#and i mean it there are no simple answers and there shouldn't be

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Could i request some headcannons about horus with a reader that's not impressed by him like most are? 🙏

So having to actually fight for readers attention/affection while she actually has a secret crush on one of his brothers

Everywhere he goes, praise and admiration follow. There's no one that wouldn't feel overjoyed, or at least nervous, to have the chance to talk with him, the favorite son. Let's not start with the possibilities of being noticed by him! Horus!

…and what?

Those two words…those two damn words.

He shouldn't be swayed, really; he could just shrug it off and move on, being bathed by the love of many others, finding solace in whoever would kill for his attention!

You were just a serf, for the Emperor's sake! A small grain of salt in the sea of this vast universe! And yet…

It happened so casually, but you wounded me deeply! By two simple words! He was just passing by in the palace, near a small group of serfs focused on cleaning, and he just swayed his hands, a small gesture!

They whispered the usual praise and genuine appreciation.

"He's so charming too! Don't you think?" A voice of a young girl squealed in excitement.

"He's a nice person, I suppose."

"…..And?"

"…and what?"

He stopped there. Why did he stop?! Why did he hide near the closet corner to hear a voice, calm and completely unmoved by him? HIM!

"Well… He's nice, yes, but he's more than that!"

He heard the sound of fabric moving, a gasp. Didn't you just shrug your shoulders?! Did you just shrug it off?!

You were a no one; why should he care?! … And yet he did. Because for the first time someone like you did not fall to his feet like everybody else, and he…hated it? No, it wasn't hate; hate needs more of him for someone that barely exists. He just found it annoying.

He decided to let it go, to ignore the ring and go on, pretending to not care… But he did, a lot even. And so, his personal campaign started, the one where he wanted to put you where you belong, at his feet like everyone else.

And for the first time, Horus started to follow someone else who wasn't the emperor.

He started to search for you and ask about you, and once he was able to get the chance to catch you during your work, he tried to make some conversation with you, to talk, to know you better. Make you feel important, gave you the chance! And you?… You just looked like the most uncomfortable or the most uninterested creature he could put his eyes on.

He took his own time to spend it with you, and you just stay there, cleaning whatever you need to and just playing nice?!

You small little thing… How dare you?!

He decided to do more; that's why you started to receive flowers, dresses, and jewels. Someone like you would feel over the moon, he knew that! Those things are so precious that you couldn't even dream of buying them!

Imagine his face when he saw another serv bring them back with an apologetic look.

"She thinks you must have been mistaken, my lord. The girl said you must have given me the wrong address and told me to take back everything."

Maybe you were shy? Oooh, of course, that must have been the answer! So he took this task on his own, presenting you a small box with a necklace made of rubies and diamonds.

He expected joy, some shock, everything from you. Instead, you make that face…

The face of someone that has been presented with something that displeases them, that worries them because it means that something is behind it, the face that someone makes when they get tasked with something they don't want to do.

"My lord," you talked like you were doing it with a kid, "I can't accept this gift. I'm sorry, but it's too much!"

"Nonsense!" He laughed, "Everyone would love it!"

Just like everyone loved him. You sighed, holding your broom tighter.

"I'm not everyone. I'm working here to receive some money for my family. If I take it, I won't use it, and I will definitely sell it."

"Oh… I can give you a promotion, maybe a raise!"

"…I would still decline, my lord."

Because it was obvious that everything came with strings, and it was about your adoration for him.

Sanguinius, the one that listened from the beginning, just laughed about it. He knew too that these sad excuses for courting were merely a way for Horus to strike at his own ego just because one girl wasn't falling for him. And maybe it was true…maybe…

Even the angel couldn't hold his questions; after all, it wasn't so normal that the warmaster's attention could be focused on a baseline like that. It was kind of funny…and somehow sad, since he had to be the one that needed to console him. He tried to persuade him to give up many times, and every time he refused.

But the kicker was the revelation that came in the form of a scene that seemed almost ridiculous.

He had noticed you; he always did, in that hall, full of people, serving and moving around like a small rabbit. You weren't ignoring him this time; no, no, you were focused on Something…or someone.

You were following two figures that rose above everyone else, one covered in silks, glitters, and gold, and the other that wished to be far, far away. Fulgrim had been successful in bringing Ferrus out of his workshop and finally taking part in one of these parties, and your eyes were glued on them.

Then, something drops from Ferrus, a handkerchief so small that he couldn't notice it, but you did. Your small feet sprint towards it, making sure to not be noticed by the two primarchs, and you grasp the object like it was made of gold.

Horus expected you to give it back; instead, you started to draw back, disappearing from the crowd, getting away from the people with that small piece of fabric, dirty and old, in your hands.

When he found you, hiding behind some columns, away from prying eyes, he saw you…smiling.

He never saw you smiling. Not for him, at least. You held the handkerchief like you held the most precious object in the universe, and...you hugged it, a small tint of red on your face, giggling and kicking your feet.

"Ferrus?"

"Yes…"

"Ferrus Manus? … Our brother Ferrus Manus? The gorgon? Grunting and all work, Ferrus?"

"Yes, Sanguinius, that Ferrus! How many do you know who hold that name?!" Horus spoke, his fist almost crushing the goblet in his hand.

The angel laughed; the revelation was priceless.

"Ooooh! This is…forgive me, brother, this is…just so much to take!"

"Of everyone…" he grumbled, "what does she see in him?!" I respect him, do not misjudge me, but he's as charming as a brick!"

"…Are you jealous?"

"…..no!…no, I'm not!"

And Sanguinius, sniffing the lies, just laughed it off again.

[margaretkart]

How do you view Zeus and Hera's relationship ? Like, how could they love each other if Zeus keeps cheating on her ? I know it was different times and different culture, but I'm still curious

Let's first point out that zeus cheating shouldn't be labeled as we view us mortals seeing cheating. For them Zeus is a King and a king especially in ancient Greece needed heirs and expanded lineage. If he hadn't gone with his affairs half of Olympus wouldn't exist such as Dionysus, Hermes, Apollo, Artemis etc. beloved gods that wouldn't exist and therefore neither some very important heroes that made the myths what they are

But we shouldn't forget that Zeus never abused Hera, treated her with the respect and power a Queen deserves and no matter how many times he cheated he always would come back to her. He would never consider divorcing her or anything. Because these two a perfect for eachother, they tolerate eachother, no one gets them like how they get eachother.

The cheating when you look at the aspect of the meaning Zeus' role plays in the myths doesn't make that much importance anymore, as their place as rules of the cosmos their relationship is far more linear, layered and complex than a simple answer to summarise. Again never consider mixing modern ideologies of today's society without researching of the meaning of each greek god's place on an ancient Greek culture

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

hii lovely, can i request a "☀️ sunshine in my pocket" with a bipolar/bpd!reader and james potter, the prompt being "showing displays of affection that might seem questionable to others around them"?

I'm gonna be honest, I wrote like three versions of this (one with bipolar, two with BPD), and settled on the second one with BPD, but I might redo the bipolar one and post that as an actual fic at a later date, just because I really enjoyed this and would love to explore this type of thing a little more.

Anyway, thank you for requesting, I really appreciate it!

Chantelle's Birthday Bash

The common room is too warm. Too loud. Too full of people who smile too easily when you're happy and edge away just as quickly when your mouth turns down, when your voice pitches up and your laughter slices too sharp. Their smiles are brittle, their glances fleeting. You can almost see the way they weigh your moods in their palms like something fragile, ready to shatter.

James doesn't do that. Never has. Not once in all the years of tangled conversations and messy moments and split-second spirals. He stays. He always stays.

He's across the room now, perched half-on, half-off an armchair that looks ready to collapse beneath the weight of him and Sirius both, their limbs tangled in the way only boys who've never been afraid to take up space can manage. Remus leans on the edge of the hearth, smiling softly at something James says. It's a simple scene, ordinary even, but it burns in your chest. The way James tosses his head back when he laughs. The way people seem to lean toward him without meaning to. Like he's a sun.

Your gaze is glued to him like ivy—desperate, clinging, poisonous in the way you've been told love shouldn't be. The words of past therapists echo in your skull like a curse: emotional dysregulation, unstable relationships, identity disturbance. But he's yours.

That thought buzzes like static under your skin, too loud, too fast. Your fingers twitch with it. You watch a girl—Evelyn or Emma or something E-ish—touch his arm when she laughs, her body angled toward him in that too-familiar way. Something primal and dark twists through you, wrapping around your ribs, pulling tight like a corset of panic and rage. You rise before you can think.

You cross the room, each step fuelled by a thunderous rhythm inside your skull: he's mine he's mine he's mine.

James turns like he feels you coming, like your presence tugs at something invisible inside him. His face softens instantly. "Hey, sweetheart."

You don't respond. You step into his space, fingers curling into the coarse wool of his jumper, and tug him toward you with a force that borders on urgent. He catches you, of course he does, arms sliding around you like armour, one hand smoothing over the back of your head as though you're glass with a fresh fracture.

"Alright, love?"

You shake your head into his chest. You don't want alright. You want more. You want everything. You want to unzip his skin and crawl inside. You want to be fused to him so completely that no one—not the E-named girl or the entire bloody world—could unpick you.

You lift your face, your voice a whisper meant only for him. "Kiss me."

He hesitates—not out of reluctance, but awareness. The eyes. The murmurs. But then his hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing across it reverently, and he kisses you like you're a question he already knows the answer to.

It's not soft. It's hungry. Desperate. Messy. Your fingers dig into his back like claws, pulling him tighter until your breath leaves in one sharp exhale. Someone coughs. A muttered "bloody hell" rises from the corner. You don't care. You don't hear them, not really. There's only the thrum of his pulse under your hand and the taste of peppermint and parchment and Quidditch sweat and James.

When he finally pulls away, it's slow, reluctant. His forehead leans into yours. "You okay?"

You shake your head again. Words escape you. Your mind's a swirling vortex of shame and fear and want, all tangled up until you can't find the start or end of anything. You don't know how to say: I'm scared you'll wake up one day and realise this is all too much. That I'm too much. That loving me is like trying to hold water in your hands.

James reads it anyway. He always does. His arms tighten.

"You're in your head again."

"I saw her touch you."

He doesn't roll his eyes or dismiss it. Doesn't say you're being ridiculous even though you are. He leans in, lips pressing under your eye, the place where tears like to bloom. "I didn't even notice."

"I did."

"Yeah. I know, love."

The confession unfurls inside you, heavy and raw. Your hands tremble where they clutch his jumper. You feel flayed open, like everyone can see the chaos inside. Like the walls have eyes.

He brushes your hair back behind your ear, gentle as anything. "What do you need?"

"Can we go?"

No hesitation. No sighs. He just nods, laces his fingers with yours, and leads you upstairs. Away from the stares, the whispers, the judgment. Into his dorm. Into quiet and shadow and the soft sigh of a door closing behind you.

You climb into his bed immediately, curling small, the way you did when you were younger and hoped that shrinking might make you safer. James settles beside you, not touching until your hand finds his. It always does. You hate that about yourself, how you need contact like it's a drug.

"Do you ever get tired of me being like this?"

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. He just turns to you, brown eyes soft, voice like velvet. "I get tired for you. But not of you. Never of you."

Your chest cracks open. You press your hand to his shirt like you're checking for proof, for heartbeat, for permanence. And he lets you. He always lets you.

You cry, just a little. Not the violent, frantic sobs that rip out of you some nights when the fear gets too big. Just quiet tears that soak into cotton. James doesn't shush you or ask what's wrong. He strokes your back, slow and steady, drawing shapes you'll never see but always feel.

Time becomes water, slow and strange. Eventually, he whispers, "You know, people don't have to understand us."

You let out a short, trembling laugh. "They think I'm too much."

He smiles, tired but unwavering. "You are a lot," he says, and it should sting, but it doesn't. Because when he says it, it sounds like a blessing. He cups your cheek again, thumb swiping away the remnants of your tears. Then a kiss to your forehead—slow, grounding. "But I've got a lot of room."

You breathe. For the first time in hours, maybe longer, you breathe.

And maybe it's not neat. Maybe it's stormy and strange and overwhelming. But in the soft warmth of James Potter's bed, in the quiet cadence of his breathing and the weight of his arms around you, you believe—for now—that it's enough.

That you're enough.

Even like this. Especially like this.

[grungekitty-77]

There is a very difficult line to walk between "Children aren't done maturing and you can't hold them too responsible for the dumb things they say and do" and "Part of being taken seriously is facing consequences when you say or do dumb things"

It's patronizing and ageist to dismiss someone's thoughts and beliefs only due to their age, but it's unfair to hold undeveloped children to the same standards of behavior we hold adults.

So when do you stop treating them like children that don't know any better and start treating them like adults that are wrong? When they demand respect? When they enter adult discussions? When they hit the age of 18?

I don't have a simple answer, and frankly I shouldn't. It's not a simple problem. It's just something I think we all need to keep in mind as we share spaces.

And to any kid/teen reading this: You have dumb ideas about how the world works and how it should work because you're new to it. You have good ideas about how the world works and how it should work because you live in it. You cannot tell the difference right now. You will eventually learn better, but right now you can't.

Understand not all push back you receive from adults is because they think you're a dumb kid. Sometimes you are just dumb.

If you want to be treated like an adult when you're right, you will be treated like an adult when you're wrong.

[hhgreggtism]

mild rant in tags, needed to get it off my shoulders cuz what the fuck is wrong with some of yall

[slushycoookie]

What's That Smell? ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 3.1k

✩ Content: Worst!Logan and Hairdresser! Reader. Wade acts like he's innocent in this, but he's not. Pheromone perfume. Logan doesn't go feral, but he gets there. P in V. Vaginal Fingering. Squirting. MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: I had to write about my man reacting to pheromone perfume. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commissions

“Happy birthday!”

Wade hands you a pink gift bag stuffed with sparkly tissue paper. “It's not my birthday.”

“You're so silly.” He waves you away with a sensible chuckle. “It's someone's birthday somewhere. Anyway, I saw this and thought of you.”

You pull out a small bottle of perfume decorated in a crystal clear color. The design looked oddly familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint where you saw it. “Oh, thanks. I've been meaning to get some more perfume.”

“Well, the gods answered, and as your friend, I am known for reading my friend’s minds.”

You're pretty sure Logan brought it up to him one day, but you didn’t question it. You thanked him with a hug, and he mentioned something about doing a fashion show for Mary Puppins when he left your apartment.

It was nice of Wade to give you a gift. He's always been generous towards you since you were with Logan, but you didn’t expect something like this.

You even mentioned Wade's generosity to Logan later on, who gave a questionable raise of an eyebrow.

“Really? He bought you perfume?”

“Yeah.” You pull out the bag and show him the bottle. “Wasn't that sweet of him?”

Logan squints at the bottle, still not convinced. “I guess so.”

“You guess so.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t you believe that he wanted to be nice? He doesn't seem like the type to play a cruel joke.”

“Cruel isn't the word I'd use.” He grumbles.

You place the pink gift bag back on your dresser, reminding yourself to use it the next time you go out.

That next time was for running errands. You had to restock the kitchen, enough to last you and your superhero boyfriend, who loves to eat and drink, for a couple of weeks. Plus, you needed to get more supplies for the salon. Logan would meet up with you at the store since he spent the night back at Wade's to prep for Mary Puppin's first day at doggy school. You could tell from the brief phone call last night that he was worn out.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt, leggings, and sneakers. Not the most attractive outfit. Before you left, your eyes landed on the gift bag. Harmlessly, you sprayed Wade's perfume behind your ears and the space between your bicep and forearm.

Running errands was serious for you. You weren't the biggest fan of spending hours at the store, wasting time grabbing groceries. Logan agreed with you on that front, as he didn’t want to waste time either.

Once you stepped foot inside the store, you were ready. With a list in hand, you were filled with total concentration. A few minutes later, there was a shift.

You received a lot more attention.

Many people coming up to you to tell you smell good. You just started in the produce aisle, and four people approached you. It surprised you the multitude of compliments you were getting despite having the appearance of a bum. Others were making conversation while you were trying to shop, asking you simple questions about good salad dressing brands. Or how many spices you have in your home. Trying to get closer to you.

One man didn't seem to get the hint that you were busy. He offered to help you with your groceries while you were in the cereal aisle. Logan's favorite brand of raisin bran was on a high shelf, causing said man to grab it for you. You were polite, but maybe you shouldn't have been, as he constantly hovered around you. Drawn to you for reasons you can't explain. Talking your ear off about whatever he could think of.

“You probably have your own shopping to do. I don't want to distract you.” You say, hoping politely declining him would make him take the hint.

“No, no, it's alright. I don't want to leave a defenseless person like you.”

You hold back at getting annoyed, “…it's a grocery store.”

“Still, I just think-”

“You got cotton in your fucking ears?” In a blink, Logan grabs the intruding guy by his shoulder, effortlessly pushing him away. “She didn't need any fucking help, bub.”

The guy scoffs, rolling his hips to make himself look more arduous, “And who are you?”

“Her boyfriend, who isn't afraid to make you a pathetic stain on the ground.”

You knew he meant it, but you also didn’t want to get banned as you really liked this store. The guy took the hint, leaving the cereal aisle like a defeated puppy.

“My hero.” You kiss Logan's cheek and see him sniff the air. He turns towards you, pupils almost blown. Before you can ask if he's alright, he grabs your wrist, smelling the space between your bicep and forearm. The action makes you laugh a little.

“What's that smell?” Logan takes a few more sniffs, and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. “It's sweet. Really fucking sweet.”

“O-Oh, I put on perfume today.” You didn't need to ask if he liked it as he was glued to your form, sniffing behind your ears, his breath fanning your neck.

“Is this new? I've never smelled this before.”

“Yeah, it's the one from Wade.”

Logan lets out a groan that sends straight to your core. Goosebumps coat your flesh, and you shudder when his hands creep under your shirt to feel your bare skin. His touch was hot, almost making your back arch. You had to remember you were in a grocery store. There were eyes on you two, and you had to regain some control, or else there'd be two new names on the sex offender list.

“Baby, we got things to do.”

You pull away from him, trying to ignore Logan's dejected face at the fact they had errands to run. He hardly said anything else after that. He delegated his role to being the silent shopper, pushing the cart and responding briefly whenever you talked to him. To anyone else, he gave off the appearance of a man not wanting to go grocery shopping. You knew it was something else when you noticed his knuckles turning white from gripping the cart. Everything in your body warned you not to get close to him until the errands were done.

An unsettled feeling arose inside your stomach when the two of you were outside, a cart filled with groceries. Logan mentioned he brought Althea's car, which is one of the few words he's said since then.

He told you to wait in the car while he put the groceries in the trunk. You wanted to help, but he pushed you to go inside, almost gritting his teeth. There, you sat on the passenger side while waiting for him to finish. Logan was taking his time and acting completely different from your usual outings. At one point, you saw him with his head towards the sky, taking heavy breaths, hands on his hips.

You had a feeling this was your fault somehow.

When Logan got inside, you ask, “You okay?”

“No.” He doesn't start the car yet. You could see the veins across his hands when he gripped the steering wheel. “You don't know how fucking good you smell right now. It's everywhere. My nose, my head, my thoughts. You don't know bad I'm trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the backseat. ”

You didn't know what to say, but you liked it. Your thighs squeezed together at how a couple of spritzes of perfume were affecting him.

“Is it that bad? Do you wanna go home instead?”

Logan shakes his head, “You still have to go to the beauty store.”

“I can get those things another day-”

“No, sugar. I'm not ruining your plans because of a damn perfume.”

Butterflies tangle in your stomach. This man still had ways to make you shiver. You just needed to be a responsible adult for a bit longer.

The beauty store was five minutes away, but being in the car with Logan felt like an eternity. His large hand rested on your thigh, creating heat through his palm. Your thoughts wanted him to go higher, near your sex, to feel how horny you were getting. The car started getting warmer too, sweat forming on your brow. If Logan hadn't smelled you earlier, he would probably have smelled you now.

“I'll go in with ya.” He offers when pulling into a parking spot.

“No need! I'll probably be a bit anyway.”

You rush out of the car before he can say anything else. Practically running inside the store so you can get your mind straight. Your boyfriend's words were hovering in your mind, and you resisted the urge to turn back around and have him go by his word.

You needed to calm your mind. Hopefully shopping for more supplies would help and Logan staying in the car.

“Now, what kind of man would I be if I let my lady go in alone?” Logan's gruff tone sent chills across your spine and his arm around your waist to press against your back. No words escaped you as he sniffed behind your head. “Say something.”

“Logan…” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to falter at the proximity. He couldn’t resist copping a feel on your breast, which made you bite your lip. “There are cameras.”

He grunts, burying his face in your neck as you two stand awkwardly in the shampoo aisle. Thank goodness there was no one nearby to witness it.

“I'm behaving.”

“Barely.”

When you were usually out to restock, you were quick, decisive, a separate list on hand to make sure you had everything you needed for the salon. This time, you were slower and more distracted as Logan was glued to your hip. Giving you extra hugs after picking up an item you need on your list. A gentle kiss to your neck. His arm possessively around your waist. The man wasn't even a massive fan of pda either. Whatever this perfume was had him forgo his usual self.

When people were nearby, he didn't leave your side. His large pupils were on them as if they were a threat as if they were going to take you away from him.

If you had any more errands to run, that would have to wait another day. Once you two checked out from the store, your man was about to snap.

Logan was dead silent when he started the car, his knuckles almost turning white again. The apartment was only fifteen minutes away, and you weren't sure if he would be able to hold on that long. You only noticed deep, heavy breaths that overshadowed the radio you turned on to distract yourself. You weren't sure if you wanted to ask if he was okay again. You had a feeling he was going to go true to his word to fuck you in the backseat.

Once pulling up to your apartment, you were ready to get out, but his hand held yours to stop you.

“I'll get the bags.”

“There's a lot of them, I can help-”

“No.” He cuts you off, bringing your wrist up to his face and taking a long sniff. You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. A whimper almost escaped your lips. “Go wait in our room.”

You had nothing else to say after that.

You did as you were told, sitting on the edge of the bed while holding your hands. Your heart pounding in your chest as you heard Logan bring the bags inside. You weren't sure why you were nervous. You were doing what you were told.

Maybe he told you to wait because the scent was becoming unbearable. That he couldn’t focus, or your scent was dampening his enhanced abilities. Did you mess up? All you did was put on perfume. Or did Wade mess up? Did he accidentally bring you something that affected mutants? You should’ve thought twice before accepting a gift from him.

Slow and heavy footsteps made it's way into the room. You watched Logan close the door and lock it as if there was anyone around to disturb you.

“Take off your clothes.” He starts pulling off his own shirt.

You did so, albeit a bit slower than him. Your thighs clenched as you knew your cunt was wet from all of the waiting, the touches, and kisses from the stores, his filthy words. Logan's eyes scanned your naked body when he got closer. You tried not to focus on his hard cock, red around the tip, cum leaking from it. You wondered how long he was holding that in.

“You got some type of power I don't know about?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer when he presses against your naked body. Heat coming from his chest that was making you flustered. “You secretly a mutant, and you decided not to tell me?”

“No! No, I'm not a mutant. I swear all I did was just put on some perfume-”

Logan silences you with a kiss. Hands on your sides while groaning between your lips. You thought he was mad at you, yet he was sticking his tongue down your throat. His rough hands on your sides. You hold on to him for dear life when he parts, sniffing the air, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“Motherfucking perfume should not make you smell this good, Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan swears while he's buried against your neck again, licking and sucking along your skin. You whine at how rough he's getting, as if he needs more of you. “I won't get mad if you tell me you are a mutant right now because fuck…”

Logan picks you up and tosses you on the bed. You barely have time to recover when he flips you over on your stomach. A hand presses on your back, keeping you firmly against the mattress. His lips kiss behind your earlobe before giving it a gentle nibble. That makes you shift underneath him, causing him to shush in your ear.

“Hold still.”

You do as you're told, whimpering at the touch of his lips against your nape. A light kiss, one that makes you want to put your head back, which is followed up by a nibble. Logan does the same while trailing down your back. You feel his hands palm the globes of your ass while he does so, creating tiny circles with his thumbs.

You moan into your pillow, and you know you're embarrassingly wet now. Your cunt is pulsing with the need to have him inside you already. His fingers dip inside you, and you gasp in surprise. Logan's able to pump his thick digits into your aching hole while leaning over you again, taking another whiff of your perfume.

“Lift your hips up for me, baby.”

You struggle to move your hips as he’s still two fingers inside you, but he helps you, a firm hand on your hip. When he does so, he moves down to your clit. The two fingers coated with your wetness parted your folds, rubbing that sensitive bud. It was getting harder to do as you were told. Keeping still as he played with your pussy. Taking in how delicious you smelled with the perfume.

“Logan.” You murmured against your pillow, “Please…”

“Please? My lady's begging for me?” Logan lets out a short laugh, not stopping his fingers. “You want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, huh?”

“Please…” You were on the brink of tears, that familiar feeling in your stomach about to tip over. Logan didn't show you any mercy, making you sob against your sheets. His fingers rubbed your sensitive clit until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ached for him to be inside, cunt pulsing for him to slip his cock in. Once again, the tip of his nose brushed against your ear lobe as well as his cock in your sex. Your body quivered as his chest was on your back, hovering over you for complete control.

“Think you can give me another?”

You didn't have time to answer as he started pounding into you. Sticky, wet sounds in your ears as you were pinned. Not having a single thought every time Logan's hips met with yours, mouth wide open as you were being fucked dumb. A hint of your drool staining the sheets.

The headboard banging against the wall, mattress squeaking as Logan kept going. Grunting in your ear, saying that your scent was even better after your orgasm. That he wasn't going to come until you squeezed around his thick cock. And he meant it when he rubbed against your pulsing clit. You shook, moaning at his touch and how his cock pistoned into you.

Logan was angled perfectly to where he started hitting your G-spot, causing your vision to get blurry. Still not stopping on the assault on your clit.

“Lo…Logan…” Your body was getting hotter, another climax on the horizon.

“You almost there, princess?” Your answer was only a whine, and that was good enough for him. “That’s it, that's it. Do it for me, baby.”

This orgasm was different. As you came undone, wetness coated Logan's cock, some dripping down your thighs and his own.

“Oh fuck-” Without warning, he shot up inside you. Grunting in your ear while his seed filled your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and trailing down your thighs as well. Logan lazily pumped into you to make sure you got it all while groping your ass.

You could hardly move with Logan on top of you. Thank goodness he didn't rest his total weight on you, or you'd be crushed. He waited a few moments before pulling out, leaving you to lie on your side, completely docile.

No words were said when he cleaned you up, towel between your legs as he kissed your forehead. You started getting coherent enough to realize the groceries were still out, but Logan said he already put them away for you.

With a sigh of relief, you glanced over at the perfume before reaching for your phone to look up the label. That's when your eyes went wide at the reveal.

Wade gifted you pheromone perfume.

No wonder Logan was acting unhinged all day. With his heightened sense of smell, of course something like this would affect him. That is definitely the last time you take a gift from Wade.

As you showed Logan what the perfume was, his brows furrowed in slight annoyance, calling him an asshole.

“But,” Logan folded his arms, glancing away from you. “I wouldn't mind if you wear this more often…”

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Your Five Truths¹

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: You have five simple truths. But when your relationship and your life are put on the line, you start to question what you believe in anymore. Warnings: reader is a bau tech analyst, serious angst, aaron is being mean, big argument, mentions of haley's death, references to foyet arc, home invasion, graphic descriptions of violence Words: 3.5K

Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: there will be a part 2.

1. Aaron doesn't yell at you. 

If all else was unsure, then this was one of the five things you knew for certain. You weren't sure if he yelled at all. Maybe at work with criminals, but never with you.

This was still true.

Right now, he wasn't yelling at you. He was speaking in an even tone, but you knew him well enough to notice the difference. His voice was as cold as his rigid stance, like ice ran through his veins. His arms were crossed, and so, even if you weren't a criminal—even if you knew you were his fiancé—you sure as hell felt like one.

Standing on the other side of the kitchen island, you were in opposition of each other in every sense of the word.

You took a deep breath before speaking. "Aaron—"

He cut you off before the words could even leave your mouth. "We've had this conversation before. I've already told you how I feel about it."

You repressed the urge to take another breath, knowing he was a profiler. Knowing he could profile the discomfort all over you, regardless. But you picked up a few profiling tricks, too.

You could see the way he was staring at you. Like you were an idiot.

Maybe you agreed on that.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot— 

You took the breath, anyway. "Aaron, I said I'm sorry."

You tried to step closer to him, and he didn't move away. But he didn't usher you into his arms, either.

And despite the fact that Aaron doesn't yell at you, you could tell he really wanted to.

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have to say sorry. We shouldn't be having this conversation because you shouldn't have done it," he scolded.

You took another step closer, rounding the counter like your body was trying to get him to physically understand, to remind him that you were on the same side.

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice was desparate now, almost like you actually wanted him to answer. "You were working. I had to work. You weren't picking up the phone—"

"That's right," he cut you off again. This time, he stepped closer to you. "I was working. You weren't."

2. You have an equal relationship.

The second truth was what had you tilting your head. You were already flushed from the heat of the argument, but now you could feel yourself getting a little angry.

"What do you mean I wasn't working?" you questioned. "Yes, I was. Garcia said you called everyone in; you said to get there stat."

He was quick. "I meant everyone that was necessary. You aren't."

You could feel the cut immediately, etched deep into your skin. It didn't matter how he said it, frivolous or not—the words were sharp enough to cut you effortlessly.

You aren't necessary.

The words echoed through your head. Words you'd heard before, but never from him. Never from the man who swore to be better than everyone else who ever hurt you.

Yet, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the past, it hurt a thousand times more to come from him.

You waited for him to say something else, waiting for any sign of regret to cross his face.

Nothing did.

There were many times when you wished you had Aaron's poker face, but right now, you didn't have to try. The sadness flooding your body remained internal; the only thing that showed on your face was rage.

Your eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hotch doubled down, staring you right in the eye. "It means your job is an accessory. Garcia does the same job as you—you aren't needed."

That was a lie so blatant it made you scoff. You were a technical analyst for the BAU, and you'd proven yourself time and time again. Hotch was the one that hired you—he's the one that said he saw something in you.

Apparently not.

"I'm not needed," you echoed, sarcasm lacing your voice. "Right. So when an alert comes out that there is an active hostage situation and a potential terrorist threat, what do you expect me to do? Not come into work?" 

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Not when you're picking up my son."

You ran a hand through your hair, stuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious—"

"When you're picking up my son, what I expect is for you to take him home."

You spoke over him, countering, "I brought him to a place where I knew he'd be out of harm's way. You weren't picking up the phone. I did what I thought was best—"

"You brought him to Jessica—"

"I brought him to his aunt—"

For the first time since the conversation started, Aaron raised his voice just enough for it to stop you dead in your tracks. "You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother!"

3. You are not Jack's mother.

You knew that. God, you knew that. You were there to see the carnage in the Hotchner household after Haley's death. The blood that splattered the walls. The boy who was too young to spell the word devastation but still felt it in his bones.

You knew you were not Jack's mother. You lived in a house with her pictures on the wall. Jack was a mirror image of her; he was her son, and you knew that. It was one of the truths you held the most conviction in.

It was the truth.

But you still recoiled, almost like Aaron had slapped you. A part of you thought maybe that would've hurt less.

All the fire you had was extinguished. You didn't have a rebuttal for that. What could you say? It didn't matter if you loved Jack like he was your own—that didn't change the fact that he wasn't.

You avoided Aaron's gaze, choosing to stare at the pattern of his tie instead and trying not to succumb to the sting in your eyes. You liked this tie; it was one of your favourites. You were close enough to him to see all its beautiful details.

But, at the same time, you'd never been further away from him.

Aaron still hadn't said anything, and out of fear that the dam would break if the silence continued, you spoke up. "I—" your voice cracked. "I know I'm not Jack's mother, and I'm not trying to be." You paused. "I was just doing what I thought was best."

You left it there, not knowing if the right words to say the right thing even existed. Saying the right thing was always Aaron's thing, not yours.

But whatever words he was going to say were cut off by the shrill pinging of a cellphone. Two cellphones.

Aaron picked up his first, sighing immediately. You didn't have to guess what it said. "We have another case." The heat in his voice was gone; he sounded like himself.

That didn't mean you felt any less burned.

"Okay, um—" you couldn't stop yourself from sniffling even if you tried. "I'll stay here and watch Jack. You go."

Another sigh left him. "Y/N—"

The sound of your name leaving his mouth almost made you cry, but you persisted, "No, you can go, it's fine." You chuckled if not just to make light of it for yourself. "I'm not needed there, anyway."

"Y/N."

"Aaron." You fingally looked up at him, and you saw it. Remorse swirling in his brown eyes. The same eyes that crinkled at the sides when you said you'd marry him. Somehow, that made it worse, knowing that it was the same person who said both of those things. Who built you up from scratch just to bring you right back to the bottom. 

You repeated yourself, "Go." The team needs you, you wanted to say. The only reason you didn't say it was because he'd already accused you of trying to be his past wife; you didn't need to prove him right.

You could practically hear the churning of his inner turmoil, torn between staying and leaving. It was pointless; you both knew what his decision would be.

When he reached for his go-bag, it was final. And in some ways, he was leaving more than just the house.

As if he could sense that, he turned around. "We'll finish this discussion when I'm back," he said. That was an anchor: telling you something about the present by talking about the future. When I'm back meant that he'd be back. Discussion meant you had something to talk about, a two-sided activity. We meant you were still one unit; you were still a we.

Maybe that's what he meant by it. If you scoured through his words and read between the lines, maybe you'd find the beginnings of an apology—in his own way, at least. But he wasn't sorry, not for what he said. If anything, he was only sorry that he said it.

You wouldn't profile him and ascribe meaning to words that didn't mean anything. We'll finish this discussion when I'm back meant you'd finish the discussion when he was back. 

When you replied, that was what you were replying to. "Okay."

You weren't okay.

This wasn't okay.

Aaron cast one last look at you before he crossed the threshold. You looked away.

And then he was out the door, leaving you in a house that no longer felt like your own.

—

"Y/N, my love, I thought I'd die without you!"

Penelope was on you as soon as you walked into the bat cave, shooting up from her chair and hugging you so tightly that you would've thought you'd been gone for ages. Really, you were only gone for a night.

You told Aaron that you wouldn't be coming in, and you were holding true to that, but you weren't gonna make Garcia work alone if she had to, even if she was perfectly capable of it.

You knew you weren't needed. Hotch was right: this ship could sail just fine without you. But you could help.

You'd just dropped Jack off at school, so now you were here, ready to work until you had to pick him up again.

You forced yourself to laugh at her words, causing her to hit your back. "No, I'm being serious! You're my oxygen—I can't live without you."

At that, you snorted. "Okay, Penelope."

She pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders. "Seriously, though." She looked deep into your eyes, seeming to be looking for something. "Are... are you okay? I don't even think you've taken a sick day since... since forever."

You smiled at her exaggeration, even if it didn't really reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, P. I just have to leave early to go get Jack, and um... I'm gonna stay off camera today. And off the phones." You shifted your weight. "Not like it matters or anything, but I just don't really want Hotch knowing I'm here. I just want to stay in the background today, if that's okay?"

Her brows raised, but she quickly affirmed, "Yes, that's okay! Totally okay. We'll keep this 100% incognito."

It was in Garcia's nature to ask questions, so you knew she had them, but she didn't voice a single one.

You talked about work, and new bureau technology, and your next girls night, and everything but what you asked of her.

You'd never been more grateful.

—

It'd been two days since the team left, two days of bouncing back and forth between the office and back home with Jack. The son that wasn't really yours. The son that felt like yours, anyway.

If you were doing as good as you thought you were, then nobody knew you were even there. Garcia was telling the rest of them that you were sick. Your phone had been flooded with get well soon messages from everyone except the one person you really wanted one from.

Aaron hadn't spoken to you since he left. You wished it didn't hurt as badly as it did.

"Okay, Jackers! I think it's time we head to bed."

"What?" You held back a laugh at the incredulity in his voice, knowing that—for an 8 year old—this was a very serious matter. He looked at you with traces of shock, somehow looking everything and nothing like his father at the same time. "But it's only ten o'clock!"

"Ah, and yet it is still past your bed time. Mine, too."

Jack frowned—and there it was. There was that bit of Aaron you were looking for. "You say that, but you're just going to stay up after I go to sleep."

You couldn't suppress the smile on your face any longer. "No, Jack. I promise you I'm so tired, I'll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow." You ruffled his hair, your smile becoming a grin as he groaned. "Now go brush your teeth, little man."

Jack got up from the table, his little feet pitter-pattering across the floor as he made his way to the stairs. It didn't sound much like a pitter-patter anymore now that he was getting older, but he would always be the same little boy to you. So, "pitter-patter" it was.

Until suddenly, you heard a different noise.

Not pitter-patter.

The door.

Your eyes darted to Jack as he stopped in his tracks, then they darted to the door. The knob, turning lightly, gold glinting in the light. The sound of your own heart beating was just as loud as the turning. The person got impatient, the knob turning faster now, like someone was trying to pry it open.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your mind ran a mile a minute. That wasn't Hotch. You weren't expecting anyone, and whoever was at the door certainly wasn't asking for an invite in.

They were trying to force their way in.

Somebody was breaking in to the house.

With that realization, you were moving. "Jack." You caught his attention easily, spotting the fear on his face right away. More than fear. 

Familiarity.

He went through his before. Oh, your Jack. He'd been through this before, and he would know what to do. You did.

Conversations with Aaron flashed through your head, just-in-case scenarios, if then statements. Emergencies.

You knew what to do, too.

You just never thought you'd have to.

You grabbed onto Jack's shoulder, immediately feeling how his body was trembling. "Jack, I need you to listen to me." The knob got louder. You lowered your voice. "I need you to work the case, okay? Like with your dad. Do you understand me?"

His eyes went wide. "Wait, Y/N. What about you—"

"Jack. Do you understand me?" He went quiet, and then he nodded, making you sigh in relief. "Okay, take my phone. Call 911, but don't make a sound." You handed him the phone, and then you let go of him. "I love you." Your throat closed up. "Now go."

Jack ran up the stairs, and you were up automatically, trusting he'd do as you said.

It was like someone else was in your body, telling you what to do. You opened the pantry, looking where you'd never looked and typing numbers into a keypad you'd never touched.

Why do we need a safe in the kitchen? you had laughed at the time.

In case of an emergency, Aaron had said. You thanked his forward thinking.

The only way you knew that you were still there was by the violent shaking of your hands as the cool metal touched your skin. You'd only ever operated a gun once or twice. Did you even remember how to load it?

The door banged, making you jolt. You had to remember now. Come on, Y/N. Load the fucking gun. 

You thrusted the magazine into the well and then pulled back the slide. Another bang. You turned the safety off.

Hold the gun with both hands.

God, Hotch, when will I ever need to do this?

Well, I hope you never have to. But we can never be too safe.

Another bang hit the door, this time more forceful. We can never too safe. Tears flooded your eyes, and you promptly blinked them away.

Then. There was another bang, and this time, the door hit the wall.

You intook a sharp breath, hearing footsteps thump against the floor. You closed your eyes, focusing on the noise. One set of footsteps. 

Aaron's voice echoed throughout your head. Are you sure?

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, straining your ears. Yes. One person. Loud. Heavy. Male.

Okay, that's good. What else do you know?

You knew they spent a long time fiddling with the door knob before busting the door open. That could either mean they lacked physical strength or they were trying to taunt you. The second option. You knew this was a low-risk neighbourhood. You knew your car was out front. This wasn't about money. This was personal. Intentional.

You knew this was an FBI agent's house. You knew—

Wait. You strained your ears more, following the footsteps. They weren't heading for your direction. No. No, no, no, no.

Jack was upstairs.

You couldn't let this man go up there.

4. You love Jack Hotchner unconditionally.

Knowing number four makes you act fast with a determination you'd never felt before. The pantry door swung open as you left the enclosed space, instantly raising the gun in the air like it was weightless. 

You pointed it at your stairwell where a masked man stood, motionless. 

"You better stop right there, you son of a bitch," you threatened, cocking the gun like it was second nature to you.

The man raised his hands into the air slowly. He tilted his head at you as if he was trying to mock you.

And then he smiled.

Before you could even realize what was happening, he was running at you. Your eyes widened, pulling the trigger. You barely got to see if your shot made it before he was tackling you to the ground, knocking the gun out of your hands.

The back of your head hit the ground, making a sickening crack. You gasped for air, and then you were wheezing as the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You looked up into his demented eyes, hearing not the sound of your own voice but Hotch's. Use what you see. Frantically, your eyes flew all over the unsub's body until you saw red staining black, right at his shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, you stuck your finger into the wound, hearing him scream. He was stunned enough that he loosened his grip, giving you the chance to kick him off of you.

You scrambled to your feet, searching for the gun and finding it in the middle of the living room floor. You dove for it right as he got back up, getting to you before you could try shooting again.

His hands wrapped around yours, trying to wrestle the gun from your hands. You held on like your life depended on it because it did. Your life depended on it— Jack's life depended on it. 

You fired a shot into the ground and then another into the wall as he fought you, knocking a picture frame off the mantle. You couldn't see where the gun was pointing anymore, but then, suddenly, pain radiated throughout your lower abdomen, and you knew it was pointed at you.

You gasped, looking down and seeing blood spreading through the white of your tank top.

You looked back up, seeing the asshole smile at you with his teeth. They were pearly white. So clean for a man so dirty.

You sought to make them red, too.

In a surge of energy, you twisted the gun out of his grasp and didn't think before pointing it at his head and firing.

You watched the bullet penetrate his skull before he fell to the ground. Like a domino, you followed, crumpling against the couch.

The gun slipped out of your hands and they immediately went to your wound, making you hiss in pain. You pressed down on it, feeling blood flow between your fingers like a river. 

Keep swimming. Keep your eyes open.

The fatigue hit you like a train. You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open, but they felt so heavy.

Jack. Jack was upstairs. He called the police.

He was okay.

You heard sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

You could sleep now.

And so, as you remembered your fifth truth, your eyes started to flutter closed.

5. You love Aaron Hotchner. And he loves you.

You let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping that somehow, on some plane of consciousness, he could hear you say I love you one last time.

You loved Aaron Hotchner. You knew that for certain.

You just hoped he still loved you.

[coconutdays]

consume

s. in a world of ghouls and humans, you've got a crush on a really hot guy with tattoos, but that doesn't mean he's a ghoul right?

w.c. 5.9k

w. fem! reader, ghoul!sukuna! x reader , fluff!, smut!, cannibalism!, gore!

a/n: this is a continuance on this thought of mine :)I just wrote this to get this out of my system :/ don't think I cooked as I usually do! but feel free to indulge in ghoul sukuna to at least scratch the itch.

"is that him y/n?" your friend's eyes widen and she grabs you by the shoulders, staring into the void of your soul "go up to him. now."

you came for drinks with your friends just a couple minutes ago. and you were so unaware until now, that across from you is the random hot guy you always see on your way home.

your friend, the one bolstering you to go up to him, has heard of this crush. considering you can't spend a day without talking about the hotness of this man.

"I-I, " you start to stutter, "I shouldn't. I see him all the time around the neighborhood and he's never so much as bat an eye at me or acknowledged my presence."

"and I do not care," she huffs, turning you around and beginning to push you in his direction at the bar, "no guy is capable of rejecting your beauty when its waved right in front of their face."

you hear her huffing and can probably make out how flushed her cheeks are from going against your planted feet on the ground, scared to go up to the man nearing you, even though its you coming closer. you feel your heartbeat quicken by at least 50 beats and the adrenaline from such a simple act is rushing through your veins.

until you're there. and he's doesn't even move to face you, his eyes just dart to you.

"hi." you manage to choke out.

he smells like like leather and stone cold vanilla. it's a smell you won't be able to get out of your head tonight.

he looks like he's about to sigh and say something to send you walking away, but you speak again before he can dismiss you, possibly, "I think you're handsome and I wanted to talk to you."

"you looking for a quick fuck?" his voice rumbles so nonchalantly as he takes a sip of his whiskey

"no." you answer in a heartbeat, quickly moving your head from side to side as a sign of your counter to the idea, "I don't think I would be this nervous if I was just looking for that."

"Then what are you looking for?" He's suddenly looming over you, body now turned to face you and his early stance of dismissal gone. although you don't know if that's what you prefer now considering this is so much more intimidating. he's squinting his eyes at you just a tad and you can tell he's biting his cheek.

"something that doesn't hurt me." is all you can speak into existence, softly.

he stares at you

he stares at you for a long while, his brown eyes so light, they're almost red. it's intense and you don't know what he's playing at.

he gets up abruptly, the chair that was beneath him screeching, face unnerved when he reaches a hand out expectantly, "your phone."

your eyes widen and you fumble around for your phone before planting it in his hand.

"what's your name," he says as he presses what you suppose is his contact information into your phone.

you hear a ring coming from his back pocket when you answer, "y/n"

"sukuna," he replies back curtly before handing you back yours and moving to shut off his phone. he then takes out a ten dollar bill and puts it on the countertop before turning to leave, "stay with your friends, it's not safe on your own out there."

you hadn't noticed at all that your friend had left you to talk to the familiar stranger, sukuna now, at some point during the interaction. when you turned around, your group was staring between you and the ominous figure leaving as if they were watching a thriller movie and needed a bowl of popcorn to shove their hands into.

when you were on the way home by cab that night, you received a text, that seemed a manifestation due to how hard you prayed for the next buzz from your phone to be from him.

it was a curt reminder that he would meet you outside your apartment--that he also asked for the address of--the following morning so he could take you out. and nothing more. it was so curt, that although he was still inviting you out, you made it your mission to dress your most attractive the next morning.

you notice he's already outside of the door when peek your head out the door early, doubtful of how early he would be, which he was. sukuna had gotten there ten minutes beforehand, at the least. and although you weren't that mentally prepared to be out with him, you sucked it up and tried your best to confidently walk out the door when he noticed you.

"looks like we're both early," you joke a bit shyly, fiddling with the straps of your purse

"if you need more time you can go back up," he says, having straightened his posture from leaning against the wall and now looking at the busying street, as if to stay aware of his surroundings

"no it's okay, I've been ready for about half an hour now," you smile meekly in embarrassment

the comment makes him flick an eye to you, "should have told me."

"for?" you blink up at him, unaware

"for me to show up earlier," he clicks with his tongue before looking to the left and motioning for the both of you to start walking

it's about ten minutes into your silent walk to who knows where that you hear him speak again without previous poking, "you eat breakfast?"

"yes, actually! it was a lot so im still pretty full, considering the time."

"alright," he nods before locking eyes on something and placing a surprisingly gentle hand on the small of your back to maneuver you to your left, "it's here."

and the small entrance he guides you through leads to an immediate splash of greenery

a garden, a large one, surrounded by something you couldn't make out

"it's a bookshop."

and now you could make out the shelves through the surrounding windows

there's a number of different flowers surrounding you and you can't help but dash to a rather beautiful spawn of peonies.

"they're so beautiful!" you bite your lip in excitement, like you'd just seen a puppy. and that's when you spot a small pathway leading to a shrouded bench.

and you get an idea, "do you think they have Takatsuki in there?"

sukuna quirks a brow at you, "you like that insane shit?"

"I like creepy stuff." you blink at him, shamelessly stating the interest of yours

"come on," he juts his chin towards the far end of the garden, where the entrance was

moments later, you come out with a hardcover edition of The Black Goat's Egg you'd been vying for for months, purchased by sukuna, who asked, "that the one you want?" when you said yes, he plucked it from your hands and paid for it at the register.

"thank you." you say in appreciation when you set your purse down next to you on the bench, and flip to the beginning page of the book while sukuna adjusts himself next to you.

the handsome giant says nothing and instead drapes an arm over the side of the bench behind you and flicks his eyes towards the book, waiting for you to read like you'd promised so.

"you'll like it," you smile at him before subconsciously sinking just a little into his personal space and adjusting the book comfortably onto your lap, "ahem..."

you had been reading for about an hour and a half now, and sukuna showed no signs of distaste for the book. he hadn't said a word since the moment you started reading, listening and skimming over the book with you.

"mother's hands carved out the veins beneath his chest, not me. from her nails came the rotten smell of hardened blood. oh this is my favorite part. but I could feel the pulsing of his lungs on my hands. how his heart still beat when I had opened his chest. the breath of life beneath my palms, inhaling and exhaling. my excitement brewed, a woman's touch knew nothing of the enthrallment this brought me-"

grrrrrrrrrr

embarrassing

there's no way in hell your stomach just did that in front of him. you try to mutter a quick sorry and pick back up where you left off, but the moment you open your mouth again after the quick apology, sukuna interrupts you.

"it's time for you to eat."

why did he say that like you were some sort of pet.

he was such a serious speaker sometimes.

while you start to gather your things, sukuna already stands up and reaches a hand out for you to stabilize yourself on.

"I don't think its time time," you say while taking his hand, not wanting to go back to your apartment yet and finish reading yet, "I won't cook normally until another half hour from-"

"you said you liked the same type of pasta the guy was eating in the book right," he cut you off, levitating a hand over your shoulders that simply wooed you into stepping next to him at a comfortable pace while he moved for the both of you to cross the street.

"yeah..."you agreed, catching another whiff of his cologne in the breeze

and that's how you wound up with him ordering a full plate for you and a boring cup of coffee for himself moments later at a restaurant.

"you sure you're not hungry?" you questioned worriedly, eyes searching for any illness on him, scared to grab the fork before you

"I'm cutting, I'll cook at home." he shrugged

"cook what then?" you almost pout, feeling bad that you were going to be feasting in front of him while he merely had a coffee

he looked you dead in the eyes and said before taking a sip of his coffee, "steak."

"ghoul." you shot back while reaching for your fork and making towards the pasta

for the first time, you saw irritation on sukuna's face in the form of a twitch of his nose, "beef. steak."

he seemed so serious and you couldn't help but stick your tongue out playfully, "I know, but you might as well be one if you're that built from so much protein. heh."

sukuna let a tsk out and took a sip of his coffee, "eat your food."

you wound up getting walked home by sukuna later after the meal, a full stomach and new book, both provided by him upon your return.

"thank you again for the book" the corners of your lips quirked up a little cutely, "and for the meal too."

"you still need to eat something later tonight."

"I will" you nod and look up at him earnestly before reaching for his hand and gesturing for him to be level with you.

"goodbye," you land a quick peck on his cheek and let go of his hand, already rushing towards your building door and entering the code in as fast as possible. you couldn't look back, and didn't .

this pattern of dates repeats itself quite often after. sukuna's taken you to what seems like every bookstore in the city and purchased whatever makes your fancy every time. he's had you read for him. he's bought you every sweet and dessert you've wanted. he's brushed a crumb of a macaroon of your lips, carried you bridal style to avoid getting your shoes wet in a large street puddle, the most endearing things, albeit stoically, but

he's never kissed you

you think it has something to do with how stoic he is. maybe there's some sort of damage with him. he's so immersed whenever he's with you, learning and observing you, but it's always felt as if he's keeping part of himself watered down with you.

a hint of snarkiness has left him before, you saw so when a little girl in a park punched an older boy for yanking on her pigtail.

and he never takes you out at night. he hasn't specifically said he doesn't want to go out during the late hours of the afternoon or night, but he always manages to schedule your outings to end before so.

it's why you bite the bullet, and make today's lunch, into a dinner hosted by you, with the convenient excuse that your work asked you to come in for finishing touches on a project you'd be presenting next week and couldn't make it to lunch.

sukuna agreed with no qualms, that you couldn't see through the screen of your phone of course, and even asked if you needed any ingredients.

your chicken had already been in the oven for about twenty minutes when he had knocked on your door--you had texted him the code to your building earlier.

"hi." you breathed, opening the door for him to come in, "I put this chicken recipe I found online to bake. it's supposed to be healthy."

sukuna walked further into your apartment and analyzed his surroundings while you yapped away.

"it's probably not like the steak you eat, maybe less in protein, but I think you'll like it. I don't think I could make steak that good for someone else on the first try..."

"your hand," he slightly quirks a brow up and gestures towards your right hand, two bandages on your middle and pointer finger.

"tomato dicing mishap," you give him a sheepish closed mouth smile while raising your hand up, "it's a bit more annoying than a paper cut. bleeds more than one."

"I could order for here-"

"no! it's okay. I'm done anyway. I need to take out the chicken in a bit anyways." and you move to grab the controller to your tv, "do you have anything in mind you want to watch?”

“the news.”

you slightly furrow your brows, but accommodate to his request then leave the controller on the coffee table, "you see something happen?"

"just don't like not knowing what's going on," he huffs gruffly while eyeing the ongoing news report for the day.

"A ghoul has atrociously murdered and consumed various members of our community. last night's victim is unidentifiable, but his age can be estimated to be about thirty. surveillance cameras near the area show no capture evidence of who could have done this, but reports and evidence point to it being the same perpetrator of the last couple of murders this month-"

you walk to your oven to get the chicken out and start to put on your mittens, "at least it's not girls."

sukuna's eyes flicker towards you, interested in what you're saying, "you should be scared."

you're setting the hot pan on the countertop when you look back at him, eyes clean of any fear, "but he's been eating shit guys."

sukuna turns his body to you and crosses his arms, as if he's about to chew your ear off for saying that, but you continue, moving to plate the food for both of you, "all the bodies they've reported are all well distinguished low life perverts, some have even tried to chase me down when I say no. one of them tried taking a picture under my skirt once."

you place the plates on either side of the dining table for the both of you and sit down, "whatever ghoul that's getting his full with them doesn't scare me. we know he eats a lot, if those guys weren't enough, he'd go for girls already. and before you bite my head off for not being scared, you should know by now that I rarely go out at night, especially not without someone with me. now sit, food's ready."

sukuna eyes moves towards the dining table and eyes your dish a bit wearily as he slides his chair out for him to sit on.

when he sits, you speak again, "I got the recipe from one of those super healthy bodybuilders, so it should be good enough for you. plus, I'm a good cook."

sukuna still stairs into the void, where our plate should be, but he makes for the knife and fork you put for him, "thank you."

and he enjoyed it, you think. he didn't say it was good, but he finished his plate diligently. if he hated it, he would have said something, or shown it on his face.

"I'll wash the dishes," he said when you were about to reach for his plate and instead he took both of yours and got up.

"oh, okay," you observed as he turned on the faucet, his back to you, he looked out of place in the small spot, "I can start putting a movie, you liked when I read Howl's Moving Castle, I have the movie for it."

You looked for a response, and you received one in the form of a nod, so you stood up and sat on the couch, looking through your streaming services.

sukuna finishes faster than you expected

"I need to take a piss," he says as he walks towards the restroom

"okay," you responded without hesitation as you tried to restart the movie considering your streaming service was glitching on you and the movie was already in the ends credits--you watched it that often.

you solved the problem quicker than you thought, because when sukuna comes back from peeing, you've already got the movie paused at the beginning, waiting for him to sit so you can press play.

and when he does sit, it's at a distance from you, which you don't make a comment about because hey, maybe he's just a guy with boundaries.

and it's halfway through the movie that you have barely even paid attention to your favorite movie of all time. the music you always enjoy and look forward to seems to have never reached your ears. the funny antics by Calcifer don't elicit a giggle from you.

"why haven't you tried to kiss me?"

is he even attracted to you? because you have boundaries and you're a woman, but

you want his hands on you for more than just protection or help. you want to know what it feels like to sit on his lap, that you're sure is more comfortable than your couch considering how meaty and large he is.

and now you're in silence, even though the tv must be at more than the recommended volume setting.

"do you want me to?" sukuna asks, still watching the movie, but you can tell his attention is entirely on you

"I wouldn't be saying anything if I didn't want you to..." you breathe, cursing yourself for bringing such an awkward situation upon the both of you. the movie seems as if its not being processed by your eyes even though you're staring at it, too scared to look at him.

the need to backtrack overcomes you and you feel like you need to overexplain your lack of manners and how he should disregard what you're saying when-

he's tilted your chin towards him

and his mouth is on yours

its beyond sensual and you can feel your thighs shift against each other, but nowhere is it an intense roughness.

he's a godsend, you think, right as he pulls away and gets up.

you're dazed and confused as he walks to your door

"I preferred when you read the book to me," he states monotonously while he shrugs his leather jacket on and opens the door.

"I'll send for a dessert for you later." he's halfway through the doorway and his back is to you, "don't finish it all if you still feel full. your cramps get worse with sugar."

"my cramps-"

he shuts the door and you're left dumbfounded in your living room

oh. he must've seen the packaging of your pad thrown in the restroom bin.

later that night, there was a large helping of warm churros that a guy delivered to your apartment building.

you img_786 thank you, they're really good

sukuna don't finish all of it

you I won't <3

and then he's gone

for a month you haven't heard from him

you shouldn't be rotting in your bed this often, but you are. you don't want to frequent out unless its with him. the few bookstores you did know before him, and went to after with him are sickeningly wrapped in the ambience of him.

going out at night reminds you that he didn't like when you were out at night, sending punctual texts about whether you were home or not

the walk home, where you got excited to even see him for a second is a disdainful reminder of him.

and you feel so ridiculed

the last time you talked, it was because you technically asked for a kiss that he ended up giving

but then walking away and going home.

it hurt your ego

you ran out of matcha tea a bit before sundown. it was a calming drink for you, something you'd been finding comfort it especially during this time.

so you left your apartment to go to the grocery store in your neighborhood. it was a weekday, so the streets weren't all that crowded, everyone was already on the way home.

it was a quick trip, you came out with a tin of matcha and a tub of ice cream, but the sun was halfway through its descent back into the night.

nothing would happen. ghouls don't lurk the moment the sun sets.

your apartment is around the corner when you hear a familiar voice.

"don't move unless you want me to eat your kagune."

why does that sound a lot like him?

there was a sort of mushy sound that followed, then a painful groan

or screech, you couldn't tell the the difference from how pained it was

"please sukuna! I-I didn't know-"

a scream followed, along with a grotesque noise

he said sukuna's name? is that-

"AHAHAHAA LOOK AT HOW FUCKED UP YOUR LUNGS ARE! BASICALLY SHREDS IN MY HANDS!"

it's undeniably his voice, but you've never heard him like this.

if you could just get a look, turn your head over the alleyway just a little

you almost vomit at the sight.

the man you had been moping over for the past few weeks had four large tentacles for a kagune, bright blood red and pinning down the man beneath him, who's lungs unmistakably were in sukuna's hands.

he was eating it like it was something easy, like a slice of ham

the other man-ghoul's intestines were spilling out onto the ground

and all you could do was stand still.

"I didn't know she was off-limits!" the ghoul cried, tears running down his half eaten face considering he was missing a piece of cheek.

"doesn't matter," sukuna retorted, digging a hand in again and taking out what looked like a liver, "what were you going to do to her huh?"

he took a bite and spoke with a full mouth in his face, "I know what lowlife creeps like you like to do to girls like her."

"and how are they supposed to stop coming if I let every creep that wanders near her live?"

and upon further inspection, you realize that the guy underneath him spoke to you this morning on the subway. he made uncomfortable conversation about your skirt and you got off the moment he started getting too close to your personal space

unbeknownst to you, you start shaking and your breath hitches

sukuna hears it

when he turns to face you, where the noise came from, his eyes are red this time, the whites blackened. he's breathing hard as he stares you down.

"go. home." is all he snarls menacingly

and no matter how hard you want to plant your feet and say no because you're mad at him, you run back home. the minute that was left in walking home became twenty seconds.

how you wound up at your apartment that fast was a wonder to you. but all you know is that so many things are making sense, but not at the same time.

that ghoul was going to come for you if it wasn't for sukuna. was sukuna the ghoul from the news? had he eaten all those men? god, you can't even remember all the times you've been cat-called or bothered on the street. how long had he been doing this?

"open the door."

you're back to reality at the sound of sukuna behind the door to your apartment

maybe if you pretend you're not-

"I can hear your heart beating, open the door."

"I don't want to!" you try not to yell, speaking as firmly as you can so as to not garner unwanted attention.

"if you open the door," he starts to speak with irritation that so tells you theres a just as irritated smile on his face, "I can explain to you."

"why do you want to talk now?" you stomp your foot on the ground, praying that the inertia stops the tears building on your waterline from falling down your cheeks

"open the door and I'll tell you y/n." he says, patience still wavering

he stares you down menacingly when you abruptly open the door, but you've got your own look to challenge, brimming with almost tears and an anger like no other at how he hurt you

"I told you to not go out at night."

"how long ago was that huh?" you retort

sukuna bites his cheek and enters your apartment, planting himself in the farthest corner of your living room to argue with you.

"you still know better." he gestures a hand to the window, outside, "I don't care if there's still a couple minutes before the sun sets. don't go outside."

"why not, you'll be there to eat anyone who lurks near me."

your nose is scrunched at him in anger and for the first time, it looks like he has nothing to say

"were you the ghoul from the news the other night?" you sniffle

sukuna looks at you with dead irritation, like he has a million things to say, but none at the same time.

"are you trying to keep me to yourself? to eat me on a rainy day, like a special treat? is that why you couldn't bare to date me? because I was just food?"

"no." he bites back, arms crossed, tongue poking through his cheek while his head moves to face the other way

"then?" you waiver, hands dropped to the sides of your body in fists.

"I'm a ghoul," his red eyes dart to you, pinning you under his gaze," you're a human."

"you can't stand that I'm a human?" you step back, hurt

it seems your words confund him to irritation again when he responds, "you just saw me eating someone's lungs."

"he was going to eat me." you reason

"you're an idiot..." he scoffs, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground

"then why are you still here?" you bite back

your retaliation seems to have set him off, because he soon starts walking towards you and pins you under his body and the countertop behind you

"I was born to eat you," he snarls close to your face, "I will find a way to break you. it's nature. every single day, all I can think about is how much I want to sink my teeth into your flesh. does that not scare you?"

"maybe that's because you never tried to take out your urges on me in other ways." you murmur defiantly

the comment makes him stand still, leaving both of your breaths as the only sound in the room.

"you don't know what you're saying." his nose twitches

"neither do you, you've never tried."

his hands are gripping the countertop so hard, you can hear a slight crumble.

but then sukuna's breathing grows ragged and it would have alarmed you, were it not for his following actions.

his arms brings your entire body towards him when he envelopes you in a nasty kiss.

this

this was sexual

his chest grumbles when you stick your tongue into his mouth and he sucks on it painfully

the bliss is so entrancing, you can't even distinguish the metallic taste.

one of his hands goes to envelop your ass and the grip he has is so strong and painful that you think he's made finger sized holes in your jeans.

the moan that leaves you is far too sinful, but he pulls you impossibly closer and grabs you by the back of your legs to pull you up. sukuna then starts walking to the only other door that doesn't lead to the restroom. to your room.

he'd just bitten your lip to the point where you're sure it'd be bruised within an hour when he threw you onto the bed and yanked your pants off. you don't know if he tore them off or genuinely took them off, but all you know is that the sight when he takes off his shirt next is magnetizing. his body is sculpted and defined everywhere, his pecs are huge, his abs scrumptiously lining his abdomen, and his v-line makes you eager to jump on top of him.

but his tattoos, they're the cherry on top. there's two ragged lines, almost as if fangs scraping down his abdomen, and they seem as if they have brothers and sisters reaching to do the same down his pecs and on the small of his neck. you know about the others on his arms, but not these.

"take off your shirt before I rip it off and you start whining about it." he growls while he fiddles with his belt to push down his pants

you follow orders, no care for if he did rip your shirt (in the moment), but eager to have him

the hard on you're greeted with is just below terrifying.

were all ghouls this gifted?

you have a feeling this was just sukuna

"still feel like you can take it." sukuna snarls as he pushes you further up the bed and positions himself between your legs.

you don't even get a chance to make a comment on what he's about to so intimately do before he tears through the fabric separating your pussy from the outside and delves in without so much as a second thought.

not even ten seconds in and your legs are shaking furiously, with no stop to it so as long as he was on top of you

his tongue is penetrating you so deeply and you don't even have time to question if that's a biological feature on ghouls. all you know is that's it's wet and oh so stimulating, so much so, you're screaming and whining

there's no words you can say, you're screaming so much from the pleasure that you instinctively start to pull away from him, but he growls and keeps you in place

oh

he's been staring at you this entire time

with those eyes

mercy be

it's just enough to drag you to the tipping point and your relief washes over you and him, while he drinks it all up ferociously.

you think he's going to stop when it feels like he's licked you clean from your mess

until he doesn't

he goes on

and he goes on for what seems like an hour

you feel you've gone insane, you can't even count how many times he's made you cum since. you've never been destroyed this way.

your voice is gone when he comes up and stares at you, caging you between his arms.

you're not going to tap out, you try to say with your eyes

and he understands, as it seems, hiking up both of your legs to your chest and beginning to run his fat tip across your folds

"remember, you asked for this." sukuna mutters meanly when he pushes in in one go

you thought it was a lie when some girls said their boyfriends were so big, that they could feel their veins rubbing against their insides

it wasn't

even his tip is being molded to by your pussy

"oh my god," you moan painfully, "I can't-i'm gonna-"

"you can," he retorts, starting to pull back and the mere drag has you keening

you think you have the same effect, considering how labored his breathing has gotten and there's nothing left for you to do besides pull him in for a kiss to sedate yourself from the intensity happening below

the single beginning of the contact illicits sukuna's start of a ruthless pace

your moans seem to make him suck on your tongue punishingly every time. and your hands can't find nothing else to do besides drag painfully down his back. you think you might have just hurt your own hands from how hard his skin is.

sukuna stops kissing you while he pummels inside of you to speak

"scream for me."

command or not, you were still doing so

"filthy little slut," he groans through each stroke, "tightest fucking pussy I've ever fucked."

"pussy's fucking mine, you're never going to touch anyone else. if you even try, I'll kill them."

he keeps going like this, on and on and all you can do is nod and agree with everything he says, because let's be honest, who were you to even glance at someone else after this?

you notice purple indents forming where his hands are on your thighs when he leans down to your face and says, "whaddya say princess, you like being mine?"

"mhm," you nod ernestly, and gather the courage to speak, even if it is hoarse, "love it so much sukuna."

"gonna blow a huge fucking load in your pussy," he murmurs to himself more than anything

"plea-please." you moan needing to be as close to him as possible, feeling an idea surface to your mind

"bite me."

if sukuna weren't so depraved and lost in you, he would have stopped. but he keeps going and instead leans closer to hear you

"bite me," you breathe, almost screaming at the end, "just enough for it not to scar."

sukuna keeps staring at you while he destroys your insides, giving no indication as to if he was going to do follow through with your wishes, until he leans down to your chest

you scream in pain and a delicious ecstasy

there's a small little pool of blood coming from your skin and his mouth when you look down. his hips start stuttering too, and it makes you think that this might be his tipping point.

you're so fucked up that it's yours too

before you know it, his pace grows so erratic that you start cumming and pulsating around him sporadically, unable to contain yourself from the pleasure.

and he starts cumming too.

sukuna lifts himself up from your chest and captures your mouth in his, making you taste a part of yourself you never thought you would. he grows weak in the kiss too, while his cum seeps out and pools into you. it lets you nibble on his tongue, an action that him sinking into your body while he gives you a last few weak thrusts.

"ow," you giggle after a moment of silence

sukuna brings his head up quickly, eyes slightly wide and in worry

"how am I gonna wear a bra over that," you laugh, observing the bleeding bite mark over your boob

sukuna looks down at it, "just don't wear one."

"boobs bring perverts."

sukuna rolls his eyes in exhaustion and dips his head into your chest, licking your wound, "you're not going anywhere without me there anyway."

[woogilicious]

offline messages ꒰ yunho ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: streamer!yunho x gn!reader. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 1039 words. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: angst + fluff. ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: mild angst, emotional neglect (unintentional), feelings of being left behind, fluff at the end.

You were there before the follower goals, and fancy mic setup. Back when Yunho streamed from a wobbly IKEA desk and his only viewers were you and that one random bot that kept posting shady links.

Back then, his face would light up when he saw your name in chat.

"Yo!" he'd grin, headset slightly tilted. "You're here!"

Of course you were. You always were.

You modded his streams before he even asked. Built his discord server from scratch. Stayed up past midnight helping him troubleshoot lag while playing Valorant. You even tolerated the scream fest during Lethal Company session with San, Mingi, and Wooyoung―all chaos, max volume, all the time.

And when things took off―when Twitch clipped him into the algorithm and the chat exploded with new fans, you celebrated with him. You were proud. You really were.

But you also started feeling... invisible.

It started small. A joke you made in chat went ignored. Then another. Then another.

You chalked it up, at first. That's what growing meant―more people, more chaos. But then he stopped replying to your DMs. Took hours to answer simple messages. And one day, you noticed your mod label was gone. No explanation. No "thanks for everything." Nothing at all.

You watched one of his streams that night, lurking, your name is grey in a sea of neon usernames. Someone made a crude joke. You called it out. Yunho didn't even notice, until a stranger timed you out.

That was the last stream you watched live.

You muted the server. Turned off notifications. Closed the tab. He never reaches out. Not once.

Months passed.

One night, you're scrolling through your phone, brain on autopilot, when you see his name. Yunho is live: Unpacking + chatting. You shouldn't care. You don't.

But you click.

He's streaming Unpacking, of all things. Soft music, quiet atmosphere, just him and the sound of cardboard boxes being emptied on screen. There's no Wooyoung yelling in the background, no San whining about being scared―just Yunho. Focused. A little tired. His laugh softer tonight.

You shouldn't message him.

But your fingers move anyway, finding his name in your message app.

Are you okay?

You send it. Regret it instantly. Consider deleting it, but then―

yunho: wait yunho: wait wait wait yunho: is this real?? yunho: y/n... i thought u blocked me or smth

You stare at the screen, looking at his stream while his attention turns to his phone.

you: figured you wouldn't notice either way yunho: ... yunho: okay. i deserve that. yunho: i miss you. a lot.

You don't reply right away, and you close the Twitch app.

The next day, he sends you a message privately in discord.

yunho: can we talk?

You call. It's weird, at first. The silence between you used to be comfortable, easy. Now it's cautious. Hesitant.

But he tries.

"I don't know when I started messing it up," he says, voice quiet. "I think... I just got caught up in everything. I didn't mean to shut you out."

You shrug, even though he can't see you. "You kind of did, though."

"I know. I just... didn't want you to feel like you had to carry my stuff forever. You helped me so much and I kept thinking, maybe you deserved to just... live your life. Not babysit my stream."

You snort. "You took away my mod role without saying a word. The least you can do is tell me."

He winces. "Yeah. That was stupid."

"You think?"

He laughs. It's small, and it is obvious that he is nervous.

"Let me fix it," he says. "Please."

It's not instant. It's not perfect.

But you start showing up again. Not as a mod, but just as his friend.

He messages you in the middle of the night about weird games you'd both like. Sends you dumb voices notes of Mingi farting on call. You hop into discord during late-night gaming, and he still screams in panic when he gets chased in scary games, but now, he screams your name too.

And one night, he messages:

yunho: do you want to do a stream together soon? you: what would we even play? yunho: idc. minecraft? stardew? anything. i just want to hang out with you on stream.

You agree, and the next night, it's Minecraft night.

The stream starts slow, chill lo-fi music playing in the background. Yunho decides to do a member only stream, which means the chat is smaller, cozier. The mods keep it clean. No chaos whatsoever.

"Special guest tonight, their name is Y/N" Yunho says, grinning. "My oldest friend. Like actual old. We've known each other since middle school."

You laugh. "You're few months older than me."

Chat, on the other hand, explodes with excitement:

xXxgamerraccoon12: brooo you can see yunho smiling like an idiot fluffyhorsie: their voice sounds so soothing!! i love them already!! bananapie481: we need more cozy game with y/n!!

You two fish, farm, fight monsters, collect materials. It's easy.

Halfway through the stream, you forget the camera's even on.

"You're different when it's just us," you say quietly.

Yunho hums. "Different how?"

"Less loud, less performative. More... you."

He doesn't say anything right away, just smiling while mining some woods for their house. Then, softly. "That's because you bring out the parts of me I actually like."

Your chest tightens.

"You know I was really scared," he adds. "That you'd never message me again. That I lost you for good."

You exhale. "You almost did."

"I know."

Silence.

Then, your character walks over and gifts his character a flower.

It's just pixels, but Yunho makes a sound that's a little too real.

"What?"

"What do you mean what? Maybe I just like giving you flowers."

His voice is barely a whisper. "God, I missed you so much."

The stream ends with your character standing next to his inside your finish small cozy wooden house.

Chat's spamming hearts. Fan edit already being posted. People are begging for another duo stream.

Once he turns off his stream, he says, "Don't log off yet."

You stay.

His voice is warm through your headset.

"Let's play another day?"

You smile. "Sure, Yunho. I'll be here."

This time, you know he believes it.

And this time, you do too.

[delphi-shield]

— 「 BODYGUARD 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.2k summary: you're not his responsibility (not yet), but the guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't get your drunk ass home safely. content: lighter's pov, vomit, alcohol use, sappy lighter, jealous lighter beyonce's bodyguard is so him to me i can't do this anymore fellas

You call; he answers.

Some things in life are just that simple. Lighter tries to keep it that way for you.

You don’t normally call in the middle of the night, though. Lighter doesn’t mind – honest, he doesn’t. He had been tossing and turning since he laid down, passing the time by picking open old wounds, letting the regret sting the raw edges. It takes time to realize that the ringing isn’t in his ears, that he’s flat on his back in bed, not in the ring. He almost ignores the call, but when he rolls over and sees your name flickering back at him, he dives to pick up before the last ring.

You're silent on the other line, nothing but muffled talking and rustling against the microphone. All sorts of scenarios race through his head. You're stuck somewhere - trapped in a hollow, or cornered by a rival gang. His past has caught up to him, mired you in all this ick. His stomach turns.

Adrenaline works way better than caffeine and he’s known that for a while, but he wishes he wasn’t so familiar with the helplessness that grips him. Lighter sits up, swings his legs over the side of his bed, poised to run to you.

It’s nothing so serious. When you finally get your phone up to your face and greet him with a (too loud, too sloppy) ‘hey!’ it becomes painfully obvious. You're drunk. That's what all of this is about.

Lighter needles the details out of you bit by bit, trying to glean information from your ramblings. Stranded out in Badger Springs. You met some guy out there for a date, he went to the bathroom and didn’t come back. You don’t laugh when he offers to deck the guy, and he can’t tell if you’re really torn up about this or if you just didn’t hear him.

Lighter pinches the bridge of his nose. He exhales long and low, away from the mic. He shouldn't encourage this. Can't keep bailing you out every time you get yourself in a sticky situation. But the thought of you drunkenly stumbling around the Outer Ring, bumbling your way into real trouble, has him fumbling to get his arms through his jacket.

“Stay put. I’ll be right there.”

Badger Springs. Seriously? Why’d you have to go so far out? What was so wrong with getting a drink in Blazewood?

Irritation pricks at him, has his hands feeling staticky even when he grips the handlebars of his bike. You probably went out there so no one would interrupt your date. What, were you trying to hide it? Did the girls know about this? No. No way. You would have called one of them to pick you up if that were the case. Right? You weren’t trying to hide it from him, not specifically.

He has a long ride ahead to stew about it, to knot the meaning of your actions into ugly shapes and then smooth them out, only to twist it all up again another mile down the road. This wouldn’t have happened - he kicks the stand down on his bike - if he’d manned up, if he’d asked you to watch the movie he’d rented. (New release, independently produced, apparently based off some old civilization tapes that had only been spoken about in a scant few records - some horror flick called Seen that you had been raving about. Not his thing, but your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He figured he could just watch you during the bloody parts.)

But he didn’t ask, and now he’s here, freezing his ass off in the middle of the night, parked outside this shithole bar, two towns over. The bar is a dump. Looks like your date couldn’t even take you anywhere nice. You’re off by yourself at the end of the bar, shoulders drawn in close, crowding over your drink. At least the regulars are leaving you alone. A quick look around tells him that there’s too many people in this place for it to be a quick fight, if it came down to that.

He strolls past tables and booths, lets his hand fall heavy on your shoulder. You jump, turning sluggishly to look up at him - eyes wide and red. C’mon - don’t tell him you’ve been crying over this prick. Your expression smooths the moment that you recognize him. 

“Lighter!” Your arms fling around his middle, squeeze him tightly.

The tide of adrenaline that he washed in on pulls back, drags his relief away. Anger shores up, quick and sudden. It soothes in another pulse of his heart; understanding. It's kind of flattering if he doesn't think about it too hard. You trusted him enough to come pick you up. Probably couldn't even think clearly - just knew you wanted to go home. Knew he would get you there, safe and sound. Not a bad prize for driving all the way out here; he tries to enshrine this moment in his memory. Later, trying to fall asleep in his room, he’ll feel like a sleaze for delighting in being your hero like this.

He pats the top of your head, takes advantage of the distraction to wave the bartender over, check if you’ve still got an open tab. He slips him a couple extra denny for the trouble, keeps you distracted and talking with carefully placed ‘oh, really?’s and ‘mhm’s.

"You're wasted, huh?"

“Not that bad.”

You sound confident. He steps back, lets you hop off the bar stool on your own. Lighter hooks a thumb in his pocket. He drums his fingers against his thighs, watching you sway back and forth in front of him. Your eyes are hazy and unfocused, looking in his general direction with a dopey grin on your face.

Pride feels better than anger. He latches onto that. You make it so easy to feel when you cling onto his arm, lean into him. He keeps you close, ignores the whispers he overhears about the Red Scarf. His step quickens. He’s not getting into any trouble, not when he’s here for you.

You struggle to keep up, all uncoordinated limbs, your head probably spinning. He helps you onto the back of his bike and passes you a helmet. He’d grabbed it on his way out - figured if you were as trashed as you sounded on the phone then it was better safe than sorry. He’s glad he did.

Somewhere along the ride home, you stopped babbling. He had felt your words pressed against his back more than he had heard them. He stops just before home to check on you. Can’t have you falling asleep. He doesn’t want to hear it about riding in with you all banged up on the back - he’d never let it down. He’d never let himself live it down, more accurately, but his bike starts back up before you hear that part.

Honestly, he’s almost positive you won’t remember much past when you first called him. That doesn’t stop him from treating you gently. He helps you off his bike, keeps your hand in his to guide you around stray milk crates and cacti that just seemed to leap into your path.

It’s just a little further. He’s almost got you back to your place when he hears it. That ominous groan. Your face pallid, cold sweat breaking out against your forehead.

“Gonna throw up?” He asks, big hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

You shake your head, the force of it knocking you off balance. You would have stumbled right into a cactus if he hadn’t hauled you into his side by the back of your shirt. (Like scruffing a kitten, he catches himself thinking. Cute.)

He tries to guide you to the closest trash can, but you can’t quite make it. Your legs are quaking, all the strength sapped from you while you expel that contents of your stomach into one of Old Demir’s flower pots. He gathers your hair back from your face gently, caging it all in one hand to rub your back with the other. Somewhere between gentle coos of ‘there you go’ and ‘let it all out’, he manages to make out your garbled apology. You thread it between heaves, between sobs, but he catches it all the same and shushes you for it.

“All better?” He asks when the dry heaving has stopped. You nod slowly. The tiniest whimper he’s ever heard drifts from your lips. He knows from experience that much more movement than that will hurt.

Lighter sighs. The scent of your perfume curdles with the stench of vomit. He arranges your hair back as best he can, trying to replicate the way you had done yourself up - all pretty for another man, he remembers. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, and he pulls the end of his scarf free.

“No, Lighter–”

Your hands are clumsy. He dodges your attempts to stop him easily. He clicks his tongue and swipes the vomit from your chin. “Don’t worry about it. This scarf has seen worse.”

It’s about time to get it cleaned, anyway. Add that to his growing list of chores.

You’re moving slower than before. He tucks you into his side to give you some more stability. When you pause at the steps to your place, he sweeps an arm under your knees, cradles you close to him. He had expected a protest, or an apology - something in line with the rest of your behavior this evening, but you curl closer to him. 

It’s a fumble to find your keys - shifting your weight from one arm to the other until he finally finds them in your back pocket. He knows your place well enough to dodge the shoes left in the entrance way, to step around the box that sticks out into the hallway from your bedroom. He settles you into your bed, rolls you onto your side - just to be safe.

Lighter keeps watch for a few moments, making sure you’re not going to roll onto your back, pressing the back of his hand against your sweat-chilled forehead. Once he’s certain the worst has passed, he leaves to fill a glass of water for you. Your eyes are half-open when he gets back. He draws up a chair, tries to figure out how to ask if you want his help changing into something more comfortable without sounding like a creep.

You rip that idea from his head when you blindside him with a question.

“D’you think it’s my fault?”

“Course not,” Lighter answers before he can even put together what you’re asking. “Everyone has too much fun sometimes. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even gonna remember this.”

“No, I mean…” You curl tightly around your pillow. He could have sworn he heard a hitch in your voice. His heart lurches. Christ, you can’t start crying now. He can’t take it. “Why would he just leave?”

Lighter has to remind himself not to pull a face. Not what you need right now. He’s already said too much. He’s just going to wind up upsetting you more. He wants to tell you that guy is a douchebag, that none of it had been your fault. The guy just wasn’t man enough to be upfront. That was all.

“I just don’t think I’m meant for this,” you whisper. His train of thought crashes abruptly. "Like– love, and stuff.”

“You’re so much fun to be in love with,” Lighter says, and if you were sober you would clock him for just how quickly he did so, “and someday, someone’s gonna see that.”

“How do you know?”

Because my heart feels like it’s buckled into a roller coaster and I can’t figure out if I’m having fun or if I’m scared shitless. Because I’ve got eyes. Because it’s you.

He can’t say any of that. Not now, while you’re shivering and small, a little bundle of raw nerves that he rescued from some dump. Christ, you really are a kitten right now. He chucks your chin with a knuckle, his smile twisting to something bittersweet.

“C’mon. You should know not to bet against me by now.”

For the first time since he got you through the door, you smile. Barely there and flimsy, but you’re only just clinging to consciousness. Your cheek presses back against your pillow, eyes slipping shut.

“Thanks, Lighter,” you murmur.

You’re out cold within the next minute.

Lighter lingers overlong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be in your room while you’re passed out like this, but he can’t bring himself to rise. His shoulders hunch, expression dropping, stomach churning. Through your window, dawn is just beginning to break. The Outer Ring is bathed in a cool blue light, the horizon tinging purple at the edges.

You have a hell of a morning ahead of you. He runs a hand down his face and forces himself to stand, to get his day started properly. Another sleepless night. Maybe the next time he finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself, he’ll call you first. Maybe he’ll do it before anyone else has a chance to.

Lighter locks your door on his way out and tucks the key under your mat. He should act. He should tell you.

He walks back to his place in silence, resisting the urge to grab his phone, to text you and say let me know if you need anything.

Maybe one day.

[salem-s]

me again!! here's what i first thought of for jock!rafe x nerd!reader

so what if reader were to be in a sport herself? volleyball for example (or any other sport youd like) andddd she gets injured :0000 and rafe just happens to be at one of her games 😏😏😏😏

OR it could be vice versa- but instead of rafe getting hurt he'd win his game! or... if you like drama... he gets in a fight with one of the people from the opposite team LMAO

okay that's it 🙂‍↕️

love this prompt so much! and im using both of these.

18+ MDNI.

DON'T WORRY, BABY. I'LL HANDLE HIM ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

SYNOPSIS your ex-boyfriend always chooses the best time to be a prick: right before an important playoff game. revenge is hard to achieve with a broken hand, but conveniently rafe's hockey team is playing your ex's later that weekend, and your best friend's brother is hardly the one to play nice.

WARNINGS language, graphic imagery (broken bones, mentions of blood and bruises), violence, suggestive content. 18+ mdni. lowkey inspired by challengers? jock!rafe x jock!reader has my soul, especially hockey!rafe. also i changed reader's sport from volleyball to basketball bc i dont know anything about volleyball? college au.

WORD COUNT 10.6k... my bad...

SONG OF THE CHAPTER about a girl by nirvana

The morning is sour from the moment you wake up.

Because it isn't from the sunlight, or your phone buzzing, or the simplicity of nature. It's from knocking — barbaric knocking — that jolts you from your sleep, harshly interrupting your peacefulness and broaching the morning with a startle, with your heart racing, with wide eyes and a brewing migraine.

You shouldn't be surprised when it's your ex.

You broke up with Jesse a month ago on matters regarding his overwhelming narcissism and egoist complex that dampened your conscious for months. Frankly, you aren't sure why you put up with him so long — perhaps because he was halfway decent in bed and was silky sweet whenever he wanted to be — but you snapped out of the thick haze of fog after you hit a breaking point. It was your birthday, you asked him for one thing, and he couldn't even show up for something as simple as that, claiming he'd gotten caught up at his friend's NHL watch party of a team he didn't care for.

But clearly you breaking up with him meant nothing, because he's been attempting to crawl back into your life with every chance he gets.

It started the very next day when he cried in front of your apartment door as if he had every right to do so, wailing well into the night that you got a fucking noise complaint from your neighbors. You had to sneak out the side window to make it to practice without crossing paths with him, and it only got worse when he's been tracking you down in between classes, in between practices, at your car before he knew you had to drive to a game. He once showed up at Sarah's apartment, your best friend, where it took her older brother and her boyfriend to successfully de-escalate the situation and throw him out before Jesse could even get near you.

It's been relentless, and Jesse teeters between showing up with flowers and trying to sweet talk you into getting back together with him, or belligerently drunk to where he verbally berates you for being: "A spoiled cunt with so many issues that no other guy would wanna go near."

(His exact words, might you add.)

And now, he's leaning towards the mean side, the side of him that is so fucking brutal that, despite not caring about him anymore, you can't not let the words get to you, especially when your mental headspace is already so fragile with the playoffs going on.

"Are you fucking him?" Is the first thing Jesse says before you can even open the door.

You regret even answering, but know that he literally will sit here all day and knock and scream until you give him the time of day (you learned that the hard way). Though your mind is mumble-jumble, blinking blearily to try and discern if this is actually happening right now, if Jesse is actually here at six in the morning to start his shit up again.

"What?" Your tone is so exasperated, as if you're dealing with a problem child.

But he doesn't flinch. "Cameron. Are you fucking him?"

You want to laugh out of exhaustion, out of ridiculousness, out of anything synonymous to that because the audacity of him to show up here at the break of dawn to interrogate you on your sex life is downright comical, as if he has any right to comment on what you do or don't do. You're not his anymore, and he clearly isn't accepting that, nor accepting the fact that you're (apparently) already moving on.

With Rafe Cameron, nonetheless.

The rumor is not true, you can easily confirm that. But the thought of toying with Jesse, of making him believe that you're seeing not only your best friend's brother, but his arch-rival in hockey, makes your heart flutter with excitement, with the urge to psychologically torment him in a way you know will hit home.

Because Jesse's been second best to Rafe for years, ever since freshman year when the two clubs go up against one another. The rivalry has been adamant every time they're on the ice, because Jesse is so easily rattled and Rafe is a walking epitome of a troll, finding new ways to get under his opponent's skin to shake them off their game, to fluster them to get them to mess up, to get inside their heads in a way that Rafe Cameron only knows how.

So, you figure that if your ex thinks you've moved on, maybe he'll get the hint to stop fucking bothering you.

"Rafe Cameron?" You repeat incredulously, almost inviting the confrontation. "You're here at the ass crack of dawn to ask if I'm fucking Rafe Cameron? Seriously?"

Jesse spats your name. "Is it true or not?"

You cross your arms, leaning on the door frame as if you have all the time in the world to drag out his obvious misery. "And if I am? What're you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna kill him," he seethes, smoke practically blowing from his ears. "Teach him not to touch what's mine."

Yet the tone hardly fazes you.

"I'm not yours anymore, remember? Haven't been for a month. That's thirty two days starting today, or is that too high of a number for you to count to?" You coo mockingly, brows pinched in faux concern as if you're trying to tell a baby why they can't play with the power outlet.

Jesse narrows his eyes, scoffing.

"God, you just can't keep your legs closed, can you?"

The words are ice on his tongue, and even more frozen in your veins. You stiffen impossibly still, trying to keep up your nonchalant facade but slowly slipping as it stings harsher than it should.

And, fuck, he can tell, because he knows how to make you hurt, how to get you spiraling into the deep end of your mind, how to manipulate a situation to make it seem like you're in the wrong all the time. Because he's such an angel, he's so sweet, he's so protective that no one would ever assume that he's the one causing all the issues in the relationship. He's all smiles and faux admiration in front of crowds, yet behind closed doors he's cruel, digging deep into the roots of your insecurities and using them to his advantage, to hold power over you.

"Didn't think Cameron would give you the time of day, of all people," Jesse continues harshly, twisting the knife. "That's low, even for him."

You’re seconds away from breaking.

"Do you need something?" You grit through your teeth, heart racing. "Or are you only here to be a prick?"

The knife twists further when he fucking grins, clearly satisfied that he got under your skin so much that he takes a step back. He admires you for a moment, relishing in your clenched jaw and heaving chest and amused that he finally got to give you a piece of the medicine he's been tasting for a month. It's as if he's accomplished what he came here to do: get inside your head, stay there, and gnaw away at your conscious.

Jesse stares at you for a beat too long, suppressing a shit-eating grin that he tries to make polite as if his whole mission wasn't to upset you.

"Just needed to know, honey. Good luck tonight."

And like that, he's gone, disappearing down the hallway and into the stairwell with such eased nonchalance as if he hasn't just ruined your entire day, thrown you off your mental headspace that you were curating for your important game tonight. You really try to shake it off, to go back to bed to get the rest you need and energize mentally and physically to be in tip-top shape, but the words ring like a gong in your mind.

Can't close your legs, didn't think Cameron would give you the time of day, that's low for him.

Can't close your legs, didn't think Cameron would give you the time of day, that's low even for him.

The words are still echoing through the confinements of your mind, and you're really trying to not let it affect your mood but it's proving astronomically difficult during warm ups, and to make matters that much worse, everyone that you don't want to see is here at the game, watching you miss shots and get all in your head.

Jesse grins in the stands, elbowing his degenerate of a best friend every time you miss a shot.

And Rafe is standing next to Sarah, frowning so deep you'd think the lines would permanently etch on his face.

You try not to glance at either of them, but it's proving difficult when you can feel their eyes, as well as the other hundred people here, boring into you, seeing through you skin and peering right into your soul. It's intrusive and it makes your heart race all the same as a panic attack would induce. The court lights are too bright and the other team is shouting too loud, and your frustration only sky rockets when you miss the tip off to start the game.

After you miss three open threes in a row, you stop shooting.

You solely focus on gathering assists, passing to your teammates who are having a good game, to merely be the vessel between them and the ball making it into the hoop. You manage to score a layup and one out of two free-throws, but it's astronomically lower than your usual point average. The team picks up after your losses, making up for your missed shots and occasional turnovers, and the game is closer than it should be.

It doesn't help that, by the second quarter, you are absolutely done with the girl defending you.

It's as if today is piss-you-off-day, because it seems everyone is out to get you, everyone can tell you're off your game and are laughing at your mere attempt to keep trying. The girl defending you is audaciously handsy, elbowing you out of the ref's sight and stepping on your feet and boxing you out so aggressively that you can't help but throw an elbow back at her. She smack talks in your ear, egging you on, further poking the bear and reaffirming all the things you tell yourself.

"You're overrated," she shit talks when you're bringing the ball up the court. "Your coach is fucking delusional to make you the poster player."

To which you responded: "Who the fuck are you?" And kept playing.

Can't close your legs, didn't think Cameron would give you the time of day, that's low even for him.

You miss another shot, Jesse's words ringing through your head.

Cursing under your breath, you crash the boards to fight for the rebound, watching as the ball bounces harshly off the rim. You feel the girl defending you right on your back, leaving an angry red scratch on your arm as an attempt to grab the basketball from you. Yet you persevere (for once this game), ripping it from her grasp and immediately passing it to a teammate on the three point line. Ten seconds are left on the clock, the game tied, and you hope the shot goes in so you can be up by halftime.

But your teammate misses, and you don't think as you fight tooth and nail to get it, leaping into the air and reaching high in hopes of alley-ooping it back into the net for a quick touch and go.

Three seconds left, and you're mid-air when your defender completely body checks you by the hip, sending your body aggressively jerking in a direction it shouldn't, and your body is twisted in a way that would make it impossible for you to land on your feet. You slam into the ground and you cry out. But it's not from the force of her hip check, or the fact that the air is knocked out of your lungs the second you meet the floor.

No, it's from the sickening crack that comes from your hand.

The buzzer goes off, signaling half-time, but you're curled up on the court floor, cradling your left hand as thousands of pins and needles pin-prick your nerves. A teammate puts a hand on your shoulder, yelling something to the coach who hurriedly runs over. People are talking about you, talking at you, trying to get you to respond.

"Fuck!" You curse under your breath, tears brimming your waterline at the intense pain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—“

The athletic trainer is pulling you to a sitting position, eyeing the hand that you're cradling and, eventually, getting you to stand on your two feet. She's speaking to you, but frankly you don't hear her, heart beat thrumming loud in your ears and droning everything else out. Your head is underwater, your hand is exploding with a horrific sensation that it's all you can focus on, how your season is indefinitely over, how you still can't get Jesse's words out of your head.

People try and help you up, but you refuse, refuse the fucking stretcher that waits idly in the corner of the gymnasium for instances like this. With the last shroud of dignity you have left, you pick yourself up off the ground, searing red hot with frustration as people have the audacity to clap for you, and find your own footing.

You wish you hadn't, but before you leave the gym, your eyes glance up to the stands one more time, only to meet Jesse's gaze. He's surprised, that's for sure, but a smirk etches his lips with wide eyes, as if in disbelief that he threw you off your game that much, so much that you're done for the season. He's smug, that stupid fucking prick, crossing his arms as if he did something phenomenal, as if you'll come crawling back to him so he can take care of you again.

Fat fucking chance.

With a gentle hand on your back and shoulder, the athletic trainer steers you away from the locker room where all your teammates and coach are headed, but rather towards the training room where all the medical supplies are. She's still speaking to you, but you know what she's saying, you know she's trying to reassure you in medical terms that you couldn't care for. What's the point? Your season is over. Kiss the playoffs goodbye.

You get x-rays immediately, and it comes back with two clean breaks: both in your thumb leading down to your wrist. And it's one of those breaks that doesn't require surgery, just time and patience so the bones can mend on their own. Surgery would be excessive, the on-site doctor tells you, explaining the next steps with a custom-made splint and weeks of physical therapy.

You listen as best as you can, and you're thankful that everything is written down in a post-appointment sheet on all the steps you're supposed to take, because, frankly, you haven't really retained a word. All you can think about is Jesse's stupid fucking face, his words, his ability to crawl under your skin and hatch his verbal bullets there to infest.

Eventually, you're left alone in a makeshift splint, sitting on the padded table with your eyes glued to the wall in front of you.

You're so out of it that you don't register Sarah and Rafe coming in.

It's when she places a gentle hand on your shoulder that you snap out of the daze, blinking your disassociation away to meet her eyes that are furrowed with worry, glossed with a concern you probably don't deserve. Rafe's standing behind her, fingers twitching in your direction as if he wants to touch you, too, but refrains from doing so to not intrude any further.

Your relationship with Rafe is complicated. You're not his biggest fan, and nor are you his.

Sarah is your only common denominator, besides the fact that you're both driven athletes who take a lot of pride in your craft as well as two people who have a no-bullshit attitude when it comes to a lot of things in life. Yet despite how you two constantly bicker and act like you hate one another, you suppose he can highly sympathize with you in this moment knowing that your season is over. You assume that's why he's not poking any fun like he normally likes to do, simply staring at you with cautious blue eyes that are too audaciously pretty.

(Yes, pretty. You’d be stupid not to acknowledge it. Or daydream every now and then about being his. Bleh. You hate how you’ve thought about it before.)

"Are you alright?" Sarah asks worriedly, so sweet and concerned that you can't help but sag your shoulders. "What'd the doctor say?"

Rafe nudges her harshly. "Shut the fuck up, Sare," he hisses.

She slaps him back, turning to face him with, no doubt, a scowl on her face. "She's obviously upset, sue me if I want to know if she's okay."

"She's not," he retorts harshly, almost in a way only an athlete would understand. His eyes dart from his sister to you. "You're not. You've been off all night."

Sarah shoves her brother again, scoffing at the audacity. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why are you even in here?"

"What was happening out there?" Rafe asks you incredulously, completely ignoring his sister.

All you can do is stare at him for a moment, understanding that his abrasiveness is not him trying to make fun of you, but that this is his version of genuine concern. He knows it takes a lot to shake you off your game, he knows because he's the same way. It is very difficult to throw athletes such as yourselves in a slump, only having off-games once in a blue moon when something in your personal life gets in the way of your mentality for the sport.

Peering down at the cast on your hand, you let the harsh stinging of the pain be a reminder of the words that have been plaguing you all night. You want to scream and curse Jesse's bloodline, blame all the mistakes you made tonight on him. But frankly, you're the only one to blame because you let him get under your skin, you let him get a reaction out of you, you let him in to infest your mind.

You settle on something safe. "Didn't sleep well."

That's actually partially true, since he woke you up so early this morning and his lingering words didn't let you fall back asleep.

But Rafe (and Sarah) aren't buying that. Not in the slightest.

"Bullshit," he says immediately. "Your best game was after Kie's twenty first when you got two hours of sleep maximum." Then, softer than you've ever heard him before, he asks, "What happened?"

Your heart lurches at his tone, and part of you wants to go on defense and build walls, to berate him on why he cares and gives a shit about you all of a sudden. He's never been the type to coddle you, much less anyone, so the notion that he's lowering his voice, gentle in his tone, treating you with a rare softness only rings alarm bells in your head.

It feels disingenuine, it must be, because why flip the script? Jesse used to do that all the time: be sweet and act like he cares when he wants answers from you, only to flip the light switch when he got what he wanted from you. You can't trust it, you can't trust him, because it's only going to blow up in your face. Being sweet and truthful and vulnerable has only led to your downfall, only led for people to use your insecurities against you when you're at your worst.

"It was Nords, wasn't it?"

Your head snaps up when Rafe says Jesse's last name, the two of them only calling the other by the name on the back of their jerseys.

Of course, your immediate reaction gives the truth away in an instant, and you see Rafe's jaw clench so impossibly tight that you think it's going to snap. Sarah frowns between the two of you, darting her gaze from her brother and then back to you at the sudden revelation of the real reason why you were off all night, your mistakes leading up to a careless injury that might have you never playing the same again. All because of him: not only your ex boyfriend, but the guy that Rafe already hates.

"What?" She breathlessly asks quickly. "He's bothering you still?"

Rafe's voice is ice. "Still? This has been happening?"

You groan and roll your eyes so hard you're sure they can see the whites of them. They're both so goddamned protective for their own good, and while it's normally a great trait to have in a best friend (and her brother?) it's paying detrimental to you right now. The last thing you want to do is talk about your ex, the guy who's currently making your life so fucking miserable that it's bleeding onto the court, bleeding onto your everyday routine so much that it's altering your agenda, especially with the guy who has hated said-ex for as long as you can remember.

Knowing they're not going to let you leave here without an answer, you wave the white flag. "He showed up at my apartment this morning saying shit."

"What did he say?" Rafe asks immediately.

All you do is huff.

Rafe says your name in warning.

Sarah squeezes your shoulder gently in support, almost in solidarity, as she nods quietly to almost urge you to continue despite her brother's straightforwardness. It's a wordless promise that it's okay, you can tell him, you can tell her, they're here for you despite how aggressive they might come off.

You sigh, peering up at Rafe cautiously. "He thought we were sleeping together. He was pissed. That’s all.”

His brows pinch as Sarah snorts in disbelief.

"Why would he care if you were? You’re broken up?” She speaks aloud, pondering the obvious question that you still don't have the answer to.

You study Rafe’s expression — stone cold with a sliver of something foreign behind his eyes — before flicking your gaze back down to your bandaged hand, almost embarrassed that they’re seeing you so flustered by a guy like Jesse. You simply shrug, wanting that to be the end of the conversation because you truthfully don't know why your ex is doing the things he has been doing. It could be for pride. To guilt you. To have an upper hand. Genuinely, you have no idea.

But — of course — Rafe isn’t the one to let something like this slide, especially now that he’s involved.

“What exactly did he say?” He asks low and calculated, as if an ugly storm is brewing in his chest.

Can't close your legs, didn't think Cameron would give you the time of day, that's low even for him.

You almost laugh. Yeeeeeeah, there's no way you're actually telling Rafe that, because if he knew — if he really knew — Jesse wouldn't make it to tomorrow, and you know that for a fact.

So, instead, you shrug again, batting your eyelashes through an excuse. "Only that he thought we were together, asked how I could move on so quick, just that. It startled me, threw me off my game. That's it."

Rafe stares at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed as they search your face for any indications that you may be lying. And you almost cower, almost, yet hold his gaze as willfully as you can while your hand screams in pain, mind clouds with insecurity. But you hold your ground, because the last thing you are ever going to do on this earth is stand down to Rafe Cameron.

However, your breath hitches without meaning to, unaware that you were holding it in until you couldn't anymore.

Something flickers in his expression like he's had an epiphany, eyes widening in the slightest. He might as well scream eureka with a light bulb flashing over his head, might as well point in your face and scream aha! at the gesture. Blue eyes bore into yours, bright and knowing and accusatory that it makes your heart flip uncomfortably, stomach churning at the notion that he's caught you.

But before he can say anything, before he can call you out, Sarah's (who is unknowing to the entire wordless encounter that just went down) phone shrills, snapping you out of your staring contest with her brother as you blink, gaze darting to her.

She curses, fishing for her phone in her purse and grimacing when she looks at the caller ID. "Fuck, it's John B."

"Answer it," Rafe responds immediately, eyes not leaving you. "Go grab her stuff from the locker room and we'll bring her home."

Your eyes widen at his request, and you almost scream no, no, no! at his demand. Because if she goes right now, that leaves you alone with him, and you can only guess what the isolation is going to bring. More pain? More misery? More humiliation? Because you wouldn't put it past Rafe to ask hard hitting questions that you know will give him the truth, whether you choose to answer him or not.

Yet Sarah pays it no mind, nodding as if it's the best idea in the world.

Her bright expression lands on you, placing a gentle hand on your forearm. "I'll get your bag, okay? Be back in a second."

Your heart sinks as words escape you, a plea rising and dying in your throat as you watch your best friend leave the clinic with her phone pressed to her ear, talking frantically into the microphone before disappearing altogether. You hear her voice linger for a little longer, then completely shut out when she's confirmed gone.

Sighing, you know you don't even have to look at him to know he's staring at you.

You can already tell in your peripheral, and when you do find the gall to lull your head to the side to get this interaction over with, your assumptions are correct when you notice his stone-cold expression piercing through your soul, anticipating the truth now that you've lied to him not once, but twice. He doesn't even have to say anything, you can simply tell by the look on his face that it's something deeper than what you revealed.

A flicker of panic rises in your chest and you squirm under his stare.

"Okay," you start without even realizing, scrambling. "In my defense, it's not even your problem, and frankly none of your business. I'm dealing with it."

"It's my problem now," he responds coolly. "I'm not asking again. Tell me."

You blink stupidly at his demand, still attempting to save your dignity. "I already did."

Rafe darts his gaze between your eyes, prolonging the moment longer than it needs to be just to get you fidgeting uncomfortably under his stare.

"You have a tell, you know."

That confuses you, pulling you from the tension filled moment.

"Huh?"

"You hold your breath when you lie," he murmurs, impatient. "You don't even know you do it."

All you do is ogle at him. How would he know that? And — more importantly — why is he paying enough attention to you to know that?

You swallow thickly, stuck between a rock and a hard place as he essentially blocks your only exit, and you know that he's not going to let you out of here unless you tell him the truth especially since he knows for a fact that you're hiding something from him. There's nothing that gets past him, and you curse his ability to know how to real people so well, know how to get gritty and know how to persuade people to give him all the information.

Sucking in another harsh breath, you wince. "It wasn't good."

"I figured," Rafe says immediately, tone softer than before now that you're starting to peel layers away. "Knew it must've been rough to rattle you that much."

You grimace again. "That bad, huh?"

He says your name in warning, a signal to stop stalling.

Putting a hand up in surrender, you secede. "Alright, okay, fine. He... Uh, well it was, like, six in the morning—"

"Get to it."

"Okay! He, well, alright." You're a babbling mess, and his patience is wearing thin. "He asked me if I was sleeping with you, and obviously I wanted him to suffer a bit so I didn't outright say no—"

Rafe's lips twitch.

You ignore the implication. "And he, uh, said I couldn't keep my legs closed." You figure get it all out now, especially when his posture stiffens. "That he didn't think you would ever give me the time of day."

A beat. "He said that?"

You nod gently. "And that it's a new low. Even for you."

Everything is too much: his stare, his soft tone that's borderline wavering, the humiliation pooling in your chest. The silence is too loud in the room, hearing the thrumming of your heartbeat and, practically, his too as his eyes darken, borderline in offense at your ex's words. His fingers twitch in your direction, as if itching to touch you, comfort you in a way he doesn't really know how.

You watch his jaw clench impossibly tight as his chest heaves out and in with the ferocity of such a deep breath. The gears are turning in his head, you can already tell from his angered expression, and the last thing you want is another masculine-induced conversation today, too tired and in too much pain to endure it again.

"It just caught me off guard," you say quietly, voice wavering as you try and de-escalate his brewing emotions. "That's all. It's fine."

His brows twitch to a furrow, offended.

"It's fine?" His tone is tight, almost scolding you. "He said that horrible shit to you, ruined your season, and all you have to say is it's fine?"

You fold under his gaze, frustrated by his anger as if he has any right. But frankly, you have no fight left in you today. Your hand is in indescribable pain and your heart hurts from how much you've been trying to protect it. It all hurts, every part of you physically and mentally. You're exhausted. Exhausted from the pain, from dealing with your ex constantly, from the humiliation you're enduring in this training room right now.

When tears brim your waterline, he falters, something flashing over his features to what looks like concern as you look away, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to compose yourself in front of him.

Although, it proves difficult when you feel his hand curl gently around your shoulder. Yet you can't look at him. You can't, and instead focus your gaze on the wall in front of you while you feel the warmth of his palm press against your skin, feeling his thumb soothingly skim your bicep in a feeble attempt to comfort you.

"Sorry," he says eventually, softer then you've ever heard him. "That wasn't what you needed to hear."

You frown at his compassion, unaware that Rafe Cameron was capable of showing such emotion.

"We're playing his team tomorrow night," he adds when you're silent, still racking your brain on his hand comforting you. "I'll...play along. Get under his skin. Make him pay for what he did to you."

If you didn't have butterflies before, now you have a whole damn stampede as you peer up at him, teetering between shock and confusion at his determined gaze. You realize this is the closest you've ever been to him, the longest you've ever been touching, the softest yet most serious you've ever seen him. It throws you for a loop, and you blink stupidly for a few moments before really registering his words.

You hold up your bandaged hand. "He didn't do this. I did this. I let him get on my nerves."

"No," Rafe says immediately, so firmly, that you'd think it was law. "He doesn't get to say that shit to you and get away with it."

You furrow your brows slightly, and the notion of this is the longest you've gone without bickering with him comes to mind, yet you push it deep, deep, deep down and lock it in a chest somewhere in your mind.

"What do you mean play along?" You question curiously. You hate how you have the urge to grab his hand, unsure of where this sudden need for his affection is coming from.

He shrugs. "He thinks we're fucking, right?"

You nod slowly.

So he mimics your nod nonchalantly. "Cool."

The sudden ease in his tone throws you off, knowing that particular gleam in his eye means that he's up to nothing good. It's the look you see when he's about to toy with someone's psychological make-up, about to say the most brutal shit to throw someone off their game, to roast generations if it meant getting under someone's skin.

It makes you panic. Only slightly. The other half of you is intrigued, almost excited to see what he's thinking about doing.

"What?" You ask gently, an uncharacteristic sweetness to your tone that has his lips tugging into a lazy grin that makes your heart do a weird flip. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Rafe looks so pretty like this right now, unguarded and relaxed and sure of his next move. You're playing checkers. He's playing chess.

"Apparently, you're mine now. We'll make sure he knows."

The possessiveness makes you stupid, blinking up at him with a stammering heart and slightly widened eyes at his brazenness, especially when his tone is firm and cool and so fucking sure of himself that it makes you wonder what it's like to actually be his, to curl under his arm like you're actually meant to be there and tangle in his sheets as if it's your purpose.

You sound ridiculous, you know. (But you can't deny that you've thought about it at least once or twice. You'd be stupid not to.)

"Rafe," you drawl out, half in warning and half curious. "What are you going to do?"

He doesn't answer right away, taking a few moments to shamefully stare at you, stare at his hand on your shoulder that you haven't shoved off yet, staring at how you're subconsciously leaning slightly — only slightly — closer to him when you realize just how nice it is to be touched by him, to be under his compassion and care even if it is out of pity.

In that moment, Sarah decides to barge back in, hauling your bag over her shoulder and still talking animatedly on the phone with John B as she props the door open, beckoning you both to exit so you can finally go home.

Rafe helps you down from the high table, making sure not to brush your injured hand as his come to splay on your hips, damn near picking you up off the table and settling you onto the ground. You nearly stumble when trying to find your footing, not from the pain or the drowsiness from the drugs you got earlier, but from the feeling of his hands on your hips, digging into your flesh just for that split moment but long enough to crave more.

And then, he audaciously throws a lanky arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards the exit and tucking you into his side (like you've imagined once or twice or try a thousand times). Sarah doesn't bat an eye, especially when you feel his lips press on your hairline with such a feather-light touch that you almost miss it.

"Don't worry, baby," Rafe muses low over the sound of his sister's chattering as he escorts you down the long hallway. His voice ghosts the shell of your ear, goosebumps crawling up your arms at the close proximity and at the fact that you're not pulling away as usual. "I'll handle him."

You didn’t think Rafe was actually serious.

But now as you sit shoulder to shoulder with Sarah, chilly from the ice rink atmosphere and wearing his home jersey with ‘CAMERON’ plastered on the back, you begin to rethink your choices. Especially when you turn more heads than the population of a small country.

Girls whisper behind your back, nudging each other to nod in your direction, ducking their heads close to no doubt curse your bloodline and express their jealousy in the same breath. You even hear a gasp at one point, and roll your eyes at the dramatics of it all, at the drama that comes with a guy like him, who’s all smirks and sweet one liners that make knees weak. You didn’t think it would be that deep, not when he handed you his jersey before he took to the ice as if it was second nature.

Though when he did so, his eyes were brighter than usual, smirk a little deeper, step more peppier. And he didn’t leave until you put it on, watching the way it fell down your hips and displayed his team name, his name, bright and loud across the fabric. Rafe stared at you for too long, almost studying the way the jersey looked on you as if he could get used to the sight, and it wasn’t until a teammate of his had to physically grip his shoulder to drag him onto the ice where his eyes eventually left your body.

You’ve been shuddering at the image ever since.

For a little while, you forgot the reason you are wearing it in the first place, and are shockingly reminded when Jesse’s team takes the ice for warmups.

You see him clear as day, scanning for you in a way that he probably thinks is subtle, but is blatantly obvious and pathetic, probably to get a glimpse at your makeshift cast and his team jersey that you always wore to his games. But when his eyes do find you, the jersey you’re wearing — more importantly the name stitched boldly across your back — his skates come to a screeching halt.

Sarah nudges you eagerly. “It’s working.”

Your eyes aren’t on Jesse, though.

They’re on Rafe, who’s grinning at you from across the rink.

“Good,” is all you hum to her, eyes not leaving her brother.

The game starts, and Jesse’s already off his mojo from the tip off.

And Rafe is capitalizing on his mistakes, sliding in to steal the puck, digging his shoulder down and checking Jesse into the glass without flinching, braking intentionally abrupt to spray ice to make your ex wobble on his skates, blocking his slapshot so he can't score. The entire time Rafe makes his life miserable, you can see his mouth moving whenever they’re skating shoulder to shoulder or fighting for the puck, chewing on his mouthguard so godforsaken arrogant that you can tell he’s enjoying it.

The. Whole. Time.

It isn’t until the first period is nearly over when Rafe and your ex are in a tip off on the defensive side, to where he ducks his head nice and low and says something. From your vantage point, all you can see is Jesse’s jaw suddenly slacken, fuming in a way you’ve never seen from him before, and you can only imagine what Rafe is saying to him right now.

Next thing you know, Jesse is chucking his stick and dropping his gloves, lunging at Rafe mid-play regardless of the consequences for fighting.

And Rafe?

Sure, his gloves and stick are carelessly thrown, too, inviting the confrontation and itching for a reason to finally, finally, get his hands on your ex. But it’s the giant fucking grin on his face that gets you, showing off his pearly whites and taking the utmost pleasure in riling your ex up in a way Rafe Cameron knows how.

Jesse shoves Rafe, the gasps in the crowd mixing with the repeated whistles from the refs as they try (and fail) to separate the two, to stop the fight, to end the humiliation on your ex’s end.

Because — like in the game — Rafe is clearly winning.

The one thing about Rafe is that if he’s gonna get in a fight, he’s going to end one. Regardless if he starts it or not. The amount of concussions he’s given out is too high to count, along with the amount of minutes he’s accrued in the penalty box for roughing a bit too much. Although in all the times you’ve seen him fight, you’ve never seen him look this delighted to be involved.

Helmets are off, and Jesse manages to land a punch to Rafe’s jaw.

Sarah gasps next to you, almost clutching your broken hand out of sheer habit that makes you wince. It’s getting ugly, both guys bleeding (your ex more than your supposed-boyfriend), yet it isn’t until you see Rafe’s lips move, saying something low to your ex with a gaze so dark you swear it’s a different person, almost a possessed version of your best friend’s brother that you’ve never encountered.

Jesse falters at whatever was said, hesitating as if caught off guard.

And when he attempts to lunge again, Rafe’s fist is coming down hard and fast against your ex’s cheekbone.

Gasps echo around you when Jesse hits the ice, moving but barely, clearly tapped out of the fight he started as he spits out blood. The crimson bleeds onto the sheer white ice, staining it with the reminder that he lost, he humiliated himself, he’s not yours, not anymore.

Your ex seems to recognize this, ducking his head low and shameful when he skates off the ice and into the locker room where he’ll — no doubt — get concussion tested and sit out the rest of the game. He doesn’t look up to try and find your knowing gaze, because he already knows what expression you have on your face.

Pure fucking pride and joy.

Rafe, obviously, gets minutes in a penalty box, which is conveniently right next to where you and Sarah are sitting.

You watch him as he sits down, getting a mere clean up after brushing off the medical aide with a nonchalant shake of his head, using a rag given to him to wipe off the blood from the fight, but the splits and cuts on his knuckles are the reminder that he won, he won you. And that prick lost.

The game resumes without each team’s star players, carrying on as if nothing happened.

And Rafe could care less about the game, instead turning his body completely away from the ice to face you.

You wince at the state of his face: a bloodied cut on his lip that puffs out and swells, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone, and his nose just slightly more crooked than before. He looks fucking rough, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt aching in your chest that he’s in pain because of you, he fought and bled for you, he got hurt because of you.

But Rafe hardly looks fazed, sending you a crooked smile and such an eased look that it makes your head spin.

“You know,” he says loudly to you through the glass, “you look pretty hot wearing my name.”

Before you can answer, Sarah groans next to you.

“Can you not do that while I’m right here?” She says, disgusted and barely concerned for her bleeding brother. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Rafe completely ignores her, eyes not leaving you. “‘M serious. I could get used to it.”

Your lips twitch. “You could get used to fighting off guys for me?”

“Baby, I’ll fight off the whole damn cavalry if I get to call you mine.”

The words are saccharine, said with such ease laced with honey and a nonchalance drawl that it makes your heart lurch to your throat, especially when his pretty blue eyes hold yours as if you’re his lifeline, a small so amused yet genuine that it almost angers you. How could he have such a pretty smile on the back burner?

Although it’s Sarah who has the last word.

“Agh!” She gags animatedly, pounding on the glass as her feeble attempt to hit her brother. “You’re so gross, Rafe. Pay attention to the game.”

He ignores her. Again. Eyes solely on you.

“Find me after,” is all he says, before the ref is beckoning him back onto the ice, his penalty time finally being over.

You’ve never been more antsy in your life.

You attempt to pay attention to the game, to how Rafe’s team absolutely dominates without even trying. He scores twice, looking for you after each one and sending you the most audacious wink he could muster to fluster you even further. Your heart races each time his blue eyes find yours, and you cannot help but indulge your delusions and pretend like you’re his for the night, cheering extra loud for him and tugging on your — his — jersey whenever he takes the advantage. It’s exhilarating, knowing that your time as his is limited yet you can do as you please with everyone around you already assuming you’re with him.

You might as well act the part, that’s all.

And when you do find him after, you’ve never been more on edge.

But it’s exciting. Terrifying. Awesome. Because now you’ve (sorta?) charted into unknown territory with him. Is he simply flirting? Having some fun? There’s no way he’s actually serious about wanting you, right? You wouldn’t mind a bit of fun, anyway, something simple with no strings attached to get your mind off a plethora of things plaguing your day to day life.

You’re leaning casually on the wall outside the locker room, Sarah pacing a few feet away grumbling to John B over the phone about how her brother is an idiot, to check their apartment to see if they have ice packs and bandages and the minuscule medical supplies that could be needed to tend to her brother’s injuries. Though you’re composed, delicately smoothing over the fabric of your wrist splint as a reminder of why the night took its course in the way it did.

There’s a small swell of pride in your chest. He did it for you. Got hurt for you. Put your ex in his deserved place for you. You’ve never had anyone do anything like this for you before. Of course, you don’t want anyone in pain because of you, but the fact that he did it on his own, without your prompting, makes it seem like he knows how to read your mind.

“Hey, pretty.”

You look up, and he’s way closer than you anticipated. So close that you can see the details of his blue eyes, leaning casually on the wall next to you and peering at you as if he has all the time in the world to do so.

Though his face has seen better days. “You look like shit.”

He doesn’t tease or get offended. Just grins lazily. Proudly. As if he’s wearing his wounds like armor.

“That’s hardly a nice way to talk to your boyfriend,” Rafe muses casually, low and baritone that it reverberates through your skin.

Your heart skips. “Temporary boyfriend,” you correct firmly.

Rafe hums, unconvinced. “Doesn’t need to be.”

Your facade cracks slightly — only slightly — but he’s quick to tell, his grin deepening at your flicker of surprise.

But you brush it off, and instead quirk a brow.

“I’ll have you know that—“

“Cameron!”

The shrill of Jesse’s voice stings through the hallway, abruptly interrupting whatever bullshit you were about to muster up. Although you don’t turn to find your ex, don’t leave his gaze to look at something worse, instead keeping your eyes on Rafe, who hasn’t stopped staring at you since the moment he came out of the locker room and saw you waiting idly, perfectly composed and obedient clad in his jersey.

Now, with the little act continuing, you nearly roll your eyes when one of Rafe’s hands, calloused and bruised with split knuckles, slithers under your (his) shirt to rest audaciously on your hip, your bare hip, the skin to skin contact making you stiffen slightly as he only pulls you tighter, almost sensing your need to be at his side.

"Sorry, baby." Rafe says low to you, completely disregarding your ex stomping over. "You were saying?"

Seeing Jesse get closer in your peripheral only makes you eat your words, knowing you won't get far in speech without getting interrupted again (and also considering the fact you're temporarily breathless from how close you are to him, so attempting to speak would probably only humiliate you).

You barely get to open your mouth, barely have the ability to say a word or much less utter a noise before you can sense your ex before you fully see him. Especially since Rafe's smirk only deepens the closer your ex - and the confrontation - approaches, so you know that it's coming, there are no refs to separate them now.

Jesse's suddenly a foot away when he says your name, almost scolding you for your precarious predicament.

Yet you don't cower like you used to when he'd use that tone. You don't feel your bones seize up in terror, in fear of doing something wrong. You don't let your heart drop to your feet with anticipation of a long night of fighting ahead. You don't give in to whatever pity he's going to throw at you this time. You just...don't.

Instead, you simply spare him a glance, unimpressed.

"How's your head, slick?" Rafe instigates cockily, going that much further by letting his hands wander on your hips, under the jersey, in a way that definitely gets your ex to notice.

Not that you really mind, anyway.

Jesse looks worse than Rafe, with tenfold bruises and painful looking blotches coating his cheekbones that swells so much that it's uncomfortable to look at. His right eye is puffy and bloodshot as his bruised fist clenches and unclenches by his sight at the sight of you: the girl he lost indefinitely, cozied up under the arm of the guy he absolutely despises.

He can barely even look at Rafe, and whenever he does he gets visibly angrier. It's obvious, because you can definitely tell, which means that Rafe can tell as well. To be that much more of a prick, you hum when you feel Rafe's lips press against your hairline, another act of defiance that only shoves the fact that your ex lost right in his face. Well deserved, might you add, even though a bit redundant, but you're not necessarily complaining at the feeling of your supposed-boyfriend's lips and his hands wandering regions unknown on your body.

Jesse stares at you, ignoring your other half. "Can we talk?"

Your answer is immediate. "No."

"Please?"

You open your mouth to retort and viscerally berate him into next week, but the calloused fingers on your hips turn to iron grip.

"She said no," Rafe says simply, almost in warning that if your ex even tries it again, he'll only make the pre-existing bruises worse.

Jesse narrows his eyes and scoffs meanly, a sound you've been so used to hearing. "Wasn't talking to you, Cameron-"

You almost laugh. Almost. Especially when Rafe hums as if he's never heard anything more offensive in his life. His lips twitch with a smile, but it's not one of happiness or joy, it's mean and cold as can be, as if he's putting on a polite facade to mask what he really wants to do, and you figure that's making his injuries tenfold.

"You are now," he interrupts low, yet the lack of volume doesn't beat the sharpness of his tone, as if the matter is over. "You're done talking to her."

"But she—"

"No," Rafe warns, almost in finality. "You're done."

Jesse seizes up, because the tone is nothing nice and way out of your ex's pay grade. It's not worth instigating, especially when both guys know what will happen if Jesse chooses to escalate further and keeps trying to talk to you, to plead with you, to practically sweet talk his way back into your life for the upteenth time.

And Rafe? You'd almost say he's enjoying this. Enjoying holding onto you, staking a claim in you solely from the way he's gripping onto your hips as if he has every right to do so, shamelessly letting his hands touch you in places you'd never let someone who you're casual with. You can't say that you're not enjoying this either, completely enamored by his scent, words, touch.

Plus, it's kinda nice to have this make-shift guard dog, to get your ex to back off without you having to lift another finger.

"You don't talk to her," Rafe adds at your ex's stunned silence. "You don't message her. You won't even fucking think about her." His words are ice, and so are his steel blue eyes as they stare at the horrific swelling of Jesse's cheek. "Go ahead and try me."

Clearly, your ex is not trying to fuck around and find out, especially when he's been at the receiving end of Rafe's fist multiple times with the outcome always being the same: bruised and bloodied and so unwell that it hurts to even think about it.

You let out a breath when Jesse finally walks away.

Yet Rafe doesn't pull back or take his hands from your body, instead keeping them there as if to soak in the moment for a little while longer.

"Of course he tucks tail when you say something," you mutter under your breath, too scared to face him right now so you settle on your ex's figure gradually getting further away. "I threatened him once with a knife and he still didn't back down."

You hear Rafe snort.

"A knife?"

"A butter knife. But. Semantics."

It isn't until one of his hands is leaving your hip, and you barely register it until calloused fingers are gently gripping your chin and forcing you to face him, and the first thing you see are his piercing blue eyes boring into yours. They glint with amusement, and it’s no secret that he’s thoroughly enjoying this (the uptick on his lips and his hands still audaciously on you can attest to that) but he’s gazing at you with something other than amusement as well, and you can’t pinpoint the emotion. Endearment? Admiration?

Something synonymous to that, because this is the softest he’s ever looked (as soft as one can look with a busted face).

A look reserved just for you.

“It’s even worse up close,” you manage to jab, but it comes out disgustingly gentle.

What’s even worse is that your non injured hand comes to cradle his jaw, something you didn’t realize you were doing until your fingers skim the bruise on his cheekbone. You don’t notice until Rafe is literally beaming with delight because you’re here, you’re touching him in a way he never thought possible, you’re making his heart pound without even knowing it.

“Maybe,” he says coolly, “but I think you like it.”

You suck in a breath. “That’s a crazy accusation.”

Your facade is falling. You know it. He knows it. It only makes him lean into your touch, wincing just a fraction when your palm gently presses on his jaw. But he doesn’t care, especially when you can practically smell the shampoo he used in the locker room showers because this proximity is (somehow?) getting closer and closer.

Rafe takes the opportunity and runs with it. “Not an accusation. A fact,” he corrects as if it’s law.

Your faces are inches apart. “With what proof?”

His grin is wide, lazy, and irrevocably puffing with pride.

“You’re holding your breath.”

Fuck. You are.

You exhale deeply, and it momentarily makes you lightheaded just how long you were holding it, lying through your teeth in a way you thought was subtle. But no, Rafe’s too cocky for his own good, too observant of people in a way that scares you, because it means he’s paying more attention than you thought.

How does he even know your tells? Why is he able to read you so well? How long has he been paying attention — in all this time that you’ve known him as solely your best friend’s brother — to you?

Your ice cold palm melts under his warm cheek. His calloused fingers splay against your waist as if they’re meant to stay there. The grip on your chin doesn’t loosen so you can’t dart your gaze away or shyly turn your head.

You can only look at him.

“Breathe,” he muses low, tone teetering between mocking and genuine concern.

“I am,” you defend weakly, only coming out as a mere whisper. “Your cologne is suffocating.”

His lips twitch when he says your name. “Why keep pretending?”

If your heart wasn’t racing before, it’s now on a rocket flying into uncharted regions in space. You’re only now hyper aware of his thumb rubbing circles on your waist, and how his other hand has come to rest in the crook of your neck, thumb barely brushing over your bottom lip. Your name on his tongue shamefully sends a shiver down your spine, and you hate how you’re immediately folding to his saccharine tone.

“Pretending?”

Rafe hums low in affirmation. “Pretending you don’t want this. Don’t want me.”

Your mind is mush. “That’s presumptuous.”

You really shouldn’t keep pushing and keep prolonging the truth, because you know how this is going to end up. You know you're eventually going to secede and humiliatingly confess something you're not ready to admit (not outright, anyway). Especially when his head dips down before you can even blink, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent as if it's his favorite candle.

“Presumptuous?” He murmurs against your skin, his tone almost in disbelief that you were able to say such a word given your flustered state.

You’re a bit surprised as well, yet you’re unable to find words as you subconsciously grip onto his shirt almost as a way to ground yourself. But the gesture genuinely proves fruitless as you're still flipping channels in your head as to the overwhelming sensation of Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, stiffening in his embrace yet also leaning into him before your mind can tell your body no.

When he starts pressing deep, chaste kisses on you, your breath catches. “Bold.”

“Mhm.” The hum vibrates against your skin. “Still a fact.”

You say it before you can take it back. “Maybe.”

Rafe pulls back instantly to study your expression. His brows are slightly raised in surprise, maybe not expecting you to give in so quickly, bottom lip a little more swollen from before not only from his cut but from kissing and sucking your skin as if it was his only lifeline left on earth.

“Yeah?” He clarifies breathlessly.

Embarrassingly, you nod. “Potentially.”

His lips twitch in amusement, clearly over the moon that your dignity is dissipating away like dust, that you’ve inadvertently admitted your feelings from him and reciprocated his (feelings you didn’t know he even had).

Cocking his head to the side, he studies you for a moment almost in admiration, as if he could get used to looking at you this shamelessly. Touching you this brazenly. Being yours so achingly boldly. It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. Intoxicating.

Then, he surprises you. “Hungry?”

You frown in a moment of confusion, then shrug when you actually think about it. “Starving.”

His eyes daringly stare at your lips for one, two beats before flicking back to your eyes, grinning with such eased nonchalance as if he didn’t just flip your world upside down with his bold gesture. The hand that’s been pressed to the bare skin of your waist leaves its place, instead slinging over your shoulders to pull you taut to his side (careful of your wrist) and steering you in the direction of the exit.

With the sight of you under his wing, Sarah — who’s been on the phone unknowing of this entire debacle — raises her brows and slowly lowers the phone from her ear to solely focus on you and her brother who are certainly more cozy than normal.

“Finally.” She deadpans to her brother, completely ignoring the person (probably John B) on the other line. “Apparently getting beat up makes you smarter.”

Rafe ignores the jab. “We’re leaving. You comin’ with?”

She makes a sour face as she darts her gaze between you and him. “And third wheel while you fondle her the whole time? Pass.”

You open your mouth to protest (and defend whatever is left of your dignity because it is absolutely dwindling by the very second) but he beats you too it, apparently used to the quick quips that the siblings often have for each other.

"Hoped you'd say that," he responds simply.

He sounds almost relieved that he has you all to himself without his sister to act as the buffer between you. Yet before you can investigate the inner workings of his demeanor, Rafe gently pats your arm once, twice, as if to beckon your attention to him, solely him. You peer at him, blinking stupidly at the entire sibling-exchange so you know you're definitely wearing the same dumbfounded expression, mind still reeling from the fact that you basically just confessed your feelings for him.

But Rafe doesn't jab. Or tease. Or even throw you a signature smirk.

Instead, he leans forward and fucking kisses your hairline.

He pulls back before you can even register the gesture, blue eyes swimming with a softness that makes your knees weak and thumb rubbing absentminded circles on your arm, the arm that's adorned in his jersey, his number, his name. The thought of being completely encapsulated by him regretfully makes your mind mush, and all you can think about is him, him, him. His touch. His eyes. His voice that is so honey that it makes your stomach grumble.

"Ready?" Rafe's tone is saccharine. "I'm drivin'."

The words are spoken as if laced with honey, but you blink once, twice at him before registering what he actually said. You're suddenly jolted out of your little daydream, scoffing in his beautiful face at the offer.

"Absolutely not." You pride yourself on finding your own footing again (barely). "You're the walking definition of CTE, you are not getting behind the wheel anytime soon."

His grin is lazy and lopsided due to his split lip, but it doesn't seem to slow him down in the slightest. "Whatever you say, baby."

Sarah gags.

"Blah!" She throws her hands up in surrender, squeezing her eyes shut. "Ew, ew, ew. I'm leaving. Goodbye."

You watch as she practically spins on her heel, dramatically striding towards the exit and putting the phone back up to her ear. She talks animatedly with the person on the other line, most likely her boyfriend, probably complaining that her brother stole her best friend right in front of her eyes.

Once she's out of sight, Rafe's wasting no time moving his arm that's around your shoulders to, once again, seek refuge on your waist (under his jersey, might you add).

Yet as nice as the feeling is, it makes you frown because you want to feel him, too.

So instead, you paw at his arm with your good hand, ignoring his look of surprise when you trace your hand down the smooth skin of his arm, to the inside of his wrist, and into his palm to gingerly intertwine your fingers, careful to not hurt his already split knuckles as you gently coax him forward to walk with you, hand in hand and side by side.

You can tell in your peripheral that he's fucking beaming.

"So," you quip, ignoring his glee expression. "How about Thai?"

"Anything you want, baby." His tone gives it away that he's grinning as much as his injuries will allow him to. "As long as I'm paying."

You're trying really hard not to overanalyze the fact that you're about to go on a date. With Rafe Cameron. The Prince of all Pricks. Not to mention you're holding hands like middle schoolers, enduring whispers and looks from the people around you.

Although you can't find it in yourself to care. Not when he's this warm. Not when his voice is alluring as a siren. Not when your stomach is pooling with pride that he chose you. He wants you. He needs you.

"Figured you wouldn't let me," you muse. "Besides, I don't even have my wallet. Sarah does."

Despite his bruised knuckles, he manages to give your hand one, two, three gentle squeezes, a wordless promise that he's yours, whether you like it or not. Not that you necessarily mind, because (not that you'll ever admit it to him) but it's really nice to be held by him, even though this is where your dignity dies.

"Good," he says simply. "Pretty girls don't pay."

You figure that's going to be his excuse from now on. (Not that you're complaining.)

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes hope you guys enjoyed! lowkey debating on a part 2 for them....anyway

[zeroseuniverse]

Hiiii! I just read the s.coups as a lovesick fool who's absolutely whipped for his gf even though he's a gang leader and I have to say girl you slayed . I dont know if you take requests but could you please write about their love story or how he fell for her ? It would be so cuteeee.

Love Sick Fool II

Word Count: 1.5K Summary:"Boss, why are we here again?" "Coffee's decent." "Hyung, you don't even like coffee." "Shut up, Mingyu." Pairing: S.coups X reader

Taglist: @haaruki  @agaha127 @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120  @ltfirecracker

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The first time Seungcheol saw you, you were nothing more than a passing presence in a world he ruled with an iron fist. He was used to people avoiding his gaze, lowering their heads in fear or respect. But you? You looked right at him.

It wasn’t a challenge, nor was it admiration. It was a simple glance—curious, unafraid.

And that was enough to make him pause.

You were working at a small café, one he only stepped into because Joshua insisted they needed a place to lay low for an hour. It was nothing special—at least, it shouldn't have been. But the moment you approached the table, notebook in hand, Seungcheol felt something shift.

“What can I get for you?”

Your voice was light, patient, not at all like the people who usually spoke to him with nervous energy or calculated charm. He was about to answer when Jeonghan spoke up first.

“An americano for me, please,” Jeonghan said smoothly, flashing you a practiced smile.

Seungcheol expected you to melt the way most people did under Jeonghan’s charm. Instead, you barely spared him a glance as you jotted down the order.

“And for you?” you asked, looking directly at Seungcheol.

For some reason, it took him a second too long to answer. He was used to commanding a room, controlling situations, but here you were—entirely unaffected, treating him like just another customer.

Joshua nudged him, amusement flickering in his eyes. Seungcheol cleared his throat. “Same. Americano.”

“Got it.”

That should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve walked away, and he should’ve returned to discussing business. But as you turned, someone at a nearby table bumped into you, causing the tray you were carrying to tilt. In a split second, Seungcheol’s hand shot out, steadying the tray before it could fall.

You blinked, surprised, before offering a small smile. “Good reflexes.”

He let go of the tray, fingers lingering for just a second too long. “Comes with the job.”

You didn’t ask what that job was. Maybe you already knew. Maybe you didn’t care. Either way, you simply gave a nod before walking off.

Seungcheol watched you go, an unfamiliar weight settling in his chest.

Jeonghan smirked. “That was interesting.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol muttered, but even as they went back to their conversation, his mind kept wandering back to you.

Over the next few weeks, he found excuses—ridiculous, unnecessary excuses—to stop by the café.

"Boss, why are we here again?"

"Coffee's decent."

"Hyung, you don't even like coffee."

"Shut up, Mingyu."

Every time he walked in, you’d greet him with the same calm, easy presence. You never pried, never tiptoed around him like others did. Instead, you teased him about ordering the same drink every time, raised an eyebrow when he lingered too long after closing, and even smirked once when he threatened a guy outside the shop—completely unfazed by the power he held.

He couldn’t figure you out.

And that drove him crazy.

Until one night, when he walked in just as some drunk idiot was grabbing your wrist.

Seungcheol didn’t think—he acted.

In seconds, the guy was shoved against the counter, Seungcheol’s forearm pressing into his throat. “You have three seconds to apologize before you regret ever walking in here.”

The man stammered, clearly regretting all his life choices. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave.”

The guy bolted.

Seungcheol turned back to you, expecting fear, maybe even shock. Instead, you sighed, shaking your head. “You’re really dramatic, you know that?”

He stared. “Excuse me?”

You crossed your arms. “I could’ve handled him.”

He scoffed. “Yeah? And what were you gonna do, throw a sugar packet at him?”

You smirked. “I was thinking hot coffee to the face, but your way works too.”

For the first time in a long time, Seungcheol laughed. A real, genuine laugh.

And that’s when it hit him.

He was already falling.

Falling for the person who never looked at him with fear.

Falling for the one who treated him like something more than a name whispered in hushed tones.

Falling for the only person who made him forget, even for a moment, that he was someone the world feared.

He was utterly, completely doomed.

And from that day on, Choi Seungcheol—the most powerful, ruthless gang leader in the city—was absolutely, irreversibly whipped.

Falling for you was easy. It was everything after that that terrified him.

Seungcheol was used to controlling—to knowing every move before it happened, to staying two steps ahead. But you? You threw every rule out the window. He didn’t know how to navigate this—this warmth, this lightness, this you.

He should’ve kept his distance. Should’ve told himself that a man like him didn’t get to have things like this.

But the moment he knew—really knew—that he was yours?

It was the night you patched him up.

It had been a messy deal. One of his men screwed up, someone pulled a knife, and though Seungcheol got the situation under control, he took a hit in the process. A deep gash along his side, bleeding more than he liked.

He should’ve gone to a safehouse. Should’ve called Wonwoo to handle it.

But somehow, his feet led him straight to you.

When you opened your door to find him standing there, blood staining his shirt, your eyes widened—but not in fear. Never in fear.

"Sit," you ordered, pulling him inside without hesitation.

He let you. Let you press him onto your couch, let you pull out a first-aid kit, let you mutter curses under your breath as you lifted his shirt to assess the damage.

“This is bad,” you murmured, hands surprisingly steady as you cleaned the wound. “You should be in a hospital.”

“No hospitals.”

You sighed, but didn’t argue. You never did—not about this. Instead, you worked quietly, patching him up with gentle but firm hands.

And then, as you finished securing the bandage, you looked up.

“Seungcheol,” you said softly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

His breath caught.

Not because of the pain. Not because of the wound.

But because of the way you said his name—like it mattered. Like he mattered.

He could handle knives, bullets, enemies plotting against him in the dark. But this? The way you looked at him, eyes filled with something dangerously close to care?

That was lethal.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice rough.

You frowned. “No, you’re not.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then you did something he didn’t expect.

You reached out—slowly, carefully—and rested a hand against his cheek.

Seungcheol froze.

“You can’t just keep throwing yourself into danger like this,” you murmured. “You think I don’t notice when you show up like this? Or when you disappear for days and come back looking like hell?”

His throat felt tight. “This is the life I chose.”

Your jaw clenched. “And if something happens to you? If one day, you don’t walk through that door?”

He had no answer.

Because for the first time, he realized—he never thought about what his life meant to someone else.

But here you were. Worried. Angry. Scared for him.

Him. Choi Seungcheol. The man no one dared to care for because they knew it was dangerous.

Yet you did. You did.

And just like that, he was done for.

Utterly, completely yours.

Seungcheol wasn’t good with words.

He could command a room, negotiate million-dollar deals, and terrify a man into silence with just a look—but when it came to you? When it came to everything you made him feel?

Words felt useless.

So he showed you in the only ways he knew how.

By making sure you never walked home alone. By slipping extra cash into your pockets when he knew you were struggling. By waiting outside your café at night just to make sure you were safe.

And then, one night, he just… said it.

He hadn’t planned to. Hadn’t even thought about saying it yet. But you were standing in the kitchen, rambling about something that happened at work, and he was just watching you—watching the way your eyes lit up, the way your hands moved when you spoke, the way you existed in his space like you belonged there.

And before he could stop himself—before he could think about what it meant—he said it.

“I love you.”

You froze.

For a second, his heart stopped.

And then, slowly, you turned to look at him. “What did you just say?”

Shit.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure if he should take it back, laugh it off—

But then you smiled.

Soft. Disbelieving. Radiant.

And just like that, the fear disappeared.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, stepping closer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

You reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt. “Say it again.”

He smirked, heart pounding. “I love you.”

And when you pulled him down into a kiss, he knew—he would never stop saying it.

From that moment on, Seungcheol stopped caring who knew.

His gang? They figured it out the second they saw the way he looked at you.

His enemies? They learned the hard way that you were the one line they could never cross.

And you?

You never once made him feel like he had to choose between the world he built and the world you gave him.

Because somehow, somehow, you became both.

And Seungcheol—ruthless, untouchable Seungcheol—was yours in every way that mattered.

[brawberryz]

⎯⎯ Blind Love

⎯⎯ Jason Todd × Blind! Reader

Note: English is not my first language/ inspired by the manga Veil / M.list

TW / None,i just a little drabble

Snow fell in torrents through the city streets.

The snow painted the streets a white color, giving life to this dead city.

Your footsteps echoed through the cold city streets like a small tinkling sound.

You stood out among all the citizens, having such a charming yet simple style.

Your cane tapped the ground as you walked slowly down the street.

You were supposed to get to your new apartment, but you were lost, and being blind wasn't much help either.

Maybe you should have asked for a guide, but you wanted to be independent.

You grew up your whole life in a very overprotective family because of your disability, which bothered you.

They treated you like you were made of glass, as if you were going to break at some point.

You were tired of so much overprotection, so you decided to move to a new place.

But apparently you overreacted and ended up moving not only to another city but also to another country.

You were so confident in yourself. You didn't even notice you were lost, and someone like you on the streets of Gotham wasn't the best idea.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that your cane collided with someone's foot, causing you to stop dead in your tracks when you heard a small sound of pain as your cane hit the stranger.

"Ah! Excuse me..."

You said embarrassedly, apparently you ended up colliding with a stranger who was sitting on a bench.

It was only your first day here and you'd already messed up. You apologized several times without letting the stranger speak.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't hurt you, right?"

A small, awkward silence formed between the two of you until the stranger deigned to speak first.

"Don't worry, I've taken worse hits."

He said ironically. You just nodded, still embarrassed, but you could feel the man getting up and you could feel his imposing figure in front of you.

It's not that he's shorter, it's just that he was too tall.

"Wow, you're really tall!" You said without thinking about your words. You were someone who tended to say things without thinking, and that sometimes got you into trouble. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, calm down, it's okay."

Jason noticed from your nod. You weren't from this place. It was easy to spot someone new when they'd spent their entire life in this city.

"Hey, do you know this place?"

You asked suddenly, handing her a small piece of paper with all the information she needed written down, but they seemed to have forgotten that you were blind.

"Oh yeah, sure."

Jason took the paper as he read it, but all he could think about was how a person could stay with their eyes closed for so long.

Those doubts, though, were answered after seeing the cane and how you couldn't read something as simple as this paper.

Noticing that so late made him feel like an idiot.

"You should go straight and then turn left. On your right, you'll find your destination."

He said, trying to be as clear as possible. You just nodded happily and then took out your cane again.

"Thank you so much for the help!"

You said before returning with your slow steps. Something in him told him he should follow you and keep you safe.

You were new to Gotham, and your blindness made you easy prey for criminals.

Besides, he was a hero, or a good antihero, but he still had a desire for justice and to protect others, and he couldn't let someone like you walk the streets of Gotham.

"Careful, there's a staircase there!"

He yelled at you from afar when he saw you about to step on a step wrong. You just turned your head and nodded with a small laugh.

"I know, you shouldn't worry."

Your steps were slow but refined as you climbed the stairs. Something in Jason's chest burned every time he sensed something dangerous for you.

He had only met you a few minutes, but he already felt strange.

What the hell was happening to him?

"Are you sure? Is there no one to accompany you, or are you alone?"

He asked curiously, and you just nodded, not paying much attention.

You didn't need anyone's protection. You'd spent your whole life being overprotected, and you didn't need anyone else to worry about you.

"You shouldn't worry. Besides, let me warn you, following me won't get you to Wonderland."

Jason just arched at your sudden comment.

"Do I look like Alice to you?"

You could only let out a small laugh at the man's question.

"Well, maybe a little, but don't be offended, it's my favorite story!"

'She laughed...' That was the only thing Jason could think when he heard your laugh.

"Well, maybe you're right," he said as he approached you. "I almost fell into a hole today. It was an open sewer, and I almost fell in because I was too distracted."

"Ah..." You nodded, surprised but a little curious about the man's story. "Oh! Right, I haven't introduced myself. I'm (Name)!"

You felt like an idiot now. You'd spent a few minutes talking to the man, but you weren't even able to ask his name or introduce yourself properly, where were your manners!

"(Name)..." He said, repeating your name as if he were tasting it in his mouth. "You can call me Jason, Jason Todd."

"Nice name," you said, about to say something, but you were hesitant. You didn't know if you should ask him for help or not. But this was your only chance. "Sorry for asking, but do you know any places where we could get tea?"

After walking all over the city, your thirst and appetite had grown, and you thought a good cup of tea would solve everything.

"Uh, well, I know a place. But it's a bit far from here-"

"Really!"

You interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. He just nodded.

"I don't want to sound annoying, but..." You swallowed before continuing. "Could you take me to that place? I'm new around here, and you know...um."

Jason quickly understood the point. He knew you didn't want to seem useless, but he knew you needed help now.

"Yeah, sure. I hope you don't get bored with my company, though. I'm not one for words."

You shook your head in amusement.

"I don't think so. Your company can't be worse than walking down the street alone."

An inaudible laugh escaped Jason's lips. You were a very direct person.

But now that he had you closer, he noticed something. He felt like he'd seen your face somewhere.

And apparently he was right. You looked like one of those models. He saw your face for the first time when he was patrolling as usual.

Your presence was plastered all over that huge billboard that could easily light up an entire street.

Apparently, you were famous, since he'd seen your face on many posters and magazines, but he decided not to ask and kept his curiosity to himself.

"Could you give me your arm?"

"Uh-"

Before he could say anything, you answered.

"I wouldn't want to hit someone with my cane again, so you could be my guide and my eyes?"

"Oh, of course,"

He said, embarrassed, finally understanding what you meant.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and pressed against him. A small blush appeared on Jason's cheeks.

It was just the cold, right?

The blush didn't mean anything. He was just cold, or was that what he wanted to think?

Anyone who saw the two of you would think you were some kind of married couple.

"Now you'll check for any holes, right?"

You said with a small chuckle, reminding him of that incident he'd told you about.

"Of course, I'll try not to be so distracted this time."

You nodded at his comment.

Jason guided you through the snowy streets, slow steps following you as you could feel the cold breeze hitting your face.

You felt happy because after a long time, you had met someone; besides, he seemed like a nice person.

Maybe leaving home and being independent wasn't so bad.

Because if you hadn't, you would never have met him.

And he would never have met someone like you.

Maybe the two of you meeting was a coincidence or a piece of fate.

Or maybe the two of you were meant to be.

I think you should stop overthinking things. If you keep doing this, you'll most likely get some kind of headache.

The important thing is to live in the future.

And stop looking at the past

Jason is so Aleksander Code

Maybe I'll do a part 2 if I'm not too lazy

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I WANT MORE SICK QUINN PLEASE

Okay, babes! More sick Quinn it is!

"Oh baby, you look awful."

"Good morning, to you, too," Quinn answered, his eyes half open. His voice sounded like he was talking with his nose pinched closed. You knew when he went to bed last night he was getting sick; you had heard it through the phone. So, when you got the message this morning that he needed you to come over, you made a stop at the pharmacy before his apartment. And it was a good thing, too. 

He was on the sofa, legs pulled up to his chest with a blanket draped over his head and wrapped around him like a sick Halloween ghost. His colour was off; washed out and grey-like, and he was breathing out of his mouth with a rattle in his chest. 

"I'm sorry," you replied softly, removing your shoes and coat at the door. The lights were off when you had got in, but you didn't question it. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I look: awful, apparently." 

Hurting his feelings wasn't what you had wanted to do, but it was too late for that now. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I didn't mean for it to--"

"It's fine." Quinn's tone was sharp and flat and he wasn't looking at you. Those two little words had stung, causing you to remain at the door longer than you should have, hesitant to go any further. After a moment, realizing that your words meant nothing and that he wasn't going to apologize either, you grabbed the two bags you had brought with you and walked into the kitchen. 

From across the island, you could see him sitting on the sofa, his head never moving to look over his shoulder at what you were doing. It was like you weren't even there. He was sensitive, you knew that, but this was the first time he had been so irritable. 

With the lights off and all of the floor-length curtains drawn, it was near impossible to do what you needed to by the light of the television in the other room. 

"May I turn the lights on?" You asked, hoping he wouldn't find a reason to get moody over a simple question. 

"Sure," he said, still just a flatly as before. Quinn pulled the blanket further over his head before slumping over onto his side, like he was trying to hide from the impending light. 

His apartment's lights were all on dimmers, so you made sure the kitchen one was on the lowest setting possible before flipping the switch. Light sensitivity: migraine, and the possible reason for his shitty mood. Hurrying, you unpacked everything that you had bought before shutting the light off. You remembered the range hood had a light and one that wouldn't affect him anymore than the tv he was in front of, but at least you would be able to see what you were doing. You looked back towards the sofa where Quinn was still wrapped up tight. Knowing you had to talk to him, you buried your pride, and went back to the living room. 

"Migraine?" You asked him, your free hand touching his shoulder through the blanket, rubbing his back gently. 

"Yeah." 

"Will you look at me, please?"

After what felt like the longest moment, Quinn revealed his face from his private blanket fort. "Why don't you sit up and take these? It will help with the headache. And I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn't mean for it to come off like it did."

He didn't say anything at first as he forced himself back up. He would take the two pills and water from you and you would leave him alone. Back in the kitchen, you kept your back to him, your arms crossed. You had wanted to make things easy on him today, but now you wondered when he would tell you just to go. Things felt like they were spiraling faster than you could set them right. All just because of one poorly placed comment; one that you didn't mean to come off as serious. 

You were so deep in your own thoughts, you hadn't heard Quinn shuffle from the living room to where you were in the kitchen. His reaching out to touch your arm had startled you and he withdrew his fingers immediately. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, still draped with the blanket. 

You glanced at him for only a moment, "You're fine."

"I don't feel good," Quinn sighed, stepping forward a couple steps to stand right in front of you. He leaned forward to lay his head against your shoulder. He felt hot with fever, and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him. 

"I know you don't, baby."

'I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's okay." 

Quinn leaned his entire body weight against you, like he was trying to find comfort in any way that he could. Your fingers would trail up and down his back until he decided to move. 

"Everything hurts," he confessed, his eyes pleading for an answer as to why he felt so bad. 

"Can you tell me what you're feeling?"

"Uh, the migraine. I can't breathe. My throat is sore. I'm coughing up green stuff. My body hurts so bad I could seriously cry. I'm cold yet I'm sweaty. I don't know what's going on with me."

His voice had never sounded so pathetic the whole time you had known him, and it hurt you to hear him struggling with so much. 

"Have you taken a Covid test yet?"

"No."

"It wouldn't hurt to take one."

"Okay," he whined, pulling himself from your body as you allowed your arms to fall away from his. "I don't know if I have any left."

"I grabbed some this morning," you remembered, looking through things to find the box. "Here."

Quinn tore open the kit. He fumbled with the contents before finally swabbing his nose and applying it to the test kit. Despite having been so close to you just moments ago, realizing that he could have Covid had made him stand a ways away from you. It didn't take long for the test to read positive, making his fears worse. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his eyes falling closed with a sigh.

"Honey, it's fine. These things happen."

Quinn looked over at you, eyes heavy with guilt. "I probably just got you sick."

"I'm not worried about that," you reassured, your hand touching his cheek after closing the gap between you both. "I could use a few days off from work anyways."

"I didn't want you to get sick. I shouldn't have messaged you to come over."

"Shh, baby, baby, baby," you soothed. "I'll be okay."

He paused, "I've got to tell the team."

"Why don't you go get into bed, message Rick, and I'll deal with all of this stuff, okay?"

Quinn only nodded and slowly took off towards his bedroom. From the open door, you could hear Quinn on the phone, relaying the news of his positive test and that he would miss the next game slotted for tomorrow evening. The call didn't seem to last very long, and you'd enter the room after you were positive he was off the phone, so as not to interfere. 

"You didn't have to wait out there," Quinn spoke, once you joined him. "It wasn't anything that important."

"I know, but it wasn't my business," you smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he remarked, "Just have to do what I did before. He wants me to re-test in four days and go from there."

Reaching forward, you smoothed his wild curls and felt his forehead again making sure you hadn't imagined the fever. However, he was still quite warm to the touch. Quinn searched your face for reassurance before asking you anything.

"Is it bad?"

"Your fever? No, I don't think so. Hopefully it breaks soon, which should make you feel a lot better. Let me go get you some more water, okay?"

"Okay," he sighed, pulling the duvet up around himself with a bit of a struggle. 

You weren't gone but a minute, but when you came back, he was looking at you like you had forgotten him for hours.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" You asked him, putting a few bottles down on his nightstand. 

"I just feel like shit," he said with a sigh, his congestion somehow sounding worse just before he had a sneezing fit. 

"Oh, bless you, sweetheart."

"Ugh, I'm so over this." Quinn blew his nose before falling back into his pillows. 

You frowned, running your hand through his hair, standing beside his side of the bed. "I'm sure you are. I'm sorry."

"Would you lay down with me, babe? Since I've already probably given it to you..." He dropped off, feeling bad about asking you to come over.

Smiling, you leaned down to kiss his forehead one more time. "Of course. Do you need anything else before, though?"

"No," he said, pushing back the blankets to make it easier on you to find him beneath the layers. "Just you."

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Lucid Dreams llll

Notes: this is part four to lucid dreams.

Warnings: child neglect and abuse.

___________________________________________

Your words ring through the room. They're fiece and they make everyone uncomfortable. You know this. And yet you've still said them.

Your word are simple. They ask a very simple question. And they have a very simple answer.

Sadly, you know your mother won't say the simple answer. Because regardless of what DNA has to say she's more damians mother than she is yours.

'So what he can say whatever he wants to me ,but I'm just supposed to stay silent?' Are your exact words.

Your words have been praticed. Praticed infront of a mirror in your room alone. By yourself. And you know your not super to say these words out loud. These words were reserved for only your ears to hear.

No, you correct yourself these words are what a good daughter and big sister aren't supposed to say.

But you aren't a good daughter or big sister are you? Atleast not in their eyes. So you don't regret your words or how they make everyone speechless.

Because you've always wanted to say them and now you have... Why should you feel regret?

Your mother's speechless and for moment you feel like you won..... Sadly the fight had just begun.

"He's only ten he doesn't mean what he says." Is her response. And yeah he is only ten. And yeah maybe you shouldn't have said what you said to a normal ten year old. But damian is no normal ten year old.

" Well he always wants everyone to treat him like he's an adult. So how is it my fault when I gave him exactly what he wanted?" You say and everyone eyes slightly widen at your words. Because damian does more often then not demand to be treated as an adult

"He's a child." She says it's a bullshit excuse you know that. She knows that. Everyone knows that Damian knows and means what he says so why can't you do the same?

'This ends today' is your final thought before you say the words that flow out of your mouth so freely. And you're right. Today something does end ,but it isn't what you hoped it would be.

"And I'm your child. Or do you despise me that much mother that you've forgotten that?" Your words are sharper then any blade and it cuts through the room with devotion and aim. And it's aimed right at your mother's heart. Bullseye.

You watch as her angry eyes turn into something else. Some other emotion that you can't quite place. And before you know it she does something so different then what you thought she would do.

She smacks you. Right on the face.

And suddenly the room is no long full of shock or disappointment. No, now it's filled with the sound of her hand making contact with your face. And echos almost cruelly.

She hit you. She really did hit you. And you can't believe it. You just can't.

Your cheeks burning and you've been hit way harder before ,but this? This is more than just a hit.

It's betrayal. And that shit hurts.

The room is silent and no one knows what to say. You heads hang low but you still see your mother's shocked face. Because not even she can believe that she hit you.

'This ends today' was what you had said in your head but now you realize the depth of your words. You had meant that the way she had been treating you these past years would end.

But now? Now you words take a whole other meaningful.

Because today is the day that your relationship with your mother ends.

That thin invisible line that had kept you two together just broke. And no words can tie that string back together.

And maybe your mother's knows that and that's why she's staying silent?

Either way it truly doesn't matter atleast not anymore. Because not even the blood that you two share will connect you to her any longer.

You heads still hung low while you begin speaking.

And your don't quite remember where you heard what your about to say from. Probably some dumb movie.

But your mouth moves faster then your mind on what your about to say.

Because surely your mind wouldn't have approved about the words that leave your mouth.

'You slap like a fucking Bitch.'

___________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld

[anna--gvf]

Submissive Dae Ho x Dominant GN(?) reader

Masterlist

I'm so sorry to be that girl but imo Dae Ho is NOT dominant. Having 4 older sisters would mean he's more used to women being in charge anyways. COME ONNN. doms moot me? 💔

Haven't posted any type of fic on the internet in years I'm nervy. Pls be nice lmao

Considering this a bday gift to my gf. ily babe <3 (@dahliaswrld)

Nothing too crazy. Handjob, blowjob, edging, light praise, a lil crying, blah blah blah

Hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome!

In a life or death situation, you would think you'd be more focused on trying to live, but watching Dae Ho almost effortlessly work his hands on the gonggi during the six-legged race had gotten your mind drifting into places it shouldn't be.

Walking back into the dormitories, you stare down at your feet, mind racing as you walk towards the designated corner of the "X" team, taking a seat on a corner bed.

The rest of the team followed, spreading out on the beds. You gaze off, zoning out and letting your mind fulfill your sick fantasies for you. You imagined how he'd sound.. How he'd react. How he'd feel, and fuck, how he'd look at you.

A quiet call of your name breaks you out of your trance. You come to, analyzing the cold metal container of food sat on the bed in front of you. You look to your side to see Daeho glancing into your eyes carefully, or as much as he could without getting nervous and having to look away for a moment.

"Are you okay?" He quietly asks, assuming it was all of the stress of death getting you thinking, but in reality, you craved him. It wasn't a want anymore, it was a need.

"Hm? Oh, yeah." You reply, taking an extra moment to gaze into his eyes longer than you probably should've.

He nods softly in understanding, eyes scanning the area before leaning in to whisper to you, "Are you sure? Do you need to talk about it?"

His caring demeanor made you want him even more. To know that he actually gave a fuck about you and your well being was very attractive to say the least.

You look back to him, the genuine caring look in his eyes giving you butterflies in your stomach.

You just stare at him for a moment, unsure if you really wanted to go through with the ideas in your mind. His face flushes ever so slightly and he glances down at his lap at your gaze.

"Yeah, maybe." You reply, your stomach churning slightly after coming to the realization that you had just practically finalized the idea. "Meet me in the bathroom?"

I mean, if we were all going to die here anyways I guess a simple confession can't hurt.

Dae Ho nods in response, his demeanor shifting to be more nervous as he sees you stand up above him. He stands up after you, following you towards the bathroom.

You walk into the bathroom, Dae Ho following along. You stand in front of the sinks, Dae Ho stopping in his tracks to be standing near you.

"Was it the game? Are you okay?" He immediately starts, his eyes scanning you for any kind of injury, just in case you were hurt in any way.

"No, It's.." You pause, sighing and glancing around the bathroom to ensure its vacant state. "Well, kinda?" You laugh softly.

Dae Ho furrows his eyebrows in a mix of confusion and worry, quickly trying to read your expression.

You sigh, eyes still scanning for anybody in any of the stalls. "It's.. unusual. Okay?" You warn, looking back into his eyes.

"It's you." You admit, laughing softly, taking in every facial feature as his eyes widened in worry.

"Oh- Oh shit what did I do? Did i upset you?" He immediately worries, taking a small step closer to you, his hands clasped together and already fidgeting nervously.

"No, It's not like that." You assured, his eyes immediately softening from worry to confusion with a slight nod. He stared silently, awaiting an explanation.

"You.." You pause hesitantly. "The way you played Gonggi." You answer vaguely.

Dae Ho's eyebrows furrowed further before speaking. "What, am I doing something wrong?" He questioned, playing back his gonggi gameplay in his head to assure that he did it right.

"No, Dae Ho." You interrupt. "That's just it. You didn't mess up." You mutter, chuckling softly.

Dae Ho stared blankly, tilting his head slightly in confusion as he tried to piece together what exactly you were saying.

"Your hands." You point out, watching as he lifts them up so the both of you could inspect them.

"It was so hot watching how perfectly you moved your hands." You confess, replaying his flawless gameplay back in your head, over and over again.

He didn't know what to say. He had never been so directly hit on by a girl like this before. He let out a shaky breath, breaking eye contact to look down at and fidget with his hands softly.

You analyze his flushed face as he tried to discreetly calm his slightly unsteady breaths. He looked back up at you, a tiny smile evident on his embarrassed face.

You take a step closer to him, practically undressing him with your eyes. He notices.

Dae Ho lets out a sigh, watching you move closer to him, practically mesmerized.

You reach out to touch his shoulders, slowly trailing them down towards his hands. You take his hand in your grasp, gently inspecting it before letting out a quiet sigh. "Fuck." You whisper, a little closer to his ear than you'd intended.

He let out a nearly inaudible breathy whimper at your word. Your stomach tightened at the noise, eyes immediately darting up to meet his.

His eyes were slightly widened, mouth slightly agape as he immediately started to try to explain it away. "I-I'm sorry.. I uh.. I didn't mean to.." He trails off as you move your hand to caress his face gently.

"Can we go in a stall?" You ask, nearly getting lost in his brown eyes. He releases a shaky breath before whining quietly and whispering a quick "Oh fuck.. Yes."

With that, you grasp his hand in yours tighter, immediately leading him to a stall towards the back.

As soon as you're both in the stall, you immediately shut and lock the door, closing the gap between the two of you.

His back is immediately pressed up against the wall as you cup his face in your hands, pulling him into a short kiss. You pull back, gazing into his eyes.

The expression on his face was enough to get you off on its own. With a turned-on sigh, you pull him back into the kiss, this time much longer and much more passionate.

Your hands graze down his body gently, stopping at his thighs and moving back up. His eyebrows furrow, quivering slightly as you do so, letting out deep, needy breaths into the kiss.

You pull away, your hand reaching for the zipper of his jacket. "Fuck, you're so hot." You sigh, slowly unzipping his jacket to give you easier access to his body.

He whimpers quietly at the praise, nervously watching as you pull the zipper down his body.

You guide his head to turn to the left, giving you access to his neck. You start leaving gentle kisses and light hickeys on his neck, your hands sliding under his shirt to touch his bare skin.

He closes his eyes, letting out shaky sighs and gasps at your touch. "Fuck.." He whimpers into your ear.

You pull away, your hand reaching the waistband of his pants, tracing it softly before looking up to him for approval.

He nods frantically, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his face with a sigh, looking back down at your hand with furrowed eyebrows.

You slowly slide your hand down his pants, your fingertips grazing his dick through his boxers.

Dae Ho's hips stuttered, a slightly louder sigh leaving his lips, his eyes shutting briefly as he bit his lip in anticipation.

He was already half hard. "You're already hard for me. Do i turn you on?" You tease, testing the waters.

He let out a soft groan at your words. "Yes.. Fuck.." he nodded with a shaky breath.

You had barely touched him, and he was already a mess. You apply more pressure on your hand, almost touching him properly now.

The unexpected change in touch got the first moan out of him. It was quiet, slightly whiny, and higher in pitch than you would've imagined from him.

He immediately went to cover his mouth with his hand, embarrassed, his face immediately begins to flush. You let out a shaky breath before speaking softly.

"Fuck, keep doing that." You say with a shaky breath, removing his hand from his mouth as your other hand still worked on him.

You were immediately met with another shaky whimper as you uncovered his mouth. You move to suck rougher hickeys into the side of his neck, pulling another pathetic hum from him.

Moving your hand back up, your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers. He swallowed, taking shaky breaths to steady himself.

You slowly slide your hand down his boxers, a faint whine falling from his lips before you even got a chance touch him.

Gently wrapping your hand around him, you start off slow. He lets out a whine, mouth agape as he moved to place his hands on your shoulders.

Picking up the pace, you move to tease the tip. He throws his head back, back arching slightly and letting out a cry.

He was avoiding eye contact, obviously embarrassed by the vulnerability although he was totally into it.

You guide him to look at you, slightly tightening your grip on him.

He blushes, looking into your eyes and moaning, that familiar tightening feeling already growing in his stomach.

A high pitched moan leaves his lips as he burrows his head in your neck, his breathing picking up as he thrusts his hips into your hand slightly.

More whines and whimpers left his lips, his release rapidly approaching, a lot quicker than usual.

"Yeah? You gonna cum already?" You whisper teasingly.

Hearing your voice in his ear only brought him closer, but the sudden noise of the bathroom door swinging open pulls you two back to reality, making you instinctively pull away.

Dae Ho whined softly at the loss of contact, shifting uncomfortably. You quickly put a hand over his mouth to stop the noise, Dae Ho immediately realizing his mistake.

The sound of running water filled the room. Thank god, at least they were just at the sink. They'd be out quick.

With your hand still over his mouth, you start to kiss on his neck again, your other hand diving back down his pants.

He lets out a small noise, slightly muffled by your hand. Your hand works on him again slowly as Dae Ho tried not to make any noise, or at least to stifle any noise he wasn't able to hold back.

He's letting out shaky breaths against your hand, his thighs quivering slightly as you tighten your grasp the closer you got to his tip.

The sound of the sink shutting off brings the room back to an eerie silence besides the nearly silent noises falling from Dae Ho's lips.

His hand moves to grasp your arm, his head falling back against the wall. He tensed up slightly, his orgasm approaching again.

He digs his nails into your arm, his noises getting louder and harder to muffle.

With a swift movement you take your hands off of him again. He loudly sighs against your hand.

The sound of footsteps moving towards the door rung through the room, followed by the familiar squeak of the door swinging shut.

The two of you were finally alone again. You slowly remove your hand from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he gasped softly, catching his breath.

He gazed into your eyes as he steadied himself. "What the hell was that?" He breathes out, face flushed with a slight smile prominent on his lips.

You just laughed softly before dropping to your knees in front of him, the sight alone enough to pull a moan from him.

He averts his gaze, embarrassed. The sudden touch of your hands trailing up his clothed thighs immediately gained his attention back.

He whimpers, letting out a frustrated sigh and clenching his thighs softly. Your hand gently grazes up his hard dick through his pants before moving to his waistband again.

You slowly pull his pants and boxers down, just taking in the sight of him. Dae Ho let out an uncomfortable shaky sigh, shifting nervously as your eyes practically burned into him.

Your hands travel his up and down his thighs, watching him twitch as he made quiet, needy noises while you teased him.

Dae Ho loudly releases a shaky sigh before muttering a quiet, "Please.." He whines, gazing into your eyes pathetically.

Immediately, you wrap your hand back around him, gradually increasing the speed of your strokes.

A high pitched gasp escapes his lips, followed by a muffled moan. You glance up to find that he's covering his mouth with his hand.

You smile to yourself slightly, increasing your pace again before sliding your opposite hand up his shirt to feel up his body.

He uncovers his mouth, instead grasping the stall's handlebar to steady himself, hissing softly followed by heavy breaths and a whiny mumble of your name.

You lean in to suck a few dark hickeys into his lower stomach, drawing a sharp whimper from him. His noises getting much more frequent again.

You drag your tongue over the hickeys you'd just left, your hand swirling around the tip of his cock gently.

He bites his lip, groaning loudly as he sloppily thrusts his hips into your hand.

You pull away again, his hips stuttering as a long, disappointed whimper leaves his lips as he's denied from his release again.

"Please," He pleads quietly, a bead of precum gathered at the tip of his dick. "Fuck.. It hurts." He whispers embarrassedly, his face flushed, a prominent desperate look in his eyes.

You swipe your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. You oblige with a few slow strokes, drawing a quiet sobbing whine from him.

Maintaining eye contact, you lick a teasing strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Dae Ho bites his lip, letting out a stifled cry at the sensation of your tongue against him. He watches intently, his cock throbbing in your grasp.

You lean in, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against his tip, snatching a very pleased sigh from above you. You slowly take the tip in your mouth, running your tongue along the slit softly.

Dae Ho's hand moves back to cover his mouth, a muffled moan filling the room. You take that as your sign to continue, slowly engulfing him entirely with your eyes locked on him.

A loud exhale leaves his lips, mouth agape, his hand immediately uncovering his mouth again to grasp a handful of your hair. After a second to adjust, he lets out a needy whine, trembling slightly in desperation.

"Oh fuck, please.." He whines out, his grip on your hair loosening as he grounded himself to the best of his ability.

You start off at a teasingly slow pace, your gaze transfixed on him and only him, taking in every little feature on his face, basking in every noise he let slip.

The sound of Dae Ho's unsteady breaths and shaky moans fills the room, only egging you on further. "Ah- Please, faster." He gasps out needily.

You gradually gain speed, deeply analyzing every reaction he made to your touch. You hollow your cheeks around him, drawing another high-pitched groan from the desperate man above you.

Embarrassed, he released his grip on your hair, placing his hand back over his mouth, throwing his head back with closed eyes. Muffled moans and whines rung through your ears, his hips gently rocking forward to meet your mouth.

You bring your hands to grip the side of his thighs, pinning his hips to the wall to halt his movements.

Something about that really did it for him, a strangled moan escaping his lips from behind his hand, louder than the rest. His body began quivering again, Dae Ho practically toppling over himself.

You swallow around him, feeling his cock pathetically twitch in your mouth. He moves his hand back to your hair with a choked sob, his hips bucking as much as they could while they were in your firm grasp.

He perks up with a gasp, his back arching with a pitiful whine, that all too familiar feeling growing in the pit of his stomach again, only growing stronger.

Unsurprisingly, you stop, taking your hands and mouth off of him completely.

A shaky sob leaves his lips, his eyes darting down to meet yours.

"Oh fuck.." Is all he can manage to get out at this point, tears of frustration pooling in his eyes as he gazes at you desperately with furrowed eyebrows, mouth agape as shuddery breaths left his lips.

He sniffles softly, a sinful noise coming from him as you slowly take him back into your mouth. Quiet sobs and exhales bring your attention back up to him, a small tear streaming down the side of his face.

His hand grasps for your hair again, trying to gently push you down further. "Please." He shudders, biting his lip with a groan.

You suddenly started up your movements again, this time a lot faster right away, causing Dae Ho to involuntarily let a loud, pathetic sound.

He was clearly too far gone to care about how loud he was being. He would love to watch you effortlessly please him, but any time he tried to look down at you for too long his knees got weak.

He gasped, whimpering loudly as he felt himself getting closer and closer to his release with each movement you made.

"F-Fuck, don't stop.. Please don't stop." He manages to choke out between filthy gasps and moans.

You grasp the soft skin of his thighs, slightly digging your nails into them as you pushed yourself further down on him.

He trembles, sloppily bucking his hips slightly with a needy cry. Other occasional noises left his lips between sobbing breaths, his grip on your hair tightening immensely.

A string of loud moans and whines left his mouth, followed by one last buck of his hips as he came undone, constant satisfied whimpers filling the room as he came down from his prolonged high.

He sighs out, practically slumped over you as you pull away, standing back up, your eyes locking with his once again.

He gazes into your eyes for a moment before looking away, breathless and flustered, a grin prominent on his face.

"That was.. so good." He mumbles, still catching his breath slightly.

The dreaded sound of the intercom starts over the loudspeakers; "Attention players, lights out will begin in 2 minutes. Please report back to the dormitories immediately."

"Shit, we gotta go." You laugh, Dae Ho immediately straightening himself out, following as you grab his hand and lead him out of the stall.

"What.. What about you?" He speaks hesitantly, looking you up and down as you swiftly wash your hands.

"Next time." You smile, walking out of the bathroom, Dae Ho following shortly after you.

Dae Ho exhaled a shaky breath as he followed you out, his stomach fluttering at the thought of there being a "next time".