arms around you, nestling his face against the warmth of your body and your hesitance. He pleads, "On my life. Call him, darling. Please."

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A phone call later, you confirm that Soap indeed dropped his phone, and was seeing the woman you saw in the notifactions. With a sinking feeling, you return to the kitchen table.

"Si, I'm so sorry." You tell him, tears already brimming your water line. "I should've just asked you-" Before you can say another word, Ghost had already stood up and embraced you. You sink against him.

You should have never doubted a starving dog.

Ghost smiles as he releases you from his hold, "You still want dessert?" He looks back at the cake.

You only giggle, "Yes, let's eat. Not that one though." You ignore Ghost's questioning gaze as you walk to the fridge, humming a small tune, and then pull out another identitical cake. You set it on the table, smiling innocently as the blood drains from Ghost's face. "Let's eat, Si."