#and to fight the weave mind too

[neutral-towards-mindmaps]

jester lavorre character of all time. she's a cleric but she doesn't heal people. she grew up in a brothel. she vandalizes churches. she broke a witches curse with a cupcake. she believed in a guy so much he became a god. she beats people up with a giant lollipop. she pulled off a successful parent trap. half of her adventuring party fell in love with her. shes even blue.

[thesundowncrew]

“It’s alright,” Liore cooed, her voice cutting through all sound and muddled thought. “Don’t worry...” Liore never needed to do much to calm him down. Maybe it was her gentleness soothing him to the core, or maybe she was trying a bit of magick as he felt something trickle from her fingertips through to his skin. Whatever it was, it was working. He tried hard to focus on her words, one after the other, in between deep, steady breaths.

“—We can rest there, yeah? I’m sure you’ll feel like yourself again soon.”

"A-aye.. All right.." said Sam, smiling weakly. But seeing Liore smile back at him gave him a little strength, enough to keep going at least. She led him by the hand and slowly but surely, they reached the giant, twisted tree.

When her hand slipped out of his, Sam wasn't as desperate to reach for her again. Instead, he watched with amusement as she ran and and laughed and twirled, her black, wavy, tresses swaying and bouncing as she did so. They were deep in their own, private neck of the woods where no one else dared ventured. Here, they were safe to be themselves; to be together. Here, they were free.

He watched her, content to see her so happy and without worry. He watched as the gnawing ache resurfaced and clawed at his insides. “Sammy!” she called out to him. “Come listen with me!”

He could ignore the gnawing for a little longer.

—

"So... how do I do this?"

She giggled, standing behind him and guiding his outstretched hand with hers. “First, close yer eyes. An' then focus on everything that you're feeling with your body an' settle it down. You're not goin' to hear with your ears or see with your eyes. You have to sense the tree with your heart. Your spirit. Shut it all out, an' focus on the quiet.”

He did as he was told. Slowly but surely, he pinpointed his focus on the energy of the tree in front of him. He shut everything else out. The birdsong; the rustling leaves; even Liore's own voice. He focused until he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat. And when Liore pressed his hand onto the bark—

"Why is it called Sundown?" asked a chipper voice, with sparkling eyes as green as a summer meadow and fur as black as night.

"W-wha-" Sam exclaimed, eyes shooting open and turning to Liore beside him. "W-what did you say?"

“Ah didn't say anything, Sammy.” At first she looked puzzled but then gasped with sudden realization. “Maybe you did hear it! The tree! You must've heard its voice! Mathair always did say yer affinity was strong! Why? What did you hear?”

"Ah.." He wanted to say something but the words escaped him now. What did it say? It was there a moment ago, and somehow it felt very important. He was upset that he lost it so easily. "Ah.. don't remember. Ah'm sorry, Liore.."

“It's all right, Sammy, there's no need t'be upset,” she assured, standing in front of him now and cupping his face so that he could look up and into her eyes and encouraging smile. “We can always try again. We've got all the time in the world~”

Sam hugged her tightly. The girl stiffened — just for a moment, just for a heartbeat — before relaxing into his arms. Concern shone in her gaze when he pulled away. She touched his hand on her shoulder, her slim fingers ice cold. “It’s alright,” she murmured, in a voice as soft as dove’s feathers. “Don’t worry...”

Gently, she took both his hands in her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve only got a bit farther to go ‘til we reach the tree. We can rest there, yeah? I’m sure you’ll feel like yourself again soon.”

She smiled at him, encouraging, and led him onward through the forest, hand-in-hand once more.

—

Spiders wrapped their prey in silk to prevent escape. Likewise, after catching prey in a dream, Feld stayed in the dream long enough to strengthen the illusion and ensure they wouldn’t awaken. It would be a shame to weave such an excellent dreamscape only for the ungrateful dreamer to escape it.

Feld just needed a bit more time to finish Samhain’s dream before it slipped back to the waking world. Once it left, Samhain’s mind would spin its own version of Liore to inhabit the fantasy. The dream would continue unfurling on its own, weaving itself from pleasant memories, vivid enough to feel real (until it faded, but Feld didn’t dwell on that).

And Samhain would never wake up.

—

Leaving Samhain a blanket and a mug of chamomile tea hadn’t sufficed to ease Maude’s guilt, and her worries refused to settle. So, at half-past midnight, the innkeeper found herself standing outside his door with another quilt tucked beneath her arm.

This close, she could feel it. The barrier was gone.

A shiver crawled up her spine, and dread twisted in her stomach. Why was the barrier gone? Had Sam dispelled it himself? Or had Feld broken it somehow?

Maude swallowed hard, assuming the worst. At the same time, a sharp voice in the back of her mind whispered, why do you care what happens to him? He’s just another unlucky guest. He wouldn’t be the first one to fall victim to Feld, nor would he be the last. You can’t save any of them and you’ve only got yourself to blame. You haven’t gone soft, have you?

Without thinking, the innkeeper raised her hand to knock, then faltered. The rules of her contract with Feld twisted through her wrist and froze her muscles in place. Do not disturb sleeping guests. Her hand lowered, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

Coward, hissed the voice in her mind. Maude didn’t argue with it. She pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes, clutching the quilt to her chest.

—

They reached the clearing with the ancient tree.

The girl’s hand slipped free from Sam’s again as she ran toward the tree. She twirled beneath its gnarled boughs, beaming, as though delighting in a song only she could hear. Her hair and dress spun around with her, settling as she slowed to a stop.

With a breathless laugh, she steadied herself against the tree trunk and tucked a dark curl behind her ear again. “Sammy!” She reached her hand toward him, beckoning him to join her. Sunlight danced in the deep amber of her eyes. “Come listen with me!”

[euthymiya]

part two

Starting an internship at the company Satoru’s father owns but you don’t know who he is just yet.

He’s annoying. He always comes back from lunch late, lets his phone ring at his desk (that’s conveniently placed next to yours) past the three ring policy, writes emails with silly and immature sign-offs, cracks jokes during meetings, and somehow, despite always finishing his paperwork late, he never manages to lose his damn job.

You try to mind your own business. But you can’t help but feel him slowly grate at your nerves as he acts so unprofessional and for some weird reason, not one person seems to care.

He seems pretty intrigued with you, too, if matters couldn’t get worse.

“Hey,” he grins. You try to ignore the tilt of his lips in amusement as you just barely fight off rolling your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” You sigh, “I’m currently in the middle of something that requires my full attention, but maybe we could—”

“You really love your office jargon,” he hums, cutting you off with a wider grin, “so dedicated.”

“Oh, my apologies,” you smile tightly. He seems to straighten a little, some sick, twisted form of excitement rushing through his system at the way he seems to get under your skin. “Allow me to use simpler language for you to understand: go away, I’m busy.”

Someone has to stand up to this prick, you think. He puts in half the effort, and somehow, you’re pretty sure your boss has a soft spot for him. You don’t understand it, and quite frankly, you’ll be damned if a lazy, lackluster man snags a promotion before your hardworking self.

“Oh wow,” he snorts, “breaking your strictly professional streak, are you? You must be really occupied. I guess I’ll borrow your stapler later.”

Gritting your teeth, you give him yet another tight lipped smile before grabbing the stapler off your desk and handing it to him. (A small part of you resists the urge to throw it square at his face. Maybe the image of him on the floor with a bloodied nose would make your day a little easier, but then you’re sure you’d be jobless).

“Here you go,” you say with as much kindness as you can muster. (It’s not a lot). “Please do bring it back when you’re done. Some of us actually complete paper work, so the stapler is a necessity.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief, “don’t worry, I won’t hold your stapler hostage for too long. I wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of your productivity.”

You watch with wary eyes as he walks back to his desk, stapling some small, tiny note of sorts before walking right back, handing the paper and the stapler to you.

“What’s this?” You raise a brow.

“Some paper work for you to fill out,” he grins, the vagueness of his answer making a vein all but pop in your forehead.

Before you even have a chance to tell him that you most certainly will not be entertaining whatever silly prank he’s playing, he walks right off, sagging into his chair as he does an obnoxious little spin and goes back to typing at his computer. Probably yet another email with a ridiculous ending, you think to yourself.

Against your better judgement, you stare at the note, eyeing the small flap he’s stapled over an index card. You lift it up, quickly scanning over his scribbled writing.

Want to grab coffee during lunch? Check your answer:

▢ yes! ▢ absolutely! ▢ most definitely!

Your eye twitches.

Grabbing a pen, you quickly add a box underneath his (very confident) options, checking it off and writing in neat, pristine handwriting:

▣ not a chance!

You stand, walking over to his desk and ignoring his perked up, excited little smile as you drop the note back on the table and head back to your own desk. A tiny wave of satisfaction weaves through your body when you notice him read over your response and deflate, a small pout forming over his lips.

Regretfully, a small part of you can’t help but acknowledge that he’s actually…kind of cute when his lips are curled like that. But a larger part of you shakes that thought away and cringes internally. It’s a shame his personality ruins the genetic blessings he seems to have been bestowed with.

And you think that’s the end of it—but of course, with someone like Satoru in the office, there’s never the end of anything.

You watch as an email pops up on your screen, opening it only to stare blankly at his name and roll your eyes at the subject line:

────────────────────────

Follow-Up on Submitted Paperwork

Greetings office neighbor,

Thank you for submitting the paperwork. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but notice that it does not fully align with the outlined guidelines. Could you please provide clarification or revise the submission accordingly?

Thanks a million,

Gojo Satoru :)

────────────────────────

And there he goes again with those obnoxious sign-offs, you think bitterly. Instantly, you’re clicking away at your keyboard as you type back an agitated response. Of course, you really shouldn’t entertain his ridiculous schemes, but something about him gets under your skin enough that you simply can’t help yourself.

You huff in approval at your response as you read it over before hitting send.

Instantly, as if he was waiting, you see his hand reach for his mouse and click on his screen to open your email as his eyes scan over your reply:

────────────────────────

Thank you for reaching out,

Unfortunately, I was unable to fully adhere to the outlined guidelines, as they are not viable in this situation. To address this, I adjusted the submission to align more effectively with a more practical outcome.

Hope that helps!

Your office neighbor :)

────────────────────────

Just when you think he’s given up, he rolls his chair over to your desk, causing a couple of annoyed heads to tilt up and glare at him for the noise before turning their attention back to their work. You pinch your nose as his chair rolls to a stop in front of your desk.

“Yes?” You grit through your teeth.

“Hey, office neighbor,” he hums, “just wanted to clarify your most recent email with you. I’m a bit confused.”

“Which part confused you?” You bat your lashes in faux charm, sarcastically smiling at him as he hums, grabbing a piece of candy from your little bowl of sweets at your desk and helping himself.

Your eye twitches a little at the gesture. Those are for you to enjoy throughout a miserable work day.

“Um…” he trails off as he pretends to think, “I’d say all of it.”

“I see,” you nod slowly, fighting every bone in your body not to snap at him with a colorful choice of words. “Essentially, the options in your original document did not highlight a plausible set of deliverables, so I corrected them for you with a more realistic one. Make sense?”

“Not really,” he sighs dramatically, pretending to scratch his head in confusion. You want nothing more than to grab those snowy locks and slam his face into your paper shredder. “Could you go over it one more time? I’m still lost.”

You’re just about to lose your patience with him when suddenly, the entire office seems to collectively take in a sharp breath, everyone scrambling to look as productive as possible while a tall, older looking man with suspiciously familiar white hair and blue eyes walks through the office. Something in your brain sets off alarm bells, but you can’t quite completely piece it together what it is about him seems so….recognizable.

“Who’s that?” You frown, scrunching your nose in confusion as everyone straightens up.

“That would be the final boss,” he snorts. You roll your eyes at his word choice before blinking and straightening up yourself.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, voice a panicked whisper as you ask, “you mean the owner of this company?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, raising a brow at you in amusement. “Never seen him before?”

“No,” you hiss, “I’m just the intern! Now go back to your desk before he thinks we’re goofing off, I’d like to keep my job, please.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he hums.

You send him a nasty glare, just about at your wits end as you whisper-yell, “I am going to throw my stapler right at your—”

“Satoru, I need you in my office,” comes a stern, deep voice, interrupting you as you quickly shut your mouth.

“You got it, old man,” he salutes in mock seriousness. Suddenly, your spine goes rigid and your eyes widen. The man walks off with a firm nod as Satoru stands, giving you an innocent smile.

Suddenly, it dawns on you just why he looked so strikingly familiar.

“Did you just call him old man?” You blink, mouth agape.

“Yup,” he winks, walking backwards as his eyes stay trained on you while he heads for the elevator. “I’ll put in a good word for you when he’s in a better mood at home tonight. I think we can discuss the specifics over coffee during our lunch hour, yeah?”

[personapeters]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬

— a rafe cameron one shot (1 of 2) part one • part two

✰ you’re at a party with your ‘best friend’, rafe, when things suddenly turn sour, and he’s not afraid to fight for whats his.

rating: sfw — cw: alcohol, physical assault, blood

if y/n was somehow convinced that the rafe cameron could have simply walked away from a situation as such — she was terribly mistaken. the mild taste of alcohol burning in the back of his throat became overwhelmingly bitter as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, his knuckles aching in sheer anticipation.

his mind raced for a moment as he stood, rage gradually bubbling in his stomach as a burning sensation overtook his skin. they weren’t ‘official’ by any means — he wasn’t even sure if she saw him the way he did her — but in his mind, that truly meant changed nothing; whether she was simply his closest friend or his girlfriend, she was still someone of his — his.

he downed the rest of the weak mixer in his red solo cup before throwing it down onto the already trash cluttered floor. his narrow eyes scanned the crowed of moving bodies surrounding him before they landed on a familiar head of dirty blonde.

“aye — aye, top!” he called out, weaving his way through the living room with minimal care for the people he was shoving before fully approaching his friend. “yo, rafe, you good?” topper questioned with immediate concern, noticing the all-too-familiar look on the older mans face as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“where’s your man?” rafe asked through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his composure — he knew exactly who y/n refered to, he just needed to find him. “wha- who?” topper replied with a genuine confusion, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “that short fuck you invited, topper,” rafe seethed with mild annoyance, his patience wearing extremely thin as he watched his friend take another swig of his beer, “the blonde — where is he?”

“mmm,” topper hummed in recognition as he pulled his lips from the bottle and took a swallow, “mikey? uh, out back with kelce, last i seen ‘em.” needing nothing more, rafe swiftly stormed off with a clenched jaw, exiting out of the back porch door with a slam while ignoring topper’s questioning calls from behind.

the sandy backyard was almost as populated as the inside, the once pounding music now a muted bass as he furthered himself from house, his head on a swivel as he searched the sea of people. once again, he roughly pushed his way through party-goers, his height playing to his advantage as he peered above their heads, scanning the area. it took all of a minute before he spotted kelce and a few others gathered around a fire, laughing amongst themselves.

he felt a twisting heat build in his core as he neared them, his fists balled tightly as he held them stiff by his sides, knuckles white from the intense pressure. kelce noticed rafe approaching out of the corner of his eye, a bright smile on his face as he prepared to greet his friend that was quickly wiped away when he noticed his hostile demeanor.

“aye, what’s-,” kelce started, but was cut off abruptly as rafe brushed past and violently shoved the lanky blonde beside him to the ground. “yo, what the fuck, rafe?!” kelce yelled, stepping in between the two men hastily, eyes widened as he glanced between them both — once again, rafe simply brushed past him.

“y’think you can just try ‘n force girls to fuck you? keep fuckin’ with her ‘till she puts out?” rafe seethed at a moderate volume, towering over a heaving michael who was attempting to regain the breath that was knocked out of him. rafe used the plural term ‘girls’ loosely as he only really cared for the one girl in particular — he wasn’t afraid to admit that, either.

“what are you talking about, dude?” the man in the sand exclaimed, though rafe knew he was feigning ignorance. “what the hell is going on?!” kelce added, though through everything he was hearing, he began putting the jagged pieces together.

“can’t get pussy without beggin’ for it, right? ah, that’s it,” rafe taunted with a malicious half-grin, one that could send a static chill down one’s spine and make them question what it’s owner was capable of. some would say rafe cameron always had a hint of crazy in his eyes, but now it was prominent and on full display. “c’mon, rafe, just chill,” kelce reasoned, or attempted to, pushing his friend back by his biceps as michael clamored to his feet.

“yo, get the fuck off me!” rafe barked, swiping both of kelce’s arms away with a single motion, his eyes still locked onto his target. “y’like puttin’ your hands on girls, yeah?!” rafe hissed, marching across the sand and pressing his broad chest to michael’s lesser one, his breaths hot and rapid as they fanned across his opponent’s face. a crowd had formed as the altercation became louder and more evident, encouraging chants emitting from the herd of college students surrounding who drunkenly anticipated the unconventional entertainment.

admittedly, rafe liked — no, loved that everyone was watching him make an example out of the unfortunate soul who crossed him. anyone who had an ounce of sense knew never to mess with rafe cameron or his people, especially not his girl — his name was written all over her. yet, seemingly, not everyone got that very important message; though, he knew it would soon be made exceedingly loud and abundantly clear, as it should be.

“dude, i-i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking ab-,” the blonde began to babble but rafe wasn’t in any mood to listen, abruptly interrupting him in his fit of rage by swinging back a heavy fist and letting it crack against mikey’s jaw. the shorter man stumbled backwards, the sand beneath his feet making it harder to regain his balance as he plummeted to the ground. he gripped his chin as a thin stream of warm blood began to pour from his mouth before yelling, “what the fuck, dude?!”

“what—you don’t like that?” rafe mocked with a sickeningly sweet tone, watching with an ice-melting gaze as the man clamored to his feet. “tell me to stop,” rafe snarled, lunging forward and taking another loaded swing, connecting it straight into michael’s ribs, “nah, you like it, don’t you?” he doubled over in pain, letting out a strained groan as he placed a hand over his sore abdomen.

“yo, that’s enough, rafe,” kelce intervened again, stepping in between the two men in an attempt to distinguish the fight. rafe ignored his friend’s plea, roughly brushing shoulders passed him as he advanced once again. “c’mon, tough guy, don’t be a bitch,” he taunted again, “put your hands on somebody who wants ‘em.”

suddenly, a voice from within the large huddle of bystanders was heard, topper emerging from the mass with urgency. “hey, hey! what the fuck is going on?!” he asked frantically, his eyes flickering between rafe and the battered man before him. “why don’t you ask your buddy over there, huh?” rafe hissed, enough anger boiling in his blood to heat the very surface of his skin, his adrenaline at an all-time high.

“i ain’t do nothing, alright?!” michael defended breathlessly, and rafe felt as though his body could have burst from rage. “nothing, huh?” rafe muttered, surprisingly calm as an overwhelming, animalistic urge to tear the man apart limb from limb began to overtake him even further.

“beggin’ to crack girls who don’t want to fuck you is nothing, huh?” rafe projected as though it was an announcement, loud enough for everyone surrounding to hear, “getting your dick in a twist when they turn you down, leavin’ marks on ‘em — that’s nothing? you’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

“alright, you watch your mouth,” michael spat through gritted teeth, striding forward with a pointed finger, stopping it a mere inch away from rafe’s stoic face; rafe found it almost comical. “or what?” rafe rebutted, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his rose tinted lips. the volume of the crowd raised once more as the momentum picked up, the watchers on the edge of their metaphorical seats as they awaited a fight they knew rafe would deliver.

“you guys needa just-just chill out — calm down,” topper coaxed, attempting to play peacemaker, though his efforts were deemed futile when michael suddenly pulled his fist back and pounded it against rafe’s bottom lip, catching him off guard. the pink, supple flesh split instantly, blood trickling over his chin and trailing down his neck, the fabric of his shirt soaking it up and painting itself crimson.

rafe darted forward, virtually unfazed by the newfound gash on his face, grabbing michael by his collar with one hand and striking him in the jaw with the other. the crowd gasped while others cheered, their phones tight in their grasps as they recorded the brawl — this is what they were waiting for. rafe felt multiple pairs of hands on his back, tugging at his shirt as they attempted to pull him off, but rafe could only stop when he wanted to.

he planted another jab into michael’s side, which was quickly reciprocated when a set of knuckles collided with rafe’s torso, causing him to stumble. although michael was noticeably smaller, his brute was still nothing to be undermined, especially when being used against a girl like y/n. considering that only pushed rafe further off the edge — the idea of anyone trying her made him irrevocably livid.

“you’re a coward,” rafe yelled as he swung once again, this time knocking michael off his feet and onto his back with a sand-cushioned thud, “a fucking coward!” he kicked the fallen man in his side with the entirety of his strength, causing him to roll over in agony as he hugged himself. “ain’t even man enough,” he gritted out while kicking him again, “to own up to it,” and again, “wanna touch my girl,” and again, “fuckin’ joke.”

in the near distance, a loud siren was heard followed by the hue of red and blue lights washing over the front of the house, causing the gaggle of bystanders to all flee in various directions. “that’s enough,” topper insisted with a hand yanking rafe back by his shoulder, frankly only concerned for him after digesting the entirety of the situation, “the cops are here — we gotta go.”

rafe ignored his warning, stalking towards the blonde on the ground with an unwavering desire to make his face utterly unrecognizable. moments like these made him wish he could guarantee getting away with murder, completely removing the problem from his island. he crouch down slowly, grabbing michael by his dirtied polo before roughly pulling him upwards, their faces inches apart as he left him with a final message warning:

“don’t come back here again. if you ever — ever even so much as fucking speak to her again, i promise… i will fucking kill you.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)

[charliemwrites]

A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

[itsswritten]

love in ink

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, (there's a bit of Az and Elain too sorry)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heartbreaking angst, rejection, blood, injuries, war, possible death.

Summary: On the brink of war, it was now or never to finally confess your feelings to Azriel, but when you stumble onto a moment you wish you hadn't perhaps it's the gods way of saying your confession had been too late.

The envelope was crumpled at the corners, the paper sure to wear thin under the pads of your thumbs. You stared at your handwriting, his name spiralled in ink slightly faded now.

Words you had written just over 50 years ago, a confession, a secret— a love letter for your best friend. A string of sentences and poetic prose that still rang true. You’re not even sure you remember what you wrote exactly, never really intending for it to see the light of day, however you knew your feelings were still the same. Despite the worn out paper in your hand, the envelope changed with time— your feelings had not. Unchanging. From the moment you met him, your love for him had always remained the same. If anything, it had only deepened and expanded with time.

The atmosphere of the war camp was heavy, the enemy soldiers high on the borders. It was only a matter of time before you would need to take your place on the frontlines. Before he, and your family took their positions among the soldiers to fight to protect the home you all held dear. 

Death was lingering in the air, whispers of it rustled through the trees that sent a shiver down your spine. An impending end felt as though it was looming over you, a clock about to strike its final hour or an hourglass about to crack. For the first time in years you weren’t sure how you’d all make it out of this one. That’s why it had to be now, those words that had always been on the tip of your tongue, the secret behind your gentle touches, the confession deep within your yearning gaze, you needed to tell him—to finally speak your truth. 

You moved between Prythian soldiers and Illyrians prepping themselves with armour and weapons, weaving between people with one destination in mind. Turning to see the commanding military tent you and Rhys had left him in hours ago. You hesitated for a moment outside, smoothing your fingers over the old parchment, your heartbeat quickening with nerves before taking a breath for confidence, stepping inside.

A shadow had tried to catch your elbow, its usual cool presence going amiss with your emotions shrouding your senses. If only you had noticed, noticed how it tried to save your heart. But with the adrenaline pumping in your veins, nothing could stop this now. 

Your eyes blinked adjusting to the dimly lit tent, filled with small fae-lights and a large table with a map spread across. Small figurines representing flanks that were knocked over now, there was no strategy to win this war— only luck, prayer and hope.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to find him, to settle on the large Shadowsinger who had always captured your attention in any room he was in. Even when he lurked in the quietest of shadows, your eyes always found him. He was so beautiful, not just in form but in heart too. 

That’s what you had fallen for first. Not his angelic looks, or that secret smile of his, not those expansive large wings that made you feel protected whenever in his presence— well it was easy to love all those things too, but it was his kind heart that spun this wheel of fate. Perhaps if you weren’t so tangled in your own heart you may have noticed there was someone else here. Scented another, a female. But it wasn’t until you saw his lips locked with hers that your gut sank.

Time seemed to slow in that second, while you saw Elain embrace Azriel in a moment you’re not sure you should have been privy to. Something so private and intimate. A farewell kiss before a war— a kiss you had hoped would have been yours. 

Elain’s body was flush against his front, her arms thrown around his neck to pull herself up to his height. Azriel’s hands, though hesitant, still sat on her waist. It was a twisting torture as you seemed to take in every detail of their embrace, the flush of Azriel’s cheeks, the beat of his heart, the light sound of Elain’s moan.

Your throat tightened then, time finally catching up as a gasp involuntarily left your lips. Heartbreaking and wobbly that you hadn’t even realised you’d made such a distressing sound before you’d stumbled backwards from the tent. One foot in front of the other, forcing your legs to move you faster as your heartbeat thudded in your ears.

Your cheeks were hot, blood rushing to your ears, teeth gritted as you tried to control the sob that was threatening to bubble up. Not here, not now. You couldn’t waste tears on this, not when it was your fault you had left it so long— not when you were about to go to war and you may never make it out again. 

You think you heard your name being called, but you pushed through the crowd further. Winding through the stifling tension within the camp, slipping in and out of pockets of soldiers, a dizzying spiral to try and escape what you had just witnessed. The image of them both kept replaying in your mind, your own vision becoming distorted with tears blurring with that near perfect picture of a heroic farewell you thought would have been yours. 

With one wrong step you collided with a body, a shoulder barging into you that only meant your wobbly legs followed your wobbly mind, and you collided with the mud below. You grunted at the collision, a whispered curse leaving your lips.

You needed to get a grip. 

You brushed the back of your sleeve against your face, wiping whatever tears that had already spilled and encouraged yourself to get ahold of at least a semblance of composure. You hadn’t endured 50 years under that mountain, 50 years away from your family— away from him to now suddenly break.

“Y/n…”

You could recognise his voice anywhere. That deep tone that always seemed to dance on the wind to you, weaving a melody around your heart. There was a shuffle behind you, and with a swiftness those familiar smoky tendrils came to you. Their aid and touch, always so soft as they tried to assist you from the ground. But in a movement so unlike you, you swatted them away. Their touch almost burning you. The embarrassment, the shame, the heartbreak that was coiling in your chest was too much to bear. And although there was nothing that you desired more than the cooling comforting touch of his shadows, you couldn’t bring yourself to indulge in it. Not now. Not after what you’d just seen.

Azriel breathed your name again, raspy and almost pained as you refused his help, pushing yourself from the ground. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, choosing to wipe the dirt off your leathers, your gaze remaining on the ground below. You could see him shuffle slightly, his boots stepping closer towards you in the dirt. His hand just in the corner of your peripheral lifting to reach, only for it to fall back to his side. Scarred fingers flexing and twitching against his leathers, the only indication that perhaps his own emotions were reeling right now too.

“Sweetheart…”, the name of endearment he always used with you fell from his tongue like a siren's song. You hated how much of a hold he held on you, how easy it was to give in, how desperate your heart wanted to submit. “Talk to me,” he breathed.

There was a pause for a moment, before you found the courage to look at him. Convincing yourself that this might even be the last time, and despite everything you had just seen, did you want to deprive yourself from one last look at the male who had held your heart for over half a century.

His hazel eyes locked with your teary ones, an expression upon your face that had Azriel’s brows furrowing deeper. He reached for you this time, no hesitation after he got his confirmation that you were upset. His hands coming to your arms. “Hey…hey. Talk to me sweetheart, I need you to talk to me, we can sort this…”

Did he even know what this was? What your tears were spilling over? Did he know it was he causing you pain?

You were certain he didn’t. Otherwise he would have known there was no fixing this. There was no way Azriel could fix your broken heart. But as those thoughts seemed to dwell in your mind, it was as if the Shadowsinger began to feel your defeat, a desperation in his tone, “Look at me y/n, hey…look at me. Talk to me, my lo-“

Rhys’ talons scratched on the edges of your mind, and you welcomed your High Lord in. An urgent broadcast not just to you but all his inner circle.

“Enemies have broken through the barriers on the East I need someone—“

The perfect escape.

“I’m on my way,” you replied with haste. Only to get a harsh no from Azriel in response, his grip tightening on you. 

“Don’t leave like this-“ his voice broke.

A part you almost stayed, your eyes lingering in his gaze, those three words still on the tip of your tongue. You’re not sure you could have survived outright rejection from him though, so, instead, you winnowed away from his hold.

Azriel stood there for a moment, his hands still out in front grasping with the cold air that was now between his fingers. A confusion simmering under his skin as to what had happened. All he had known was that something was wrong, from the moment Elain kissed him, to seeing you stumble out of that tent. Everything was wrong. 

And this was not a time for things to be wrong. There was a war unfolding right before him and he didn’t have the privilege of time for things to be wrong. Especially not with you.

His shadows were coiling around something in the mud. An envelope with his name on, in a handwriting that was unmistakably yours.

✴

The air despite being cool and crisp was stifling, choking, making it hard for Azriel to breathe. Although there was no fire here, no molten ash or smoke coating his lungs. Just an emptiness of a person he held dear who was nowhere to be found. An emptiness so heavy it was getting harder to breathe.

Azriel felt weighed down by the stench of blood that lingered in the air, the battle was over. They had won, barely– and now what could be heard were the grunts and cries of injured soldiers.

Azriel’s torn wings dragged behind him, as he trudged through the eastern battle line. There were more bodies littered here than on the main battlefield, a fact that hadn’t gone untouched by the Spymaster. You had gone here in an instant, leaving Azriel grappling with your scent on the wind as you’d left. Leaving him to find a worn out letter with words he wasn’t sure he was deserving of– a letter that changed everything.

A letter that made everything feel right.

The letter was folded neatly in the breast pocket of his leathers, just above his heart. 

“Where are you?” his voice was hoarse, he had been searching as soon as the battle was won. The usual quiet Shadowsinger had not relented when shouting for you in his search. But with every step he took his chest got tighter, the further down the bank he walked the probability of finding you was becoming less and less. His shadows that lingered on him for comfort began to move frantically, a direct reflection of Azriel’s fears bubbling under his skin. Their jittery movement hovering in the air around him.

Then he caught it. A faint scent he would always recognise. Barely there beneath the copper and rot. His head snapped toward the source, and before he could think, his feet carried him forward.

His shadows converged at a pile of rubble, a mound of shattered stone and splintered wood. They darted in and out, trembling as if confirming what he already feared.

“Please, no…” Azriel whispered, his voice raw. He dropped to his knees and began digging, ignoring the way the sharp edges bit into his palms. He pulled away debris with savage strength, tearing through the wreckage until—

You.

He found you. Broken and soul barely a whisper of the female he knew. Blood was matted in your hair, skin littered with gashes and bruises but your chest rose. Azriel could see small shallow breaths leave your lips, his own movements frozen before his shadows moved into action first. Moving you gently into their master’s arms, he cradled you. Sweet whispers falling from his lips that were pressed against your temple.

“Az–Azriel..” your voice hitched.

“I’m here sweetheart, you’re going to be okay. You’re so brave sweet girl,” 

“It hurts…”

“I know, I know my love…you’re so strong okay. Help is on it’s way, you’re going to be okay,”

Azriel had already sent a mental plea into the vastness but as he watched your eyelids begin to flutter he shouted into the cold air, crying to anyone who may hear for a healer, for help. Because he could not lose you, not now he knew. 

Your name left his lips in a sob as he pulled your fragile body tighter against him “Just hold on a little longer my love, please, for me…” His hand delicately came against your cheek, his own forehead resting against yours as a flurry of pleas rolled on his tongue. “Just a little longer…”

He swore he heard some semblance of a hum in response but your eyes were shut. He was stroking your blood-matted hair now, rambling and whispering. 

“I got your letter, I’m not sure if you really wanted me to have it, not sure if I’m really deserving of what you’ve written in it but oh sweetheart…your lovely words…I’m so blessed…so lucky…so undeserving…”

“But if it’s true..” he was stumbling over his words now, in between the sobs, “if you give me the chance to make this right…”

“I know now why you were so upset before…I think a part of me understood…felt your pain because in some way I was feeling it too…” his thumb was rubbing small circles on your cheekbone.

“If I could go back and change it I would. I need you to know it was a mistake…with Elain…tensions were high, feelings misdirected…

“I was thinking I could take you to the bakery you love when you’re feeling better, if you’d let me…we could make a day of it…walk along the Sidra…maybe our first proper date…

“I wish I hadn’t been so blind my love, you’ve always been the most special person to me…after you came back from under the mountain…I…well I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again…I just felt grateful to have you back, told myself I didn’t need anything more than that…

“Can you hold on for me…please…my love, just a little longer…

“Az…”, his name pulled him from his ramblings, although it wasn’t your voice that had spoken.

Azriel looked up, Rhys was kneeled in front of him. They weren’t on the battlefield anymore though. They were in a healers tent. When had they moved? Azriel couldn’t recall. 

“I need you to give her to me now.”

Azriel looked at his brother confused, then glanced down to your limp figure in his arms. 

“Azriel, now.”

a/n: sorry i know I had some requests for some festive fluff but instead I bring you this angst...sorry not sorry tee hee <3 thank you @writingcroissant for your help I mentioned this fic idea to her months ago and literally only found it the other week, if you don't like the elusive ending blame her ;) Although if I had taken @illyrianbitch advice y/n would most definitely be dead so I think the elusiveness means you can all choose your own endings. Maybe both her and Az are dead and actually Rhys is the devil I dunno

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @searchingforbucky

[imaginedisish]

Inside Out (Logan Howlett x f!reader)

A/N: Oh my god I'm back again. This is another soft!Logan fic. I couldn't hold myself back from writing this one. The next fic I have planned is going to be devious and diabolical, I promise, but for now, here's another angsty, soft and smutty Logan one shot. Couldn't stop listening to "Inside Out" by Duster while writing this one. I think it fits. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Summary: After a tense battle, you and Logan have it out (in more ways than one).

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ Minors DNI! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, PIV (unprotected...wrap it up, this is fiction!), Allusions to PTSD/mental health, Frenemies to Lovers, Fem!reader, AFAB!reader, Mutant!reader, Telepathic!reader (with heightened senses/visions), cannon typical violence/allusions to death, non-sexual intimacy becomes sexual intimacy (not sure if that warrants a warning), angry!Logan, reader has hair (length/texture/color not described!) major angst, probably grammatical errors, I think that's everything.

Word Count: 4477 wow

You and Logan are surrounded. You can hear the other members of the team nearby in the forest, screaming, grunting, fighting. Guns going off, ricocheting against trees. And now, there is a circle of government-sanctioned mutant hunters pointing their machine guns and rifles directly at the two of you. 

Your heart beats out of your chest. How the fuck are you going to get out of this? It seems impossible. Sure, you and Logan can regenerate, but not nearly fast enough. You’re outnumbered 2 to at least 40, and more to come. Maybe this is the end. Maybe there’s no going home this time. 

But then, an idea crosses your mind. Briefly. A flash. A shot in the dark. But it’s there. And if you’re strong enough, it might just work.

You wince as another presence weaves itself through the fabric of your thoughts. No, Charles shouts in your mind. It’s too dangerous. 

You shake him off, forcing up your mental shields. Logan recognizes that look on your face. He can tell you’re up to something. He has always been able to read you like a book. 

“Don’t you dare put yourself in danger,” he mutters under his breath so only you can hear him. “We are all walking out of here, and you’re no exception.”

You close your eyes. “When I tell you to get down, you get down.”

“Absolutely not!” His nostrils flare. The government agents cock their guns. 

“Lo, get down.”

“Fuck no!”

You can feel it coming—feel their fingers bracing their triggers. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Everything is silent for a moment. You can hear everything. Nothing. There’s a squirrel running up a tree just a few feet away. A cold breeze sweeps through your legs. Peace. 

It never lasts long, does it?

“NOW!”

BANG! The shots ring out, echoing against the branches, the sound shaking the trees. 

With half your focus, you shove Logan to the ground, and with the other, you stop each and every bullet pointed in your direction. You stop the agents too, freezing them in their places. Dense, heavy sweat builds upon your brow. You’re trembling, your hands stretched out towards Logan and the agents, but you’re still in control. You can hold on a bit longer.  

You swallow harshly, forcing the bullets to rain down to the ground. With the twist of your hand, you remove the magazines from each of the guns and unload them, the ammunition falling to the ground, too. With the agents still under your control, you bend their wrists just enough so that they sprain; just enough so that they can’t fight back. 

And then comes that sudden, familiar shift in your body and in your mind. You’re weakening, losing control, struggling to breathe. You growl in agony, your head ready burst from the pressure of hanging on too long—but you have to finish this. You have to save your friends. 

You have to save Logan. 

With one final push of your hand, you send the government agents flying deep into the forest, screaming in pain at the sheer force it takes. You fall to your knees, down on the ground next to Logan. You try to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly. You cough, choking on your own breath and saliva as the taste of metal burns at the back of your throat. You swallow it all down. One more second of that, or a few more agents to fend off, and you might not have made it. You might have died trying. 

You regain some of your energy after a few moments on the ground. It’s not until you try to stand that you notice Logan’s hand on your back. He tries to help you up, but you shake him off. 

“I’m fine,” you protest, dusting off your uniform. 

“Fine?” Fuck. He’s angry. “You call that fine? You almost died!”

You turn to face him. He wants anger? Oh, you can show him what anger fucking looks like. “We would be dead if I didn’t do that! I did what I had to do!”

He prowls toward you. His claws are still out. “Are you fucking crazy?” He’s backing you into a tree now. “Tell me, what the fuck was that? What did you think you were doing?” He retracts his claws as he pins his hands into the tree, right next to your head. The bark scratches into the rips in your uniform. 

You condescendingly poke his chest with your pointer figure. If he’s going to treat you like a child, you’re going to do the same to him. “Saving your ass, that’s what!” You shout back. 

“This is not the time or place for you two to have it out.” Scott’s grating voice fills your ears. He is the last person’s opinion you’d like to hear right now.

You and Logan snap your heads to face him. “Shut the fuck up, Scott!” You spit in unison. He throws his hands up and backs away. 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Logan practically growls. 

You shake your head, your nostrils flaring. “I was protecting you!” You shout. “And I did! It worked!”

The rest of the team starts to board the jet, but Logan shows no sign of budging. Storm crosses her arms as she stands in front of the ramp. “Logan, let’s go.” 

He doesn’t move an inch, still caging you in. “I’ve got the bike. I’ll take her with me.”

“My bike!” Scott calls from just inside the ship. Logan shoots him a death stare. Even you roll your eyes at the comment. 

“Logan,” Charles chides from next to Storm, his voice a warning. 

You tilt your head past Logan to see Charles. “It’s fine. I’ll go with him. We’ll meet you guys at the mansion.” 

Charles nods. You swear you can see a faint smirk spread across his face, but he’s turning around and wheeling himself up the ramp before you can truly make out his expression. 

The ramp shuts behind him, and the jet powers up to leave. “So how are we settling this, hm?” You ask, cockily. Logan works his jaw, staring down at you with a fury you’re not quite sure you’ve seen before. “What would you like to do, bub?” You smirk. “What, you gonna tell me we’re supposed to be a team or something? Thought that wasn’t your style.” You know you’re being harsh, using his own words against him, ripping into him, but you don’t care. The jet takes off, but neither you nor Logan pay it any mind. 

His tongue swipes his bottom lip, and you can’t help but watch. You try to ignore how much you like the sight of it. Of him. 

“Never,” he seethes, not wavering an inch. “Never do anything like that again.”

“Why?” Is all you ask, knowing full well you’re poking the bear. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done.”

He ignores you and presses on. “I swear to God, if anything ever happens to you, I will punch a fucking hole in the goddamn universe so big that…” He trails off, his eyes searching your face. There’s a shift in his expression. “So fucking big that…” But he still doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s holding back tears. 

You’re suddenly embarrassed. You can’t keep his stare, his eyes locked on you. You look down at the leaf-covered ground, and you realize just how dirty you are. Blood on your hands, under your nails, caked into your skin. You’re finally understanding the gravity of the moment—of what could have been if your plan didn’t work. 

“It was the only way,” you pause, feeling tears sting behind your sinuses, burning as they reach your eyes. “Only way I saw it ending without you d-dying.” You have to choke the words out. “C-couldn’t lose you,” you mutter, hoping he can’t hear you. 

“And what?” He says, not backing down. “You think you’re the only one with something to lose?”

“N-no,” you stutter softly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just—”

“I’d rather die than live in a world without you.” He says finally. He pushes himself off the tree and away from you. He turns, walking towards wherever he parked the bike. 

You look at his back in disbelief. “W-what?” “You fucking heard me,” he shouts, not bothering to stop and wait for you or to elaborate further. You push your back off the tree and follow him through the forest. 

“Slow down!” You call out, still not quite fully recovered from using your powers. But he keeps pressing forward. “Logan!” You call again. “Please, I—” You stumble a bit, almost falling over, but you catch yourself just in time. You reach out to a tree for support, gripping a low branch tightly in your hand. You suck in deep, shaky breaths as you let your eyes fall closed. 

Logan shouts your name in the near distance, his voice filled with panic. His footsteps crunch the leaves of the forest floor. You can tell he’s sprinting with every twig that cracks beneath his boots. “Fuck, are you okay?” He’s next to you now, his arms enveloping you, reaching around your waist to offer you support. 

You can feel your tears bubbling to the surface, threatening to burst. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, opening your eyes to look up at him. “I just didn’t see any other way.”

“I know.” His voice is gentler now, calmer. He helps you straighten up, taking a tentative step and watching as you take one too. He walks slowly, making sure not to rush you, keeping an eye on your every move. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “What you do…you just scare me sometimes.”

You hope he doesn’t see the tear that slips out the corner of your eye and down your cheek. “I scare myself. I still can’t control my powers. I know I’m a monster.” You can see the bike in the distance, so you take another step, but Logan stops. “I just feel so inside out sometimes, like I can’t be comfortable in my own head never mind my own skin.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is steady now, firm. His grip around your waist tightens, keeping you in place. “You’re not a monster. You’re beautiful—” He cuts himself off. “What you can do, is beautiful.”

“Then what is it that scares you?” You need to know. 

“You’re just so selfless. What you did back there…” He pauses. “You knew you could die. I saw it in the way you were standing. The way you looked at me. It was reckless.”

He searches your face, your eyes, your lips for an answer. “You’re no better,” you huff out. Logan smirks, guiding you towards the bike yet again. “It’s just what you do when you care about someone.”

“I know.” His lips are pressed against the shell of your ear. “I know,” he repeats. 

He helps you onto the back of the bike, holding your hips as you straddle the seat. His hands linger longer than they should. He squeezes softly before letting go and walking to the front. He straddles the bike himself, grabbing the key from his jacket pocket and turning it into the ignition. The bike springs to life. 

“Hang on, alright?” He calls out over the roar of the engine. You nod against his back, slipping your arms under his jacket and around his waist. He kicks the stand up, and the bike rumbles underneath you as he presses on the gas. You tighten your hold on him as the bike jolts forward. 

You rest your head on his back, letting yourself fold over him completely. He’s warm and solid underneath you. You shut your eyes, too tired to watch the tires speed across the black pavement. Aside from the engine, the tires against the street below, and the wind, there’s no sound. No one around. It’s just you and Logan. Alone. 

You feel him breathe in deeply. “Don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it.”  You can feel the words reverberate in his back. “I mean it.”

“But I did,” you say, lifting your head so that you can speak against his ear. “I’m right here.” He hums in affirmation, and you rest your head on his back again. You hesitantly reach your hands under his shirt this time, arms wrapping around him as tight as possible. You know this is pushing the boundaries of your “friendship,” but he doesn’t stop you—doesn’t push you away. He just hums again. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, and shut your eyes. 

“Good.”

The ride back to the mansion isn’t terribly long, and you wish it could’ve been longer. Logan drives the bike into the garage, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking out the stand. You lift your head, and before you can even think of getting up on your own, Logan is wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you off the seat. 

You let him hold you there for a moment. You try to tell yourself that this is just a hug between friends, that this whole situation is what happens when you care about someone too much. But it’s hard to lie to yourself when you feel so impossibly strongly about someone. 

He drops his arms from your body and silently takes your hand in his. He guides you to the door that leads to the mansion, keeping you close. 

It’s dark once you step inside. Everyone must have gone to bed. It likely took you and Logan five times as long as the jet to get back to the mansion. Quiet fills the halls. There’s not a stir, not a creak, not a step. You can sense that everyone is asleep, or at least in their rooms. 

“Lo?” You whisper. He squeezes your hand. A surge of confidence racks through you. “Can you stay with me?” You’re not quite sure what you mean by that—what you expect him to do if he stays. All you’re certain of is that you don’t want him to leave. 

He nods, leading you up the stairs. “Won’t go anywhere, sweetheart.” He guides you down the hall towards his room. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?” 

He opens the door and guides you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He lets go of your hand, the sudden emptiness making your palm feel cold. How do people become so important, so quickly? How can someone letting go of your hand hurt so bad when they’re still just a few feet away? You’re not sure, but you know this feeling is dangerous. 

He’s rummaging through his drawers for a few seconds before he pulls out a t-shirt and places it on the dresser in front of him. He grabs another set of clothes, closes the drawer, and carries them over to you. He extends the shirt out to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. That’s what he is right now: soft. You’re not used to this side of him. 

You take the shirt from him, smiling back. “You should shower. You can use mine.” His head tilts towards the bathroom on the other side of his room. You nod and pad over, opening the door, turning on the lights, and closing the door behind you. 

You keep moving, undressing and turning the water on. It doesn’t take long for the water to heat up, the steam fogging every inch and surface of the room. You step inside the shower, letting the water run down your body. Your eyes fall closed while your mind searches for some kind of peace. You try to recall what Charles often told you: Calm your mind. But it isn’t working this time. Your mind is racing. 

You envision Logan’s angry, fearful face; his concern and panic. Charles’s call that it would be too dangerous echoes and reverberates. You see yourself dead on the ground, Logan holding your lifeless body in his arms. Even worse, you find yourself imagining that it didn’t work at all—that you couldn’t save the team, never mind yourself. This time it’s Logan’s body you see, on the ground, dead. Just like that, your whole world can slip out of your hands and turn to nothing. 

Choked sobs escape your throat as you let yourself fall to your knees. There’s a piercing, splitting pain somewhere deep inside your head. These visions, these feelings, this pain—it’s physical and mental. And it’s too much. It’s not the first time you’ve had visions like these after a fight or a mission, but it is the worst episode yet. 

There’s a knock on the door, followed by Logan calling your name. You try to answer, but your voice is caught in your throat. Logan knocks harder, but you still can’t speak. “I’m coming in!” The door swings open and his eyes widen as he sees your crumpled form on the shower floor, face stained red with tears. 

He shoves the shower door open, practically cracking the glass in the process. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how naked you are, but it’s clear Logan isn’t. His gaze is trained on your face. “I-it happens, sometimes,” you stutter, reassuring him that this is normal. “A-after missions.”

Logan’s shoulders relax, his eyes softening with understanding. “I know what you mean.” His hands come up to your arms, rubbing gently. “Let me help you.” He gestures with his head toward the shower. You nod and watch as Logan takes his shirt off. He stands to take off his jeans, and you look away, taking the moment to force yourself to stand. You hear him step into the shower and slide the door shut behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, swallowing harshly. 

Logan stands behind you, less than a foot away. The shower is just big enough for the two of you. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just let me take care of you.” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You hear him shuffle a bit, squeeze a bottle, and shuffle a bit more. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you answer. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. But before you can think about it too much, his hands come up to your wet hair. He massages shampoo into your scalp, his fingertips scrubbing ever so gently. You feel your shoulders settle—your body relax. No one has ever done anything like this for you before. 

You watch as the dirt trickles down your body to the drain. After a few moments of massaging, Logan nudges you forward a bit, and you take the hint to step under the water fully. You close your eyes as he scrubs the shampoo from your hair. 

When he’s done, he removes his hands from your hair and slides them down to your neck, and then to your shoulders. You step away from the water, almost bumping into his chest in the process. 

“’M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“No more apologizing, darlin’.” His hands come off your shoulders. You feel lost without the contact. You listen as the bottle pops open again, and Logan quickly scrubs the shampoo into his own hair. You instinctively step forward to let him rinse, and he does.

You take a deep breath, trying to concentrate and calm down now that his hands aren’t on you. But it doesn’t last long. He opens another bottle, pouring more liquid into his hands. 

He rests his hands on your shoulders again. You can feel the body wash run down your arms. “Can I…” Logan trails off, his hands firm, unmoving until you give the word. 

“Mhm,” you hum. His hands start to work the soap into your arms, up to your neck, your collarbone, stopping just above your chest. “Logan,” you murmur, letting yourself lean into him. You feel his heart beating against your back. His breath fans over your shoulder.

You can tell he’s losing his composure, the way he slouches around you, inviting you in. This isn’t something friends do. You two aren’t friends. This is something more. 

And he knows. 

“There’s no coming back from this,” he whispers, his lips at your temple. “If we do this.”

You push back further into him. “Who says I’d want to go back?”

Your back is suddenly met with the cold shower wall, your chest flush with Logan’s. His lips press into yours, swallowing your moans as his hands come up to your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly. He moves down your body quickly, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline, your neck, the center of your chest, your stomach, stopping just above your clit. 

“Relax,” he soothes, his thumbs brushing your hips. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands before pressing a kiss to your clit. You shudder at the feeling, whispering his name and throwing your head back. 

He licks a long stripe up your cunt, landing on your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking roughly. He laps at you hungrily, like a man starved. One of his hands resting on your hip comes down in between your thighs, experimentally sliding through your folds, teasing your entrance. 

It feels so good, but you want him—need him—closer. He inserts two fingers, gently pumping in and out, flicking your clit with his tongue at the same time. 

“Logan,” you whine. You look down at him, his head buried in your cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with lust. You’re already close. But it’s not enough “Need you, now. Want you here.”

“I’m here,” he mumbles against your core. You’re shaking, melting underneath him. 

“N-need you,” you beg again. “Please.” 

He sucks on your clit one last time before removing his fingers from your cunt and standing up to meet you.

His hands rest on either side of your head. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice wavers just a bit, a slight tremble shaking the usual steadiness of his words. He looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes—his jaw working, as if he’s searching for a sign that you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want him anymore. 

But you’ll always want him. You always have. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter. He wraps one hand around the back of your neck and uses the other to hoist one of your legs around his waist. His hard cock rubs against your stomach as he moves to line up with your entrance. 

“Wanted you this whole time, pretty girl.” He thrusts into you, sinking down to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, pulling you into him, his free hand grabbing your ass and picking you up so that both legs wrap around his waist. 

He uses the wall as leverage, fucking you into the tiles at your back. Once he’s sure you’re stable against him, his hand leaves your ass and comes in between your bodies, searching for your clit. He begins to stroke, drawing perfect circles there, while his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. 

It’s perfect, everything about this moment is perfect. It all feels so good. You moan his name, his hips rutting into you over and over again.

“Doing so good for me,” he husks, biting the skin just under your jaw, licking the spot where your pulse point is, peppering kisses there. You wonder if he does it because it’s a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still breathing. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.” 

His words work to coax you off the edge, each swipe of his fingers and thrust of his cock bringing you closer to your orgasm. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his name—him—the only thing in your normally noisy mind. This is what peace is. This is the calm you’ve been searching for your whole life: it’s him. 

You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls flutter around him, your clit becoming overstimulated and sensitive as he flicks roughly. You’re so close. “Lo—” but you can’t find the words. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he mumbles, his forehead pressing to yours. “Want you to look at me when you come. Can you do that for me?” 

You moan a yes as he buries his cock deep inside you, before pulling out and pumping back in again. 

You can feel your eyes growing heavy, but you keep them open, watching Logan as he pulls your orgasm from you. “That’s it. I’ve got you.” His words, the bass of his voice, him, it all sends you over the edge. He works you through it, still circling your clit, his pace growing sloppier as he chases his own orgasm. 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist. He knows what you want. “Inside,” you whisper. 

“Oh f-fuck,” he moans, coming inside you, filling you up. 

His thrusts begin to slow, his hand leaving that space between your bodies. You feel like air, weightless, drunk off the way he makes you feel. He carefully slips out of you, but he doesn’t put you back down on the ground. He simply readjusts, picking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the shower. 

He sets you down on the bathmat and crosses the tiled floor to the towel rack, where two towels conveniently hang. He wraps one towel around his waist as he strides over to you. He starts to dry you off, rubbing you gently, kissing each spot he dries as he goes. He’s worshipping you, taking care of you. No one has ever taken care of you like this. 

Once he’s finished, he wraps you up in the towel, and picks you up again. He carries you back into his room, resting you gently on the already turned-down bed. He crawls in after you, discarding his towel in the process. You toss your towel to the side, too. You nestle in under the covers, and Logan does the same. 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You can feel that peace again, that calm from before, when he was buried inside of you. It was him. It was always him. Your mind is quiet, no longer all loud and inside out. 

“I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, his legs tangling with yours. 

You bury your face into his chest. “Don’t let go.” But you know you don’t need to ask. 

His mind is already made up. 

“Never will.” 

[catcze]

#MULTI — The excuse he uses to hold your hand wc: 0.7 fluff, teasing, established relationship, hand holding !! — How's he gonna get out of this one?

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

It catches you by surprise— where you had both just been walking along, enjoying the atmosphere, the touch of his fingers weaving between yours is something you hadn't been expecting.

It wasn't unwelcome, though. Far from it.

The tangent you had been rambling on about trails away like leaves in the wind as you blink down at the hand that gasps yours securely. Beside you, he carries on as if there were no such change, even having the gall to raise his eyebrow when he notices you falling silent.

"You were saying?" he asks, as if to prompt you back into your ramble, but you practically bulldoze over his faux nonchalance by squeezing his hand and waving it between you two.

"Oh, look at you, being so forward," you tease, swinging your hands back and forth. "I'm not at all complaining, but, well, I didn't think you'd be so bold."

He huffs at you a bit, eyes narrowed in an expression that you'd dare say is petulant. Maybe even flustered. The first thing out of his mouth is—

"It looked like you wanted to hold hands. I'm just saving you the trouble of asking." He says, gaze not meeting your own, but hand still firmly holding yours. You have to fight back an amused smile.

When you teasingly try to let your hand slip out from his, relaxing your grip, his own immediately tightens. His narrowed, accusatory gaze snaps to yours so fast that for a second you worry he might injure his neck.

"Uh huh, you keep telling yourself that," you tease, sidling up close enough that you can nudge him with your shoulder.

It's cute, you think, how he immediately leans closer to you when you come near. Like he's not even aware he does it, like his body just wants to be closer to you. When he realizes what happened, there's a moment where his eyes widen— then his gaze is trained on the path in front, decidedly not making eye contact. Cute, you think again.

"i like holding hands with you, you know" you tell him tenderly, quietly— a sweet secret just between the two of you. You squeeze his hand and, unhesitatingly, he squeezes back. "I wouldn't mind doing it more often."

And oh, he hopes you don't notice the heat to his cheeks, and the darkening of the tips to his ears. Hopes you don't notice the quirk to the edges of his lips that he just. can't. keep. down. Hopes you don't make out how damn pleased he sounds when he says, "If that's what you want," knowing that it's exactly what he wants, too.

— Scaramouche / Wanderer, Xiao, Cyno, Boothill, Dr. Ratio, Alhaitham

"Why? Am I not allowed to?" Comes his teasing response, making you roll your eyes.

"You know that's not what I meant," you grumble, playfully punching his arm, knowing that you did little to no actual damage. Still, he pretends to wince and rub the area you hit, grimacing.

"No need to get violent," he says, "You're hurting my feelings, love."

"You're awful," you tell him.

"And yet you've still yet to let go of my hand," he reminds you all-too-happily, raising said hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

At the gesture, a tingle runs up your spine and butterflies come to life in your stomach— you wonder if he can hear the frantic pulse in your wrist, if he can see the way you cover up how damn flustered you are with a scowl.

You hate hate hate the way he's turned the tables on you— how he's managed to turn what was supposed to be you teasing him into him turning you into a gooey mess yet again. And yet...

"Oh shut up and keep walking," you say in defeat, not able to look him in the eye. You might just combust on the spot if you do.

He sounds all too pleased as he lets your hands drop between you two, fingers still weaved together, swinging your joint hands easily to the breeze.

There's a smile to his voice when he says— "Whatever you say, beloved."

— Wriothesley, Jing Yuan, Argenti, Childe, Ayato, Kazuha, Lyney

[daistea]

Since you take requests, would I be able to ask for something with Mithrun and Kabru with like a reader that's kind of dense with social cues/hints (especially if they're romantic)?

(I had people confess their love to me, and I still didn't get it till they put it in very clear terms)

(it's probably the 'tism, but I digress. )

I think it's potentially an absolutely hellerious dynamic since Kabru always plays 5D chess with every social interaction. As for Mithrun, I think it's funny to think how the other canaries would just be repeatedly hitting their head on the wall because their captain won't say it straight and they just don't g e t i t.

Ps: I absolutely love how in-depth all of your understanding of characters and their personalities are, and I just hxfhxdvgudts.

This blog just brings me so much joy

Yaaa!!

“Iᴛ’s ᴀ Dᴀᴛᴇ” Kᴀʙʀᴜ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, Mɪᴛʜʀᴜɴ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

gn reader

5000 words ;P

Warning: reader is very oblivious. Like incomprehensibly oblivious (for the lolz)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

♡ Kabru ♡

- Kabru has had little flings here and there throughout his life. He treated every partner with respect, of course, but Kabru wasn’t particularly looking for love. He doesn’t dislike the idea of love, it just hasn’t happened yet.

- So, when Kabru starts to genuinely fall in love with someone, it’s a new feeling. He’s observant enough to recognize what it is.

- Unfortunately, the person he’s falling in love with is you.

“He’s been unusually quiet lately,” Holm remarked. Who he was remarking that to remained to be seen. Mickbell didn’t care much. Kuro had other things to worry about. And Rin had already made the same observation three times earlier that day.

The first floor of the dungeon was always crowded, and Kabru’s ears were usually open for anything that could be of use. The leather armor merchant to his left had recently raised his prices. The cobbler to the right was in an argument with an older lady over the shape of a patch he’d made on her favorite boots. And Holm was concerned about Kabru’s recent lack of observations; as concerned as Holm could be.

“Is that really such a shock?” Kabru sent Holm a smile over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly a chatterbox.”

But he was aware of himself enough to know that his behavior lately had been odd. He was usually so good at hiding it, too, but the comfort of his friends seemed to lower his walls. Without realizing it, Kabru had spent their latest dungeon expedition sighing to himself, staring at walls, and missing the details of important things. On the third floor, they’d encountered thieves. His party always relied on him to clock the intentions of approaching adventurers— thieves tended to be overly familiar, friendly, and a bit too eager— but Kabru’s mind was elsewhere. The thieves attacked, and it had genuinely taken him by surprise. The fight wasn’t hard, but Kabru’s lack of preparation set off alarms in Rin and Holm’s heads.

“You’re not,” Rin agreed. Her brow furrowed and she got that cute little line on her forehead again. “However, you’ve really been out of it.”

“Have you been thinking about that person again?” Holm asked.

That person. That person? Kabru knew a lot of persons. The whole first level was filled to the brim with persons, half of them being his acquaintances. Kabru had zero desire to admit that he knew precisely who Holm was referring to, though, and decided to keep his gaze straight ahead as he weaved through the crowd.

When he didn’t respond, Mickbell laughed, “Yeah, he’s thinking of them alright.”

“Heat?” Kuro asked.

Mickbell scoffed from his place on Kuro’s shoulders, “Tall-men don’t go into heat! At least I don’t think so. But they catch feelings, like a cold. Kabru’s caught a cold.��

“Not sneezing,” Kuro mumbled.

“A feelings cold, I mean! The worst kind.”

That was one way to put it. Kabru couldn’t help but sigh as he led the party towards a quieter spot in the corner. Once they were out of the sea of people, he leaned against the stone wall and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have feelings, I’m simply curious,” he said.

Curious. Right. Mickbell sent him a scrunched up, narrow-eyed look that was reminiscent of constipation. Yet, Rin interjected before the half-foot could say something heinous. “What’re you curious about, particularly?” She asked.

“Good question,” Kabru folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head in thought.

What was he curious about? You held so many secrets. You had this look in your eyes that drew him, a look that reminded him of a room in his mother’s house. She always told him to not go inside. Her rules only made him want to turn the knob even more. And when he finally did disobey her and go inside, all he saw were boxes full of ceramic unicorn miniatures. Still, the rush of satisfaction he’d felt at finally knowing what was in there couldn’t be matched. That’s what he wanted to do to you, open your door and take a peek.

Or, perhaps a ‘peek’ was an understatement. He wanted to meticulously inspect every inch of your mind with a microscope, to know the atoms unseen by the human eye, to be intimately acquainted with every molecule you possessed.

“He’s zoned out again,” Holm muttered, ripping Kabru out of his thoughts.

He looked up, eyes widening at the observation. Holm was right, he was zoned out again, staring at the dirt on the floor and contemplating you.

He forced a smile, “Don’t worry about me, really. I’m just preoccupied. It’s that person, I simply want to know their intentions.”

“Intentions for what?” Rin asked.

For everything. There was no simple answer.

“Oh hey,” Mickbell glanced over his shoulder. His voice was flat as he scanned the room, “There they are.”

Kabru followed Mickbell’s gaze, a straight line that led directly to you— all lines seemed to lead directly to you lately. His heart clenched in a way that was both unpleasant and addictive. Without realizing it, he pushed away from the wall and began striding toward where you stood.

“Wait,” Rin grabbed his arm as he passed. Kabru blinked, looking down at her and waiting for her to speak. She met his eyes and frowned, “I think you’re going to be disappointed. They’re not as mysterious as you think they are.”

Nonsense. You were incredibly mysterious. Kabru could tell you had secrets, layers. He dreamed of pulling them back one by one.

“They couldn’t disappoint me,” he sent Rin a smile that he hoped was reassuring— he knew it was, he’d practiced it in the mirror and on other people all the time.

“I think they will,” she argued.

“They won’t,” his smile faltered just the slightest. Rin didn’t usually get involved in Kabru’s… hobby. Did she know something he didn’t? He decided to not ask outright, accepting the challenge of figuring out the meaning behind her concern on his own.

Rin let go of his arm and Kabru was free to go. His mind switched elsewhere, onto you, and before he knew it he was already slipping through the crowd of bodies to reach you.

You were in front of the vegetable seller’s stand, inspecting a lumpy potato. Kabru knew the vegetable seller was cheating on his wife. Usually, he’d try to get more out of the man, digging deeper simply for the sake of knowing. Yet, you stood there, beautiful and mind-consuming. What did Rin mean by ‘I think you’re going to be disappointed’? Kabru was rarely disappointed with secrets.

“Hey,” he raised a hand as he neared. You looked up from the potato and returned his smile. There was that look in your eyes again, that closed door he desperately needed the key to.

He loved crowds. He loved the hundreds of voices. He loved listening to each one and assigning them meaning, picking apart their words, filing them away into neat little categories. Yet, the crowd might as well have disappeared. All he saw was you. All he wanted was you and your words and your thoughts and your fears and your goals and your likes and your dislikes and your intentions and your—

“Oh hey,” your voice cut through the wants like the slash of a sword, “Kapru.”

Kapru.

His brows furrowed and he plastered on a polite smile— also practiced in the mirror. “It’s Kabru.”

“Right, sorry,” you shrugged.

Were you playing with him? Were you sending your pawn out, a piece that you expected him to take for the sake of a larger, more powerful move? Was it bait?

“How are you?” He forced himself to ask, though he could hear the weakness in his voice. He desperately hoped you wouldn’t notice.

You only tilted your head in thought, “I’m fine. Just buying potatoes.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other,” Kabru said. It was a lie, you saw him last week. “My party and I are about to go back to the surface to restock. We could grab a drink if you wanted.”

“Why?” You asked.

Why? Why? Kabru couldn’t say why. He wouldn’t say why. ‘I want to take detailed notes on every word you say, every gesture, every breath’ wouldn’t be helpful to his cause in the least.

“Because we’re friends,” he slowly explained. Again, there was that hint of weakness lacing every syllable. He wanted to tear his voice box apart and reconstruct it in a way that wouldn’t falter every time he saw you.

But you didn’t seem to notice. “Alright,” you sent him a smile that made his heart clench.

Alright. Kabru’s smile relaxed, “Alright,” he echoed. “It’s a date.”

‘It’s a date’ was a common saying, of course. But it still held implications, it still held desires, it still signified something more— At least to him it did.

You remained unphased by it, though. Usually, when Kabru said that, there would be a laugh or blush or the widening of eyes. You gave him nothing of the sort. No flirtatious looks, no intention-laced smile, no flicker of recognition.

“See you then,” was all you said.

Rin was wrong. You couldn’t disappoint him. Opening your doors and peeking inside your mind would be so satisfying.

- You go on several dates with Kabru without realizing they’re dates.

- After one date when you make friends with the next table over and invite them to join your meal, introducing Kabru as ‘my friend’ and not ‘the man who is courting me’ or ‘my boyfriend’, he begins to wonder…

- Do you not realize that these are dates?

Kabru knew he had the tendency to stare, but he usually kept that urge locked away for the sake of masking. Always masking. Always aware of his surroundings and the people and the words and the looks.

He kept his staring urge hidden at first. Yet as time passed, as you went on more dates, he couldn’t help himself. He had to stare. He had to drink in every detail of your face, coveting it all as a desert wanderer would covet water.

And you didn’t seem to mind. You would give him this look sometimes, a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was a mixture between affection and confusion and bashfulness. It was his favorite expression of yours and never failed to put butterflies in his stomach.

Kabru knew he was falling in love. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but he’d never been truly in love before. At night when he forced himself into bed, he stared at the ceiling and mused on the future you had together. Neither of you had said anything to make the relationship official, but was that even needed? It was obvious that you were together— to him, at least.

Kabru held your hand as he led you through the crowded streets. Once you caught up to his side, he placed his palm on the small of your back. He wasn’t much for PDA, but it was a necessity when traversing the island together. He didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.

Once you were in a more quiet spot, he sent you a smile, “I have to ask, I’m too curious; What’s your favorite date that we’ve had together?”

You thought for a moment, “Hm… I would have to say last week. It was a Thursday. I like Thursdays anyway. I think it was the 7th? Yeah. June 7th, Thursday. That’s a good date, it’s a bit cool outside and all the flowers are blooming. But if I had to say which one was my favorite, I think it would be April 18th. I’m not sure that we spent that date together, though.”

…Okay.

Like the sunset rising over the mountains, it began to dawn on him.

Were you stupid?

No, you weren’t stupid. He had seen you in the dungeon before, how you fought and strategized and reacted. You couldn’t be stupid.

Then what? Were you playing hard to get? Were you teasing him? Was this a move on the board, your Knight piece pressing forward to continue the assault? Kabru needed to know.

He kept his hand on your back but his gaze straight ahead. “That’s nice,” he said. It wasn’t nice, actually. “What about when we hold hands? Do you enjoy that?”

You shrugged, “It helps us keep track of each other as we go through a crowd.”

“But I hold your hand even when we’re not around other people.”

The face you made betrayed your true thoughts. “Yeah, it seems like your hands are cold a lot. You really should start keeping gloves with you.”

“...Do you think I’m holding your hand because my fingers are cold?”

Another flash of confusion, another furrow of your brows. “Why else would you hold my hand?”

The sun rose completely over the mountains and the daytime, clear and bright, engulfed his world.

You had no clue.

- This stresses Kabru out immensely.

- He starts taking notes. He has a special little book just for you. A lot of the pages are filled with scribbles and question marks.

- He makes a plan on what to do. He’s going to up the ante, he’s going to make his feelings so clear that you can’t ignore them or be oblivious even if you tried.

- He starts getting more touchy. He kisses your forehead often. He kisses your knuckles. He’s around you all the time, every chance he gets. He tells you you’re beautiful. He says that he wants you to meet his mother. He talks about your future together.

- You say, “Oh, your mom? Cool. You think we’ll get along? I’m always up for making new friends.”

- “You want a future with me? Well, I’m free next Wednesday.”

“I like you,” Kabru was breathless and wide-eyed. His hair was a mess from how often he’d run his fingers through it. He was disheveled and hadn’t slept the entire night.

You glanced up from the book you were reading, “Oh? Cool, thanks.”

He sent you a look. “No, I mean I love you.”

“Yeah,” you flipped a page in the book, “love you too.”

“You do?” Hope bloomed and unfurled like a spring flower. Kabru felt his cheeks grow warm, a fire igniting within him.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, “I love all my friends, of course.”

That spring flower suddenly wilted. The fire was doused by a cold bucket of water in the form of your words. Kabru wanted to scream and bang his head against the wall.

“You don’t get it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers tensing as he leaned forward, desperate. “I’m in love with you. This is really hard for me to say, but I think you need to hear it like this. I love you. I love you. I love you…” Somehow, his cheeks went even hotter. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed his embarrassment, “I-I… Sorry. I just need you like I need oxygen. I…”

You snorted, “You don’t need me to breathe, I’m a person not an organ. You’re breathing right now just fine.”

He was not breathing just fine, but that was beside the point.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Kabru said. He could hear how strained his voice sounded.

You watched as he walked away, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Then he screamed. It sounded like he also kicked something, a crate or box maybe.

How odd.

- When it finally gets through your head, he’s actually a bit satisfied by your embarrassment at it all. Yes, please do acknowledge your obliviousness. Please do apologize for treating his love confession so casually. When you do so, he feels as if he could melt from the relief.

- He still wants to bang his head on the wall, though.

- And he’s spent a lot of nights screaming into his pillow.

- Kabru continues to play 5d chess with you, just simply out of habit, but you’re playing Hungry Hungry Hippos the entire time. He still finds himself trying to pick apart your actions and responses, but he’s learned how to take things at face value when it comes to you. It’s a difficult adjustment, but one he’s willing to make.

- He starts to learn, take more notes, observe your behavior. For dates, he lays it out carefully. You two are going to do this specific thing. Why? Because he would like to see you happy, and hold your hand, and kiss you. Why? Because he loves you. Now you get it.

- You’re fascinating actually. Genuinely, he starts to adore how your brain works. He wants to pick it apart and hold the pieces up to a magnifying glass.

♡ Mithrun ♡

- He does not care.

- Be as oblivious as you want, that’s not going to stop Mithrun.

- The Canaries, however, are going insane.

“How’s it going with them?” Pattadol asked. Her hands were folded in front of her in that polite way, the way that told Mithrun that his second in command had something on her mind. Pattadol thought she was subtle. She was not.

And he knew precisely who she was referring to. Might as well give her an answer that’ll satisfy her curiosity, lest she keep asking questions.

“Fine,” he answered, “just fine.”

Yet, Pattadol’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Just fine?” She asked. Her voice went up a pitch. “It’s just fine? Really?”

“Really.”

She unlaced her fingers and spread out her hands as if gesturing to something, but all that surrounded them was Mithrun’s under-decorated living quarters. There was really nothing to gesture at besides the wooden cabinets and the bed. Mithrun waited, aware that she was picking through her piles of thoughts— probably thoughts mixed with screams of frustration— to find the right words.

Finally, Pattadol forced a shaken smile, “It’s clear to anyone that knows you that you’re in love with them, Captain.”

That was what she decided to say? It was a bit blunt for Pattadol’s usual style. Mithrun only shrugged, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty obvious.”

“So why haven’t they noticed yet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I want you to be happy for once!” Pattadol snapped, but she then took a deep breath, “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t mean to sound that way. This is hard for me, talking so openly about these things… But it’s so frustrating to watch.”

Mithrun could understand that. While he personally wasn’t frustrated by the circumstances, he knew that the Canaries couldn’t stand watching his interactions with you. It wasn’t a big deal in the long run, in his opinion. They’d get over it.

“Thank you,” he answered.

“Do you have any ideas on how we can do that?”

“Do what?”

Pattadol’s eye twitched ever so slightly. Her fingers tensed like claws, and Mithrun felt the corner of his lips turn up in a barely-there smirk. But genuinely, he wasn’t sure what she referred to. Did she mean the part about him being happy, or the part about you being oblivious? She should’ve been more clear.

“About…” she hesitated. Obviously she wasn’t sure what she meant either. She then nodded as if deciding, “About everything. About the obliviousness, your happiness, etcetera.”

He didn’t know what the etcetera referred to, but didn’t care to ask. “You don’t have to do anything,” Mithrun assured her as he leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. The wood creaked slightly from the movement. Everything on this boat creaked, as was the nature of boats, he guessed.

“I would like to do something,” Pattadol nodded, determined. “We all would.”

A shrug, “Alright. Then do something.”

- Pattadol, over-achiever and top student and certified Girl Who Cares Too Much, takes that as a challenge.

- Cithis only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- Fleki also only joins because she thinks it’ll be funny.

- And Lycion also also joins because he thinks it’ll be funny (though he does care on some level. Not really about you, but about Mithrun. And it’s painful to watch.)

- Otta is forced to join.

- The attempts are weak at first, like dipping a toe into the water to see how cold it is. Mithrun only has so much patience for interference with his life, so they have to be smart and tread carefully.

- Pattadol gives Mithrun a hint. “There’s some pretty flowers growing beside the road over there. You should give one to them!”

- “What would they need a flower for?”

- Mithrun asks that on purpose. He knows precisely what he’s doing. Yes, people generally like receiving flowers, he knows that. But he also believes that flowers are useless gifts.

- “Then what present do you suggest?” Pattadol asks.

- Mithrun has an idea. He gets you soap. Everybody uses soap (hopefully) It’s a useful gift, and if he gives you the same kind he uses then he’ll get some weird sick flicker of pleasure from having his scent on you. (He wisely chooses to not say that part aloud.)

You held the little bar of soap in your hands as if it were an injured baby bird you found on the ground. Yet your feelings towards it were far from protective or empathetic. This soap said something. It had a mouth and it used it to scream.

You met Mithrun’s flat gaze, “Soap…”

He nodded, “Yeah. Soap. It’s a gift for you.”

For you?

Mithrun continued, “It’s the same kind I use. Smells the same.”

It felt as if you’d swallowed a handful of pebbles and they all had gotten stuck in your throat. “Do you… think I’m stinky?”

You cursed yourself for even asking that. What a useless question. Obviously, he thought you stank! He gave you soap! He was trying to tell you something, being subtle and polite for once! Usually Mithrun would just say it bluntly, but he’d been working on his desires lately. Perhaps he’d also decided to embrace societal expectations? You weren’t sure. But soap. Soap!

You didn’t notice how Mithrun tensed. You didn’t see him quickly blink several times and tilt his head. You didn’t see the slight widening of his good eye. “No, I—“

“I’ll go use this right now,” you interrupted, “I’ll go wash away my stench so you can finally stand to be near me.”

Despite the horror, you were a bit proud of yourself. You’d taken a hint, maybe you were getting less oblivious.

- In your defense, a bar of soap is a weird gift.

- Alright. Mithrun admits it, he needs help. He’s not so prideful anymore that he won’t admit that he doesn’t know what to do.

- Pattadol is really triumphant about that but does her best not to show it.

- Plan B: make it so obvious that you have no choice but to realize his feelings.

“This has to be the most physically uncomfortable I’ve felt in a very long time,” Mithrun said as he tugged at the ends of the fancy, over-decorated blouse the Canaries had put him in. “I honestly prefer Cithis’s frilly dresses.”

Which was saying something. Mithrun had a preference? That was a good sign.

“It makes you look handsome,” Pattadol said.

“The only thing it makes me is itchy,” he corrected.

The Canaries had somehow found a blouse— not a shirt or tunic, a blouse— that made Mithrun feel something other than indifference. He usually didn’t care about what he wore, as long as it was comfortable, but the clothes they’d stuffed him into were offensive to human-kind, like vegan bacon.

It had a big frill on the front and puffy sleeves. It was somehow both too flowy and too tight at the same time. The trousers weren’t much better, digging into his legs. And the shoes…

Mithrun didn’t want to talk about the shoes.

It was clear to him that Fleki and Cithis had only contributed to the outfit because they thought it would be amusing. Good for them, he supposed. Pattadol seemed to genuinely like it, Otta looked horrified, and Lycion was in some in between state where he wanted to show pity but couldn’t quite stifle his giggles.

“Remind me again what the point of this is?” Mithrun asked with a sigh.

“We got them to agree to a date!” Pattadol said, grinning, “I said outright ‘it’s a date’ so there would be no confusion. I made it clear that the date was with you. Now, if you show up looking like a million gold with a bouquet of flowers, they’ll get the hint.”

Mithrun did not want to do that.

Mithrun rarely wanted to do anything, but this just felt wrong. In his opinion, the relationship between you and him would develop naturally in a way that fit both of your personalities. He didn’t mind waiting for you to realize his intentions, he had time. As long as you didn’t fall in love with someone else, and didn’t stop him from staring at you or touching you, then he wasn’t in a rush.

But since the Canaries insisted, seeming to think that this was the right course of action, he would go along with it. Maybe it would be an utter disaster and Pattadol would realize that she knew very little about relationships— especially a relationship involving Mithrun. He was aware enough of himself to know that it wouldn’t be conventional.

With his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and the ridiculous outfit on, Mithrun entered the restaurant Pattadol had chosen. He found you immediately. You sat in a chair with your elbow on the table and your ankles crossed, waiting.

Mithrun held a bouquet of pink roses as he approached. You lit up when you saw him, but your brows then furrowed.

“Where’s Pattadol?” You asked.

His stride faltered, “She isn’t coming.”

“Oh,” you shrugged, “well since she set this up I assumed she’d be here.”

Why would she be here? It was a date Pattadol had set up for you and Mithrun specifically.

You probably didn’t know it was a date, he realized. Pattadol thought she’d been clear by saying ‘it’s a date’ but failed to realize that that was just a common phrase among people and meant nothing to no one.

Calm, he slid into the seat across from you and watched as you raised a brow, “What’re you wearing?” You asked.

“My team picked it out for me.”

“You look like you’re part of an opera or a ballet, like you’re about to stand beneath a balcony and start spouting poetry to your lover.”

That was a good description, actually. Those were the words Mithrun had been looking for earlier when he saw himself in the mirror.

He nodded, “Yep.” Then, wordlessly, he held out the bouquet to you.

Your eyes widened, “For me?”

“I’m handing them to you, aren’t I?”

Gingerly, you took the flowers and held the stem of the wrapped bouquet with both hands as you inspected each petal.

A flicker of surprising satisfaction ran through his chest. You liked the flowers. It made sense, most people liked flowers, even if he didn’t see why.

You dipped your head down toward them presumably to smell them, but your lips then parted and you dug your teeth into the nearest rose.

Mithrun froze.

You chewed on the rose, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You gave the flower a good shot, a proper taste, but it didn’t take long until you grabbed a napkin and spit up the pink slobbery mess into it.

“Sorry,” you sent him an apologetic smile and tried to hand the bouquet back to him, “they don’t taste that good, and I don’t think I could season or cook them in a way that would help.”

Mithrun knew he was staring. He knew he was making a face, slightly tilting his head down, intensity in his eye. The kind of face someone made when they were internally screaming.

He was not internally screaming, but he was thinking— about you, how your brain worked. And how it was so damn charming for some reason and all he wanted to do was kiss you until he was all you could think about.

He wanted something. The feeling was sweet, a shot of adrenaline, one of Fleki’s drugs. Addictive. Like the slow drip of honey. He could survive off that want for ages.

Wordlessly, Mithrun threw the bouquet over his shoulder to get rid of it. Judging by the gasp that followed, it probably hit someone in the head.

Loving you was as natural to him as breathing.

- Mithrun decides to not let the Canaries interfere any longer. He was wrong earlier in thinking he needed their help. He doesn’t.

- Also, watching them go insane over your obliviousness and his lack of communication provides a good bit of entertainment.

- When he finally decides to give into that all-consuming, new, exciting desire and kiss you, your response is, “But I wasn’t casting a spell, no reason to try and stop me.”

- God, he adores you.

- He takes kisses whenever he wants them, with no care about what you think his intention is.

- After a certain kiss that involves tongue and teeth and fingers digging into your waist, you start to openly wonder… Are you in a relationship with Mithrun?

“Yes,” Mithrun didn’t even glance up at you, remaining unphased by your rather serious question, “We’re in a relationship.”

He continued to jot down notes about a monster he saw, as if he’d just casually answered a question about the weather. ‘Is it going to rain today?’ ‘Yeah looks like it.’

You gulped, “How long?”

“A year now,” he kept writing. Truthfully, he’d been expecting this. A flash of disappointment crossed his mind; there goes one of his hobbies, watching the Canaries have a crisis over his love life.

You buried your face in your hands. Mithrun stopped writing and patted your head as if comforting a dog.

- The Canaries are pleased that this is over. But actually, they’re going to have to watch you not realize it when you’re engaged to the Captain.

- At your wedding you’re in regular clothes. Someone asks why and you say “Mithrun told me we’re going to a wedding. He didn’t say it was ours.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[haeryna]

the purest shade of white ↪ okkotsu yuuta x reader ⸙͎｡˚⋆ 𓋼

summary: yuuta looks almost like an angel, you think to yourself grimly, as you shift on the balls of your feet. you haven't seen your best friend in a couple years now, not since he left for africa. too bad he's attempting to kill the kouhai that you're trying to protect.

tw: manga spoilers! anime watchers, do not read. mild angst but happy ending. starts at the beginning of ch. 139. naoya zenin is here and he is his classic asshole self. reader is in the same grade as yuuta, both in age and in terms of cursed energy. swearing because reader is a bad bitch. mildly suggestive. unironic use of "senpai" and "kouhai." slight descriptions of blood and injury, everyone is subjected to the author's attempts at writing dialogue and fight scenes. not proofread but at this point that shouldn't be a surprise. it is blatantly obvious that the writer also does not know how to end stories

notes: thank you for 100 new friends! :) poll is technically still up but i'm impatient and yuuta was winning by a pretty decent margin so here it is lol. divider by @/saradika-graphics!

"Yuuji!" you yelp, slicing the head off a curse with a clean stroke of your katana. Purple ichor splatters to the ground as you whirl, searching for the familiar head of pink hair. "Stay close to me!"

Behind you, Choso grunts with exertion, sending out another bolt of Piercing Blood. Panting, you weave through the curses, letting their corpses fall behind you. Yuuji, where is Yuuji?

As the last body falls, you can't but let out an exasperated huff at the sheepish grin on Yuuji's face. "Don't scare me like that," you chide. "How am I supposed to protect you if I can't even find you?" Yuuji opens his mouth to protest but you shake your head. "I made a promise," you tell him, pain rippling through your heart dully. Gojo-sensei was long gone, stolen away by one of the people he had loved most in the world. Grimacing, you sheathe your katana, mindful of the blood that stains your palms, as you try to ignore the memory of his words all those months ago.

If anything happens, I need you to protect Itadori Yuuji. I know they're going to pull something on him once I'm not there to back him up.

"Senpai, what should-"

Yuuji immediately tenses as your hand flies to the grip of your katana. "I smell a rat," you mutter, nose wrinkling as you turn to face Naoya Zenin, standing atop a bridge. He bares his teeth at you in semblance of a smile. "How perceptive as always," he mocks.

"Cut the bullshit," you snap, hand still resting on the pommel. "What do you want?"

"Fushiguro Megumi," is his rather bland response, and you shift your feet into the opening steps of Flowing River.

"What do you want with Fushiguro?" Yuuji yells, and the way Naoya's face twists makes you want to vomit.

"I think I'll have him die."

Cursed energy fills your body as you leap. Naoya's resounding cackle burns through your ears as you swing, barely grazing his shoulder. Before you can push forward off your feet, a heavy presence rests on your shoulders, locking you in place. All four of you freeze. Yuuji and Choso look horrified, and Naoya looks as though he's broken out into a cold sweat. But you know this feeling, feel it settle back into your body as if it never left.

Okkotsu Yuuta steps out from the building ledge, dark eyes unreadable. Your body sings. Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta! His hair has grown longer, bangs sweeping over his forehead, eyebags a little darker than they used to be. You can feel Rika's presence, swirling around you in a mass of death and decay. You're used to it. You've grown to crave it, even. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, his facade cracks. Confusion, fear, and...regret?

Yuuta leaps, slamming into concrete and sending shockwaves deep into your bones. "Who's with Itadori?" God, even his voice is different, so different from the boy who said goodbye to you so long ago. You open your mouth to speak, but Choso beats you to it, brows furrowed.

"So you're Yuuji's executioner."

Blood turns to ice in your veins, and you can tell by the pained expression Yuuta has that you aren't hiding your emotions as well as you think you are. Naoya laughs. "I was going to tell you that, but you were being too emotional like the bitch you are."

"Who're you?"

Yuuta's voice is cold, but as Naoya babbles on, you can feel the horror settle thickly into your chest. Choso and Yuuji are talking behind you but it feels like you're underwater, you're sinking, drowning, and Yuuta must have come to a conclusion because all of a sudden he's surging forward-

You move before you can even think, steel clashing against steel. "Yuuji," you say, through gritted teeth. "Run."

A horrible grating noise fills the air as you let cursed energy flow through your body, shoving Yuuta's sword away from yourself. "I won't let you kill him," you hiss, body already shifting into Jagged Bolt. Yuuta's eyes flash as you surge forward, katana in hand.

"How would you describe my cursed technique?" you had asked Gojo, mindlessly swinging your feet. Gojo hums.

"Have you ever heard of Newton's Law's of Motion?"

You had crinkled your nose at that. "No?"

"An object in motion, stays in motion. Except you are the object. And your cursed energy is the motion." You remember how Gojo's lips curved slightly. "In other words, once you start, nobody can stop you."

You're crying, you realize with a start, as you cut a line into Yuuta's chest. Moisture seeps from your eyes as you twist your forearm into a parry, katanas sparking with each strike. Belatedly, you sense that Yuuji, your foolish, stupid, loyal kouhai has stayed, trading strikes with his fists between the precise movements of your blade. Your heart drops as Yuuta reaches for the ring on his finger.

No. No!

He twists it, and Rika appears behind you. Claws sink into your shoulder and you let out a cry of pain as she flips you into the ground.

"Be nice, Rika," Yuuta chides, as you hit the concrete. Blood spurts from your mouth as you choke, fingers clawing at the ground desperately for your katana. A piece of scaffolding is practically crushing your legs; instinctively, you know that if you try to break through it, you'll tear your limbs right off.

As Rika holds Yuuji up, you lunge desperately, uncaring of what you have to sacrifice. Inumaki's arm, the way half of Nobara's face had been practically ripped out of her skull, the remains of Nanami-san, the way that you were the one to find Maki's charred body-

I can't lose anyone else.

You scream as Yuuta pierces Yuuji's chest with his katana, cursed energy building in your legs as you prepare to shoot forward. Yuuta turns, eyes filled with an unidentifiable emotion as he sees you about to tear yourself in half just to reach Yuuji.

With a wave of his hand, Rika dives for you, and everything goes dark.

Yuuta had known you were special from the day he'd first met you. That spring, when Gojo-sensei had dropped him (and Rika) into a class of unsuspecting first years, he remembers that out of the four of them, you had moved so gracefully that he hadn't processed the katana in your hand until you'd pressed it against your throat.

"Gojo-sensei," you'd hissed. "What is this?"

While Maki, Inumaki, and Panda had been subsequently bruised up by Rika, you had dodged every single one of her movements until Rika had been (barely) called back by Yuuta.

"Another Special Grade," Gojo had hummed. "Just like you, hm?"

Special Grade?

What he hadn't realized then, he realized later; you weren't just special to him, but to the entire rest of the Jujutsu World as well. Special Grade Sorcerers were rare, Maki had told him. "You only have it because of Rika," she'd scoffed, "but she deserves it."

You quickly became one of his closest friends. You were fast enough to dodge Rika's ire, even laughing whenever she tried. You'd shown Yuuta kindness that he didn't think he deserved. You broke him out of his shell enough so that when he left for Africa, he felt as though he was standing with his own strength. His first katana had been the sister blade of your own, forged from the same metal by the same hands. The way your eyes had lit up when you saw it was a memory he cherished.

Somberly, Yuuta eyes the chains encasing your wrists and ankles, each decorated with the slips of protective paper that would nullify your cursed energy. Most sorcerers required only one. You required at least twenty.

He knows you, knows the way you always take the strawberry daifuku, leaving him the red bean ones even though he knows you prefer the red bean. He knows that you push yourself hard, harder than he's ever seen anyone work. But most of all, he knows your loyalty, how once your heart finally lets someone in, you'll never let them go.

Did you miss him like he missed you?

The chains are more for your own protection. He needs you to hear him out before you attempt to end his life for a second time. Yuuta knows now that Gojo must have asked you the same thing he'd asked him; to keep Itadori Yuji safe from the whims of the higher ups. Gojo, being the forgetful bastard he was, probably didn't alert you to the fact that he'd gone to Yuuta for help as well. Crouching, Yuuta eyes your body with a sad tilt of his lips. The injuries you'd sustained were immense, and it had taken quite a bit of his own cursed energy to reverse.

Will you forgive him?

You're asleep, breath hitching every so often. Yuuta wonders what you're dreaming of, before pushing the thought away. Tenderly, he cups your face in the palm of his hand, calloused fingers stroking your cheek.

"You need to wake up now," he murmurs, as your eyes flutter open, first in dazed confusion, before sharpening into panic.

"I'll miss you!" you'd cried, as you clung to Yuuta under the shade of the large oak. You were the first person he had told about his departure to Africa, and you took it hard. Yuuta had stood frozen as the first of your tears had dripped down your cheeks. It was the first time he'd seen you cry.

"I'll be back before you know it," he'd murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to the top of your head. You'd looked up to him, eyes teary.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he'd said, interlocking his pinky with your own. A love like Yuuta's is a dangerous thing, you know, but in this moment you feel nothing but safe.

The first sensation you feel upon awakening is the dull ache in your (miraculously still attached) legs. The second is the warmth on your cheek. Yuuta is standing above you, hand gently resting against your face. Immediately you lunge forward, teeth bared. The rattle of chains stops you, and you swear. Of course he would have taken precautions. Yuuta looks almost hurt as you violently shake off his touch.

"Don't touch me, I swear to god I'm going to rip you apart."

Yuuta says your name sadly, but you're practically trembling with rage.

"He was just a kid, with the kind of power we wield, why the fuck would you listen to the higher ups?"

Yuuta echoes your name a bit more firmly, but you ignore him, tears building in your eyes.

"You're no better than the rest of them are you, you're just-"

"Senpai!"

Your heart stops as Yuuji pokes his head out from around the corner. They must have brought you back to Jujutsu Tech, you think distractedly. Just how long were you out?

"Yuuji!" you cry out, scanning his body for any injuries. He seems to be uninjured, but most importantly, he's alive. Tears fall down your cheeks. "Are you alright?"

Yuuji appears horrified by the sudden outburst as he hastily holds up his hands. "I'm fine, senpai, really, I'm sorry for worrying you. Okkotsu-san is actually on our side, I swear! It was a binding vow, that's why he had to actually kill me, but he did some really cool Reverse Technique shit and I'm all good now!"

Warily, you eye Yuuta, whose expression resembles that of a kicked puppy. "Okkotsu Yuuta," you say, voice hard. "Let me out of these chains right fucking now."

With a wave of his hand, the papers attached to the chains fall to the floor. Yuuta looks dejected as he looks away from you. "I'm so sor-"

Before he can finish you immediate tackle him into a hug, knocking the both of you into the floor as you bury your face into the soft slope of his neck. "You're such an idiot," you sob, unable to hide the rush of emotions going through you. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tentatively, Yuuta wraps his arms around you, and you melt, pressing yourself closer to his body. "To be honest, I think Gojo-sensei is to blame. I think he forgot to mention to either of us that he asked us to do the exact same thing."

You let out a hiccupping laugh. "Of course he did. That forgetful asshole."

The sigh Yuuta lets out is shaky as he nuzzles the top of your head. "I'm so, so sorry," he tells you earnestly. "I must have scared you, and Rika's mad at me for making me hurt you like that. I think she likes you, even though she pretends not to."

You look up at him, really look at him, and see the look of adoration in his eyes as he stares back down at you. Thankfully Yuuji's escaped long ago, most likely understanding that you two would need privacy. "You came back," you whisper, and Yuuta's resulting smile makes your heart skip a beat.

"I promised you, didn't I?"

Before you can stop yourself, you pull Yuuta down for a searing kiss. He's so soft, and you nip at the plush of his bottom lip teasingly, pulling a whine from his throat. His large hands grip your hips, and in retaliation, you grab a fistful of his hair and tug. The breathy noise he makes goes straight between your thighs. You know he can feel your smile against his lips.

"I missed you," you breathe, pulling away. Yuuta looks dazed, lips kiss swollen, pupils so dilated that you can barely see the soft brown of his eyes.

"I love you," he blurts out, and your resulting laugh is airy as you press another chaste kiss to his lips.

"I've always loved you, Yuuta," you admit. "During Shibuya, I thought I wasn't going to make it. You were the only thing keeping me going."

The look in his eyes is fierce as he tugs you back into him, enveloping you in his arms. "You'll never have to worry about that again. You have my entire life. Where you go, I'll follow, and if I die, not even Death would be able to separate me from your side."

"Those sound a lot like wedding vows, don't you think?"

Yuuta's blush covers his entire face and you grin, pressing one last kiss to his lips. "Come on now. We have kids we need to protect."

As Yuuta leads you to where the others have convened, even under the dark circumstances you're in, the warmth of his hand clutching yours fills you with a giddiness you hadn't experienced in months. The sentiment is quickly dashed as soon as Maki opens her mouth.

"Fucking finally. Inumaki owes me 3,000 yen."

[oepionie]

— "THE PRINCESS TREATMENT." various

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend and the different ways he pampers and spoils you rotten ♡

⊹ [ cw ] — mentions of winter storms, prefect is implied to have bad living conditions, mild violence in the tweels parts, jade breaks someone's wrist, crowley slander, ace slander◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFFY! feminine reader! no gendered pronouns used, riddle uses his dorm position to spoil you, seeing trey driving is very hot, deuce biceps, leona and azul sugar daddy era, ruggie would rather freeze to death than have you be cold, jack carries you, jade and floyd will fight for you, rook makes you his muse and paints you, malleus renovates the entire diasomnia dorm for you, sebek carries your pink handbags◞

⊹ [ characters ] — riddle, trey, deuce, leona, ruggie, jack, azul, jade, floyd, rook, malleus, sebek◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 4.9k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞

—♰ RIDDLE

Princess treatment, Like—literally

Loathe is Riddle to admit—He can't deny the fact that being his lover meant you got special treatment. Prime example being your position at unbirthday parties. At the banquet table, just beside Riddle's designated throne, was your throne. Similar in style, it had a heart-shaped crest and golden frame; the only difference was that it was milky white rather than deep red. And despite his best efforts to downplay the favoritism shown to you, Riddle knows for a fact that he had the throne commissioned himself.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Come with me." The dorm leader says as he moves towards you, leading you towards your throne. He didn't fail to notice how your legs shook slightly as you walked alongside him or how your hands didn’t leave his coat once. Not that he minded.

The redhead clasped your hands in his as he sat you down onto the leather seat before adjusting the train of your dress to ensure that it wouldn't bother you.

"How are you fairing?" Riddle asked softly, kneeling before you to slip a leather-clad hand behind your knees. He set your feet up on a plush stool and slipped your pointed heels off, gently caressing your ankles. "I overheard you earlier, griping about your feet aching. I certainly hope you're not pushing yourself too hard."

"Ah, no. I just chose the wrong heels today. They're too pointy." You sighed, poking at your crimson red heels, which were discarded to the grassy sides. Groaning, you reclined back on your throne, the billowing, fluffy skirt of the dress Riddle had recently gifted tumbling all about you.

"I see." Riddle nodded in understanding, taking your hand and pressing a quick gentlemanly kiss on your wrists. "The croquet game is up next. I suppose you'd rather stay here?"

"Yeah, I think I need some alone time," you sigh. Riddle squeezes once more your hand in reply, letting his eyes shut in contemplation.

"Very well," He hums, moving to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. "Do rest here a while, rose."

There was a soft smile as the leather of his hands glide across your back. "Oh, and, please let a member of my dorm know if you ever need anything. Worry not. I've instructed everyone here to be at your beck and call."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ TREY

Passenger princess treatment<3

Every weekend, it was routine for Trey to whisk you away from your beaten-up dorm. After all, he was sure it was nice to spend the day in a place where you weren't inhaling dust and spiders every second. Both of you would always go over to his parent's café in the city for a simple little brunch date. And without fail, Trey would always pick you up at 9am sharp by the school gates.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"… I was made for lovin' you, baby

You were made for lovin' me

And I can't get enough of you, baby

Can you get enough of me?"

Soft music played from the car's radio as the third-year weaved through the barren intersections, careful and slow. It seems as if the roads were merciful to you both today, calm and free of any traffic.

Trey languidly reaches one of his hands, calloused from his years of baking, over to rest gently on your thigh. His thumb rubs soft circles and nonsensical patterns over your plump skin while the other gripped the steering wheel in a loose hold, biceps flexing as he twisted the wheel to turn the car.

Focused as he was, you didn't miss how his gaze flits back and forth between the road and you, the expression swimming within them almost akin to a distant longing.

You place your hand atop his and lean against the passenger door. A wide grin spreads over your glossy red lips as you shake your head playfully. "Keep your eyes on the road."

Mirthful laughter spills from your mouth before your eyes flutter shut as you sway along to the song, mindlessly kicking your legs around. "Crashing and going to the hospital doesn't really sound like a good date idea."

A pensive smile creeps up on Trey's face, and he lets out a low chuckle. "Yeah? I just can't help it. You're a much more interesting sight."

He watched as the sun's dazzling light bathed your image in a beautiful, pleasant glow. To him, you looked ethereal, seemingly glowing and shining under the golden streaks of sunlight that pour through the windshield.

"What did I just say?" you sighed, smiling cheekily as you smoothed a hand over his clover-colored hair, fixing the stray strands moved askew by the wind from the open windows. "Hello~? Wonderland to Trey? Eyes on the road?"

He paused for a while before chuckling, his hands splaying out on the steering wheel as he turned his gaze back front. "Right, right. I'll be careful, princess."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰  DEUCE

Carries your things for you and will not let you do any heavy lifting at all plus he buys you drinks!

Screw Crowley Dire. You were sick of Ramshackle's awful, scratchy furniture. For once, you wished you could sit on something that wasn't littered with dust bunnies or looked like it came straight from the depths of the underworld—no offense to Idia. And so, using the money you had painstakingly saved over the last six months, you decided to buy a cute, frilly sofa.

Problem was—you couldn't lift it at all. It was too wide and heavy for your poor untrained arms. Fortunately for you, your boyfriend was more than happy to help ^^

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Um…Deuce? Are you sure you don't want me to work?" Perched atop the kitchen counters, you were worriedly staring down at him.

While he was preoccupied with lifting the couch, you were lazily sipping on a bubble tea—a drink which he bought for you himself. Humming, you let your gaze move from the soft line of his cheekbone, to the sharper cut of his jaw, before resting it onto the thick of his arms. " I don't mind helping, you know."

Deuce was standing by the door, arms tucked beneath the couch as he braced himself for lifting. "Yeah, I got this. Don't worry."

Now, why was he here, exactly? Well…First off, you didn't intend to call him at all.

In the middle of trying to haul your couch into Ramshackle's entrance, Deuce had appeared out of nowhere, offering his help. Despite your vehement denial, the stubborn boy wouldn't take no for an answer, and eventually forced you to sit down, shoving the bright, bubbly drink in your hand without saying a word.

So, here you were. Shamelessly ogling at him while he tried to find a way to bring the couch in.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt—Oh!" You gasped, hand flying up to cover your agape mouth when Deuce easily lifted it up as if it were made of air. In response to your expression of astonishment, he grinned and playfully flexed his arms. "See?"

While Deuce set the couch down in front of the TV, you slipped off the counters and strode over to him. Jumping into his embrace, you draped your arms around his shoulder and pressed a big kiss on his cheeks, watching in delight as his face exploded in pink. "You're so strong! Thank you so much!"

Deuce let a wobbly smile stretch across his burning cheeks, his hands slack atop your hips. "Y-Yeah! No problem."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ LEONA

Sugar dad-I mean-financial help<3 + Hints at passenger princess treatment

Leona Kingscholar was not a romantic. Naturally, he has stayed to himself ever since he was little. This lion was not the kind to be sentimental, gooey, or emotional. So it is astonishing how quickly this stone-cold personality of his breaks down when he's around you.

Every little thing you do drives him into a lovesick frenzy, and he has no idea how to stop it. He wasn't particularly into grand displays of affection or romantic gestures. Ergo, in an effort to express his adoration, he turns to more…costly methods.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Tell me what you want." Leona demands, tone serious as he wraps a rough yet protective arm around your hips. Both of you were standing smack dab in the middle of a large shopping mall. Though the more you stood here, the more you began to realize that this place wasn't really your…ordinary mall.

First and foremost, when Leona pulled up, there was private parking, and that was already intimidating to you in and of itself. Second, it seems like every single store in here was a luxury brand. You've seen a couple of these logos plastered onto the tags of Vil's or Jade and Floyd's clothes.

As a matter of fact, you were pretty sure their plastic bags cost more than your entire yearly allowance combined.

"Ah, um…"  A nervous sweat built up on your brow as you fished your wallet out, peering into what little funds you had. "Leona, honey—I just needed to get some school supplies…Is there a different mall we can go to?" You sheepishly smiled up at him. "I don't think I can afford to get anything here."

Silence immediately follows as Leona stares at you with a dumbfounded look. Blinking bluntly, he scoffs. "Who said you were paying?"

"Hu-Huh?" You stammered, fiddling with your wallet. The lion's eyes were ripped wide open in shock, as if the mere thought of you spending your own money on your own things was a criminal act. Something so ludicrous that even a person with his deceptive persona finds it distasteful.

"Ain't it obvious already? I'm paying," Leona huffs, dragging you to a nearby jewelry shop. Behind the glass were displays of glittering pearls and jewels, each of which had delicate and intricate carvings. "And we're gettin' more than stationary."

"But-!" You start, only to get interrupted as his calloused hand clamps over your mouth.

"No buts."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰  RUGGIE

Giving you his coat when you're cold and just being sickeningly sweet<3

Ruggie was used to working for others, and this habit of his pours over to you. Though it wouldn't take long for people to notice that his acts of labor was…different with you.

For others, Ruggie works because there's an exchange, a benefit, or a payment for him. For you, however, he does things with no motive in mind. He would never ask for more because he genuinely didn't need anything more, and if he ever did, a simple kiss or hug from you would be plenty.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

It was a frigid winter day and both of you were walking to school together, a routine you both developed over the past few months. As you followed him through the deep snowfall, the cold wind nipped and bit at your skin, making you shudder. Despite the struggle, you push on, the rough pads of your boots dragging along the thick blankets of snow.

Unfortunately for you, the flimsy cardigan you bought at Sam's did nothing to keep your body safe from the cruel winter.

While Ruggie's oversized warm coat helps kept him sufficiently warmed up, you, on the other hand, are struggling. You know you should have gotten a thicker coat, but this was all you could afford last minute.

Ever so caring, your boyfriend is quick to notice this and turns back around, trudging through the snow to meet you.

"C'mere," Ruggie drags you into his embrace and starts to slowly inch the coat off his shoulders. With your form now pushed against his body, he takes the chance to press a soft kiss against your cheeks. At the exchange of affection, both of you erupt in soft giggles, lovesick grins stretched across your lips.

The moment feels intimate, loving, and safe.

"Here ya' go." Suddenly he's engulfing you in his thick cloak and zipping it up. Protesting, you try to give it back, but all he does is snicker and shake his head. He peppers warm kisses on the side of your bare frostbitten neck, relishing in the giggles that spill from your lips. "Keep it. I can handle the cold. I'm used to it but I can't have you freezin' out here, now can I?"

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰  JACK

Carries you when your feet start to hurt, tee hee

Jack was strong and well-disciplined. He's worked hard and trained himself to peak physical condition, yet even then, he's continually seeking to improve himself even more. He's tried it all: fitness routines, weight lifting, and sports. And it pays off.

His strength has proven useful in a variety of circumstances. from physical education classes, sporting events, marathons, and, strangely enough, carrying you when your heels begin to hurt your feet.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

Jack looks around the booths as he takes your hands in his, pulling you along the festival crowds, "Hm. I think the takoyaki stand is around here. You were craving that earlier, right?" If it weren't for the intense dull ache at the bottom of your ankles, you would have been delighted to hear about the delectable octopus snack.

Instead, you hissed and pulled on the beastman's hand, halting to a stop, unable to take the torture of your heels any longer. "Jack, hold on a second."

Groaning, you slouch down on a nearby bench and kick off your heels, scowling at the dull throb that's pressing itself against the back of your foot. Jack quickly knelt down by your side, ears alert and tail swishing.

"What's wrong?" He questions as he drags your legs over to rest on top of his firm thighs. "Do your feet hurt?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "I kinda regret putting on heels at a festival like this…I didn't realize it would hurt so bad. I just wanted to look cute."

The wolf ponders for a moment before swiftly turning around, presenting his back to you, "Get on."

"Eh?" You blinked, tilting your head to the side. Jack looks away, keeping his head tilted to the ground as a dark flush swept over his skin. "I'll carry you…I-If your feet hurt, I won't mind carrying you."

"Oh!" Smiling, you slip onto his back and wrap your arms snug around his neck. Jack clutches your heels in one hand while the other grasps onto your thigh. The beastman easily stands up, supporting both his and your weight as he heads towards the food stands.

"Who knew you were such a softie, Jack! Hehe." You tease, pressing a kiss against the side of his neck. The beastman flushed even more, avoiding your gaze at all cost.

"Tch. I-I don't go around doing this for anyone."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰  AZUL

Sugar dad-I mean-financial help<3 #2

Azul lived to spoil you.

For you, the octo-mer gleefully buys mountains of clothing. Your entire wardrobe has been thoughtfully planned by him (and often rapidly purchased, Floyd is always the victim to his 12am shopping whims).

Other than clothing, he's also quite fond of jewelry. He clasps pure pearls to your ears, drapes diamonds over your neck, and slips rings onto your fingers. It would be the highlight of Azul's day to see the items he had purchased for you proudly displayed for all the students on campus to see.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Shall we?" he asks softly as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up from your chair. The smooth white silk of your dress cascades off the plush leather seat, draping down to your ankles. Azul swiftly guides you away from the lounge, signaling at both Floyd and Jade in the corner to clean up before turning his attention back to you, once more. "I hope the food was to your liking, angelfish?"

"Oh, it was," you confirm, a smile playing on your lips. Leaning up, you press a warm kiss against his lips, one which he returns. "Thank you for the wonderful night, Azul! The dress as well. It looks beautiful."

"Why, of course." The octo-mer hums, running his hand up your back. As he slips both of you into his room, he shuts the door with his foot and guides you to his vanity. "Though I do have one last gift."

"Another?" You chuckle, "Don't you think you spoil me too much? I don't want it to seem like I'm leeching off of you…"

"No, you could never," Azul says as he motions you to a seat near the table of his vanity. The octo-mer reaches over and opens a drawer, revealing a nice velvet box.

As the box is opened, a gorgeous sea-glass necklace with a stunning silver-coral colour is exhibited to you. It sat prettily atop a white plush pillow, winking at you. Azul deftly runs a hand up your neck to pull your hair back and your lips parts in a "o" when he clasps it on.

"Azul," you breathlessly murmur. "I can't possibly—This must have cost a fortune."

"It's for you," Azul smiles. "Only for you."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰  JADE

You have scary eel privileges'

It was not uncommon for Jade to come knocking at your door in opportune times of the night to accompany you out for a walk. You mentioned once how you loved stargazing and Jade hasn't let that go since. For he too had always carried a fondness for the night, more specifically, the moon.

It was constant, a repetitive lustrous cycle, and despite his thrill seeking nature, he took comfort in its consistency. Walks with you were the highlight of his week, and he certainly does not take interruptions from pesky little bugs lightly.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

The night sky above Ramshackle was littered with painted specs of sparkling stars, burning brightly amidst the gradients of blue and black. Jade had a firm hand situated by the small of your back, gently guiding you along the dirt path of the trail.

"It's so beautiful…" You murmur in astonishment, craning your head up to peer up at the canvas of stars. Chuckling, Jade tugs you in closer to slip his large jacket over your shoulders. "I'm glad you like it, pearl. I do hope it's not too cold?"

"Not at all."

Both of you continue along your hike, going deeper and deeper into the thick, dense forest. As you trudged on, a bundle of wild mushrooms caught your eye and you halted to a stop, recognizing the patterns and spots on the fungi in a book Jade had once shown you.

"Wait here a moment. I just saw those mushrooms you wanted so bad. I'll go get it!" Before Jade could even reply, you were already off, sneaking past tall bushes and prickly trees. 

Just as you were about to pick your first mushroom, a low growl interrupts you. Freezing, your eyes dart upward to see a Savanaclaw student towering over your form. 

He did not seem happy.

"Oya? You're that Ramshackle punk, aren't you?…I have to say, Leona let you off real easy after that little spy mission you did in our dorm." He sneers, rolling the joints of his shoulders and moving closer, backing you up against a tree. "That's all good with me…Cuz' If he won't do something bout' it, then I will."

Suddenly, he was drawing his fist back, aiming for you. The sudden shift happened so quickly that all you could do was flinch and hunch over, preparing yourself for a hit.

Only for it to never come.

"My, my," a familiar voice muses. Breath hitching in your throat, you peek up and see Jade looming behind the boy. The eel's hand was coiled tight around the beastman's wrist, clasping tighter and tighter until there was a sickening snap. 

"How foolish of you to think I would allow that."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ FLOYD

You have scary eel privileges' #2

Floyd was a lot softer and caring than a lot of people would give him credit for. That or he just gives you special treatment. After all, the big bad eel found you endearing. You were his one and only beloved little shrimpy. 

You were the one who stood by him even when others dismissed him as strange or frightful because you loved and adored him wholeheartedly. So, he can't help but be protective of you.

Nothing will ever hurt you so long as he's by your side.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"Shrimpy? What're you doing here?"

Sniffles and cries wreck your chest as you curled up on Floyd's bed, clutching his shrimp plush tight in your arms. Said eel was standing by the door, a look of shock plastered onto his features before it turned ice-cold as he approached your weeping form.

"My poor shrimpy…" Floyd rasps, tugging off his gloves to cup your wet cheeks with his big hands. "What's wrong with my shrimpy? Did someone do this? I'll squeeze 'em if they did."

The eel crawls into bed with you, tugging the plush out of your arms and slipping himself into your embrace. Soft warm kisses are peppered on your wet cheeks as Floyd coos at you.

Sobbing, you raise a hand to furiously wipe at your eyes before exclaiming, "It's Grim again! Why does he have to be so difficult?! I worked so hard for my alchemy exam, but it seems like he doesn't care! He's brought our grades down again!"

"It's that cat of yours again, huh?" Floyd clicked his tongue, thumb pressing against the corner of your teary eyes. He pressed a warm palm to your cheek, examining your face with close inspection as he slowly reached for your hand and set it down atop his beating heart. "No worries. Just let it all out, shrimpy. I'll have a talk with the baby seal later hehe~"

You sniffed and brushed his comments aside as you pulled away from the embrace, an action which made him pout. "…I'm not sure he'd even listen. Grim is as stubborn as a rock." 

"We'll see about that, shrimpy." Floyd scoffs, a frown on his face clearly visible as he pulls you closer once more.

"Yanno, I'm pretty good at alchemy myself." Floyd chirps, a dark grin slowly stretching across his cheeks. "I'm sure the baby seal won't mind having a private tutor session with good ol' me."

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ ROOK

This man WORSHIPS the ground you walk on.

As they say, "Before you die, experience the love of a writer, poet or painter. If you're lucky enough to be an artist's muse, they will immortalize you." Such a muse you were to Rook.

Though it would take quite a lot of coaxing before he could have the pleasure of having you as his muse, at the rare moments you did agree—Rook did his utmost best to do you justice on the canvas.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

Portraiture looked into the life of the subject, revealed what was hidden deep inside, and examined it. With his hunter-like manner, Rook was all too acquainted with this study.

"A-Am I doing this right?" You murmur, trying your best not to move around as you held a bouquet of daisies up to your chest. There was a cream-tinted dress draped across your body as you reclined against the backdrop Rook had set up.

"Oui. Such beauty in your gaze, trickster. Angels lurk behind your eyes." The hunter flirts, resolute gazed locked onto your flustered ones as he drags his brush against the palette. There was an experiment with the hues for a time before he blended a few other colors.

"I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to do this." As he'd found the color he wanted, Rook turned back to you. He took careful note of every nuance and detail of your glowing visage and committed as much as he could to memory. Rook knew he’d have to make your portrait perfect. He simply couldn’t allow for anything else.

"You're very persistent," you huff with a small smile on your face. "I had to cave in eventually, huh?"

"But, of course!" Rook cheekily grins, turning his attention back to the canvas. "I can't let a chance like this pass me by."

Time passed and layers upon layers of color came together to form the picture he sought after. Out to the right, spread across a lush sofa, was your incandescent form. And he surely didn't hold back on the details. The creases in the fabric, the curve of your smile, and the contours of the plush pillows scattered on either side of the plush crimson sofa all draw the eye.

It was a large painting that he had boldly placed in Pomefiore's living room, much to Vil's chagrin. Try as he might, the dormleader couldn't get the hunter to remove it at all.

───────────────────── · ·

— ♰ MALLEUS

Princess treatment? pff. That's cute. No, it's queen treatment to him.

You had a bad tendency of rambling on about whatever that came to mind, often without realising that another person was in the same room as you. Even if you initially didn't mind this little quirk of yours, recent events have made you realise that you should probably curb your mouth-running.

Even more so considering that your partner, caring as he was, had a tendency to be quite…impulsive. Especially when it comes to matters concerning your comfort and well-being.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

Malleus was flipping through a catalogue of colour samples and scrutinizing each texture with careful judgment. Slipping the page into your hands, he murmurs, "This is all rather lovely. Perhaps a dark crimson will suffice. Or would you like this wine red dye, my dear?" The dragon looked at you, patiently awaiting your response.

Only for there to be none.

You stood awkwardly at his side, your cheeks flaming up with shame. Tugging at his coat, you rose up on your tiptoes and whispered quietly, "Tsunotaro…when I whined about it being cold, I didn't mean for you to go this far."

"Oh?" He quirks a brow up, "Do you not like these colors?"

"Mal," you utter gently, handing the catalogue back to him. "I don't really think we need to—"

"Young Master. If I may," Sebek interrupts, voice raising to a strained high squeak, "Please do tell. Why are we replacing every.single marble floor in the dorm…with carpet?"

Malleus draws you in his arms, all while ignoring the enraged stare painted on Sebek's face. "My darling's feet become frigid cold when they walk along the marble flooring. I think it's due time for it to get redone," he says while running his hands tenderly up your back and gazing at you with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Sebek blinks, a strained smile sneaking up on his cheeks, "Well. I'm sure they can use slippers—"

"Nonsense." Malleus snarls, eyes flashing a luminous green. "How dare you even think of subjecting them to such a ludicrous act. Hmph. Using…slippers—How preposterous." 

"No. I think my way is much better." Shaking his head, Malleus turns back to the catalogue—paying no mind to the grief-stricken look on his retainer's face. "Now dearest, do you think burgundy would look good in the kitchen?"

───────────────────── · ·

—♰ SEBEK

Carries your sparkly pink purses for you, slay king<3

Sebek was not a fool. The fae was well aware he could be a bit…much at times. And even if he doesn't express it, he really values your nearly infinite patience with him. 

The boy was awkward at affection, and this is especially highlighted when it comes to anything involving romantic gestures. Even though your snappy crocodile was hard-headed and stubborn at times, he still showed you how much he cared in his own little ways. Even if it were something as simple as carrying your sparkly pink bag around the campus.

꒰‧₊˚⚗️☆༉‧₊˚.

"You ought to have known better than to jest so lightly about Diasomnia that way!" Sebek barks out, a leather-clad finger digging deep into Ace's chest. However, as opposed to being upset as Sebek had anticipated, the ginger chortles, muffled giggles sneaking past his clamped up lips.

"Sebek, buddy." Ace wheezes out, shoulders shaking from the strain of his suppressed laughter. "It's kinda hard to take you seriously…wh-when you have that."

The Heartslabyul runt gestures towards your designer purse, which was snugly resting against Sebek's bicep, slung over his shoulder. 

It was quite the eye-catcher. The sparkling pink diamonds of its handle twinkled a bright brilliant white, so bright in fact that it was almost blinding. 

Epel takes notice of the logo and crocodile keychain attached to it and he perks up.

"Oh, it's one of those girly-lookin' designer bags Vil is always yappin' about," Epel points out, squinting his eyes to get a better look at it. "Ain't that the prefect's bag?"

Unfazed by Ace's mocking, Sebek scoffs arrogantly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Indeed, it is. As a knight-in-training, it is only right for me to possess the quality of a gentleman. Chivalrous acts like this are nothing to be ashamed of." He abruptly snapped his head over to glower at Ace, who was sitting rather comfortably in the cafeteria bench, crossing one leg over the over as he met Sebek's irritated stare. "Not that I anticipate someone like you to ever have experience with it.."

Sebek then rose from the table and strode boldly in the direction of your classroom, the pink bag swinging with each heavy step he took. Epel was leaning over the table, placing a shaky hand on Ace's shoulder as loud laughter racked through his body.

"Darn' right," Epel cackles, wiping the tears away from his eyes before turning to the ginger. "Nice ta' see someone still has sum chivalry…Unlike you, Ace."

The ginger visibly deflates, rolling his eyes as he mutters, "Yeah, yeah. We get it. He's down bad."

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here!

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @phoneandchips @gussuri @lunavixia @heatofmyexoheart @heatofmyexoheart @pianopuppygirl @cross-crye @cerisescherries @cecilebutcher @savanaclaw1996 @msykaroly @a-bit-late

@furoidoleech @skadi-winterfell @mushroomchaos101 @taruruchi

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki [TEASER]

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, comfort ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 6-10k (est.)

⭒ RELEASE DATE -› IT'S HEREEEEEEEE YAYYYY

⭒ REN SAYS... spiderman niki is a need hes so cute i love riki sm 😕🫵 also poll voted for this and tbh i just wanna write downbad riki LOLZ | LIBRARY

“God, I don’t think you can look at her any more down bad than you already do right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he watches you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last night. Let me have this before I die in a week.”

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair. “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response.

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.”

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.”

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.”

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.”

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up to her balcony in my suit. Do that cheesy upside kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spiderman thing, but prom definitely.”

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, his eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” Is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah- whatever confidence he had 37 minutes ago really isn’t serving him well in this moment, because frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?”

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes.

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it, really- because you don’t really have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to someone I know- someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from overthinking if he keeps wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM ☐ talk to ____ regularly ☐ don't make it awkward ☐ be..cute?

THERE IS NO OFFICIAL TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC, join my perm taglist to be notified when this fic comes out!

if you’d like to proofread this, i’d love for someone to join my chaotic half done doc and offer some feedback/advice!

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[rafeyscurtainbangs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕀𝕔𝕖

𝙽𝙷𝙻!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚆𝙰𝙶!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, jealous!reader, make up sex, rafe is down bad, multiple orgasms, possessive!reader, petty!reader, oral (fem. & male receiving), swearing, slight angst, overstimulation, nipple play, female worship, unprotected p in v, spit kink

📖 NHL!Rafe gets caught smiling at the Ice Girl after scoring a goal on his way back to the bench; his winning night just turned into a loss—now he needs to make it right. ♥️

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The cold from the rinks seeps in through the glass as you stand up, watching Rafe in his element, skating with the kind of ease only years of playing hockey could bring. Every movement is smooth and deliberate as he weaves through traffic with precision.

Your eyes widen as he finds his hole, sending this puck sailing past the goalie, lighting the lamp as the crowd goes wild. The area erupts with cheers as his teammates pile on him at the corner in celebration, Rafe smiling ear to ear.

Your heart beats a little faster, and you can’t help but swoon as you see your boyfriend commanding the team and the audience of rowdy fans as the Goal Song plays. He looks over at you, giving you a smile and a wink as he always does, making your heart flutter. But your smile quickly fades as he skates closer to the bench.

You look up at the jumbotron, wondering if you were going insane… because there’s no possible way your boyfriend just skated past an Ice Crew girl and smiled at her.

Not just a smile. The smile—the smile that makes you weak in the knees. The smile he shot you from across the bar all those years ago.

You look up at the screen, watching it again as the pretty blonde skates along the boards, shoveling the snow away with her shovel. Her little Santa Clause skirt catches the breeze, showing off her red, sparkly booty shorts underneath. She even looked surprised at their little exchange, her blonde curls bouncing as she double-takes.

She skates back toward the boards, looking at the bench as Rafe takes his glove off with his teeth, stripping himself of his helmet before running his fingers through his sweaty hair, none the wiser.

You look toward the bench too, watching as she glides past him one last time on her way off the ice—arching her back with each push of her skate blades; tits busting out of the top of the red velvet crop top.

Rafe’s attention is long gone, but that doesn’t mean you’re over it—not in the slightest. He grabs his Gatorade bottle, squirting it lazily in his mouth as his coach yells at the other men about a line change.

It was quick and harmless—probably nothing more than a polite acknowledgment. But at this moment, it feels anything but. Your jaw clenches as you stew a little more, hating yourself for your jealous streak. But waving that feeling is next to impossible, especially when it comes to Rafe. Your Rafe…

The cameras didn’t catch that he smiled at you… All they saw was #2 skating off the bench after a critical goal, smiling at the crowd before turning his attention to her.

Music blares over the speakers again, repeating the goal in slow motion—a repeat of everything in slow motion… Your mind starts to race away, and your irritation bubbles in your chest.

As the game continued, your focus was shot, scowling as you repeatedly watched the girl fight for his attention. But could you blame the girl for trying? She got it once.

By the time the game ended, you were seething. Rafe had played brilliantly, as he always does, scoring two more goals, leading his team to victory, but everything was tainted.

After the final buzzer, Rafe skated out to the middle of the ice, and the crowd went wild again as they awarded him player of the game, airing that goal again.

Rafe looked up at the screen, watching with a proud smile as the puck sailed into the net. He playfully bumped his buddy with his elbow as he watched his teammates congratulate him. And then his smile falters. His lashes beat a few times; utter confusion like he didn’t live that moment once, his gaze landing directly at you.

There were no words needed. You leaned down, grabbed your coat, heading up the stairs before they could even set the award in his hands.

You caught another girlfriend in the parking lot, so you sent Rafe a quick text telling him you would see him at home. Typically, you’d drive home together, celebrating a win with music and laughter, sometimes stopping for a beer and food. Other times, you wouldn’t even make it out of the private parking garage until the arena lights went dark, the two of you sneaking in a celebratory hookup in the back of his G-Class.

Tonight, you didn’t even wait for him to shower and change. You needed your space—space to stew in your anger without him explaining it away.

Rafe Cameron was on your shit list.

When you got home, you went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of wine. Your guilt started to creep in as you briefly talked yourself off the ledge. It was harmless… He would never do anything, I know… You’re being irrational… Just let it go…

The TV was playing from earlier when you walked into the living room— ESPN highlights rolling across your screen. And then there it was again… It was like the universe just wanted you to lose your shit.

The camera lingered a second too long on him as he skated toward the bench. The moment you couldn’t get out of your head played on a loop for the entire country to see. You grabbed the remote and rewound it, watching it repeatedly, your anger flaring hotter each time.

How could he? How could he smile at her when I was right there?

Clink.

You sat unmoved, wine in hand, as you heard Rafe's key pull out of the door, the hardware creaking open slowly. “Baby?” Rafe’s voice was soft, hesitant. He knew you well enough to sense the storm brewing even before he saw you.

You stay silent, eyes set on the screen, taking a sip of wine with the highlights paused and ready. Rafe pokes his head around the corner before he steps in the doorway. His big body takes up the frame—settling on wearing his game-day suit instead of his typical post-game sweatpants and sweatshirt, hoping that maybe that would buy him some grace, knowing you can’t keep your hands off him dressed like that.

He walks a little closer—a bouquet in one hand, a bottle of your favorite wine tucked under his big arm, and his other hand clutching your favorite dessert from that restaurant you love. His expression’s contrite; he smiles nervously. This man is hell on the ice… But now, he looks like he might crack under your gaze.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says softly as he sets down the gifts, sinking onto the couch next to you. “I… I—Uh… I thought I’d bring you these.” You glance at the offerings, your sharp eyes returning to the TV. “Are you mad, princess?” He asks though the answer is crystal clear.

God, he can’t be this fuckin’ dumb.

You lift the remote, press play, and let the clip roll in silence. His eyes flicker to the screen, and when the moment replays—the goal, the smile, the girl—you have the pleasure of watching it together.

“Baby,” he starts, his tone full of guilt. “I-”

“Don’t,” you snap, cutting him off. “Don’t even start with some excuse about how it didn’t mean anything, Rafe.”

He sighs, running his big hand through his damp hair, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t mean anything by it, princess. I swear. I was just being polite-”

“Polite?” You scoff, finally turning to face him with a manic smile. “You smiled at her like she was the only person in the arena, Rafe. Polite… Really?”

“You’re the only person I care about, baby. The only one I look for is you. I swear.”

“Really?” You pick up the remote and rewind the clip. “Because this tells a different story.”

“Come on, princess,” he pleads as he leans closer. “It was nothin’. I couldn’t pick her out of a line-up. Aight? I don’t even remember doing it. I was just-”

“You might not remember it, but I do. And so does every person watching this on TV who knows you have a girlfriend,” you snap, cutting right through his apology.

Rafe rests his elbow on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he sighs, his voice breaking slightly. “I wasn’t thinkin’ about anything. I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. You know you’re my girl.”

“Yeah… Well, from the looks of it, I’m the only one who knows that.”

”Jesus, baby,” he laughs weakly, not earning any headway—his efforts seemingly making everything worse.

He drops to his knees in front of you, resting his big hands on your thighs as he stares up with those impossibly blue eyes, giving you a look that always makes you melt. “I’m so, so sorry… You’re everything to me. I don’t give a fuck about her. How could I when I have you? Please, baby. Nobody compares to you…” You roll your eyes, flicking your gaze away, sucking your teeth as you feel him melting away your icy exterior.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, princess,” he says, his voice earnest. “Look at me… Please, don’t stay mad at me. I messed up, but it didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t even tell you what I was thinkin’ about at the time but it definitely had nothin’ to do with her.” You return your eyes to him, lips pressed in two thin lines.

He inches in, trying to eliminate the space between the two of you, knowing that if he kisses you, he might win you over. You stop him, pressing your hand against his forehead.

“No.”

“No?” He pouts.

“You’re not kissing me for a very long time.”

Rafe collapses on your thighs, burying his head in your lap. “Please,” he mumbles, muffled against your leg. The corners of your lips curl slightly as you try your best to fight back your smile, but the thought of Rafe like this—the big, strong hockey star on his knees begging for forgiveness—made your resolve waver. “Yeah?” He asks hopefully as he peeks up at you, catching the slight smile.

“I’m not done being mad, Rafe,” you say coolly, looking down at him from the corner of your eye.

“Take your time, pretty,” he sighs deeply as his hands slide lower down your caves, his chin resting on your knees as he looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. “M’so sorry,” he whispers, his voice muffled. “I love you more than anything, baby. Anything… Let me make it up to you.”

You let the silence between the two of you stretch, savoring his sweet words for a moment. The TV plays on, filling the silence. You look at the screen, eyeing a Seasons Greetings message, and scroll across. “Oh, thank god,” Rafe huffs tiredly as he looks over his shoulder, watching with you as the other captain stumbles over his words on national television.

Rafe appears on the screen, fixing his collar nervously as he looks at the camera.

“Well, I’m lookin’ forward to spending this Christmas with my girlfriend. She makes everything better, you know?”

He pauses and smiles as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, so… I can’t wait to just be with her. That’s all I need for Christmas, honestly.”

Rafe flashes a sweet smile at the camera, and you feel your heart flutter as they put a picture of the two of you up on the screen from the last game, his arm wrapped around your waist as he kisses your cheek. The camera switches back to him as he gives a little wave, wishing the fans a Merry Christmas, before it cuts to his other teammate.

Rafe turns his head slightly, looking at you nervously. You cover your lips with your hand, hiding a smile. “Baby?” He asks timidly.

“You’re mine, Rafe,” you say softly, leaving no room for argument.

“Always,” he assures as he hesitantly moves closer, claiming your lips for a tender kiss. He cups your cheek in his big hands, his perfect smile spreading along your lips. “Always yours, princess.” Rafe pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “Forgive me?” He asks, his voice tentative.

“That was very sweet, baby,” you whisper.

He grabs for you, pulling you to straddle his lap. Rafe wraps his big arms around your waist, burying himself in your neck and holding you tight. “How sweet?” He asks, earning a giggle as his voice lowers. Rafe peels your jean jacket off your shoulders, kissing your shoulder, then your neck, working his way up to your ear.

“Sweet enough to get you out of the dog house,” you quip.

You rest your hands on his big chest, and he stretches his arms, draping them across the back of the couch, looking at you on top of him. Rafe tilts his head casually, but there’s nothing casual about his gaze as he looks back at you. “You know,” he starts hesitantly, unsure if he should continue the thought. The last thing he wants to do is get back on your bad side again. “You’re kinda scary when you’re mad, princess. Sexy as hell, but… Damn, you scare the shit outta me sometimes,” he sighs. “… I fuckin’ love it.”

You giggle and roll your eyes as you pinch the buttons of his shirt between your fingers, popping them open one by one. “I scare you?” You act surprised, but you know it’s true.

“Mhmm, you’re the only person I’m scared of.”

You raise your eyebrow as you draw his shirt open, letting your long nails run down his chest, making goosebumps spread across his tanned, toned skin. “I can tell,” you whisper.

“That’s fair…” He hums as sees your smile. “I’m scared of screwin’ this up—scared of losin’ you. I can’t even think about that shit.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” you say, your voice steady but gentle.

“Yeah, but I do,” he murmurs as he shifts closer, the air between you thick. “Let me thank you properly, princess?”

“I don’t know,” you chuckle breathily.

“C’mon, you want me too,” he smiles. “I can tell…” You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, leaving you in your lace bra. Rafe licks his lips, looking at your body hungrily, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in. “Please, baby,” he almost whines. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you all night… You know how I get after a win, sweetheart,” he mumbles as his big hands rest on your hips. “Had no idea you were mad at me, honey. M’so fuckin’ dumb. I’m so stupid,” he rambles as he reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra before tossing it away.

“Hmm…” You tap your chin teasingly. “I don’t know if that’s enough begging, Cameron.”

“You want more?” He chuckles. You bite your lip and nod ‘yes’ back, arching as you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in a little more. “You wanna hear me beg? Fuck. I can go all night, princess…”

“Go on…” You giggle.

“You gotta forgive me… All I was thinking about was takin’ you home,” he tilts in closer, wrapping his lips around your tit, sucking and flicking your nipple as his hand palms the other, releasing you with a pop. “All I was thinkin’ about burying myself in your pussy all night. Pounding you into the mattress. Filling you up. I had no clue you were mad at me… All I was doing was sitting on the bench, dreamin’ about all the shit I wanted to do with you.”

“You’re lying,” you sigh as he works on the button and the zipper of your jeans.

He looks up at you, brows furrowed like you don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. “Am not,” he answers simply. “If I’m not thinkin’ about the game, I’m thinking about you. When I look at you from the ice, I’m just hopin’ you’re looking at me… Smilin’ that smile,” he hums as he leans in, pressing his lips against your pulse point. “Can’t help but get a little excited when you get possessive over me, princess. All I want is your attention.” He whispers hot against your skin.

“So you’re an attention whore, Cameron,” you bully as you rest your hand on his rock-hard bulge, pressing against him, palming him, drawing the sweetest moans from his lips.

“M’a fuckin’ slut for your attention, sweetheart,” he drawls. “‘Course I am.”

“You know, Rafe… No one can do it like me,” you breathe as you stroke him over his pants, making his head lull back on the couch.

“I know, baby… Why do you think I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, huh?” He asks. “You got me beggin’… I don’t even recognize myself right now.”

“Pretty pathetic for me, daddy-”

“You have no idea,” he answers before you can finish. You step off the couch, making Rafe’s lust-lidded eyes widen briefly before rolling back, the man quickly tugging his pants off as you lower yourself to your knees, slotting yourself between his muscular thighs. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers as he pulls his boxers down eagerly. You look at his pretty eyes, and your hands trace down his muscular chest, nails circling his long, thick cock, flushed and leaking with precum. He grabs your chin in his hand, lifting your eyes to his. “You hear me, baby? I don’t fuckin’ deserve this… I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” you whisper as he leans down, kissing you deeply. Before he can relax, you open your mouth, showing him your tongue. He groans into a deep, sleazy laugh, spitting inside. “So fucking filthy for me, baby.”

Rafe lets out a deep groan as you wrap your fingers around his dick, pumping your fist up and down his length. He breathes with your strokes, the deep ridges of his ab muscles flexing with each glide of your hand.

“I think about you too, Rafe,” you smile as your tongue glides along your bottom lip, mouth-watering as his precum rolls down his fat cock, catching his prominent vein as it slips languidly down the side.

“Yeah?” He hums as his eyes lighten on yours, looking down at you like you're the prettiest thing in the world.

“Mhmm…” You breathe, watching goosebumps fan along his skin before cleaning it up with your tongue.

“Mpfhh, shit,” he huffs as his big fingers curl into a fist on the back of the couch. “What—uh… What do you think about, princess?” He asks as you start to stroke him quickly, licking and swirling your tongue on his tip, your breast bouncing with each pump, distracting him further.

“This,” you answer simply, half-hiding your smirk with the swollen head of his cock before starting again. That visual made his lashes flutter, holding back his pleasure already. “All I think about is sucking you off, bouncing on your dick…”

“So-So… Fuck, that’s good,” he groans as you wrap your lips around his tip, bobbing up and down on his big cock. “You, baby. Only you. Alright?”

“Mhmm…” You hum around his cock. Rafe’s toes curl at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him. He grabs the back of the couch, clawing into it with his blunt nails while his other hand rests on the back of your head. He doesn’t even guide your strokes, not wanting to ruin your perfect rhythm.

“Swallow it, baby? M’Gonna cum, Fuck. I’m gonna cum in that perfect mouth,” he pants as his thick thigh shakes uncontrollably.

Rafe throws back his head, painting the back of your throat white as he cums long and hard. His cock throbs on your tongue, shit tip kissing the back of your mouth as you take it all.

“Goddamn,” he groans as his body relaxes on the sofa.

You glide yourself off his cock, lips glistening when Rafe pushes his mouth against yours, making you gasp into your kiss as he lifts you into his strong arms, taking you off your feet, walking with you to your bedroom.

He pants between kisses, the man unable to even catch his breath yet. “No one— Fuck, no one does it like you, baby,” he mumbles with a whiny rasp that runs straight through you.

“Yeah?” You ask as you pull away, leaving him chasing your lips. You nuzzle your nose against his. Rafe smiles blissfully, throwing the bedroom door shut behind you.

“I’m gonna make sure you know just how much you mean to me, baby,” he murmurs. “And how much I love you,” Rafe hums, emphasizing each word with a hungry kiss before tossing you down on your plush mattress, mounting you fast.

He grabs your jeans, yanking them down your thighs before tossing them to the side. His lips press against your hot skin, kissing along your hips as your back arches off the bed.

“I am going to worship this body, princess… Every single fuckin’ inch.” Rafe moves even lower, face to face with your dripping cunt still dressed in lace, your panties an absolute mess after sucking him off. "I want you to cum on me, pretty," he says, voice sweet like honey as he looks up at you from between your thighs. “One my dick, on my fingers, on my tongue.”

You glide your fingers through his damp fringe, smiling at him as he kisses along your inner thighs. Rafe breathes in your scent before pressing a kiss against your clothed pussy, making you whimper.

“Fuckin’ love the taste of you,” he sighs. Rafe works off your panties fast, needing more; his hot breath hits you first, his tongue quickly reaching your sex just to slow his pace, lapping up your arousal.

He hums into your core, sending goosebumps flaring across your skin. You grind against his face, moaning as your aching clit bumps against his nose. You gasp as Rafe shoves two thick fingers inside, pumping in fast. He curls them, making you cry out in pleasure, throwing your head back on the pillow in bliss as he strokes your sweet spot again and again.

“My pretty girl’s gonna cum, aren’t you?” He asks as he pulls his mouth away from your clit.

“Fuck, Rafe. Make me cum,” you plead.

“Cum for me, baby…”

You scream out his name, cumming around his skilled fingers as he continues to suck and stroke you through your release.

“Such a good girl for me,” he pants as he kisses your clit, making your thighs jolt with overstimulation as you reach for a breath. Rafe traces your slick folds with a featherlight touch, swirling his tongue around your dripping hole before plunging into your entrance, not wanting to miss a drop, making your fingers scratch into his hair, tugging at his strands.

“Mmm…” You hum as your hands slink up your body, grabbing your tits as you writhe in the aftershock of your orgasm.

Rafe rises on his knees. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, looking down at you like you are an angel on earth.

You snapped back to reality, plump lip tucking between your teeth as you felt his fat tip press between your slick folds. He flicks his velvety head against your clit, watching your muscles jump, your thighs drawing together, making him smirk devilishly at your sensitivity.

“I need your pussy, princess…” He hums as he grabs your legs, spreading you wide before pushing them into the mattress.

“I need your dick, baby,” you whirr, and he buries himself inside you, long and slow, reaching deep into your core, filling you so full you go for a breath. You press it out slowly as he bottoms you out—Rafe’s big hands reaching up to grab your fleshy hips tight.

Rafe fucks into your slow at first, his eyes still trained on your body, watching your curves bounce with each thrust. Your pussy pulls him in with each stroke, filthy wet sucking sounds filling your ears and his as your slickness soaks him—essence rolling down his heavy balls onto the comforter below.

His movements become more possessive and forceful, rutting into you with urgency. His words no longer do him justice; Rafe wanted you to feel them, too. He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

You grab for him, cursing under your breath as your pleasure mounts, feeling yourself about to come undone for him again. “Do it… Come on, baby. Give me another one, Yeah?” He mumbles, his deep fucked-out voice barely heard over the clapping of your skin against his.

Rafe buries himself into you, throwing his hips into you again and again as his name leaves your lips in a strangled moan. “Keep cummin’, princess. Keep creamin’ all over me. Fuckk,” he groans as his fingers find yours.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you barely push out the words, your boyfriend pounding you into the mattress just like he promised he would, and you swear you down, thinking you can’t take anymore as stars start to dance in your eyes.

Rafe lifts your hands above your head, fingers intertwined, pumping into you as his lips meet yours.

Your heart bangs against Rafe’s, his muscular chest flush with yours, gold chain clinging to your hot, sweaty skin.

“I’m so close, baby… I know you can cum again. Alright?” He pants against your lips as his cock rocks in and rocks out, filling you deliciously each time. He drops one hand, nudging his fingers against your clit, making you whimper into his open mouth.

“Just like that…” You breathe.

“Yeah? That’s what you needed, pretty girl, huh? Fuck…” His words get swallowed up in a moan as he fills you with his cum, his muscles tightening, fingers working even quicker to push you over the edge with him.

Your hands grip his big biceps, nails clawing into his skin as you cum for a third time, gasping to fill your lungs with air.

Rafe kisses you, grounding your dizzy mind. Your body dissolves in pleasure as he wraps himself in you, holding you close.

“That’s my girl.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy

[muniimyg]

♡ extra: a little fade out?

series m.list // taglist

note: stop !!! cos like ,, why did i get teary eyed writing this LOL ... enj this little extra </3 it's their first fight/fluff/slight angst vibe as a new couple !!! mwaaaa

//

jungkook might lose his mind.

you’re walking toward him, weaving through the crowded tables of the bustling café near campus. it’s the type of place everyone on campus flocks to between classes. it’s almost always way too loud, perpetually short on seats, and forever smelling of coffee and fries.

his friends—jaehyun, dokyeom, and hoshi—are already mid-conversation about some chemical compound’s absurd reaction time when jungkook notices you. instantly, he freezes.

his grip tightens on the edge of his chair as you spot him and wave, your smile wide and radiant.

god, you’re the prettiest thing he has ever had. 

when you reach their table, you drop your bag onto the empty seat beside jungkook’s, and lean down to greet him. your hand brushes his shoulder, lingering a second longer than needed. what can you say? 

you missed him and it’s been a long day.

“hey, baby,” you say softly, your voice just for him before turning to his friends. “hi, guys!”

jungkook mumbles a “hey” back, his hand barely grazing your arm before he drops it. the faintest pink rises to his ears, though, and jaehyun catches it immediately, smirking.

“... and you must be the girlfriend,” jaehyun says, leaning back in his seat as he takes you in. “shit, you are pretty.”

“shut up,” jungkook hisses.

the guys chuckle at jungkook’s instant reaction. 

“that’s me,” you say with a laugh, sliding into your seat. “and you’re the nerds, huh? jungkook talks about you all the time.”

“wish we could say the same about you,” dokyeom says with a sigh. “we had to beg him to let us meet you. don’t get why he’s gatekeeping you for… i mean, you guys have been together for a month—officially i mean. we heard all about the slow burn and him being an asshole—”

“shut up—”

“we’d like to apologize on his behalf, by the way,” jaehyun interrupts. “as nerd alchemists, we tend to suck at the whole… romance part of life.” 

“that’s okay. we’re happy and together now, right? that’s all that matters.” you say, turning to jungkook with a sweet smile. he nods in agreement. “also! nerd alchemists? hilarious.”

“or ‘genius goofs,’” hoshi adds, “but only on the bad days.”

“genius goofs who almost melted the lab last semester,” jaehyun cuts in with a snort.

“hey, that was one time,” hoshi protests before pouting, recalling the slightly traumatic memory. he huffs, “... fuck you. it wasn’t my fault.” 

“not entirely your fault,” jungkook corrects.

you laugh, genuinely amused, as you settle in closer to jungkook’s side. 

“i like them,” you say, nudging him.

“yeah?” jungkook asks, nudging you back. “i don’t. thinking of getting rid of them—”

“oh! really?” you gasp. “can i have them then?”

the guys stop themselves from bursting into laughter. you’re quick with it and it obviously throws jungkook and his stone-cold mood off… it’s right then and there where they all see it—how good you are for him. how good he has it to be with you.

“she’s funny,” jaehyun remarks, elbowing jungkook. “good choice, man.”

jungkook shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching as if fighting a smile. “yeah, she’s alright.”

“alright?” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at him with mock offense. “that’s all i am to you? you’re one to talk about being alright… what do you even have to offer me?”

“free tutoring,” hoshi deadpans, making everyone laugh.

as lunch continues, the vibe is easy. the conversation between everyone flows with teasing jokes and the occasional detour into more chemistry talk that you don’t fully understand but pretend to. it’s nice to be in jungkook’s world. it makes you feel like you’re getting to know him a little better and that’s all you really want… more of him. 

as you wait for the food to arrive, you reach for jungkook’s hand under the table, lacing your fingers through his. for a moment, he lets it happen. his thumb brushing yours absently before he pulls away to grab his water.

“here,” he says casually, pushing the glass toward you.

you blink, caught off guard, but take the glass with a polite smile. “thanks.”

jaehyun leans forward, clearly amused. “so, how is he as a boyfriend? still the golden boy, or is the shine starting to fade?”

you grin, playing along. “oh, he’s great. sweet, smart, cute when he wants to be… which isn’t often… ” you glance sideways at him. “terrible at pda, though.”

jungkook blinks at you.

dokyeom snickers. “shit. classic jungkook. wouldn’t want to ruin the whole nonchalant-genius vibe, right?”

jungkook doesn’t respond, just gives a half-smile as he takes a sip of his drink.

you laugh lightly, but something about his reaction sits heavy in your chest. you keep the conversation going with the group, but the warmth from earlier feels a little dimmed now.

jungkook might lose his mind?

no.

but maybe you might.

after lunch with the nerds, you and jungkook head back to his place.

when you arrive, the guys are already sprawled out in the living room, half-buried in blankets and pillows. the plan? a casual disney movie marathon, an excuse for everyone to lounge around and argue over animated villains.

you settle on the couch next to jungkook, close enough that your thigh presses against his, and his arm is loosely draped along the backrest behind you. it’s not nothing, but the space between how you’re sitting and how you want to be sitting feels like miles.

you try to close the distance, leaning into him as the opening scene of the lion king plays, but jungkook barely reacts. he’s relaxed, sure—his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes glued to the screen—but it’s like he doesn’t even notice the way you’re resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“are you mad at me?”

jungkook shifts, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. “no, i’m not. why?”

“feels like you are.”

“i’m not,” he tells you softly. “did i do something?”

you shrug. “i don’t know… did i do something?”

jungkook shakes his head. “no. you okay, ___?”

baby. 

call me baby, please.

you nod, lips tight, and turn back to the movie. jungkook doesn’t think twice about it. 

meanwhile, the others are already engrossed in their usual back-and-forth.

“oh, come on,” taehyung groans from across the room, his hand halfway into the popcorn bowl. “you guys have to agree with me. scar is fucking gaston in another universe. it’s so obvious!”

“that makes literally no sense. gaston doesn’t have a scar on his face!” jin deadpans, tossing a handful of popcorn in taehyung’s direction.

you laugh softly, trying to join in. “i mean… he’s not wrong.”

jungkook doesn’t even glance at you.

you shift, sliding your hand into his lap and letting your fingers brush against his knee. maybe this will get his attention—a tiny spark of acknowledgment. instead, he shifts slightly, just enough that you pull away, sinking into the couch with your heart dipping into your stomach.

taehyung catches it, his smirk practically a reflex. 

“yah, jungkook… seriously?” he says, looking between you and jungkook. “are you two even dating? what the fuck was that?”

“what was what?” jungkook asks.

taehyung rolls his eyes. “you know what you just did. look at your girlfriend—if i can even call ehr that—she’s clearly upset at you.”

jungkook laughs it off like it’s nothing, his expression is calm as ever. 

“we’re dating,” jungkook says, voice casual, like it’s obvious.

but you’re not laughing. 

and taehyung is right.

you are upset. 

your chest feels tight because fuck. every touch you’ve tried today has been shrugged off, and taehyung’s words cut a little deeper than you want to admit. you force a smile, your fingers twisting at the hem of your sleeve.

“whatever,” taehyung gives up. 

then, just like that… you feel alone again. like no one sees you again. 

like he doesn’t see you. 

the others keep talking, diving into some tangent about villains in disney sequels, but the warmth you’ve been chasing all day feels impossibly far away.

it’s late by the time the movie marathon wraps up. 

one by one, everyone begins to surrender to their tiredness. the once lively room is now quiet, save for the rustle of blankets and yawns. jin and namjoon head upstairs to their rooms, while taehyung and yoongi mumble something about doing the dishes before heading to bed. jimin and hobi headed out early to sleep over at their girlfriends. meanwhile, jungkook, still half-reclined on the couch next to you, looks like he’s one blink away from passing out.

his head dips once, then twice. 

his lashes fluttering as his hand absently brushes against your thigh. you watch him for a moment, your chest tightening with a mix of affection and frustration.

today has not been the best day with him.

you can’t quite put the finger on why he’s so fucking infuriating today… maybe your period is coming or maybe he truly is just a fucking idiot. 

when his head finally droops forward, you carefully slip away, untangling yourself from the blanket and his loose grip. his brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t wake. you head to the entryway, grab your jacket, and slip your arms through the sleeves with slow, deliberate movements.

the door creaks slightly as you reach for your shoes, and that’s when you hear him.

“hey.”

you glance up to see jungkook standing there, rubbing at his eyes, his hair a soft, messy halo around his head. his voice is low, a little groggy, but there’s an edge of concern in it.

“where are you going?” he asks, padding toward you with bare feet.

“home,” you reply, your tone light but clipped as you tug the zipper of your jacket up. “you were out cold, and it’s late. figured i’d let you sleep.”

“hey, hey, hey.” his voice softens, and before you can move away, his hands find your waist, gently pulling you back toward him. “what’s this about?”

you keep your gaze fixed on the door, refusing to look at him. 

“nothing. i just thought it’d be better if i went home.”

jungkook leans in, his arms sliding around you fully now, and his forehead dips to rest against your shoulder. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. 

“you said you were staying the night.”

you inhale sharply, willing yourself not to get so sensitive about this. god, what are you even mad about? actually, no. what are you not mad about? 

“i did, didn’t i?”

“yeah,” he murmurs, his voice almost pleading. “it’s our one-month tomorrow…”

“right,” you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him. “hey, do you think we should just break up? we can do that, you know. it’s only a month in anyway and—”

his hold on you tightens instantly. 

“what?” he stares at you, the grogginess fading from his eyes as they widen in alarm. “why would you say something like that? that’s not funny.” 

“i’m not trying to be funny,” you say, attempting to sound stern. you don’t though. if anything, you just sound defeated. 

“i’m not following…” jungkook says, beginning to feel a burn in his chest. “why do you wanna break up with me? do you not want to be with me anymore? i swear, i thought i was making you happy. aren’t we happy—”

“it’s fine. like, if you want to break up we can do it now. we haven’t even had sex yet and so this would be less attachment to our relationship. we can still be friends—”

“don’t,” jungkook hisses. “don’t start with your psych bullshit. ___, friends? we’re horibale at that, remember? fuck, ___… and who said anything about sex? i said i’d wait. i said it doesn’t matter if you want to wait for marriage or do it tomorrow. do what you want with it, okay? it’s yours. it’s completely yours… and so am i. me being your boyfriend has nothing to do with wanting to fuck you—okay. wait. yeah, okay, fine. it does a little but it’s not why i’m with you.”

“oh,” you murmur. “right. you’re my boyfriend.”

he doesn’t say anything right away, but the way his hands stay steady on your waist makes you feel like maybe he’s finally listening.

jungkook’s eyes narrow at the sarcasm that drips from your words, and his lips curl into a frown. he steps closer to you, eyes searching yours. 

“what the fuck does that mean?”

your lips tremble as you meet his gaze, the weight of everything you’ve been holding back pressing down on you. it feels like your heart is going to burst. 

"it doesn’t even feel like we’re dating, jungkook," your voice barely above a whisper. yet, you can tell by the way his body stiffens that he heard every word loudly. 

for a moment, there’s only silence. 

jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your jacket as he pulls you closer, not hard, but just enough that you can feel the warmth of him against you. his brows draw together, eyes searching your face for some kind of explanation, but he doesn’t speak.

you feel the space between you and him—how close you are, how far apart you feel.

you resist for a moment, but the way his hands settle on you—secure and soft—makes it hard to stay distant. still, your mind is racing, the thoughts bubbling up, ready to spill over.

“why’d you drop my hand today?” you ask, voice tight. “why didn’t you hold it? why didn’t you touch me during the movie? i was leaning into you the whole time, and you didn’t even—didn’t even notice.”

“i noticed.”

you pull away slightly, just enough to see his face, and you’re almost surprised to see the guilt flicker in his eyes. he opens his mouth, but no words come out at first, and then you take a shaky breath, your eyes filling with tears.

“yeah, you did… and then you shifted away. taehyung noticed that,” you continue, your voice breaking, “he saw it... you didn’t even care, did you?”

“i do care.”

“not enough then,” you whimper. “j-jungkook…”

then, the tears start to fall, and you feel them. 

hot and frustrated. 

your tears slip down your cheeks as you look up at him. your fists are clenched and before you even realize it, you’re hitting his chest with your palms.

“you’re such a bad boyfriend,” you whisper, the emotion bursting from you all at once. “just break up with me if you’re gonna be a bad boyfriend!”

jungkook doesn’t pull away.

he lets you hit him, one, two, three times, his chest soft under your hands. and then he gently grabs your wrists, holding them, but not in a way that feels forceful—more like he’s trying to soothe you—to ground you.

“i didn’t mean to,” he says softly, his voice laced with regret, pulling you back to him. 

he wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close, as if trying to keep you from falling apart. his forehead rests against yours, and he murmurs softly.

“i’m sorry,” he says.

you bury your face in his chest, taking a shaky breath. 

jungkook’s arms tighten around you, holding you like he never wants to let go. you feel the warmth of his embrace, but the words spill out before you can stop them.

“it’s just... it’s hard when you’re... like that around other people. you know?” you murmur. “it’s like... i try so hard to make you feel loved and important, and you just don’t—don’t react the way i want you to.”

he’s quiet for a long time, just holding you, and you feel his chest rise and fall with every breath. when he speaks again, it’s softer, raw, like he’s letting the truth spill out too.

“it’s hard for me too,” he says, his voice tight with vulnerability. “being with you... i want to be everything you need. but i can’t always figure out how to do it, especially when we’re in public, around my friends. it’s like... i don’t want to look stupid. i don’t want to mess things up, and... i’m not used to feeling like this. like you’re... you’re all-consuming, and i can’t control it.”

you pull back slightly, looking up at him, your heart beating louder in your chest. jungkook’s eyes are full of something you haven’t seen before—rawness, honesty.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, this time more quietly. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like this, ___... i swear to god, i didn’t.” he runs a hand over his face in frustration. “i know i was… distant. but it’s not because i don’t care about you. it’s not because i was intentionally trying to be an asshole—”

“why do you act like this around your friends? like i’m some kind of... afterthought?”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours as if trying to find the right words. but it’s almost like he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to finally say everything he’s been too afraid to face.

“honestly? when we’re around my friends, i get this... i get this weird feeling, like i’m not good enough for you. like you’re too… perfect. you’re out of my league, to be completely honest… and i don’t know how to handle it. like i said… it’s like you’re taking over my life and i can’t control it. it’s unfamiliar to me, you know? not having control over how i feel and how things go... so i guess… i guess i push you away and i drop your hand when i shouldn’t… when i don’t even want to.”

you can feel the sincerity in his words, and for a second, the tears that had been threatening to spill fall freely. he’s so open, so raw, and it makes your heart ache.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “i won’t ever do that ever again, okay? i want to be the boyfriend you deserve. i want to show you how much i care about you, how much i really, really fucking like you. i’m really sorry i made you feel this way.”

you swallow hard, trying to make sense of it all. 

it’s overwhelming, but it feels like he’s finally seeing you, really seeing you for the first time. as you compose yourself, jungkook takes this opportunity. 

“so... can you take it back?” he asks, his voice hesitant. “please don’t break up with me.”

you sniff, wiping your face with the back of your hand, still unsure of everything. your heart still aches, but it’s a little less painful now. you look at him through watery eyes, and a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“okay,” you murmur, your voice still a little shaky. “but you have to be more obsessed with me, okay? or else i’m really dumping you. got it?”

“got it.”

jungkook chuckles, a soft, relieved sound, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head before pulling off your jacket. he tosses it carelessly to the side, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a second longer than necessary, as if to keep you close.

“let’s go to bed. i’m sleepy... and i missed you all day,” he says, his voice low and warm, his hand now sliding down your arm to gently wrap around your wrist, giving it a soft tug. you let out a laugh, shaking your head as he starts to pull you toward the stairs.

“we were together all day, nerd,” you tease, looking up at him with a playful smile.

he groans dramatically, letting his head fall back with a long, exaggerated sigh. you can’t help but smile at the sight of him, so vulnerable and sweet in these moments.

“oh… i know,” he groans. “see what i mean? i sound ridiculous. baby, i miss you even when i’m with you.”

then, he’s pulling you closer. his fingers curl around your hand as his other arm slips around your waist, holding you snugly to his side.

his words hang in the air between you two, and it’s clear he’s not just saying it—he means it.

the way he holds you as he leads you upstairs, his gaze soft yet full of affection, is all the confirmation you need.

the way you two slip into bed and he wraps his body around you, breathing you in like you're his only source of air... it's what you've been craving for all day.

you two fall asleep tangled in each others embrace.

when you wake up the next day, you wake up to 30 individual flowers in small vases spread around his bedroom—one for each day you’ve been together.

jungkook kisses you good morning and holds you by the waist going downstairs. he's giggling into your skin, talking about how pretty you are. 

during breakfast with the guys, he holds your hand over the table. 

everyone rolls their eyes, dumbfounded by the pda… 

except you, of course. 

your eyes are completely on jungkook.

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: A quiet butcher named Simon finds his routine shaken by a regular customer whose shy demeanor masks a darker secret. Drawn to their kindness, Simon discovers troubling truths about their life, including a dangerous and abusive partner.

As tension builds, Simon is thrust into a harrowing situation where his loyalty and courage are tested. Lines blur between protector and avenger, as a late-night call for help leads to a violent reckoning.

The story weaves themes of resilience, healing, and the lengths one will go to safeguard someone they care about, culminating in a final confrontation that promises justice—and a chance at a new beginning.

A/N: Welcome to my newest installment, a story that dives deep into resilience, love, and the fight for safety and freedom. This series is both an emotional journey and a thrilling ride, weaving moments of quiet vulnerability with intense, heart-pounding confrontations.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 1 - Butcher's Charm

The door swings open with a soft creak, the cheerful chime of the bell overhead ringing out like a friendly greeting. It’s the kind of sound that makes you feel seen, welcomed, part of a world warmer than your own. The butcher shop smells as it always does: a heady blend of freshly cut meats, earthy herbs, and the subtle, comforting tang of smoked sausages hanging in the display. It’s a place that feels alive—bustling yet intimate, orderly yet full of charm.

Your gaze sweeps over the familiar surroundings, the polished glass counters gleaming under the golden afternoon light streaming in through the wide storefront window. Behind the counter stands Simon, his figure both unassuming and magnetic. He’s wearing his usual dark apron, the fabric smeared with streaks of blood and marinade, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the edges of tattoos that peek out like secrets.

The sight of him brings a smile to your lips. It always does.

“Hey there! The usual?” Simon asks as you approach the counter. His voice is deep, smooth, and unhurried, carrying a warmth that seems to settle the frayed edges of your mind. His eyes catch yours, and the corners of his lips lift in a shy smile that hints at a deeper, quieter affection he seems almost afraid to show.

“Yeah, the usual,” you reply, trying to keep your voice casual. But the flutter in your stomach betrays you, as it does every time.

Simon moves with practiced ease, pulling the knife from his station and making clean, precise cuts into the slab of meat on the cutting board. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work. Each movement is a dance of skill and confidence, his hands steady and deliberate. Those hands—they tell a story. The scars scattered across his knuckles and fingers speak of mistakes learned from, the faded tattoos of a life lived in vibrant bursts, the slight tremor in his right wrist of long hours and hard-earned experience.

He glances up at you as he wraps your order, his expression soft and attentive. "Anything else today?" he asks, the question lingering like an invitation.

You shake your head, trying not to linger too long on the way he looks at you, as if you’re the only person in the world. “No, this is great. Thanks, Simon.”

He hands you the package, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—a fleeting touch that leaves your pulse racing. You catch the way his gaze lingers, like he’s searching for something, but before either of you can speak again, the bell rings, and another customer walks in.

As you turn to leave, you glance over your shoulder. He’s still watching you, his shy smile now tinged with a quiet longing that makes your chest tighten.

Simon’s days are long, filled with the constant rhythm of knives slicing through flesh and bone, the hum of the cooler, the occasional clatter of metal trays. He loves his work, but it’s repetitive, a steady drumbeat in a life that once felt more unpredictable.

And then you walked in.

He remembers the first time he saw you, how your laughter bubbled over as you joked with him about the weather. You were bright, a spark in the monotony, and though he’d stumbled over his words that day, he’s gotten better at hiding how flustered you make him feel. Each time you visit, he finds himself lingering over your conversations, replaying the way you say his name or how your eyes light up when he teases you with a dry joke.

But Simon’s never been one to take risks when it comes to his heart. He’s spent years guarding it, locking away his past—the late nights in dive bars, the fights that left his hands bloodied and his spirit bruised. He’s a man remade, quieter now, content to find peace in his craft and the simple pleasures of routine.

And yet, here you are, stirring something in him that feels like both a risk and a refuge.

You leave the shop with your neatly wrapped package in hand, but your thoughts are still with Simon. There’s something about him—the way he’s steady but not stagnant, reserved but not cold—that pulls you back, week after week.

Over the months, you’ve pieced together fragments of his story. The tattoos on his forearms, faded and slightly smudged, hint at a wilder youth. The small scar on his cheek, which he once told you was from an accident in his first week as a butcher. The way he talks about his grandmother’s recipes, his voice softening with nostalgia, makes you wonder what kind of family shaped him into the man he is now.

And then there’s the way he looks at you. It’s a look that makes you feel seen in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying, as though he’s peeling back the layers of who you are and seeing the raw, vulnerable core.

You wish you had the courage to let him in. But courage is hard to muster when your life is split between the warmth of moments like these and the icy grip of what waits for you at home.

As you climb into your car and start the engine, you glance back toward the shop. Through the window, you see Simon helping another customer, his hands moving with the same practiced precision. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like to linger in that warmth a little longer, to let him know the parts of you that you’ve kept hidden.

But for now, the thought is enough.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!