#but i cut it off before i could get too lost in that again

[calypso-rt]

01 | acts of service

| one | | two | | three | | four | | five |

and how Rafe shows it

-> Rafe x F!Reader

Rafe Notices Things

The morning air is crisp, the kind that makes you want to curl back into bed and forget responsibilities exist. But life doesn’t work that way, so here you are: half-asleep, wrapped in a hoodie, trudging toward your car with coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off your shoulder.

You slide into the driver’s seat with a sigh, reaching for your keys. The second you turn the ignition, your brain finally registers something is off.

The gas tank.

It’s full.

That’s impossible.

You distinctly remember last night: running late, exhausted, and fully intending to stop for gas but ultimately deciding, Eh, future me will deal with it. Well, future you is here, and somehow… the problem is already solved.

Your eyebrows furrow as you pull out your phone. You definitely didn’t fill up the tank. There’s only one person who could have.

You: You filled my gas tank?

The three dots pop up immediately.

Rafe: You run on fumes. Got tired of watching.

You roll your eyes, even as something warm unfurls in your chest.

You: You’re so dramatic. Rafe: You’re so irresponsible.

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. Before you can reply, another text comes through.

Rafe: Check the glove compartment.

You do, confused, until your fingers brush against something small and familiar. Pulling it out, you find a pack of your favorite gum, a brand you only ever remember to buy after you’ve already run out.

Your heart does a weird little flip.

You: Are you stalking me? Rafe: If I was, I’d be charging you for all these services, sweetheart.

You huff, tucking the gum into your pocket.

You: Thanks, I guess.

You can feel his smirk through the phone.

You: Just don’t make this a habit, Cameron. Rafe: Too late.

You shake your head, start your car, and drive off. And even though you won’t say it, you spend the entire ride smiling.

Because maybe, you kind of like it.

...

Rafe the Protector

The festival is insane.

It had been fine at first: the air buzzing with energy, music thrumming through the ground, neon lights painting the night in a kaleidoscope of color. You’d been laughing, drink in hand, caught up in the electric joy of it all.

But then, somewhere between one act ending and another beginning, the crowd shifted.

People pushed in from all sides, bodies jostling, voices blending into an overwhelming roar. You lost track of where you were, of where anyone was. One second, Rafe had been right beside you, and the next...

He’s gone.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t panic easily. You don’t do helpless. But right now, all you can see is a sea of strangers, pressing in too close, blocking every path, and—

A hand wraps firmly around your wrist.

You flinch, but before the fear can fully hit, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Hey, hey—got you.”

Rafe.

The relief is instant, crashing over you like a wave. He’s there, standing solid and steady in front of you, his grip grounding, reassuring.

“I—” Your voice falters. You hadn’t realized just how hard your heart was pounding until now.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts closer, his other hand pressing lightly against your back, guiding you in. “You okay?” His voice is low, only meant for you.

You nod quickly, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I just—”

“Got caught up.” He finishes for you, watching you closely. “I know.”

The crowd surges again, another rush of bodies pushing past. Instinctively, you grab onto him this time. Rafe doesn’t hesitate. His arm slides fully around you, pulling you in against him, a barrier between you and the chaos.

“We’re getting out of here,” he says, tone leaving no room for argument.

You let him lead.

He doesn’t shove or fight his way through, just moves with quiet confidence, navigating the crowd effortlessly. And the whole time, he doesn’t let go.

Not even when you’re finally in the clear, standing at the edge of the festival grounds where the air is easier to breathe.

Not even when you should let go, when the moment has passed.

Instead, he looks down at you, brows slightly furrowed. “You good now?”

You exhale, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His thumb brushes absently over the back of your hand before he finally, reluctantly, lets go.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he didn’t just anchor you when you needed it most.

You don’t mention it.

But later that night, long after the festival has ended, you’ll still remember the feeling of his hand in yours.

...

Rafe the Caretaker

It starts with a knock.

A sharp, insistent knock that makes you groan because moving right now feels impossible. You’re bundled under a mountain of blankets, head throbbing, nose stuffed, body aching in that feverish way that makes everything miserable.

You ignore it.

But then, the door opens anyway.

“Seriously?” Your voice is hoarse, but it’s all the protest you can manage as Rafe strides in, arms full of stuff.

“Did you think I wasn’t gonna show up?” He kicks the door shut behind him, setting his haul down on your nightstand.

You blink at the pile: medicine, soup from that overpriced deli he likes, some kind of fancy tea that looks like it belongs in a wellness spa. There’s even a bottle of Gatorade, your favorite flavor.

You sniffle. “How did you even know I was sick?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, tugging off his jacket. “You think I don’t notice when you don’t text me back?”

You had gone suspiciously radio silent, but still. “That doesn’t mean you had to—”

“Yes, it does,” he interrupts, giving you a pointed look. “Because you suck at taking care of yourself.”

You scowl. “I do not.”

“You do,” he counters easily, already unpacking the medicine. “And now, I’m in charge.”

You open your mouth to argue, but it’s useless. Rafe’s already grabbed the thermometer, tapping the end of it checking if it works.

“Open up.”

You glare. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re sick.” His expression is flat, but there’s something undeniably soft about it. Like even if he’s being bossy about it, he actually cares.

You grumble but let him take your temperature anyway.

When he sees the number, he mutters something under his breath—probably cursing you for not calling him sooner—before reaching for the cold medicine.

“You’re taking this.” He hands you the dose. “Then drinking all of that tea.”

You eye the steaming cup warily. “That looks disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, deal with it.” He shoves the cup into your hands, then grabs the extra blanket from the chair and drapes it over you.

You blink up at him. “Are you tucking me in right now?”

Rafe scoffs. “Shut up.” But he still pulls the blanket snug around your shoulders, knuckles grazing your cheek as he checks your forehead.

His hand is warm. Gentle. You lean into it without thinking.

Rafe stills for half a second, then just shakes his head, muttering, “Pathetic.” But his voice is softer than before.

He stays.

Puts on some terrible daytime TV. Grumbles about your taste in shows. Forces you to eat the soup even when you insist you’re not hungry.

And at some point, when you’re drifting in and out of sleep, you feel the weight of him settle beside you on the bed, his arm slung over the back of your pillows like he belongs there.

“You better not get sick,” you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion.

Rafe huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

But he doesn’t move.

And when you wake up later, still feverish but a little less miserable, he’s still there, fast asleep, head tilted back against the headboard.

As if taking care of you was the most natural thing in the world.

...

When it Really Matters

It’s one of those days.

The kind where everything is too much. Where your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting from exhaustion, stress pressing into your ribs like a vice. You’re running on fumes, eyes stinging from holding back frustrated tears, and the idea of dealing with one more thing makes your stomach churn.

So you don’t text him.

You don’t call.

You just sit there, curled up in the dim light of your apartment, staring blankly at the pile of unfinished work on your desk, the notifications stacking up on your phone, the way your hands shake just a little from how tense you are.

Then there’s a knock.

A familiar one. Steady. Insistent.

You don’t answer, but the door opens anyway.

And there he is.

Rafe takes one look at you and his whole expression shifts. The teasing, the smug confidence, all of it softens into something quieter. Something only you get to see.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just sets a takeout bag on the table, tosses your phone onto the couch to silence the endless buzzing, and then crouches down in front of you.

“You ate today?”

You try to lie, but your silence gives you away.

Rafe exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but he doesn’t scold you. Doesn’t tease. He just grabs the takeout bag, pulls out the food, and sets it in front of you like it’s not up for debate.

“I’m not hungry,” you murmur.

Rafe doesn’t even blink. “Don’t care.”

Your lip wobbles. You hate that it wobbles.

His brows pinch together, and then he’s shifting forward, arms hooking under your knees and around your back before you can protest.

“Rafe—”

“Shh.” He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you over to the couch and settling you in his lap, wrapping you up in his arms like it’s second nature. Like he’s done this before.

And you don’t even fight it.

You should. Should push him away, should pretend you don’t need this. Shouldn’t let yourself sink into him like he’s the only thing keeping you from unraveling.

But you do.

You fist your hands in his shirt, bury your face in the crook of his neck.

And he just holds you.

One hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back. The other tucks into your hair, fingertips pressing into your scalp in a way that makes you melt.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “Just breathe, alright?”

You inhale. Shaky, uneven.

Rafe’s arms tighten.

And for the first time all day, you finally exhale.

...

Realizing this is Love

It sneaks up on you.

Not in some grand, sweeping declaration. Not in the way you’ve always imagined love would feel.

No.

It happens in the little things.

Like now.

You’re sitting on Rafe’s couch, bundled up in one of his hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you watch him move around the kitchen. He’s grumbling under his breath, muttering something about how you never stock anything useful in your fridge, rummaging through the cabinets like he owns the place.

It’s nothing new.

Rafe has a habit of doing things without being asked: grabbing your keys when you forget them, keeping a water bottle in his car because he knows you never bring one, making sure you actually eat even when you insist you’re fine.

And it’s so effortless. So casual.

But tonight, something about it hits differently.

Because this isn’t just him being overprotective. This isn’t just him being stubborn or bossy or playing some game.

This is just… him.

And it always has been.

The realization settles in your chest like a slow, warm ache.

Rafe comes back with a plate, nothing fancy, just toast with the exact amount of butter you like, because of course he knows that. He sets it on the coffee table and flops down next to you, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“Eat,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You don’t move. Just watch him.

He frowns. “What?”

You shake your head, lips pressing together, heart pounding at the weight of what’s suddenly sitting between you.

“Nothing,” you murmur.

His eyes narrow slightly. “You’re being weird.”

“You’re always weird,” you counter.

Rafe snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s a flicker of something behind them, like maybe he feels it too. Like maybe he knows what you aren’t saying.

You could say it.

Could lean in, cup his face, tell him what you just realized.

But instead, you reach for the toast.

You take a bite.

Rafe watches you, something unreadable in his expression, but then he just shakes his head and looks away, like he knows this is something you’re not ready to say out loud yet.

And somehow, that just makes it even more real.

[dinkerr]

Velvet & Chrome.

summary: rockstar vi meets playboy model reader at a club.

warnings: rockstar vi and model reader, public sex, oral sex, fingering, mentions of alcohol, the smut in this is really lazy, this is heavily inspired on pamela anderson and tommy lee, that's literally it i think??

1994 los angeles. famous rockstar guitarist violet lane had found herself two shots in the middle of a club with blaring lights and techno music filling her senses. she was unremarkable in the most distinguished way- no one would ever get past her without seeing her satiny reddish pink hair, tattoos and an immense amount of silver jewellery and piercings. she was pure eye candy, with her fanbase the opposite.

her eyes are trained on you dancing with a few of your friends and it's leaving her mind lost in a blurry haze. you haven't even fucking properly looked at her yet and you're driving her into oblivion, a state of mind she hasn't had the unfortunate of experiencing since she was a teenager. she swears she's seen you before, because your euphoria is too distinctive in a way she can't put her finger on.

she shouldn’t be doing this, sitting at the bar and staring at you like you're the first pretty girl her eyes have been blessed with. she could be doing anything right now, ordering another shot, hooking up with any and every girl that wants her, or just leaving this club to find a new one and start over all her progress.

she feels like a creep, but the voice in the back of her head is telling herself that she's just curious about you. and how you carry yourself. and the outfit you're wearing. and your tits. and you're fucking approaching in her direction. she panics the way she does when powders spending too much time on her eyeshadow before a show, tearing her eyes away from you and to behind the bar to gather her composure.

"can i get-" she started to one of the many bartenders in close proximity to her, though cuts herself off at the sound of another voice also ordering a drink. she turns her head to give them a "what the fuck" look on her face, though her furrowed eyebrows shoot up ever so slightly with her heart shaped lips parted the same when she realises it's you, her words caught in her throat when you gesture with your hand for her to go first.

"a. beer. thanks." fuck. a beer? you sit on the creaky stool next to hers, the cushioning a darker shade of red than hers. you both watch as said bartender walks off to retrieve the beer she ordered, though her head turns to look at you again before yours does the same.

she recognises you now.

"you're that model chick. right?" she asked, her eyes roaming over your figure, attempting a quick and subtle nod to greet you as she looks you over with as much casualness as she can fake. which, unfortunately, isn't that much. it's okay. she's never had any problem getting a bitch on her lap.

"i am." you respond, propping your elbow on the bar counter and resting the side of your face on the palm of your hand. your voice sounds like honey, there's no fucking way you're a real person. you look like you're sex appeal on legs, a little bit of tease, a whole lot of trouble. she wants to know the taste of you on her tounge, and if this were a porno, she'd already have you against the counter.

there's silence between the two of you- a considerable difference to every sound in the club around you. "i can give you an autograph or-" "no." she cuts you off this time, neither of you tearing your gaze away from eachother, even when the beer she ordered two minutes ago is placed in front of her with a small thud against the hard oak. "do you wanna share a cigarette?" is what came past her lips next, and she's mentally cursing at herself for suggesting a cigarette like a young teen with their best friend trying smoking for the first time.

you furrow your eyebrows at the ask. request. demand. you couldn't tell. you glance back over to your friends dancing, then back to her, knowint that they'd be more than well on their own without you for a little bit. she notices it, taking it as a sign to attempt to gain her composure (but failing at it, like before) by sliding off her stool to stand up, her hand reaching to grab yours and she's practically pulled you off to follow her toward the bathroom.

you follow her with no hesitation whatsoever, your eyes flicking between her hair, her leather jacket and eventually the furthest stall door in the bathroom, following her in and watching as she closes the door and locks it. she's turning back to you, your hands pulling her closer by the waistband of her jeans and she's leaning in to kiss you, her hands on you like a wild animal, grabbing your hips to pull your body flush against yours. she feels herself getting wet in her boxers at your nails scraping at her lower abdomen, lazily fiddling with her studded belt.

"you're pretty." you murmur against her lips, beginning to unbuckle said belt. "can i eat you out?" she immediately asks after you've finished your words, pulling away ever so slightly to look into your eyes. you're so pretty in ways she's never seen in another person, and she knows that she'll never be able to forget snd erase your face from her mind.

your lips curl up into a small smile at her ask, softly kissing the corner of her mouth and trailing them down toward her jaw. "i don't even know your name."

you don't even know her name. you don't even know who she is. "it's vi." she murmurs, her hands moving from your hips to hold both sides of your face so she can tilt it to kiss you again, feeling the contrast of her cold rings against your red cheeks, the next few words coming from her are almost a low whisper, "can i eat you out now?"

you're nodding one moment and the next she's on her knees with her fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear, her eyes trained on your dripping pussy like a puppy with a bone. she started to softly kiss your inner thighs, her running to the back of one of your thighs to put it over her shoulder.

her eyes look up at you when she kisses your clit, enjoying the way your eyebrows furrow at the action before she's licking up your pussy, trying to taste every bit of your arousal on her tongue. you bring your hand down to run through her pretty hair and tug at it in attempt to bring her closer, moaning at the way she's lapping at your cunt like a dog.

you breathe out into the air, remembering where you are and biting down on your bottom lip so it's not obvious to everyone that there's a girl you don't even know who has her face buried into your pussy, though it's hard with the way she switches to wrap her lips around your clit to suck on it, the tip of her nose and chin covered in your arousal. "fuck. vi." you mumble under your breath, your pussy clenching around nothing like it's just begging to have something fill it up, and she absolutely loses it at the sound of you calling her name.

she listens, bringing her fingers to drag up and down your pussy before she finger fucks you, nibbling at your clit and pumping them in and out in sync with how your chest is rising up at down. you're trying your hardest not to scream and you're almost embarrassed that you're being like this, in a bathroom stall with a girl you hardly know, but that doesn't stop the way you're mouth is open, your back is arching off the wall and you're cumming against her fingers and tongue like clockwork. she fingers you through it, fingers pulling out of your pussy so she can lap up your cum. she pulls away, her lower face covered in your cum while she's looking up at you. "can i get your house number, pretty girl?"

you hear your phone ringing early in the morning a few days later, quickly walking through your house to answer.

"hi." she says over the phone, her voice sounding sadder than you ever thought you'd hear from her. "you haven't been answering my calls."

"i know, i'm sorry i ditched you. going to cancun for work." you explained.

"without me?"

"you can't come. it's for my work."

"i'll see you there. my and my buddies will find you." she spoke, and you realise who she is now. you're stuck with her.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐅𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬!—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: Hours of gaming without a break? You might as well give him one…

Warnings: Smut🔞. Oral (m. recieving), a lot of cussing, teasing, friends overhearing. Does this count as sub Chan?

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I don't really know what this is. Word vomit I guess LMFAO. Again, no plot, just smut.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 1.8k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Yes yes, move forward Felix,” Chan said as his fingers moved swiftly over the controller, his eyes glued to the TV screen. 

He had been online, gaming with his friends for the past four hours, not taking a break which was quite unhealthy. You tried to call him for some tea and cookies but he only responded with a “baby one sec.” 

You didn’t really mind how he spent hours gaming with his friends until today when a random, almost impulsive thought crossed your mind when your perverted eyes fell on his grey sweatpants.

Normally you don’t initiate anything when he’s occupied with something but this time what felt like an almost evil thought refused to leave your mind. 

It's a hot day so you might as well quench your thirst if he doesn't want to.

You got up from your seat in the dining room and walked over to your boyfriend who too was lost in his gaming world to notice you before you sank on your knees before him.

His gaze tore off the screen and fell briefly at your mischievously smirking face. “Baby what are you—” his words died short on his tongue when you leaned forward and played with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Chan, what the hell move away!” Lee Know yelled from the other side onto his headphones, his character getting shot on the screen.

Your smirk grew wider, watching the way his body tensed. His hands were still gripping the controller, knuckles turning white, fingers twitching over the buttons, but his focus had visibly fractured.

"Baby," he muttered under his breath, his voice tight, barely audible over the frantic shouting in his headset.

"Chan, focus!" Han yelled. "We're literally getting destroyed!"

Chan tore his eyes off you, trying—failing—to keep his attention on the screen as you tugged the waistband of his sweatpants downwards, just enough to tease. Your fingers ghosted over the fabric of his boxers, barely touching but enough to make him shift in his seat.

"You're not playing fair," he whispered, his grip tightening around the controller.

You feigned innocence, tilting your head. "I just wanted to make sure I'm hydrated. It's thirty six degrees today."

"By doing this?!" He hissed in a strangled whisper, his voice nearly cracking.

"Dude, are you lagging? What the hell are you doing?" Changbin groaned from the other end.

“No, no—” Chan’s eyes fell back on the screen, resuming the game but his gun shots were cut short when your fingers ghosted over his hips, nails lightly scraping his skin through the fabric.

Every nerve in his body was on high alert, torn between the chaos on the screen and the absolute menace kneeling between his legs.

“Babe,” he hissed under his breath, barely holding it together.

“What?” you hummed, looking up at him with feigned innocence. “I’m just keeping you company.”

“Fucking—” His breath hitched when you leaned in, pressing a teasing kiss right where his waistband of his boxers met his skin. His grip on the controller faltered for a second, his character staggering on-screen.

"Dumbass, the fuck was that?!" Hyunjin's voice crackled through his headset.

"Are you asleep?!" Seungmin snapped.

Chan barely heard them. Hell, he could barely think. His entire body was tense, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs as you slowly, deliberately, ran your hands up his abs, tracing patterns into the muscle, every touch hardening his cock. 

“Y/N,” he warned, voice low, strained. “I swear to—”

"Swear to what?" You tilted your head, your lips brushing lightly over his hipbone again, lingering, breathing him in, the bulge under the fabric now rock hard and strained. "That you’ll punish me later? Because that sounds like a win for me."

His jaw clenched. "You're gonna kill me."

You chuckled softly, a low, knowing sound that made his stomach tighten. "Focus on not getting killed in the game. I won’t be long anyway." you teased.

"Chan, MOVE!" I.N practically screeched through the headset.

"Are you even listening?!" Seungmin added, exasperated.

"He’s not," Hyunjin groaned. "I bet he’s doing that thing where he zones out—"

But it wasn’t zoning out. It was you. You and your wicked hands, your soft lips, the way you were taking your sweet, sweet time torturing him.

Chan sucked in a sharp breath, his hands gripping the controller like a lifeline. Every muscle in his body was tight, rigid, like he was holding on to his last shred of self-control.

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life.

Then, you pulled his boxers down, enough to free his erection, that jutted up, the pretty tip already leaking beady drops of pre cum. Your eyes widened at the godly sight before you, you leaned forward and kissed the spot beneath the tip and sliding your tongue along the slit, lapping the pre substances, Chan inhaled a sharp breath.

He shot you a deadly look, but it held no real threat. If anything, it was desperate. Desperate to shut you up. Desperate to drag you onto his lap. Desperate to get through this goddamn round before he lost his mind.

His voice came out strained, wrecked. "Baby, please."

Your stomach tightened at the way he said your name, half pleading, half commanding. "Please what?" you teased, stacking your hands on his cock and began stroking him slowly at first and then increased your speed gradually.

"F-fuck," he exhaled a ragged breath, his grip on the controller trembled as you leaned, taking just the tip into your mouth.

"Chan, what was that?" Hyunjin’s voice suddenly cut in, suspicious.

"What was what?" Chan tried to steady his tone, tried to sound normal, but his voice came out hoarse and uneven.

"That weird little sound you just made," Seungmin said flatly. "You good, dude?"

"He’s NOT good!" Lee Know yelled. "He’s literally frozen, and I just got sniped because of it. What the fuck, man?"

Chan was not good. Not at all.

Especially not now when your lips were fully wrapped around his thick cock. You took him as far as you could down your throat, bobbing your head up and down, your hands working on the inches your mouth couldn’t cover.

He sucked in a harsh breath, his whole body jerking. His legs tensed, fingers twitching around the controller, a strangled noise slipping past his lips.

"Bro, did you just—" Han started.

"Did he just moan?" Felix interrupted.

"WAIT." Hyunjin’s voice was laced with dawning horror. "Is someone—oh my fucking god, CHRIS, ARE YOU GETTING SUCKED OFF RIGHT NOW?!"

A loud chorus of outrage and disgust filled the headset.

"CHRISTOPHER!"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"You’ve GOT to be kidding me!"

"Dude, WHAT is wrong with you?!"

Chan’s face burned hotter than the damn sun. He barely managed to choke out a response, his voice strained. "I—NO! What the fuck—"

"Then why do you sound like you’re dying?" Seungmin accused.

"Are you in pain?" I.N asked, concerned.

"Not pain," Lee Know muttered. "Not with the way he just shuddered like that."

"Oh my god," Hyunjin groaned. "YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU?"

"CHAN!"

Chan had never been closer to throwing TV out the goddamn window.

Meanwhile, you were absolutely losing it, muffling your laughter against him as he scrambled for damage control. You hollowed your cheeks, drooling leaking from the corners of your mouth, forming a delicious suction that got him to jerk his hips upwards and curse loudly.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’m going to throw up,” I.N screeched and left his character hanging to die, Chan barely registered I.N's gagging noises in his fogged-up brain. 

Every muscle in his body was wound so tight he thought he might snap in half. The controller felt foreign in his hands, his fingers twitching over the buttons as he fought to focus—on anything other than the heat of your mouth.

Seungmin’s sharp bark shattered through his headset. He flinched, eyes darting to the screen. His character was standing still, vulnerable as bullets whizzed past. Felix was already down, Han was cursing in rapid-fire, and Hyunjin sounded like he was about to physically manifest in Chan’s room just to strangle him.

“Felix, why are you down?!” Chan forced out, trying to focus—really trying. His character ducked behind cover, but his movements were slow, delayed, as if his brain was running through molasses.

"BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT CALLING SHOTS, YOU FUCKING MORON," Felix screamed.

Chan lost his grip on the controller as you took him deeper, tongue pressing on the underside of his cock in a way that had his brain completely short-circuiting. He barely had enough sense left to mute his mic before an involuntary moan tore out of his throat.

"HE MUTED. HE FUCKING MUTED." Changbin shouted. "I HATE HIM. I'M GONNA DIE!"

“MOTHERFUCKER YOU LEFT US HANGING TO GET YOUR DICK SU—" Hyunjin shrieked but Chan ripped off his headset before he could finish, tossing it onto the couch beside him. He exhaled shakily, eyes snapping down to you with a mixture of desperation and warning.

His fingers tangled your hair and pushed you downwards hitting the back of your throat and causing you to choke, you could feel every vein. His entire world narrowed down to the slick heat of your mouth, the way you hollowed your cheeks, the way you kept stroking his shaved area drove him feral.

His head lolled backward, eyes dark, wild, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. He tried to glare at you but he was too lost in a haze of pleasure when you increased your pace.

Chan’s entire body shuddered, muscles locked so tight he felt like he might break apart at any second.

“F—fuck,” he rasped, head knocking back against the couch.

You hummed around him, the vibrations sending another violent tremor down his spine. His thighs tensed, his grip on you faltering between pulling you away and holding you there. His chest heaved, sweat slicking his skin, cock twitching.

The world outside this room didn’t exist anymore.

His headset was discarded, the game long abandoned, his friends’ shouts nothing but a distant memory. The only thing left was you. The warmth of your mouth, the wicked gleam in your eyes as you looked up at him like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

"You're little—ah, fuck—menace." His voice was strained, barely holding on.

With a long swirl, he gave out with the loudest groan and his cum spilling down your throat. You sucked him out dry until there was nothing left in him, his body collapsed back against the couch, oxygen flooding into his lungs.

You pulled back, releasing him with a loud pop!, long strings of saliva and cum you couldn't manage to swallow attaching from your mouth onto him, your chest beaming with satisfaction. He looked at you dumbfounded, stars flying over his eyes.

The dim glow of the monitor barely registered in his vision, but the moment he looked once his high died down, he saw the game was long over. The screen had gone idle, the defeat banner taunting him in the background. And his phone was flooded with messages.

Felix: I’m never trusting you again. 

Seungmin: You absolute disgrace. I hope your TV explodes. 

I.N: I left. I couldn't take it.

Han: Bro, you just gave up the win for a blowjob?! 

Lee Know: I hope it was worth it. 

Hyunjin: CHANGBIN ALMOST THREW HIS MONITOR, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

Changbin: I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!!!

You leaned over, peeking at the screen before bursting into full-blown laughter.

"Oh my god," you gasped. "They’re so mad." Chan ran a hand down his face, dragging in a slow, shaky breath. “Yeah, no shit."

"You should probably apologize."

He glared at you, but the heat behind it was muted, dulled by the lingering haze in his eyes and the buzz on his head (top and bottom). You chuckled deeply before leaning forward and pressing your lips on his and got up from the couch. 

“At least you took a break,” you said teasingly before walking away into your bedroom.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[lady-quen]

Places this in the sea of "Trahearne survives" AUs. Presenting Trahearne Inmorte, resident seething Firstborn plant bonded to a frankenstein bug. Alternatively, Trahearne if he picked ferocity in the character creator.

Anyway, finally posting about my version of the good ole Marshal, lovingly dubbed Crankhearne - aka Risen Lich Trahearne, revived immediately post-getting to know his sword too closely, courtesy of Morivitae, ( @commanderteag ) the Pact's pet Scion of Zhaitan. Having kept a dragon of dubious morals on a metaphorical leash, Trahy promptly gets UNO reversed. These two start toxic but get better over time, creating a fun contrast to the Commander of the verse, Aestus, who belongs to @mithosis.

Similarly to my own Commander, Mael, he keeps his condition as a lich secret from everyone aside from his closest circle. I swear I'm not collecting undead plants, the Zhaitan Scion Champion opportunity was just far too good to pass up. Have some more screenshots, and more (a lot more) lore ranting below the cut.

The very last thing the Pact Marshal expected when waging war against Zhaitan was to strike a bargain with Zhaitan's child. Information against his master and aid in cleansing Orr - in exchange for freedom once the Elder Dragon was slain. But, still, keeping a beast of that caliber on a leash proved a challenge, even when he could shapeshift more or less into mortal shape. After all, an ancient beast that subsisted on eating life force and grafting foreign body parts to itself did not take to Tyrian morals immediately. It wasn't a partnership by any means - a monster was a monster, but so was a promise. As long as the creature called "Morivitae" behaved, he could prove an asset against the other Dragons. A weapon. A wildcard. But then, awakened Mordremoth. The Maguuma disaster. His greatest failure, and, ultimately, his end. A final request for the Commander to take Caladbolg from his shaking hands and strike. But something within the Death Scion stirred at the sorrow. At the Commander's cries. An inkling of emotion, a faint flicker of something unfathomable. And gold eyes opened again. Welcome, O Champion of Shadow and Death. And now, the Marshal was on a leash of his own.

Trahearne went to the Domain of the Lost when he died, and time flowed differently there. So he spent "days" wandering and fighting the phantoms that took his name and face, just like the Commander. He met the Judge but there was no crisis in the Mists, so no offer to come back like during PoF, just gotta accept death but also have to process it first. Poor Trahearne was dissociated the whole time, thinking he was Mordremoth. He had to be given a second name to latch onto until he found his real one - and then he was ripped out of the Mists by Mori just before he could claim his rightful rest. Needless to say, waking back up a Risen of all things and cut off from the Dream did not do his mental health any favors.

"I don't remember my name but I was something horrible. You mustn't let me into the afterlife. I can't destroy it, too..." "You must find your name before you continue onward, wherever your final destination lies. If you fail, your soul will fade." "Good. I want to fade. I need to." "No, you must find the truth. That is the law of this place. Your spirit is noble, there is no malice in you. But there is suffering, and this isn't your final punishment." "I'm fading. I can't tell how - why - I can't move anymore. I need to... what am I..." "You are.. Inmorte, The Lost Wanderer. This name I give you now so you may continue. Hold onto it tightly and find your purpose. Your real name." "...I... I will."

Following his resurrection, he continues to lead the Pact as its Marshal, and is adamant on never using a mask nor mesmer illusions to cover his face - wearing his disfigurement openly in solidarity with all the other sylvari mutilated by Mordremoth's influence. There are questions as to why the Marshal was torn from the Dream and his glow changed to a necromantic green, but not many dare seek the truth of their own accord. Trahearne becomes a much more fearsome, decisive leader - going from scholar to truly formidable strategic mastermind, wanting nothing more than to ensure the tragedy of Maguuma never repeats.

"It's not mere confidence, it's pathological. As though everything stopped mattering back in that jungle, and yet I am ever more determined to see things through til the end. It's the only reason I can justify existing in this state."

The only instance where he does use illusions (excluding stealth missions, of course) is over his hands - due to an unfortunate incident where Caladbolg completely burned off the flesh from his fingers. As a result, his real hands are skeletal. This is due to his obsession with the sword, practically never letting it go, to the point he once fell asleep holding it. Since he no longer feels pain correctly, the damage was done before he woke back up - and Mori does not seem to possess the ability to mend, only animate that which should already be dead.

Trahearne's obsession with Caladbolg stems from the fact he initially believes the weapon to be the only thing keeping his soul from being fully corrupted by the Dragon he is bound to - clinging to a hope that the Thorn could purify the death magic in him just like it had once purified Orr. Alas, that is not the case, but also he eventually finds he is not as doomed as he had once believed - growing into a Champion of Death and Rebirth under his Scion patron as they both find their greater purpose - a balance to Aestus and Aurene's light. Still, his destiny remains irrevocably tied to the very land that haunted his Dream and cursed him with a seemingly impossible task.

"You're the First of the First, born in the garden of Eden and destined to purify a sunken hell risen from the depths on the other side of the sea. A task thought impossible, especially as your siblings begin to rise around you with destinies that seem more achievable. Compelled, you spend over twenty years studying the land of the walking dead, so much that the stench of it all is all but branded into your flesh. It's all you see when you sleep. The neverending expanse of bleak, gray-brown rock and twisting anemone and tide-torn ruins. Nothing living grows in Orr. It's all absolute desolation. There are none of your siblings there and you're so terribly lonely. ...In all your years, you never thought this could happen. With the Commander at your side and the son of Zhaitan mutinying against his father, Orr blooms again. The Artesian waters run clear, and life wanders slowly back into the land. It will take years, many more years than you'll be alive for, but the weight is lifted. You can leave. It's over. With hope in your heart, you feel like whatever comes next will only be easier. It's not. You die. And you rise. You never left Orr, because Orr never had the intention of leaving you."

Perhaps, just perhaps - one day, when the sunken kingdom heals completely, his soul will be allowed its due rest. Until then, he has some work to do.

[zombiec4ke]

Before I knew you

soap x reader

CW: canon-typical violence, blood, probably ooc, torture, dark stuff ig idk

summary: your family..friends..lover..all seem set on you being the mole..oh what a shock is to come…

part 1- part 2-

10 hours ago, you were laughing and arguing with Soap about what the right name for a pop (just simply juice, as he called it) right before the mission.

now you were tied to a cheap plastic chair in the stingy integration room for war criminals, you fumbled with the rope that was digging in your skin before your head gets forcefully snapped up by the hands of your captain, The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room were unforgiving, making your eyes squint. The room was cold, and the silence was broken only by the frantic hammering of your heart.

you opened your mouth to speak, your eyes frantically scanning the room where you once were the one asking the questions not answering… "Look," you pleaded, "Someone's setting me up! I would never…"

TAWP

Ghost, who seemed to come from the shadow punched you right in the nose your eyes going blurry and the soft trickle of blood to run down your lip..

at first you didn't even register the pain just a warm buzz but then the pain was roaring…it was a searing sensation that spread through your face. You tried to speak again, but your nose was throbbing too much for you to form words.

"Oh ye shut the fuck up" The voice, thickest you've ever heard Johnny's scottish accent, ripped through the room like a gunshot.

Your head snapped backwards nose throbbing it the process to see Soap Standing just outside the door, his face a mask of rage you'd never seen directed at you before. You flinched back, but the chair surprisingly stayed upright

"Johnny! Please- you ought to believe me-..we were with each other before and after the mission!" you pleaded but Soap did nothing but shook his head as he walked painfully slow to wear you were tied..bent down..and spit on your face which was already caked with blood

You gagged, desperately wanting to wipe the fluid off your face, but the more you moved your hands, the deeper the ropes cut into your wrists.

"You're a damn liar," Johnny hissed, standing back up, his fists clenched at his sides ready to strangle you…

The look in his eyes was fierce, a mixture of hurt and a terrifying amount of betrayal. You had seen him angry before… hell, you had been the target of his playful teasing more times than you could count, but this was different. This was a cold, disgusted man, clouded by fear and anger, and you knew, in that moment, you'd lost him.

"I could kill ya"

He took a step forward, and you braced yourself. This wasn't a threat, you realized as your heart lurched in your stomach… it was a promise. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, and suffocating. You closed your eyes, trying to control your ragged breaths. This couldn't be happening. Not to you. Not by them.

Price's voice cut through the tension clapping a hand on the feral man's shoulder "Johnny. Enough." Soap froze, his hands still clenched. He didn't look back at Price right away just staring at you, before turning his head with a scoff

Price gestured to Ghost, whom was behind him standing, waiting like some sort of dog before he stepped forward his movements precise and deliberate. He produced a pair of pliers. Your eyes widened, and a whimper escaped your lips. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real.

"We have evidence," Price said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Intel that was leaked, information only you could have known."

"It's not true!" you choked out, desperate. "I swear! Ask me anything! Test me!"

Ghost ignored your plea. He gripped your arm, The pliers shined under the harsh lights. You squeezed your eyes shut, your body rigid with fear.

"Where's the contact?" Price demanded, his voice cold. "Who are you working for?"

"I…I don't know!" you sobbed, the words catching in your throat. Your world was collapsing. Your friends, your family, your lover – all turning against you. It felt like a nightmare, one you couldn't wake up from.

The cold metal of the pliers touched your fingernail. You flinched, every nerve in your body screaming in protest.

"Last chance," Price said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell us the truth."

CRACK

The pressure increased, a searing pain shooting through your hand. A scream tore from your throat, raw and loud..it pierced through the room, you wouldn't surprised if you could hear it on the other side of the base

"I SWEAR-" you gasped, your vision blurring. The pain was the worse thing you ever felt…But even as you sobbed, screamed, nearly threw up Ghost's grip never ended.

another scream ripped from your throat as your thumbnail gave way.

The world swam. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the blood, the spit. Your entire hand throbbed, a burning, pulsing agony. The smell of blood filled your broken nose which fueled your tears.

"Next?" Price's voice was monotone, even his warm British accent seemed to be scared of him since it was non-existent when he spoke

Ghost didn't hesitate. The pliers moved to the next finger. The cycle of pain, denial, and screams repeated. Each tear of the flesh, each broken nail, was a hammer blow to your sanity. You screamed until your voice was raw, until your lungs burned. You begged, you pleaded, you swore on everything you held dear, but they didn't stop.

at one point they left you there with your head hung low and your body shook…

you didn't know when they came back..a day? an hour? 30 minutes??? You lost track of time after your right hand was stripped of its nails… The interrogation room had become your own personal hell. Days bled into nights, marked only by the cycle of pain and the hollow silence that followed. Your body was a canvas of bruises, cuts, and raw wounds. Your right hand was a picture frame of shattered bones and bruises. Each breath was a struggle against the pain and the terror that gnawed at your sanity. They came and went, only three figures, Gaz was still in medbay...If he had been told of your 'betrayal' you did know. each face a blur of accusation. Price, ever the captain, remained the unwavering force, Ghost, his movements fast but painfully slow... and Soap... your Johnny. He was the worst. The door creaks open, and your head slowly raises to see Soap. He's carrying the bucket, and something in your chest twists. You don't want to be afraid of him. You shouldn't be afraid of him. He should be here, holding your hand, not this... Today, he'd chosen rocks. He picked up a medium-sized stone, its rough surface catching the harsh glare of the lights. He examined it, his jaw tight, his eyes blank of any warmth. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled it at you. to your surprise and his...it missed, earning a dry chuckle from you sending you doubling over in a coughing fit " You always did have a bad aim" you rasped out, your voice a broken whisper. The sound of your voice echoed in the silence. Earning a glare from Soap "Aye, well, let's see if you're still laughing after this, lassie." His words sent a shiver down your spine. You watched, eyes wide and glassy, as he reached down to the bucket grabbing a bigger one and hurling it at you... time seemed to slow and before you got a chance to scream you get interpreted by the sound of fast boots and yelp of someone "T-THEY AREN'T THE MOLE" Gaz pants and Soap's head snaps towards you but its hard to stop a rock when its already moving... The rock collided with your face with sickening crunch, and darkness consumed you.

~~~~

A/N: MHAHWHAHHWHWH!! cough anywho!! This is my longest thing I ever wrote!! :D over 2k words!! YIPPPEEE

can you tell I like cliffhangers…??

I really gotta stop adding them…

but I can never end a chapter/part without them!!

see you in the next part!!

~~~~~

[kathaelipwse]

Stuck With You

Masterlist

<<<previous chapter | next chapter>>>

Pairing: CEO!J.Yunho x Secretary!Reader

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine

Warnings: Smau, Fluff, grumpy yunho, bickering, panic attack

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: Hie lovies! I hope y'll are fine! Thank you for the love and support! Enjoy!!

Chapter 2: Shelter in the Storm

The rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it had worsened.

The dense road y'll had taken had long lost any sign of civilization. No streetlights, no road signs, no distant hum of passing cars, just the overwhelming presence of towering trees and the relentless downpour that pounded against the car’s roof. The headlights had been turned off, and the car was parked securely between the trees to avoid attracting any wild animals or any danger at all. Outside, the darkness stretched endlessly, the rain acting as a curtain that cut them off from the world.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat. “Well, this is fantastic.”

Yunho exhaled sharply beside you, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “You don’t have to state the obvious.”

You shot him a annoyed look. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather I just sit here in silence while we wait for the storm to pass?”

“Sounds ideal,” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You know, for someone who got us lost, you sure have a lot of attitude sir.”

The two would often argue over the weirdest things such as 'yunho's tie is crooked' or 'y/n's blouse isn't tucked properly' or 'the coffee you get him every morning is too sweet though its the absolute same. Yunho just loved crawling under your skin pushing your buttons, he enjoyed your annoyance. Not gonna lie; over the years y'll have worked together.. y'll had grown quite fond of each other but none of you bothered to accept it.

Yunho’s jaw tensed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just kept staring ahead at the rain streaking down the windshield. Then, after what felt like forever, he let out a breath, tilting his head back against the seat.

“…I shouldn’t have taken that road,” he said, voice low. “I thought it would save time.”

You blinked. Was that—was that an apology? From THE Jeong Yunho? The one who never ever apologized?

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Wait, are you actually admitting you were wrong?”

Yunho rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You smirked, savoring the rare moment. “Wow. Marking this day in history.”

He shot you a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. Before you could tease him further, your stomach let out a loud, undeniable growl. Your eyes widened, mortification settling in as you quickly hugged your stomach.

Yunho turned his head slowly, his lips twitching. “Did you just—”

“Don’t,” you warned, cheeks heating up. “Just—ignore that.”

But of course, he didn’t. “When was the last time you ate?”

You sighed, slumping in your seat. “I didn’t get a chance. You know, with the whole flight cancellation, and then you insisting on driving immediately.”

Yunho frowned slightly but said nothing. Instead, he reached toward the backseat, rummaging through his bag before pulling out a protein bar. He tossed it into your lap without a word.

You blinked down at it. “You carry snacks?”

“I carry things that are necessary,” he replied coolly. “Eat before you pass out.”

You huffed but didn’t argue. Tearing open the wrapper, you took a bite, and despite the bland taste, it was better than nothing. The two of you sat in silence again as the night swallowed the surroundings and the rain providing the only background noise.

Then, the first clap of thunder boomed across the sky.

Yunho tensed beside you.

You glanced at him, noticing the way his grip on his thighs tightened. His breathing had suddenly turned shallow, his shoulders rising and falling at an uneven pace. Another crack of thunder rumbled, and Yunho flinched, his hands gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline.

“Sir?” you asked carefully, setting your snack aside. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were locked straight ahead, unfocused, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp breaths. It was as if he wasn’t even in the car anymore—as if he was somewhere else entirely.

Your stomach twisted.

“Yunho,” you called, using his name this time, voice softer. You reached out, placing a tentative hand on his arm. He barely reacted.

Another loud crash of thunder echoed, and that’s when you saw it—the unmistakable look of panic. His breathing had become erratic, and his hands had started trembling slightly. Realization dawned.

He was having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, shifting toward him. “Look at me.”

No response. His breaths were getting quicker, shallower.

You hesitated for only a second before reaching up and threading your fingers through his hair, gently tugging him closer. “Come here.”

To your surprise, he didn’t resist. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was too far gone in his own thoughts, the storm outside drowning him in memories you didn’t know about. Whatever it was, he let himself be pulled into your arms, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his breathing hitched.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your fingers moving through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

His body was tense, his entire frame rigid, but as you continued running your fingers through his hair, he slowly—very slowly—began to relax. His breaths, though still uneven, weren’t as frantic. His hands, which had been gripping onto himself, eventually fell to his sides.

You shifted, carefully maneuvering the two of you into the backseat where there was more space. Yunho followed without a word, his body sinking against yours as exhaustion took over. The tension in his muscles had eased, his breathing finally slowing down.

And then, without warning, he fell asleep—his head resting against your chest, his body pressed against yours in a way that was completely foreign yet strangely not uncomfortable.

You stared down at him, watching as his expression softened, the storm raging outside no longer reflecting the storm within him.

You didn’t know why he had a panic attack. In the three years you had worked under Jeong Yunho, you had never seen him so vulnerable. He had always been composed, in control, never faltering. But tonight, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but darkness and rain, he had broken—just a little.

And for the first time, you held him together.

.....To Be Continued

---

[toasttt11]

match

October 18, 2024

Mackenzie sat on her couch waiting for her facetime to be answered, Will and her have been facetiming a lot with her being still in San Jose and Will with the Sharks on a road trip, it was a bit weird to both of them to be apart after spending everyday together for weeks.

“Hi Mack.” Will smiled at the screen the second he saw her face, he was laying in bed in the hotel in Winnipeg before he had to get ready for his game, they were also heading home after the game tonight.

“Hi!” Mackenzie smiled and they started just chatting for a good while.

“Okay i have to get ready now.” Will told her looking at the clock.

“Okay, Oh uh one last thing i know you’re gonna be tired so you definitely don’t have to and you can say no but is there anyway you could drive me somewhere tomorrow? it is a few minutes away and Joe and Tabea are both gone tomorrow and can’t give me a ride and Charlie has a meet and my parents can’t make it and i don’t her to be alone and.” Mackenzie quickly rambled out looking nervous expecting him to say no.

“Mack.” Will gently cut her off making her slowly stop talking and look at him seeing him smiling reassuring, “Of course i can drive you.” Will does not care losing some sleep to spend time with Mackenzie.

“Really?” Mackenzie looked incredibly shocked he said yes.

“Of course, as long as i can stay and watch too? If i’m allowed too?” Will asked hoping he could stay because one spending more time with Mackenzie and two he has never really watched a tennis match before and Charlie seemed to love to talk about her sport at dinner and he wanted to learn more about it.

“You want to come?” Mackenzie said softly looking so incredibly touched, Her ex never once asked about anything for her siblings let alone ask to go see them.

“Of course.” Will smiled.

“Yeah you can definitely come.” Mackenzie smiled nodding back.

They said their byes and hung up the facetime.

October 19, 2024

Mackenzie closed the door behind her, she walked down the driveway seeing Will waiting for her.

Will blinked looking at Mackenzie, she was wearing a pair of white linen pants and a cropped pink floral t-shirt and her hair was just straight and down, she looked beautiful, he’s never seen her in pink before but he loved it.

“Hi!” Mackenzie smiled seeing Will and she got in the car and leaned over gently hugging him, she had missed him the last week he has been gone.

Will paused in slight shock but eagerly hugged her back his eyes closing content, “Hi.” Will warmed spoke back smiling at her as they pulled away.

He watched her perk the way she always does when she sees her Dunkin order that he always gets her.

Will started the drive having got the address from Mackenzie and they started talking as always while drinking their coffees.

Will parked the car and they got out heading to the courts, his hands resting in his sweatpants as he followed Mackenzie.

Mackenzie for their wristbands and they headed in and got to their seats and sat down together.

They just chatted with each other until it was time for the first match to start.

The first match started and Will looked lost, “Okay so there is sets right?” Will leaned over and asked her looking confused.

“Yeah so someone needs to win two sets to win the match.” Mackenzie explained her eyes flickering between the match going on in front of them.

Will slowly nodded, “How do they win a set?”

“They have to be the first to win six games and to win a game you need be at least four points ahead.” Mackenzie continued to explain to Will.

Will nodded again and he continued to ask questions through the first match.

The second match was a quick one and finally the third match was Charlie’s.

Mackenzie cheered for his sister when she walked on to the court, Mackenzie always loves when she has a chance to watch her siblings play.

Will cheered with Mackenzie.

Charlie looked over and beamed seeing her sister and Mackenzie watched as Charlie smile even more seeing that Will came too.

The match started and it was obvious that Charlie is an incredible tennis player, Will easily saw the athletic resemblance of Mackenzie in Charlie.

“Oh what was that?” Will asked curiously seeing Charlie do a hit or serve or something he hasn’t seen yet.

“That’s a volley, It’s Chars favorite.” Mackenzie told Will.

She looked over during the match and saw Will eagerly watching Charlie play, her heart softened he didn’t need to drive let alone be here with her and he is not only here but truly watching and wanting to learn the sport.

Mackenzie felt a rush of emotions that she keeps feeling around Will, she isn’t that stupid she knows what the feelings are but she isn’t ready to think about the truth of her feelings and she is not ready yet to accept them, maybe soon, Will makes it easy to want to feel things for him.

Right now she is content with her friendship with Will and to just let their friendship continue to grow, for now.

Will and Mackenzie cheered loudly when Charlie won her match and both waved at Charlie.

Will and Mackenzie headed out of their seats to find Charlie after her match.
Will watched with a fond look as Charlie darted right to Mackenzie once she saw her and hugged her so tightly. Mackenzie was beaming hugging her back as they both talked so rapidly to each other.

Will has loved being able to see the older sister side of Mackenzie.

“Will!” Charlie smiled at him once she let go of Mackenzie.

“Hi Charlie you did great!” Will praised holding his hand out for a high five.

Charlie smiled even more high fiving him.

Mackenzie and Will talked with Charlie for a little bit more before Charlie had to go and they headed out to Will’s car.

“Thank you for coming.” Mackenzie softly thanked Will as they sat in his car.

“Anytime.” Will grinned being completely honest.

*i don’t watch tennis so any tennis things could be completely wrong.*

[sydsfandomhub]

GODBOX AU- SMG9's Possession

hihihi!! I know I'm a bit late, but I wanted in on this too! @grinnames

I hope this isn't inaccurate to Godbox!Four's characterization at all. I really like this AU. I'm not an active SMG4 artist, but I really wanted to show off my skills for this because I love your art so much! I also included a drawing because I had already started it earlier but finally gained muse to finish it, haha.

Story under the cut! Warning for body horror, obviously

SMG9 had gotten lost again.

She was used to visiting SMG4’s universe, having grown fond of the blue meme guardian as the two talked more and more. However, this particular time, she couldn’t find Four anywhere. And even worse, she could barely find her way around.

This place LOOKED like the Mushroom Kingdom, but something about it was off.

There was a pit deep in her stomach, and she had 0 idea what the cause of it was. No matter. The feline meme guardian wasn’t going to back down now. 

Especially when she caught sight of SMG4 in her green eyed gaze.

“Ah- Four! Hey! Fooourr!!”

She called out, beginning to run towards the older male. Huh. Was it just her or did SMG4 get taller…

And did he always have raccoon ears and a tail? At least, a furrier tail.

She stops in her tracks for a moment, looking the figure up and down.

“......Four? T-that IS you, right..?”

Before she can say anything else, the being suddenly appears closer to her, face sporting a wicked grin. 

“Well well well~ Looks like curiosity really DOES do things to cats. How silly!”

The being cackled, his tail wagging in amusement. “Who are you, kitty???”

Nine sported a mixture of confusion and terror. This wasn’t Four.. but.. It looked so much like him.

“...U-um. Nine. SMG9.” She greeted, ears flattening against her head as she noticed the creature’s grin switch to a scowl almost immediately.

“.....Oooohhhh, I get it. You’re similar to those murderers, huh? Except. I’ve never heard of a “Nine” before. I thought it stopped at 4.” The creature was pacing around Nine now, the feline’s tail going between her legs due to nerves.

“Um. I’m like.. Kinda new?? Along with 10-”

“THERE’S A 10??? JEEZ, I’M BEHIND.” The creature stops, eyes glowing yellow as his grin returns, before he begins to cackle with laughter.

“Oh man. You’re interesting. I like you. I do! But…. You’re kinda boring like this. I could make this fun! It’s like a game of sorts! What do you think???”

The creature stood up to full height, staring expectantly at SMG9. 

“Be sure to answer quickly, would you?” He chuckled, before his tone suddenly switched. “I’m getting impatient.”

Nine squeaked in a panic, beginning to back up. She wasn’t enjoying this at all. She just wanted her Four back.

“N- you know what?? I don’t think I do. Um. I think I’m actually going to leave now-”

She began to run away, the creature staying still for a moment, before his grin went from ear to ear, his own ears and tail perking up with intrigue.

“Aww, kitty!! I never said you had a choice.” 

Within seconds, the creature had reached the other side of Nine, suddenly jumping on her and pinning her to the ground. The feline hissed and yowled in a panic, trying to get the being off her. But it was too late. The creature began to possess her, Nine’s body shifting to account for this. Her fur became darker and fluffier, eyes shifting from green to red with yellowish sclera, almost like an actual cat. Her ears and tail seemed to merge with his, creating some sort of raccoon cat hybrid features, with the protrusion points bleeding profusely. Her paws shifted to grow sharper claws, ones that seemed to pierce through her own skin, as her  It felt like agony all over, Nine screaming in pain as the process happened.

And then… it all went dark.

[misayani]

HONEY (R U COMING?) — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

◜arrogant and bratty reader (044) recruiting se-mi (380) for the second game

𔗨 author's note — wasn't seeing enough fanfics for my baby so ... [lowercase intended]

"i dont see anyone else that's good enough for us" you hear gyeong-su comment with a huff. 

you're currently standing with three idiots—thanos, gyeong-su, and nam-gyu, slightly distanced from the three with your arms crossed against your chest and while your twirl your hair. 

"yo thanos, what are we going to do?" nam-gyu's irritating voice cut through all the noise of other people communicating.

thanos turned to him, his head bopping, motherfucker's high again. "i don't fucking care man, let them come to us. i mean, who wouldn't want to be with the great thanos!" 

both men chuckled as nam-gyu speaks up once again, "what about you 044? make yourself useful, can't just sit pretty doing nothing eh?".

"and you call yourself useful?" you scoff as you turned around to face the three, eyebrows raised. thanos smirked at you as you sighed, "fine, i'll make myself useful. no one would probably even care to join you, even if you begged." 

"you bitc—" nam-gyu would've reached you already if it weren't for thanos holding him back while cackling at the both of you.

with one last huff, you strutted your way to the crowd, scanning around the room for someone who met your personal standards—hot, unbothered, and most specially, a woman. 

your eyes landed on a person wearing a jacket with the number '380'. with a confident smirk, you walked towards the woman whose back is facing you and talking to someone.

"leave." your voice broke their conversation as they both looked at you. you eyes were darted to the boy specifically, him being the one you told to leave.

"w-what?" the boy stuttered, looking at you bewildered.

you furrow your eyesbrows, taking a step closer to the boy, "do i seriously need to get you hearing aids? i said leave." 

the boy scrambled away before you can even take your second step to him. with a pleased smile, you turned to the utterly attractive woman who looked at you with an amused expression.

"join me." short and straight to the point. you were confidently sure that she would just say yes and come with you— surely, who in their right minds would turn down a pretty girl's offe-

"why should i?" she voices out. oh. my. fucking. god is her voice so alluring. her looks already made your legs feel like jelly and then comes her voice?— yes lord.

snapping out of your fantasies, you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at her with an expression that read 'how dare you?' 

"a-are you serious? why shouldn't you?" you looked at her up and down in attempt to intimidate her, but really just an excuse to check her out.

"can't just expect me to join you after rudely making the boy i was talking to leave, sweetheart." she crosses her arms as she made her way closer.

sweetheart. heat rushed to your cheeks and you scoff, rolling your eyes. 

"what do you want me to do then? he doesn't look like someone who's good enough to join forces with in a death game like this anyways." you rebut. 

"and you think you're good enough?" she smirks at you. before you could even utter another word, she straights up and looks down at you—caused by height difference, making you feel small— and chuckles.

"what's your name and give me one good reason why i should join you."

you told her your name, which made you sound too eager for your liking, before you straightened yourself up and flicked you hair to the back.

 "i'll make sure you win. team up with someone who actually looks like they're capable of winning instead of someone who looks like a lost puppy." your eyes darted to the boy she was talking to earlier who was now talking to other people before returning your gaze to her.

she crosses her arms and brings a finger to her mouth to bite down on and stares at you, which made you scream internally. what the fuck. how can someone be this hot?

after some silence between you two, she spoke up "fine. but if i lose, i'll come for you."

huh. 'come for me?' won't be such a bad idea, right? the thoughts made you smirk as you boldy traveled your eyes over her figure. 

"oh, i think you have me mistaken. i won't mind at all if you came for me" your voice sounded innocent, but your words were laced with an obvious innuendo.

"oh?" she smirks. before you could even let her finish her sentence, you speak up once again to avert the topic.

"how will you come for me if you die anyways?" you roll your eyes to try and hide your flustered state. "which, by the way, you won't. my group is decent, me being the best member of course." 

and as if on cue, thanos and the two made their way to the both of you, his annoying voice dominating the noise surrounding you. 

"there you are doll, been lookin for you." you scoff at his words as thanos turns to face 380, which you still don't know the name of, "and who is this señorita?"

you opened your mouth to say something but 380 beat you to it. "se-mi. she recruited me." she says, nodding to you. 

moanable name. you thought.

"really? another woman? you already make this team weak." nam-gyu yaps as he turns to face you, saliva escaping his mouth. filthy.

you scoff as you step away and point your finger at him, "fucking shut your mouth. you haven't done shit to this team. your ass can't fucking talk." 

before a fight between you two broke out, gyeong-su already restrained nam-gyu. thanos whistles, "well. there's that."

the purple-haired man throws his arm over your shoulders and faced nam-gyu. "let's not talk shit now eh? we're a fucking team!" he yells as he raised his free arm up, "try not to kill each other off, we still have games to play."

nam-gyu rolls his eyes and se-mi watches the scene unfold, snickering.

"now come on my folks, come on." thanos frees you from his hold as he walked through the crowd, arms spread as if bragging, with nam-gyu and gyeong-su following.

your lips unsubconsciously turn into a pout as you turned to face se-mi, who was already looking at you.

"cute." she eyes you up and down and starts walking towards thanos' direction. your mouth opens as if you let out a silent gasp at what she said and just stared.

she realized you weren't following so she stopped and turned her head to look at you.

"coming?" she smirks

oh i'm definitely coming.

@misayani

[itneverendshere]

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

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

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe rolled over, squinting against the sunlight breaking through the shitty broken blinds he'd meant to replace weeks ago. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and before his eyes were even fully open, he swiped it up.

"Yeah?" His voice was a low growl, all gravel, and irritation.

The voice on the other end was professional. "Mr. Cameron? We’re calling to follow up on your father’s properties. There are a few—"

Fuck off.

Rafe cut them off with a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples.

He didn’t let them finish. "Yeah, I know what you’re calling about. I’m not dealing with that right now, okay? Call someone else."

"Sir, you are listed as—"

"I said call someone else," He snapped, hanging up before they could launch into another scripted response. He tossed the phone onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.

It had been months since Ward died, and somehow, his name was heavier now than it ever was when he was alive. Everyone wanted something—answers, signatures, money. All things Rafe didn’t have or didn’t care to deal with.

The phone buzzed again. He grabbed it, ready to tell whoever it was where to stick their questions, but it was just a reminder about his plans with Topper. For half a second, he considered texting back: Can’t make it. Something came up.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he shoved himself upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and dropping his head into his hands.

The dream the call robbed him of was still vivid. For a moment, he forgot where he was—his room felt colder, and emptier, and the bed might as well have been a mile wide.

In the dream, you were eighteen again, and so was he. Back when things were simpler—or maybe just felt that way. Back before he’d ruined everything.

He could see it so clearly: the two of you sneaking out of some party you didn’t want to be at, your hand locked in his as you ducked through the dark streets. You’d been laughing, trying to shush him because he couldn’t stop cracking dumb jokes.

You ended up at the dock by your uncle’s boat. The stars were out, scattered across the sky like a million little promises. He remembered how you’d sat cross-legged on the wooden planks, your hair falling into your face as you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world.

The dock, your laugh, the stars—those were the good parts. But he remembers what you were going through back then, and it hit him all over again.

You’d just lost everything—your parents, your sister, gone in an instant. The private plane went down, and so did the life you’d always known. He remembers the way you’d talk about them—your family—late at night when it was just the two of you. Your voice would crack, and your eyes would shine with unshed tears, but you’d talk anyway. About your dad teaching you how to sail, your mom’s tenderness, the way your sister used to be your role model.

He hadn’t thought about those nights in years, but now they come rushing back, all tangled up with the dream. He still wasn’t strong enough for you back then. He let his own shit get in the way, let his insecurities and his anger twist everything good between you over the years. And when he walked away, he left you to deal with the wreckage of your life and his own cowardice.

He threw on a shirt, and some old shorts, didn’t even bother fixing his hair. No one was going to care—not like anyone was looking to him for anything these days anyway. He stomped down the stairs, rubbing at the back of his neck, pretending like he didn’t spend the night dreaming of your face. 

Wheezie was at the kitchen counter, cereal in front of her, scrolling her phone.

She didn’t glance up when she heard him, "You look like shit."

Aw, nothing like a teenager. 

"Good mornin’ to you too," Rafe grumbled, heading for the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap like it had personally offended him, “You’re really settling in, huh?"

Wheezie snorted, not looking up from her phone. "Rose stuck me here with you. What else am I supposed to do? I’m just trying to survive." 

“It’s two days."

He hadn’t exactly planned on babysitting Wheezie while Rose was out of the country, he hadn’t planned on much lately

"Two days too many," she shot back, smirking. "You going somewhere?" 

Rafe slammed the fridge shut, twisting the cap off his water.

"Why are you stomping around like that?" 

"Not fuckin’ stomping," Rafe muttered, leaning against the counter.

"You are," she scowled, shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "You sound like a baby elephant."

Rafe glared at her, but she just shrugged, unfazed. "You’re up early. What’s the occasion?"

"Just woke up, okay?" he snapped.

"Jeez, someone’s in a mood," Wheezie rolled her eyes. "What’s your deal?"

"No deal." He took a long sip of water, staring out the window.

"Can you drop me off later?" she changed the topic, her tone too casual to be innocent.

Rafe side-eyed her. "Drop you off where?"

"Poguelandia.”

His hand froze halfway to the trash can. "You’re kiddin’."

"Nope," Wheezie said, popping the “p.” She didn’t even look at him, scrolling on her phone like this was just a normal request.

"You know Sarah’s there, right?"

"Yeah, that’s kinda the point," Wheezie finally met his glare. "She texted me. Wants to hang out."

Rafe scoffed, tossing the empty water bottle into the trash. "Since when are you and Sarah talkin’?"

"Since forever," Wheezie pursed her lips, "Just because you two can’t stand each other doesn’t mean I can’t hang out with her. Also," She adds, "there’s a party happening later. Like, nothing crazy, but… y’know."

He hadn’t been around much for his little sister lately—shit, not for a long time, if he was honest with himself. After their dad died, he kind of just… checked out. Too much of his own crap to deal with. But Wheezie didn’t ask for any of that.

"Nothing crazy," Rafe repeated flatly, his arms crossed.

"Relaxxxx,” She shoved another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. "Just drop me off. I’ll figure out a ride back."

He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning. "Wheeze, do you even know what you’re walking into? Pogues don’t fuck with us."

"I wonder why….” She hummed, waving him off. “I’ll be fine, they don’t hate me."

"Yeah, well, they hate me."

"Good thing I’m not you.” Wheezie fired back, hopping off the stool.

Yeah, good thing.

"And it’s not just a party. I’m visiting Sarah, too."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Rafe rolled his eyes, "Here’s the deal: I’ll drop you off—"

She perked up, her face lighting with hope.

"—but on one condition," he cut in, smirking just enough to make her suspicious.

He hadn’t really spent time with her in ages—not since Ward died. It wasn’t that he didn��t want to, it was just…easier not to. Easier to stay away, to let the silence pile up.

The real issue was that, for the longest time, he’s been gone for a reason. He didn’t want to be here. It was easier to be numb by being drunk or high. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his sister—it was just that it was too painful, and complicated.

Yesterday, his therapist had told him to invest time in his sisters. To be there for them, to reconnect, because they were his only real family left. Whezzie he could do, Sarah? 

Only time would tell. 

You have to show up for the people you love. Even if it scares you.

It scared the shit out of him, honestly.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"You come with me and Topper on the boat first," he said, folding his arms tighter like he’s already won.

Wheezie groaned, slumping back in her chair. "Seriously? What part of not showing up on a yatch is this?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Why? So I can sit there and listen to you two talk about girls you’ll never get and beer brands you can’t pronounce?"

Rafe glared at her. "It’s not up for debate. You wanna go to fuckass poguelandia? You’re comin’ with us. End of story."

At least he was trying—trying to do something for her, to make up for the time he’d lost, the ways he’d been absent or worse. Even if he still sounded like an asshole most of the time.

"Fine. Whatever. I’ll go with you and Topper. But you owe me big time.”

The whole idea of being present was terrifying, it ruined him when he was a teenager, but he couldn’t keep hiding from it. There was nothing left to hide behind.

“I’ll buy that stupid cereal you like.”

"Lucky me."

"Alright, smartass," He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, trying to ignore her smug look. "What do you even eat besides cereal? You’re gonna starve or some shit.”

"I’ll survive. You, on the other hand…" she trailed off, gesturing vaguely at his unkempt pantry. "You look like you could use a babysitter."

Rafe let the corners of his mouth twitch. "You’re an asshole, y'know that?"

“You’re my brother, what did you expect?”

It was just the two of them in his big, empty condo. He might not have been much of a role model—or even a decent older brother—but for the next two days, he could try.

“You’re the worst,” she grumbled, grabbing her phone off the counter.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rafe said dismissively, turning toward the door. “Be ready in ten.”

Wheezie, rolling her eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of her head, stomped back upstairs, probably to change into something less “little sister on a boat” and more “teen rebel” or whatever the fuck kid’s liked these days. She could dress however she wanted as long as she didn’t make him regret dragging her into this.

Rafe leaned against the truck while he waited for his sister. His arms were crossed, his fingers drumming against his bicep in a nervous rhythm. It wasn’t about the boat—he didn’t even know why he’d suggested it. Maybe it was just an excuse to keep her close for a little longer before dropping her into pogue territory. He missed her.

An hour later, he was pulling the truck into the dock’s gravel lot, the tires crunching as he rolled to a stop. Topper was already there, lounging on the boat, a beer in one hand and sunglasses perched low on his nose.

Wheezie hopped out of the truck before Rafe even had a chance to cut the engine. “God, does he ever not look like a wannabe country club poster boy?”

Rafe smirked as he climbed out.

“Rafe! Wheezie!” Topper called out, spreading his arms wide like he was greeting royalty. “What’s up, losers?”

Wheezie snorted, marching toward the boat. “Nice shorts. Did Vineyard Vines have a clearance sale, or did you just raid your dad’s closet?”

“Stop being ruthless,” Topper glanced down at his pastel pink swim trunks, feigning offense. “These are a classic.”

“A classic embarrassment,” she fake gagged, stepping onto the boat.

Rafe followed her, shaking his head. “Play nice.”

“Fantastic,” Topper drawled, “There’s two of you today.”

“You make it too easy.” Whezzie dropped onto one of the cushioned seats and leaned back, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes. “What’s the plan, Captain Douchebag?”

Topper raised his beer in a mock toast. “The plan is sailing.”

“Wow. Revolutionary.”

Rafe chuckled, untying the boat and giving it a shove off the dock. “Just sit back and relax, Wheez. We’ll drop you off later.”

Topper’s head snaps up, “Drop her off where?”

"Where do you think?" Rafe leaned over to check the boat's engine. He didn't bother looking at Topper, already waiting for the inevitable reaction, “Sarah's.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Topper held up a hand like he was stopping traffic. "You're taking her to Poguelandia? Are you out of your mind?"

"It's not your problem," Rafe grumbled, starting the engine. The low hum drowned out part of Topper's rant, but not enough to miss the gist.

"Not my problem? Dude, the second you step foot over there, it's everyone's problem. She’s there too, y’know? Stopped by earlier to make peace…She changed her gate’s code. And the lock.”

The gate code. The lock.

He couldn’t get it out of his head.

For years, it had been the same—just like the keys he used to have to your place. Just days ago, the gate had swung open just like it always did, the same code he’d memorized like it was second nature.

You hadn’t changed the code, hadn’t swapped the locks. He’d half convinced himself it meant something, maybe you weren’t ready to fully let him go, either.

Rafe’s hands stilled on the throttle. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his jaw tightened all the same. Topper, of course, noticed immediately.

"See? This is what I’m talking about," Topper leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms like he was laying out some grand revelation. "Where do you think she’s staying at? It’s fuckin’ obvious. We show up, and it’s gonna stir shit up.”

It was almost like you’d left the door cracked open for him. Just enough to make him believe there was still a chance. Now he wasn’t so sure. Had his visit been the final straw? Had the sight of him standing on the other side of your door—looking desperate and pathetic—been the thing that made you decide to shut him out completely?

You didn’t let him in, but you’d opened up the door. After everything he’d put you through, it was your way of protecting yourself. Shutting the door so he couldn’t come crashing back in.

Topper’s voice snapped him back to reality, “You even listening to me, man?”

Rafe blinked, forcing himself to re-focus on the boat’s controls.

“Yeah. I heard you. ’m not staying. Just dropping her off."

“We’re dead meat.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Topper knew better than to keep talking, the conversation ended there.

For the next twenty minutes, the boat cruised over the water, Rafe kept on steering, letting Topper and Wheezie chatter away behind him. He wasn't really listening—hadn't been for most of the trip—but every now and then, Wheezie's laughter or Topper's exaggerated storytelling pulled him back just enough to remind him they were still there.

When they finally dropped anchor near the sandbar, Topper leaned back, cracking open another beer as he stretched out under the sun.

"Alrigh’, who wants to make a toast? First outing of the month, gotta celebrate properly!"

Rafe shook his head, pulling a bottle of water from the cooler instead. He twisted off the cap and took a long sip, ignoring the way Topper raised a brow at him.

"Wait a second," Topper said, sitting up slightly. "You're not drinking?"

The fact his best friend sounded surprised was reason enough to stay sober. He didn’t like being scrutinized.

"Nah," He waived off, leaning back against the seat and letting the sun warm his face.

He’d made the choice not to drink before they even left the dock, but it didn’t stop the instinct—the small urge to crack open a beer and let the eventual numbness take over like it usually did.

Topper looked between the beer in his hand and Rafe, "You serious? Could've told me, wouldn’t have brought all this shit."

“Yeah, sure you wouldn’t have.”

"Fair," Topper admitted, "Still, man. That's… good. Like, really good."

Wheezie, who had been scrolling on her phone, perked up at the exchange. "Yeah, Rafe. I think it's awesome."

Proud. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said that to him. Maybe you, but it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him and seen something worth being proud of.

He shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

But it kind of was. Because sitting there, sober and fully present for the first time in months, he realized it didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. He’d been drinking non-stop—first to deal with his dad’s death, then to quiet the guilt, and then to forget you.

The therapist had called it “self-medicating.” Rafe had scoffed when she first said it, she didn’t know what she was talking about, but the longer the sessions went on, the harder it was to deny. Drinking had become a way to drown out the memories and feelings he didn’t know how to face. 

The therapist had suggested he take a break from drinking, just for a while. “You don’t have to stop forever,” she’d said. “Just give yourself a chance to feel what’s really going on.”

Yeah, because that sounded like fucking fun. Sitting with his feelings. 

But something about today felt different. He couldn’t explain it—maybe it was Wheezie’s not hating spending time with him after all the stunts he pulled, or the way Topper had thrown himself into planning this trip like he was trying to cheer him up—but for once, he didn’t feel like drowning himself in alcohol.

It wasn’t like drinking had helped anyway, if anything, it made it worse. The mornings after, when the hangover hit and he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror, let alone call you to apologize for everything he’d done wrong. 

So, yeah. Maybe the therapist had a point. 

He glanced at the cooler full of beers and liquor that Topper had dragged aboard. “Don’t feel like it today.”

Topper was still eyeing him like he was an alien, while Wheezie had gone back to scrolling her phone, but every now and then, she'd glance up at him, like she was checking to see if he was still there—if he was still him.

"Alright, enough of the sentimental shit," Topper declared, "Let’s make this a proper day. Who’s up for some wakeboarding?"

Wheezie groaned, flopping back dramatically. "You two are so predictable. Wakeboarding, really? What’s next, golf? A steak dinner? Gonna break out the cigars and talk about how much you love cripto?"

Rafe snorted, tossing a towel at her. "Wheez, you screamed your head off last time you tried it."

“Yeah, because I nearly died!" she threw the towel right back at him.

"You were fine.”

“You said I was fine while I was choking on lake water.”

Rafe smirked, standing up to adjust the rope for the wakeboard. “Builds character.”

“Builds trauma,” she retorted, kicking her flip-flops off and stretching her legs out over the seat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I’m suing your ass.”

“Good luck with that.”

She tilted her chin up with a satisfied grin, “I can now, thank you very much. I’m an adult.”

“You turned eighteen two weeks ago. Chill with the big-girl talk.”

Topper cracked up from the other side of the boat, pointing his beer at her like it was a microphone. “She’s got you there, big bro. Maybe let her drive the boat next.”

Wheezie perked up instantly. “Wait, can I?”

“No,” Rafe deadpanned.

“Why not?” she whined, her entire body deflating.

“Because last time you tried, you almost ran over a dock,” Rafe tugged the line to make sure it was secure.

“Okay, that was one time, and I was learning,” Wheezie argued. “You’ve done way dumber stuff.”

Topper leaned over, watching the exchange like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week. “This is amazing. You guys should fight more often.”

“Shut up,” Rafe and Wheezie said in unison, which only made Topper laugh harder.

The afternoon passed quickly, filled with sun, water, and Wheezie’s relentless commentary. She refused to try wakeboarding again, opting instead to sunbathe and heckle them from the safety of the boat. Rafe couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh so much—or the last time he’d felt this calm.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the water in shades of gold, Rafe slowed the boat to a gentle drift. Wheezie was sprawled out with her headphones in, her phone propped up on her stomach. Topper had passed out in the corner, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. Rafe sat at the helm, one hand resting on the wheel, the other dangling over the side. The cool water lapped at his fingertips, calming him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about the mistakes he’d made or the people he’d lost. He wasn’t drowning in guilt or regret. He was just… there, present. It didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would

Rafe cut the engine as the boat drifted closer to the dock. The sight of Sarah’s house on the Cut came into view. It wasn’t a kook mansion or some pristine estate—just a house that Sarah and her friends had claimed for herself.

The second the boat bumped against the dock, Wheezie sprang up, tugging her bag over her shoulder. Rafe was quick to follow, throwing the rope around a cleat to tie them off.

“You’re not getting off, are you?” Wheezie asked, looking over her shoulder with her brows furrowed.

Rafe stepped off the boat, sneakers hitting the creaky dock with a purpose. She rolled her eyes when she realized he wasn’t staying behind like she hoped.

“You don’t need to come,” she grumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I do,” Rafe said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not letting you walk in there alone.”

“She’s our sister, not some random stranger,” Wheezie stomped down the dock.

She might as well have been.

Rafe grabbed the bag she was struggling with and followed her toward the weathered building at the end of the pier. Sarah’s place wasn’t just a house; it was a business. A small café-slash-bait shop that catered to the locals. The painted sign hanging over the front door read Cut Cafe in faded lettering, with a little drawing of a fish under it. 

He hated it.

Not because it wasn’t nice, but because it wasn’t theirs. It was Sarah’s—a piece of her new life that had nothing to do with him or Wheezie or anything resembling their family. Another reminder of how far he hadn’t gone.

If he was being honest—something he rarely let himself do—he missed her. Not the Sarah she was now, but the sister she used to be, before the huge fights, before she looked at him like he was some kind of monster. Before Ward.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Ward had made sure Rafe would never get to have what Sarah did. She was the golden child, Dad’s favorite. And Rafe—he was just there, a constant disappointment.

It wasn’t that he hated her; it was that he hated what she represented.

Approval he’d never get, a life he wasn’t good enough for.

It was ironic, really. He used to resent Sarah for being Ward’s favorite.

Now he resented her for being yours.

Rafe scowled as the sound of the party reached his ears, even from the dock. Music thumped loud enough to vibrate the air, shouted conversations, and the occasional crash of something—probably a bottle—shattering.

Someone let out a loud whoop, followed by the unmistakable sound of people chanting for a keg stand. Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience thinning with every passing second. He wasn’t in the mood for this juvenile shit.

“You're way too comfortable here,” he scoffed under his breath as Wheezie marched ahead, her steps confident. It pissed him off more than it should have.

“Maybe because Sarah doesn’t treat me like I’m still twelve,” Wheezie shot back, smirking at him over her shoulder.

Rafe ignored the jab, his eyes scanning the small crowd outside.

A couple of Pogues lingered near the porch, laughing over beers and baskets of fries. Their relaxed, judgmental stares followed him like they could smell the kook entitlement on him from a mile away. He bristled, tightening his grip on Wheezie’s bag.

She bounded up the steps and pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling. He hesitated for half a second before following her inside, knowing he was going to regret ever stepping foot in this place.

The air smelled like beer, fried food, and sunscreen. Behind the counter, Sarah stood with her back to them, her hair tied up in a loose bun.

Wheezie cleared her throat loudly. “Hey, Sar!”

Sarah turned, her smile faltering the second she saw Rafe lurking behind Wheezie. Her expression hardened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Rafe said dryly, crossing his arms.

“I told Wheezie to come by. Not you.” Sarah’s eyes flicked to Wheezie, softening just slightly. “You didn’t need to bring a bodyguard.”

“I wasn’t gonna let her wander around here by herself,” Rafe shot back, his voice low and defensive. He hated the way Sarah’s words hurt, hated that her disapproval still got under his skin after all this time.

Sarah rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped out from behind the counter. “Wander? She’s not a toddler. She knows how to get here. It’s safe.”

Wheezie stood between them, looking like she was torn between laughing and rolling her eyes so hard she might fall over. “Okay, can you two stop? It’s embarrassing.”

Sarah sighed, brushing past Rafe as if he wasn’t even there.

“Whatever. You can go now. Wheezie’s fine here.”

He stood awkwardly near the door, arms crossed, glaring at the locals who cast curious glances his way. It wasn’t worth staying.

Wheezie was safe.

Sarah would make sure of that, whether she hated him or not.

With a sigh, hr pushed open the door and stepped back out onto the porch, letting the door slam behind him. He took a deep breath of salty air, rubbing the back of his neck.

He’d barely made it to the dock when he spotted someone climbing off the boat—

“Dude,” Rafe’s brow furrowed as his friend stepped onto the creaking wood. “Thought you were scared shitless of this place.”

“I’m not scared,” Topper lied through his teeth.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, “Right.”

“We ran out of snacks on the boat, and I’m starving, figured I’d raid the stash at the party.”

“Snacks?”

“I’m starving!” Topper argued, throwing his hands up. “And unless you brought a secret bag of chips somewhere, this is my best shot!”

He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do to change Topper's mind. “Hurry up.”

“Relax, I’ll be two minutes!"

He watched Topper jog away, sighing and leaning against one of the wooden posts. 

You were probably in there, somewhere. Laughing, maybe, or smiling that smile he used to wake up to, a smile that used to be for him.

Now, it was for everyone but him.

He tried not to think about you, but that was like telling the ocean not to rise and fall with the stupid tides. Therapy had taught him to sit with his feelings, to not let them rot into something worse, but he was just starting and you weren’t just the girl he loved.

You were the only person who had ever seen him for more than his name, his mistakes, or the wreckage Ward Cameron had left in his wake. You didn’t just tolerate him; you chose him, since day one.

He didn’t deserve you, not then, not even now. 

The sound of footsteps broke his focus.

“About time,” Rafe muttered, turning. But it wasn’t Topper.

Sofia stumbled into view, her dark hair wild and face flushed. Her hand gripped the railing for support as she swayed slightly.

He frowned, mildly concerned, “What the f—are you okay?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frantic. “Y-You need to go get Topper. Right n-now.”

His first thought was that she might’ve come here to throw some drunken, slurred insults his way.

The last time they'd spoken, things had ended...He didn’t even know how to classify that mess. But it didn't look like she was there to slam him with any guilt-trips or hurtful words.

She just looked scared.

“What?” His brows knit together as he stepped toward her, “What are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

Sofia waved him off, her breathing panicked. “The T-thorntons.”

That stopped him cold.

“What about them?”

She tried to grab his arm, her eyes wide, “They’re fighting. It’s bad.”

“Fighting?”

It couldn't be just some random fight; this had everything to do with the bullshit Topper had pulled.

Shit.

Rafe wasn’t even sure if he could fix it. Could he? You hated him too, and no matter how hard he tried, it seemed like you’d never forgive him for everything he’d fucked up. But Topper—Rafe didn’t even have to think twice.

He knew you, how you were when you’d had enough. You weren’t the type to lose your shit unless it was really bad.

He gritted his teeth, knowing full well that when you finally let it out, it was never just a “throw a drink and move on” kind of thing. Nah, when you lost it, it was like you’d been holding all this shit in for way too long and finally decided you weren’t gonna take it anymore.

He knew exactly what you were pissed about.

Topper. Of course. And him. Fuck.

He hated it.

The way your voice would rise when you finally let everything out.

You weren’t someone who yelled, but when you did? Jesus fucking Christ, it hit different. Rafe could never prepare himself fully for that kind of fury, especially when it was aimed at him. 

He hated seeing you like this, especially when he knew it was because of him. But it was his fault, wasn’t it?

Rafe’s thoughts were a mess as he followed Sofia, who was clearly way over tipsy, stumbling a little, but she was still trying to explain, voice slurring a bit from the alcohol.

“You gotta understand—she was helping me. I wasn’t feeling so great, right? M-my head was spinning, I don’t know… I just needed a little space. But then Topper walked in and he...S-she just lost it.”

He wasn’t even surprised when she mentioned that you’d been helping her out. Of course you would.

You always had that side to you. Even when you were pissed, even when you hated people, you couldn’t help but step in when someone was in need. You hated Sofia, and everyone knew it. You hated the fact that she’d come around right after he’d fucked everything up with you. You hated how fast she seemed to take your place, even though Rafe didn’t want to admit it to himself either.

Still, there you were, trying to make sure Sofia was okay, again. It made him feel like shit. Not just because you were still holding it together when he couldn’t, but because he knew the whole fucking reason you probably didn’t want anything to do with Sofia—because of how it’d felt when he’d jumped into something else so quickly, so recklessly, after breaking your heart.

The sound of raised voices reached him before he even saw you. He could hear the anger in your voice. There was no mistaking it: you were pissed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you this way, and it fucked with his gut. You didn’t lose control easily. You never let anyone see the mess, the shit you were going through.

Now you were ripping into Topper in a way that made his blood run cold. He rounded the corner and saw you, hands flailing, and he couldn’t help but wonder: When was the last time anyone stepped up for you? It certainly hadn’t been him. Not the way he should’ve.

And then, of course, there was Topper. He could see the look on his face—guilt, embarrassment. But it wasn’t going to be enough. You had to work through it yourself.

Your shoulders were tense, the way you stood, like you could snap anyone who walked through that door in half if they so much as blinked the wrong way, was all too familiar.

Your cousin was standing in front of you, trying to apologize like it was gonna fix anything, but you weren’t hearing it. No, you were done with that shit.

Topper wipped his hands down his ruined shirt, green smears of guacamole spreading across the fabric. “I fucked up.”

“No shit,” you hissed, “You don’t get to come back from this. You have no idea how fucking sick I am of you—” Hands shaking as you shoved him back, your words coming out in short bursts, "You're the fucking worst. How could you—"

You were about to throw something—probably another drink—when your eyes snapped over to Rafe.

For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw your breath hitch. You froze, eyes wide for a second, and then your expression soured.

Your lip quivered before you sucked in a breath and squared your shoulders.

"Not you too,” you sneered, throwing your hands in the air as the world had just dropped another pile of shit on your already full plate. “Oh my fucking god, seriously?"

Your face was flushed with anger, lips twisted in a snarl. You were so fucking beautiful, even when you were fuming. He could see the fire in your eyes, that same spark he’d fallen for all those years ago. You were just... you. And it was killing him.

He was so fucked. 

“All of you—” You spit out, “I should’ve known better. I did know better, but I was stupid. So fucking stupid.”

He couldn’t think straight when you looked at him like that, when you had that look in your eyes. Even in the middle of a fight, it was so goddamn hard to look away.

You weren’t just a memory to him anymore. You were right in front of him, and he couldn’t even breathe straight.

Rafe’s throat tightened, feeling something that wasn’t just anger or regret or confusion. He felt longing. He longed to hear your voice, all the time, longed for those mornings when you’d be pressed against him, all warm, the world outside his shitty room irrelevant.

He missed the simple stuff.

He missed your face, the way you’d look at him with that irritation and affection.

It hit him harder than anything had in months—how much time had passed since he last saw that pretty face smile at him like you used to. Since he last kissed your forehead while you fell asleep next to him, since you last fit so perfectly into his arms that he didn’t want to let go.

He didn’t even know how to start getting that back.

He left. Over and over again.

Rafe registered another drink splashing across Topper’s face a little too late, the sound of the liquid hitting his skin pulling him out of his trance. He blinked a few times, the moment dragging back to the mess in front of him.

You weren’t done, though, as if throwing the drink wasn’t enough, you whipped a bowl of guacamole from the table and hurled it at Topper’s face. It splattered across his shirt, leaving a sticky, green mess in its wake.

He didn’t even flinch, still apologizing, still taking it.

“Sis—”

“I don’t want some bullshit excuse! You were supposed to be my family. You were supposed to—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head because you couldn’t fathom finishing the thought.

And then—slap, slap, slap—you were hitting his arms, frustration flashing across your face as you let him have it. 

Your cousin stood there like a fucking idiot, wiping guac off his face, trying to stammer out some kind of half-assed apology. 

“You had no right,” you spat, voice breaking on the words. “None. You don’t just walk in here and act like everything’s fine after what you—” your words choked in your throat. You threw another plate, “You had no right!”

Rafe saw it all, saw the tears ready to spill as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. You weren’t crying yet, but he knew that was about to change. And when it did, it was going to hurt worse than the yelling, worse than the throwing.

Before you could even get another word out, Rafe was there, stepping in between you and Topper, his body tense, preparing himself for something, maybe a few slaps across the face, a drink if you felt generous. You didn’t have to say a word, he could sense it in the way your lips quivered, the way your shoulders shook.

“You need to calm down,” He told you tenderly, though it wasn’t a demand—it was more of a desperate plea.

You didn’t listen.

Instead, you shoved him out of the way, the tears starting to slip down your cheeks, but you didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

“Get out,” you snapped, "Move.”

Rafe didn’t budge, he was here for you, he never stopped fucking choosing you even when he had no right to. He remained still, staring down at you with those blue eyes that had always known you better than anyone.

“Fuck, not like this,” Rafe muttered under his breath, stepping forward once more, this time blocking your path before you could reach Topper again. His hands were gentle on your shoulders as he held you back, “Please, stop.”

You froze, eyes wide, like you couldn’t believe it—you hadn’t been expecting him to step in, hadn’t been expecting him of all people to be the one to try and talk you out of it. 

Rafe’s heart dropped when he saw the way your body was starting to shake. You were spiraling, he could see it coming—he'd been here before. The way your breath hitched, how your eyes turned glassy.

He still knew the signs all too well.

His hands shot out instinctively, grabbing your arms, trying to hold you still, "Hey, hey, calm down," he muttered, his voice soothing, "You're gonna make yourself worse if you don’t stop."

He could feel the rapid pulse under your skin, the way your body tensed like a coiled spring, and he didn’t give a fuck that you still hated him. 

"Look at me," he coaxed, "Please, just breathe with me. You know this ain't gonna help. You gotta breathe."

Rafe’s heart broke all over again as you crumbled in front of him, damn it, he should’ve been there. He should’ve been there when this all fell apart, when you needed someone to hold you together instead of pushing you away.

He hated seeing you like this.

"I’m right here," he said again, softer this time, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Topper stood there, eyes wide, not sure what to do, his face pale as he watched you fall apart in front of Rafe.

Sofia, still drunk and disoriented, caught the look in his eyes and quietly grabbed his arm, “We need to go," she whispered, nudging him, "T-this isn’t helping her."

Topper’s eyes moved to you, and then to Rafe, you could see it in his expression—the guilt, the regret. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

Rafe shot him a look, one that said everything—get out.

Your cousin, wiped his face before he took a few steps back. "I’m sorry," he muttered, eyes darting between you and Rafe.  "I’m so sorry.”

He turned away like a dog with his tail between his legs, Sofia following him without saying much, leaving you.

Rafe barely paid them any mind, his entire focus on you, his hands still holding yours, as he watched you try to calm your breathing.

He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered again, "Not going anywhere. I’m here, swear to God, I’m here."

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him fully, not caring if he was blocking the view of anyone else, not caring if things were a fucking mess—he only cared about getting you back to yourself.

He could feel it in his chest, every shitty thing that had piled up, every moment no one had your back when you needed it most.

You didn’t pull away. Maybe it was the anger finally burning out or the exhaustion catching up to you, but for a moment, you let him hold you. Your chest heaved as you fought for control, but your weight sagged against his hands.

His hands loosened their grip, his thumb brushing against your arm without him even realizing it. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to risk letting go because God knew if he’d ever get this close to you again.

You’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you. 

He didn’t deserve it—not even a little, but he couldn’t let go, you needed someone, even if it wasn’t really him you wanted anymore. 

Rafe could sense the way your breathing came out as almost pants against his chest. Every little tremor sent a pang through his chest, like someone had grabbed his ribs and squeezed until it hurt to breathe.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he fought harder? 

Rafe rested his cheek against your hair, closing his eyes as he let himself feel it—the weight of you leaning on him. The smell of your perfume, faint but still the same as always. He felt like a fucking thief, stealing this moment from you when he had no right. You didn’t want this from him, didn’t need this from him.

He wished he could take it all back, erase every mistake, the fight, every stupid decision that had pushed you to this point. If he could trade places with you, take all the pain and carry it himself, he would. In a heartbeat. 

You took one shuddering breath, then another. It was enough for him to feel like maybe he’d done something right for once. Maybe he could—

“Get your hands off me.”

Rafe barely moved. His grip slackened, but he didn’t let go, didn’t step away like you wanted.

You pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I said get your fucking hands off me.”

“Not happenin’,” He swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming against his throat, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “You’re not okay.”

 “Go fuck yourself. You don’t get to decide that—”

Your voice cracked, and the sound of it nearly knocked the will to live from his body. He’d always known your tells, had always been able to read you better than you liked.

Rafe’s hands twitched, and then he moved them, moving like he was about to let you go—but then you did it.

You curled your arms around yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, right over your stomach. Protective.

Fuck.

Could it be? It was an unconscious gesture, you probably didn’t realize you’d made, but to him, it might as well have been a fucking confession.

Rafe felt his body lock up, every muscle going rigid as the pieces fell into place. 

Fuck fuck fuck. Topper was right, wasn't he?

His throat went dry, he managed to croak out, “You’re—”

“No,” you snapped immediately, your fingers tightening on your dress, but you wouldn’t look at him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t need you.”

He knew he was losing you.

Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck you. You don’t get to— say shit like that. You don’t get to—” Your breathing hitched, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“To what? To give a shit?”

He waited, watching, hoping, praying—please look at me, baby, please—but you didn’t move.

You scoffed, a bitter sound.

“You don’t care. You just don’t like the idea of—” Your breath caught, but you swallowed it down, pushing past the lump in your throat. “You don’t like the idea of me making a choice that doesn’t involve you.”

He hadn’t breathed properly since he saw your hands gripping your stomach, hiding yourself from him like you thought he was something to be afraid of. Like you thought he wouldn’t love you.

You thought he wouldn’t fucking stay.

“I love you.”

He barely recognized his own voice when he said it, but it was the only thing he could spill out. He swore to God he saw your left eye twitch at the confession, he knew what came next, but he’d never been good at shutting up when he should when it came to you.

“I do,” he insisted, “And I know I don’t—I don’t deserve to say that. I don’t deserve to expect anything from you.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “But I need you to know it.”

You clenched your jaw.

“I fucked up, I know. I fucked up so bad.”

You turned your head to the side, blinking up at the ceiling, refusing to spare him a glance. “I don’t want you to fix it.”

“I know,” he said immediately. “I know, but I can’t—I can’t just let you go through this alone.”

Your chest rose and fell too quickly, your breath uneven, but still—you stood your ground. “I don’t need you.”

“Please don’t say that,” he nearly dropped to his knees. “Please.”

You looked at him, since he’d realized what this meant, you lifted your head, met his gaze—really met it.

And shit—It nearly destroyed him, because he knew that look.

“Where the fuck were you, Rafe? Kissing her two months after we ended? Huh—” Your breath shuddered, and you shook your head, stepping back, “You didn’t even wait. You just—just moved the fuck on like I never even mattered—”

“It wasn’t like that—”

"Did you fuck her?" Your lips curled into a faux smile. "That’s what I thought."

"No,” He added quickly, shaking his head like the thought alone disgusted him, "No, I didn’t."

You chuckled disbelieving. "Don’t lie to me."

"I’m not," he said, stepping closer despite the way your body went rigid. "I didn’t touch her like that. I swear to God."

"But you wanted to, right?"

His head moved so fast it gave him whiplash, "No. The only person I’ve ever wanted is you.”

You scoffed, “That’s real sweet, real fucking poetic.”

“I let my own shit get in the way, and I hurt you. But I swear to God, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“That supposed to make me feel better? You fucked off to play house with some other girl,” You swallowed hard, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why were you there with her? Why did you let me think—"

"Because I’m a fucking assshole," he admitted, "I was trying to forget you, okay? But I couldn’t. No matter what I did, it was always you."

“Fuck you.” You snickered. “Where were you when I finally got my internship? The one I worked for, the one I wanted so bad?” You shook your head, “You didn’t even text me. Not once.”

His throat was tight, his pulse hammering, because he had thought about it—so many times, so many nights staring at his phone, fingers hovering, but he hadn’t.

Rafe’s heart plummeted.

“I—”

“You what? You forgot?”

His nails bit into his palms, “I—”

“You don’t get to speak,” you seethed, you eyes burning through him. “You don’t get to fucking say you care when you weren’t there, when you didn’t even fucking check if I was okay.

"I'm sorry."

"Where the fuck were you,” you whispered, voice shaking with grief, “when I found out I was pregnant with your fucking kid?”

Rafe froze, his stomach jumped around, violently, his ears started ringing. His brain short-circuited, his lungs forgot how to take in air, his heart fucking stopped.

Pregnant.

Pregnant. With his—

“Oh, right.” Your laugh was venomous, “You showed up at my charity gala.” You licked your lips, shaking your head, “Defending her.”

He never felt so completely useless, completely fucking helpless while you stood in front of him, looking up at him like you hated him.

“I—” He started, but nothing came out. “You—”

There was nothing to fucking say, you were right, he had failed you.

You weren’t telling him this so he could weigh in or because you wanted him to be a part of it. You were telling him so he’d know, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings, so he wouldn’t ever think, even for a second, that there was still a version of this where he got to be a part of it.

“How long?” The words were hoarse, hardly audible.

Your lips curled in disgust, arms crossing tight over your chest. “Like you fucking care.”

He did, he did care.

So fucking much that he thought he might fucking die under the weight of it. Except the realization hit him just as quickly—he didn’t get to stand here, wide-eyed and breathless and shocked like this wasn’t the natural conclusion to the shitshow of mistakes he’d made.

“Don’t fucking stand there and act like this is some big revelation. You didn’t spend the last months with your tongue down someone else’s throat while I was home—sick, alone—wondering how the fuck I was supposed to do this without you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, pressing your knuckles to your lips to stop them from shaking.

His gut twisted.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jesus Christ, he’d been so fucking stupid.

“I don’t need you. I never did.”

It was a lie, maybe you even believed it.

But Rafe knew you, understood how hard it was for you to ask for help. Knew how much it had hurt to stand in front of him, admitting the truth. And Rafe—he needed to fix this. Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I should’ve been there.”

“Yeah? No shit.”

Rafe felt his ribs caving in. “I’m here now.”

“That’s not good enough.”

It was a death sentence, it was fair but fuck, he couldn’t accept it.

Rafe stepped closer.

You took a step back.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swore, desperate. “I don’t care if you fucking hate me, don’t care if you never forgive me.” His throat worked around the lump in it. “I’m here.”

You were so fucking angry. So fucking hurt. He didn’t blame you for it. But if he didn’t try, if he didn’t fucking show you—prove to you that he was here now—then he’d never forgive himself.

“You think I’m gonna just forgive you for this?” you sneered, arms folded tightly over your chest. “Just because you’re here now, just because you say the words that mean nothing—that’s enough? After everything? After all of it?”

All he could do was look at you—look at the person he had ruined, the person he had loved, and still loved, more than anything. 

“I just—” He sucked in a breath, running a hand through his growing hair. “Tell me about the baby.”

Your expression faltered before you hardened again, lips pressing into a thin line.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit.” His voice broke. “Don’t do that—don’t shut me out. Is it... a boy? A girl?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Why does it matter?”

“Don’t—don’t keep me in the dark, please. You’ve felt them move?” 

You looked down at your feet. “No.” 

"Did you—uh—" He rubbed the back of his neck, nerves raw. "Do you have morning sickness? I read that happens early on, right?"

You blinked, "What?"

"Like... throwing up and all that? You okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned, but it only made your head spin.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Can we drop it?”

It’s then he remembers the beach cleanup, the memories of that afternoon colliding all at once—the way you’d collapsed into him, pale and unresponsive. The panic that gripped his chest as he carried you to the truck. The fight during the drive, when you told him to leave, your refusal to let him come inside.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You were…” He pratically gasped, “You were pregnant. At the beach cleanup.”

You stiffened, already dreading where he was going with this.

“Don’t.”

His pulse raced, “That’s why you didn’t want me to come inside the hospital, wasn’t it?” His words spilled out, “You were scared they’d tell me. Holy shit.”

“Stop,” you snapped, but he couldn’t.

“You passed out because of—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. “Jesus Christ.”

“I said stop.”

He couldn’t unsee it now—couldn’t unfeel your dead weight on his arms. He’d been right there, clueless, driving you to the hospital while you were carrying his baby. And instead of being there for you, he’d made everything worse.

“I didn’t know,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“Exactly.” Your voice was cold, “You didn’t know because you weren’t there.”

He was going to have to spend that entire fucking inheritance fortune on therapy

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[ourfirstlink]

and that’s how moving in with sylus happened.

Sylus staying at your place felt like a fever dream at first, but you were so confused once you realised he was as subtle as a bull in a china shop around your place, which was completely unusual.

No matter how much effort he put not to wake you up too early in the morning, you would eventually be woken up from your sweet dreams by him bumping his body against whatever was on his way. However, he had no idea you were hearing his misadventures almost every single time he was staying there.

The genuine shock on his face when you finally admitted that he wasn’t being quiet (which was none of his fault) led him to think that he didn’t belong to this tiny little home of yours. It could be seen as extremely dramatic yet it proves how much he cares about you and your wellbeing — he doesn’t want you to feel discomfort of any sort.

You didn’t want him to feel guilty and actually find this situation endearing, especially how he seemed lost in his thoughts after looking away from your face with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Maybe i should stop…”

“Overthinking” you cut him off.

Raising a brow, he was anxiously waiting for the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“First of all, i’ll get used to it and will stop waking up at every single noise i hear…” you placed your hand on his “secondly, our home will be a lot more bigger than this tiny apartment.”

A sigh of relief escaped his mouth and he looked right into your eyes.

“Our?” getting closer to you, his hand left yours just so both of his can cup each side of your face. “Home is wherever you are, my love. But sharing something we can consider as ours…”

Closing the distance between the two of you, he gently placed a kiss on your lips.

“Mmh this is the life i’ve always dreamt about.”

Before you can say anything, your lips are sealed with his with more passion, a hint of yearning and love that only made you melt more.

“I’d buy an entire planet just so i make sure i don’t wake you up ever again, just so you know.”

After this breathless confession, you both decided to let the passion consume your beings.

That’s how you decided it was the right time to move in together.

[haveihitanerve]

The comments were usual. Frequent even. Bruce bore them all with a smile, either acting like a bored teenager forced to attend the events he had planned, or blushing, sculpting the Brucie persona before he had even reached his twenties. 

“Oh Brucie!!!” They would twitter at him, women and men alike, pawing at his arms, his shoulders, chest, some even boldly reaching for his ass, snaking an arm around him, pulling him closer. “You look delicious baby.” They’d murmur, pur, coo over him. 

Alfred would get rightfully angry over the comments, when Bruce told him, but after the anger led to nothing, Bruce stopped coming home with the stories. He just went to bed, showering off all the handprints and touches. 

And then Dick came along.

“Bruuuuuuuuuce!” The nine year old whined, hissing the ending syllable like a snake. “I wanna gooooo!!!” Bruce chuckled lightly, fixing his cuffs in the mirror. 

“I highly doubt it chum.” He murmured, glancing over at his ward, seated on the foot of his bed. Dick pouted, the full package; lip out and arms crossed, and Bruce laughed, walking over to grab his tie and ruffle the boys hair. 

“Its a boring Gala, bud. Not too exciting.” Dick huffed, watching as Bruce expertly wound the tie around his neck, swinging the sides over and through. 

“Its a pARty!” He pointed out. “And I wanna go.” Bruce hummed to show he was listening, buttoning up the bottom two buttons of his suit, before letting his hands drop to his side. 

He sighed. “Do you want to wear a suit?” Dick’s eyes sparked up with excitement before he wrinkled his nose. 

“Do I hafta?” He complained. Bruce laughed, turning to face him. 

“Yes. Its a formal event. Suit, or you’re not coming.” The threat of a suit made the words take a moment to sink in, but once they did Dick rocketeded across the room, flying into Bruce’s arms. 

“For real???” He squealed, all excitement and little kid energy. “Hell yeah!” He bolted out the door to his own room before Bruce could so much as open his mouth to chide “language.” 

The car ride over was a new level of annoyance Bruce didn't know existed, as Dick bounced around in his seat, eagerly looking out the window for the first glimpse of his first “real adult party”. Still, he couldn't help but smile at Dick's unbridled joy.  

Hank, Bruce’s chauffeur, bore all of it with a smile, regaling Dick with stories of picking up Bruce when he was a teenager, and all the college hell, while Dick cackled and Bruce rolled his eyes. But, then again, Hank had his own three kids at home, and was marginally more used to the watts of energy than Bruce was. 

“Here ya are Mr. Wayne.” Hank finally cut off all of Dick’s peppering questions about Bruce’s college stories, a relief, as Hank was really getting into the bad stuff, or in Dicks mind, the good stuff, and Bruce hopped out, opening the door for his son. “Thank you!” Dick twittered as he leapt out, waving. 

Hank chuckled, dipping his hat. “Of course Mr. Wayne, hope you have a fun night.” Dick grinned back, and it surprised Bruce that he was so okay with hank calling him “Wayne.” But, then again, his boy and the driver seemed to have an easier relationship. Bruce certainly wasn't going to call him out. 

It did something to him, flooded his body with something heavy and warm, to hear Dick be called “Wayne”. Maybe a primal thing, an old animal instinct, the need to claim and own and have Dick. Dick was his son, maybe not by blood, but by… everything and anything Dick allowed him to have. 

“B!” Dick chirped, already a few feet up the steps, a frown on his face as he looked back. Bruce realized he’d been lost in thought at the side of the road. 

“Coming chum.” He agreed quickly, hurrying to his wards side before the entered. 

“Woah.” Dick breathed, the second they breached the door, and Bruce silently agreed. Gala’s weren’t fun for a plethora of reasons, but they were always beautiful. 

Almost immediately though, camera’s swarmed him, not only flashes of light but also of sickeningly white teeth, too wide mouths, pale skin pawing for his attention. 

“Brucie, darling!!!” One man twittered, and they successfully separated them, dragging Bruce over to one gaggle of rich twats while a few others circled Dick. Dick seemed to be taking it remarkably well, nodding politely and smiling, shaking hands, but his eyes darted to Bruce every few seconds, questions in his eyes. 

“Excuse me-” Bruce brushed past his virus of people and forced his way beside Dick, kneeling so he was at eye level.

“Everything alright?” he murmured quietly, tucking Dick into his space, warding off others. He almost wanted to say “i told you so” but figured it’d only do more harm than good. Pointing it out when Dick was clearly overwhelmed would not be helpful, or nice in any capacity. 

Dick nodded, shoulders imperceptibly dropping in relief as he allowed himself to be caged by Bruce’s body. “Y-yeah. Fine. Better now.” Bruce let the unspoken words hang between them, “-that you’re here”, and nodded instead, standing. 

“Stay close.” he flicked his fingers and Dick obediently stepped closer, pushing into Bruce’s space with hardly a thought.

And, Bruce realized quietly, he didn't mind either. Having people in his space… touch had never been his thing, after his parents death. Especially not when that touch came from unsympathetic elites after his parents money. But with Dick… it was, easier. Nice. 

The rest of the night went by a little better, and Dick even stepped away a few feet, always close by, but straying enough that he wasn't hiding behind Bruce’s legs. In his shadow. It was then that it happened. 

“Oh aren’t you just beautiful.” The words came from Mrs. Braught, a well known widow with enough wealth to compete with the Drakes, if not Waynes. She was… known for her affinity to younger men, boys, really, and Bruce had only managed to not make the cut because he had known, as a boy, and avoided her, and wasn’t as “appealing” to her, due to his depression. 

Dick stiffened slightly at the words, but still offered her a smile, polite, as always. The reaction made Bruce relax marginally. He was okay, he was handling it, just like Bruce had. 

But… but Dick’s smile was strained, his shoulders inching near his ears, and there was a definite tilt to him, a lean away from Braught that was easy to miss. But not to Bruce. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Bruce was at his wards side- no, in front of him, shoving Dick behind his legs. Dick stumbled, lightly, at the sudden push, but quickly straightened, grabbing the back of Bruce’s coat. The trembling Bruce could feel through the fabric was enough to make him see red. 

The Brucie persona was gone, slipping off without a singe thought, fast enough that Bruce wondered for a fraction of a second if it had even been on when he had entered the Gala, and Bruce realized it wasn't just Dick’s hand trembling, but Bruce’s whole body. 

His fists curled, hard enough that his knuckles turned white, jaw clenched to the point where his teeth squeaked, entire body quivering with rage. 

Mrs. Braught glanced up, surprised, almost caught off guard even, as she realized Brucie Wayne wasn't there for a pleasant hello, but Bruce was there, a man- no, a father, furious at what was being said about his son. 

Bruce could hear, faintly, as though through water, people beginning to whisper, eyes wide as the elites gathered around, no one bold enough to step in, and no one truly believing Brucie would do anything. 

Bruce didn't care. Dick was his, and he would not allow the traumas of the past to repeat, though he had failed to stop him from being orphaned. No more. He vowed, hands fisting at his sides. He had failed Dick in the one, true way that mattered, keeping his family, but he would not fail him any other way. Not in the ways Bruce was failed. 

His hand began to move back on its own accord, when a tiny, stubborn hand caught it, grabbed his wrist. Bruce looked down in surprise to find Dick staring up him solemnly, shaking his head.

Before Bruce could say something, another woman, another widow Bruce recognized as Mrs. Kershaw, stepped forward, fire bright in her weathered eyes. 

“You go on and git out of here Gertrude, before I tar your hide.” She hissed, and Bruce recalled how her own daughter had been raped and murdered when she had been barely thirteen. Gertrude knew it too, and backed away, scurrying for the exit. Mrs. Kershaw made sure she left, eyes kind when she glanced at Bruce, a subtle nod of solidarity her only acknowledgement. 

Dick tugged on his hand, but Bruce ignored him, sending a viscous glare at anyone who dared step too close. 

“Dad.” Dicks voice was soft, so soft, but proud too, grateful. That finally dragged Bruce from his never ending anger, and he looked down. Down at those wide blue eyes, that head of messy black curls.

“Come on Dad.” Dick whispered quietly, eyes darting around nervously at all the people, the cameras, but always going back to Bruce. Meeting his eyes. 

Bruce bent down and scooped his son into his arms, uncaring of who saw, who cared. He blocked his son off from the world, heading for the exit, one of the waitstaff, Aisha, nodding at him to inform him Hank had been called. 

“Thanks Dad.” Dick murmured, face buried against Bruce’s neck, and Bruce’s arms tightened around him, heading out into the streets of Gotham with his son cradled to his chest. 

“I’ll always protect you chum.” He swore, and something in his heart lightened at the Justice he was doing for his son, but also for his younger self. “I will always protect you.” 

thanks to @frownyalfred and @astorianyxkings for the idea!

[ihatefrvits]

practice makes perfect

bestfriend jisung x reader

genre: smut 18+, fluff (if you squint)

wc: 6.05k

synopsis: you have a crush on jaehyun whos a year above you in college, but you’re so inexperienced it makes you think that he will never look at you. so who will help you if not your best friend?

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

you didn’t want to ask jisung for help. in fact, you were avoiding it, trying to find other ways, because it was insane and he was your best friend since childhood.

and asking your best friend to help you learn how to kiss so you didn’t screw it up with your silly little crush? yeah, that was the craziest thing you ever were about to do.

“hey, sung,” you start, trying to sound casual but failing as your voice cracks mid sentence.

jisung glances up briefly, raising an eyebrow. “what’s up?”

you hesitate, chewing on your hoodie string as your palms grow sweaty. why is this so hard? you can’t even ask him a simple question?

“uh, so…” you trail off, your voice dropping as you struggle to get the words out. “hypothetically speaking… if someone wanted to, like… learn how to do something… how would they, uh, go about it?”

jisung stares at you for a moment, blinking in confusion. “you gotta narrow that down for me, y/n. what are we talking about? gaming? cooking? math?”

“oh my god, no,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. this was already so much worse than you imagined.

“relax, relax,” he says, setting his phone down, which made you peek at him through your fingers. “what’s going on?”

you take a deep breath, you kept reminding yourself, if you didn’t just say it, you would never going to get through this.

“i… kind of have a crush on jaehyun.” you admit quickly, the words tumbling out as if you were rushing.

jisungs brows shoot up, and for a split second, something unreadable flickers across his face before his expression turns into something neutral. “uh, okay. and?”

“and… i want him to notice me,” you continue, heat rising to your face. “but i don’t know what i’m doing. i mean, he’s cool, and experienced, and i’m just…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely at yourself.

jisung tilts his head, his lips pressing into a slight frown. “you’re just what?”

“a loser, jisung,” you groan, slumping forward dramatically. “i’ve never even kissed anyone, and what if he finds out and thinks i’m, like, a lost cause?”

jisung opens his mouth, probably to argue against the whole “loser” thing, but you cut him off, too embarrassed.

“so, i was thinking…” you pause, glancing at him nervously. “maybe you could, um, help me.”

“help you?” he repeats, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“yeah. like, practice?” you wave your hands vaguely, trying to look like you haven’t been agonizing over this for days. “y’know… kissing.”

jisung stares at you like you’ve just sprouted a second head.

you don't think you ever were this embarrassed before. you had always hung out in your best friends room, but the reason behind this visit had made you want the ground to swallow you whole.

your voice felt shaky as it cut through the silence of jisungs bedroom. "i just think it'd be better if i... y'know... knew what i was doing. i can't ask jaehyun to... y'know, like—" you swallowed as you tried to not repeat the words again. your face heated up at the thought of finishing the sentence, "to teach me how to kiss if we ever do it."

jisung, sitting on his gaming chair, nervously fiddled with his hoodie string. he moved his head in a way that made his messy black hair flop into his eyes to avoid looking directly at you. "are you, like, actually being serious right now?"

"very serious." you said with a poor attempt of trying to sound confident, but the way your voice was wobbly instantly gave you away, which only made him blink in irritation. "i-i mean, i can't... i don't want to fuck up if he–"

you closed your mouth, hesitating as you clutched one of his pillows tighter to your chest, sitting on the edge of his bed. talking to him was always easy for you, since he understood you in ways no one else could. but sometimes his ability to read you made things worse, as he was making you aware of how much of a loser you actually were.

after he sensed that you weren't completing your sentence, he tilted his head and exhaled hard. "so, if i understand correctly," he rested his chin on the back of his hand. “you want me to help you practice… for some guy? jeong jaehyun specifically?”

you squirmed. his delivery made it sound as stupid as it was. in fact, this made no sense. who asks their best friend for— gosh.

you were already too deep in to start laughing and tell him it was a joke and he was silly for falling for it, and his slightly wide eyes made it seem like he wasn’t totally opposed to this idea (which mattered way more than it should’ve).

“um… yeah,” you croaked. jisung ran a hand through his hair like he was suddenly going to come up with an excuse, but something in his eyes, the awkward confidence, tipped you off. he never really refused your offer.

“i know you never make good decisions, but this is seriously the worst idea you have ever had in your life,” he muttered, though you could tell the amusement in his tone. before you processed his reaction, he leaned forward, clasped his hands, and finished his sentence, “but okay.”

your heart skipped a beat, “okay?” you almost stuttered, “like… okay okay?”

“yeah, okay okay.” he huffed and scratched the back of his neck as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “i’ll help, but just practice,” his tone was serious, “if it gets weird, we stop. alright?”

you nodded quickly, “alright.”

“and don’t tell anyone about this.” he said, holding up a finger like you were a toddler.

“obviously,” you answered, which only earned you a smirk from him. a smirk that made your stomach flip. why is he suddenly smirking at you?

there is a beat of silence before jisung slides off his chair, kneeling awkwardly in front of you, where you’re perched on his bed. his height still towers over you a bit, but the soft flush creeping up his neck made you realise you weren’t the only one that was nervous.

“um… you want to start now?” he asked quietly, as if he was shy. you nodded again, your mouth running faster than your brain, “unless you’re scared of me or something.”

“y/n,” he groaned like he wanted to pull his hair out, “why are you making things harder than they should be?”

despite his words, his laugh was gentle, and maybe even fond. you bite your lip as he carefully shifts closer until your knees bump against him.

“you’re sure about this, right?” he whispers, and when you nod, he leans forward slowly, like he’s scared to startle you.

his plump lips brush yours gently at first, as if he’s giving you time to back out. his hand awkwardly lingers in the air near your shoulder, before settling there. you can barely think straight, you would’ve never thought that jisung, nerdy and awkward, would’ve been this careful and soft. you clutch onto him and his breath hitches which only makes your face burn ever more.

“just practice,” he whispers as his lips meet yours in hesitation. as you deepen the kiss, it doesn’t really feel like practicing.

he pulls back and rests his forehead on yours. you could feel his warm breath against your lips. he quickly opens his eyes, nervously trying to read you, as if he was trying to figure out if you regret it, or if he should stop.

you don’t say a word, you’re too shocked from the fact that you’re enjoying this, considering that heat was pooling in your lower stomach.

“y/n,” he whispers so quietly that it almost got swallowed by the tense air in the room. it took all your courage to swallow and look back up at him, “was that okay?” you whisper, and you feel your cheeks get red because of how nervous you sounded.

his lips twitched, which you realised was an effort to give you a reassuring smile, “yeah” he says, then he lets out a small laugh, glancing to the side to avoid eye contact, “it was more than okay.”

you blink in surprise, and then open your mouth to say something, but you can’t form words, “really?” you finally blurt something out.

you noticed his ears turn red as he retreated. “i mean, not that i do this often, i just— um… you’re—“ his voice disappears into thin air as he slides his hand up to scratch his head in embarrassment.

you would’ve chuckled and called him cute if it didn’t plant a fucked up idea in your head, the type of idea that you’re half shy to say out loud.

but once again, your mouth works faster than your brain, “should we keep going?” you blurt it out, and before you process what you said, jisung freezes.

his mouth opens and closes, but there’s no words coming out of him. “it’s not fair if i practice once,” your voice is trembling, “i mean, i have to— i should get used to, like, more….i need— i’m gonna mess up with jaehyun if i—“

“okay, stop.” jisung cuts you off suddenly, his hands coming up as he was surrendering, “i get it.”

your stomach drops at the look on his face until he settles back on his knees, leaning forward again. “we will go slow, and if you feel too overwhelmed,” his voice is so low and serious that it makes your throat tighten. “we will stop immediately, no questions.”

you nod nervously. his thumb brushes across your jaw, leaning in closer until his lips meet yours again. his lips part slightly, guiding yours open, which sends a shiver down your spine. you gasp quietly, and the sound might have gotten a reaction out of him, because he slides his hand up your hoodie, not that you don’t enjoy it.

jisungs tongue flickers against your lip in such hesitant and sweet manner that it made you instinctively arch closer and let your knees drift apart slightly. you didn’t think that this tiny shift would change anything.

the hand bracing your cheek falters and before you know it, both of you sink onto his bed, almost deliberately. as the soft mattress hugs your back, he positions himself above you, his eyes darkened.

his lips hover over yours again, “still okay?” he asks, his voice painted in roughness.

“y-yeah,” you whisper, your heart racing so loud that you’re pretty sure he hears it too.

when he kisses you again for the third time, it must be something about the pressure, the position you two are in, or the way he worries so much about you, that unlocks something in you that you never knew existed.

you feel his hand slide down, his fingers trembling as they graze the hem of your hoodie. his hesitation makes your brain almost shut down, and maybe that’s why you let your hand find his wrist and grab it, guiding him beneath the fabric of your clothes.

“y/n,” he groans softly against your lips, his voice being desperate, a sound that you had never expected to hear from… him.

his breath grows unsteady as his fingers slide higher, slightly trembling as they run over the bare skin beneath your hoodie. as this is unfamiliar to you, you wonder if you should say something, maybe a joke to ease the tension, but the moment feels so.. raw. you never felt this close w him before. so you don’t.

instead, you shift your hips slightly, just enough to send a signal to him. the movement makes jisungs face scrunch, as if he was struggling to keep himself together. his forehead dips against your shoulder as his breath brushes ovee your collarbone.

“y/n…” he says in a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. your hand searches for his wrist again, and when you find him, you guide it lower, past your waistband. you feel him freeze, his fingers stiffen up against the elastic, which makes you think that he’s going to pull away.

the bubble of disappointment forming in your mind was popped when you felt him exhale. his touch inches lower, “i don’t…” his voice is barely audible, “i don’t want to mess this up.” you look away, hiding your face from him, “you won’t. just… please?”

that must be enough for him because his fingers immediately slip beneath your underwear, sliding hesitantly across the slick and sensitive skin. the first touch makes you gasp, clutching his hoodie.

“is this okay?” he asks as his fingers explore you in slow and cautious movements.

“yeah,” you answer, your hips slightly jerking at the sensation, “jisung, it’s— yeah.”

his lips graze the side of your neck as his hand continues. his thumb circles around your most sensitive spot, which draws a soft whimper from you. for a second, you feel him freeze, as if he’s stunned by the sound, but he quickly gets back to doing what he was doing.

he shifts slightly, his free hand bracing beside your head as he adjusts his weight. you notice that he somehow got more confident, as his fingers gets braver, now slipping inside you carefully. the stretch is new to you, but it’s comfortable, and it makes your breath hitch.

jisung immediately slows, “is it too much?” he asks, his voice low, but you can feel his hand twitch where it rests against your waist.

you shake your head, pulling him close by the collar of his hoodie. “no, it’s… it feels—“ your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers curl into you, brushing against a spot that makes your whole body tense.

“oh,” jisung breathes, his movements pausing for a second before he adjusts his angle, pressing into that spot again with tentative strokes. “is that— does that feel good?”

“yeah,” you gasp, nodding helplessly. you’re clinging to him as you feel your mind turn foggy, not being able to form a thought, the only thing you can process is the way his fingers feel inside of you.

now that he figured out what you like, his lips brush against yours slowly again as his fingers pick up a rhythm. your legs tremble as the pressure builds. you don’t even notice the desperate noises spilling from your lips until jisung mutters, “baby, you’re so—“

he’s not able to finish his sentence, because your hips arched against his hand instead, he swallows the rest of the sentence in a kiss.

his fingers press deeper, curling just right, and it makes you overwhelmed by the pleasure. the way his face is so close to you, his lips brushing yours, giving you small kisses, it’s almost too romantic.

though, you can tell he’s still hesitating, but the heat pooling low in your stomach makes you want to beg for more. each movement makes you tremble beneath him, clutching on his hoodie like it helps you regain composure, but it still felt like everything else was blurring.

“tell me if i’m… if it’s too much,” he says, his voice soft. his free hand shifts to your waist, his thumb brushing against your cold skin.

“it’s not,” you manage to answer, your mind still foggy. you watch as his brows furrow and his lips part, unsure of what he said.

he shifts his angle slightly, trying something new again, and it feels so good that you bite your lip to stifle a whimper (unsuccessfully). it’s almost like he’s surprised at the way you react, but it doesn’t make him stop. he picks up a faster pace, which draws sounds that you never knew you were capable of making. you can barely think, or even form any thoughts. all you know is how jisung feels, how patient, careful, and focused he is.

he’s watching you attentively, like your every reaction is fascinating, like he wants to memorise what makes you squirm and shake beneath him. “does this feel good?” he stammered.

you nod desperately, gripping his clothes tighter, your body curling as that tight and burning pressure inside you slowly starts building up. “it does,” you gasp, unable to stop the way your hips shift, almost matching his rhythm. “jisung, it— i—“ your eyes roll back in pleasure as you moan his name out.

you don’t realise how close you are until you feel the heat overtaking you completely, the sharp pull in your stomach snapping. you tremble under him, the rush of release washing over you in waves. the way you cry out makes jisung freeze before he slows down, guiding you through it, he somehow knows exactly what to do.

when you finally come down, he stops, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, his face is flushed, his pupils blown wide, but there’s something behind his expression, it’s so soft that it makes your chest ache. you don’t even want to imagine how you look like right now.

you blink up at him, still catching your breath, somehow still managing to smile. “that…” your words trail off, and your face burns hotter than before.

jisung looks down at you his fingers still lightly resting against your skin, “did i do okay?” he asks timidly, as though he’s genuinely unsure, despite the way your body feels like it’s still floating.

you let out a small laugh, nodding as you reach up to cup his cheek. your voice is quieter than you expect when you reply, "yeah, jisung. you did... really okay."

the blush that overtakes his face is so red that it makes you laugh again. he collapses onto the bed next to you with a groan, flopping onto his back. his arm is draped lightly over your stomach, like he can’t quite bring himself to let go completely.

for a minute, neither of you says anything, the only sound in the room being your breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner. your cheeks still feel hot, no, your entire body feels hot, but you can’t stop the small, breathless laugh that bubbles out of you. jisung turns his head, “what’s so funny?”

you glance at him, catching the faint pink on his ears and the way his messy hair sticks up at odd angles. he looks so much like his usual dorky self that you almost forget what just happened. almost.

“i just…” you trail off, biting your lip to hide another laugh before finally giving in. “i can’t believe you used to help me with building sandcastles, but this is what we’re doing now.”

jisung stares at you for a beat, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh too, but then he snorts loudly, the sound bursting out of him before he can stop it.

“oh my god, y/n.” he covers his face with one hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “why would you say that?”

“because it’s true!” you answer, grinning now, the tension in your chest unraveling as the laughter overtakes you both. “like… think about it. you used to help me build those stupid towers with the little flags, and now you’ve got your fingers, like—”

“stop, stop, stop,” his voice cracks as he rolls over, burying his face in his pillow. “don’t finish that sentence.”

you’re both laughing so hard now that tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you don’t even care how ridiculous you sound. it’s stupid and awkward and so perfectly the two of you.

jisung finally lifts his head, still grinning like an idiot, and nudges you lightly with his elbow. “okay, but really, sandcastles were way easier. i didn’t have to worry about… ruining anything.” his voice dips at the end, quieter, and you blink at the sudden shift, your laughter fading just a bit.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” you say softly, bumping your shoulder against his. “i mean… i think you were so amazing, actually.”

jisung’s ears turn red again, and he scrambles to sit up, looking everywhere but at you. “don’t say stuff like that,” he mutters, tugging on the strings of his hoodie like they might save him from combusting. “you’re gonna make this weird.”

“weirder than it already is?” you tease, tilting your head with a smirk.

he groans, hiding his face in his hands. “god, i hate you.”

but there’s no edge to his words, and when you sit up too, nudging your knee against his, he glances at you through his fingers with a shy smile.

“i’m serious,” you say quietly. “thank you. for, y’know… helping me.”

jisung drops his hands, his gaze softening. “yeah. of course.” then he grins, all nervous energy again. “but i am never going to be able to look at a sandcastle without losing it now.”

you shove him lightly, laughing again, and he catches your hand before you can pull away, holding onto it. he shifts closer on the bed, his hand still holding yours, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. “so…” his voice is low and nervous, “did the practice, like, actually help?”

you look at him, your cheeks flushing when you realised just how much ‘practice’ you had gone through. “um… yeah” you say nervously while intertwining your fingers with his, “it definitely helped me,”

he smiles a little at your response, but his gaze was flickering on your lips. the way he looks at you makes your heart flutter in ways it shouldn’t.

“…this isn’t practice anymore, is it?” he says quietly as his lips brush yours.

this isn’t about jaehyun anymore. actually, it hasn’t been for a while now. you were fully aware of that, and judging by his words, and actions, he knows it too. “no,” you whisper back, tilting your face up to him, “it’s not.”

the kiss that follows up is different. it’s not hesitant like before, but it perfectly conveys the desperation of you. jisungs hand cups your face as his lips move against yours and he pulls you closer to him. you softly sigh into the kiss and let your hands slide up and tangle in his hair.

his weight shifts, gently easing you down onto the mattress, “baby,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you with his flushed face, “is this okay? like, are you sure about it?”

“yes,” you reply, though your voice was trembling a bit. “it’s okay.”

as you answer, his lips find yours again, his hands start smoothing over your sides and he settles between your thighs. you arch into him as he shifts his hips against yours, the pressure sending pleasure through your entire body.

jisung hesitates for a moment before reaching down to tug at the hem of his hoodie. his hands fumbled slightly as the fabric caught on his wrists, but you didn’t care. all you could do was watch as his pale skin was revealed inch by inch until he pulled the hoodie over his head and let it drop to the floor beside him.

you don’t realise you’re tugging at your own hoodie until his hands shift closer to you to help you with it. as the hoodie slips off your shoulders, he tosses it to the side. he glances at you like he’s about to say something but isn’t sure if he should.

“stop staring at me like that,” your face was burning, you couldn’t even look at him.

“sorry, it’s just…” he pauses, his hand brushing your waist as his hands were slightly trembling, “you’re so… pretty.”

the vulnerability in his voice makes your heartbeat faster than it already was. you’re not even sure how to respond, so instead you reach for him, sliding your hands over his skin.

you arch up slightly, your lips meeting his again in a kiss, and his hands rest on your waist. your hands slide down his chest before moving to the waistband of his sweatpants. you hesitate for a moment, biting your lips as you look up at him for permission. jisung swallows hard, his blush more prominent as he nods. “i mean, if you’re sure,” he says quickly, his voice almost cracking. “i’m sure,” you reassure him.

tugging down at the fabric of his sweatpants was so messy, both of you were fumbling with nervous hands, a quiet giggle breaking through the tension when the elastic got stuck on his knee. “this is nothing like it seems in movies,” jisung says with your laugh following up soon after.

“you’re fine,” you answered, pushing him onto his back so you could help slide the fabric off completely. his boxers remain, for now.

your clothes follow soon after, first your jeans, which jisung awkwardly helped you get out of, and then, with his encouragement, your panties.

there’s a moment of silence as you lay back beneath him. he hovers above you, his lips slightly parted as his eyes undress you once again.

“you’re so… beautiful, y/n,” he says while his gaze stays fixed on you.

“stop,” you mumble, looking away, you don’t want him to see how red your cheeks are.

“i mean it,” he insists, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on your collarbone. he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, glancing down at you as if he’s making sure you’re ready.

when you nod, his hands move carefully as he slides the last barrier away. your heart skips a beat when you realise what is about to happen.

he hovers over you again, his hand slipping down to your waist as he shifts closer, positioning himself. “if i, um… if something feels wrong, just tell me,” he whispers, his face not leaving yours, “i don’t want to hurt you.”

you nod, your heart softening at his caring tone, “i will, ji, don’t worry.”

he smiles, leaning down to kiss you again, it’s so slow and sweet, there’s so much affection in it. after letting nervous giggles out, he finally presses in you. he pauses immediately, his face scanning yours as his brows furrow.

“does it hurt?” he asks, his voice containing worry.

it does, a little, but it’s not unbearable, you shake your head quickly, forcing a small smile, “it’s fine, just… go slow?”

he exhales, nodding as he leans in again to press a kiss to your temple, “yeah, slow, okay,” the way he’s so patient and gentle almost breaks you. his hands find yours and laces your fingers together as he moves slowly, giving you time to adjust. every time you tense, or your breath changes, he stops immediately, waiting for your breath to settle before continuing.

"you're doing so good," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "just tell me what you need, okay?"

it's overwhelming in the best way. the soft way he speaks to you, the warmth of his hand squeezing yours when he feels you clench around him, the way his kisses linger against your neck like he's trying to reassure you without words.

"jisung," you say, your voice shaky yet enough to cut through his concentration.

he glances down at you quickly, "what? am i hurting you?”

"no," you say quickly, tightening your grip on his hand. “you’re just… so attractive.”

his face flushes immediately, and he lets out a soft, nervous laugh, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder. "oh my god, don't say that, i’ll mess it all up if you keep saying stuff like that."

"you're not gonna mess anything up," you reply, your free hand sliding into his hair. "you're perfect."

his movements falter for just a moment before he lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. for a second, he just stares at you, his expression unknown. then, he leans down and kisses you again, but harder this time.

everything about the moment feels impossibly close, his warmth, his voice murmuring your name, the way he doesn't let go of your hand even for a second.

your bodies move together, you're still holding jisungs hand, your fingers gripping his. "you're doing so good," he murmurs again, his voice uneven as he dips his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

the sincerity in his tone makes your chest feel too tight, and you're sure he can feel the way your heartbeat thuds erratically under his touch.

"jisung," you breathe, his name slipping past your lips.

he looks at you, his eyes wide, "i'm here," he whispers, his free hand brushing softly against your waist. "i've got you."

every shift, every deepening stroke sends another wave of heat through you, drawing you closer and closer to a breaking point you didn't realise you were this close to.

his movements grow shakier, his breaths coming in sharp, unsteady bursts against your neck. you can tell he's right there too, holding on just as tightly as you are.

"i can't—“ your voice cuts off into a soft gasp as your body tenses beneath him, your grip on his hand tightening. “jisung, i—“

"it's okay," he says quickly, his words coming out quiet as his own body trembles. "i've got you. just... let go, baby. i'm right here."

his voice is all it takes for you to finish. your whole body tenses, the heat unfurling in an overwhelming wave that leaves you breathless, trembling beneath him. the sounds that escape your lips are ones you've never heard before, they’re so soft and broken.

jisungs movements become less controlled as the tension in his body builds. the little sounds he's making, soft gasps and quiet groans are etched into your memory already, the closeness of it all making your chest tighten.

his lips are on your neck, brushing against your skin in a way that feels comforting, as though he's using you to keep himself grounded. his free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his touch delicate.

"y/n," he whispers, his voice shaking as he presses deeper, his breath hot against your ear. "i’m— god, i can't— where—“

you understand immediately, the frantic edge in his voice mirroring the way your own body still feels like it's vibrating from release.

"it's okay," you whimper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, "you can—“ you pause, your words catching in your throat before you nod softly, pulling him even closer. "inside, jisung. it's okay."

his whole body shudders at your words, and he lets out a soft, broken moan as his rhythm stutters. his grip on your hip tightens slightly, his fingers trembling as his forehead drops to your shoulder.

"are you— are you sure?" he asks, his voice is tight, strained with the effort it's taking him to hold on just a moment longer.

"i'm sure," you whisper, your breath catching as his hips press flush against yours. "it's okay. i want you to."

it must be his breaking point. with one last deep thrust, jisung lets go completely, his body collapsing against yours as he spills inside you. the sounds he makes are low and muffled against your shoulder, his breathing uneven and shallow as his fingers curl into your waist like he's clinging to you for dear life.

you can feel the heat of him inside you, and the realization sends another wave of warmth through your body, leaving you breathless.

for a moment, neither of you move. he’s still holding you, still pressing kisses to your shoulder, and your hand reaches up to run your hand through his messy hair. jisung hasn’t moved much, still pressed close against you as both of you work to catch your breath. his hand rests gently on your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

“you good?” he asks softly, tilting his head to glance at you. his cheeks are still flushed, a faint pink lingering on the tips of his ears, and his hair is a mess, but his expression is serious.

“yeah,” you reply, your voice a little hoarse. you manage a small smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “are you good?”

he huffs out a laugh, his lips curling into a grin. “i mean… i think so? unless i, like, accidentally broke you or something.”

you snort, swatting his shoulder lightly. “you didn’t break me, dumbass.”

“just making sure,” he says, grinning a little wider now.

he sits up then, careful not to disturb you too much as he grabs a spare hoodie from his chair and offers it to you without a word. you tug it on, your cheeks heating at how impossibly jisung it smells. he pulls on his own clothes clumsily, his movements shaky, but he recovers quickly, turning back to you as he rubs a hand through his hair.

“do you, uh, need anything?” he asks, looking slightly nervous as his gaze flickers around the room, like he’s wondering if he’s supposed to have some plan.

“water might be nice?” you suggest, smiling faintly.

“got it,” he says quickly, almost tripping over his own feet as he heads to the kitchen. you bite your lip, fighting back a giggle at how adorably confused he still looks.

when he returns with a water bottle in hand, you sit up and take it from him, mumbling a quiet “thanks” as you sip. he flops down beside you again, a sigh leaving his lips as he rests his head against the headboard.

the silence is nice, comforting even, but it doesn’t last long before jisung shifts, glancing at you with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“so,” he starts, drawing out the word in that dramatic way he always does when he’s trying to annoy you. “you think jaehyun could’ve done it better?”

you nearly choke on your water, whacking him in the chest as he laughs. “shut up!”

“i’m just saying!” he protests, holding up his hands in surrender. “if this was, like, a whole competition, i think i deserve at least a nine out of ten. maybe a ten, if you’re feeling generous.”

“oh my god.” you roll your eyes, but you’re laughing too now, clutching at your sides as his dramatic pout melts into his usual grin. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“i’m practical,” jisung corrects, poking your cheek lightly.

“and annoying,” you shoot back, though the love in your voice is impossible to hide.

you both get lost in giggles again, the ease of your friendship slipping back into place.

it isn’t until the laughter fades that the unspoken feelings creep back in, settling between you. jisung clears his throat softly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“so, uh… are we still…” he hesitates, his voice faltering slightly. “you know. best friends? after, uh… this?” your heart tightens at the vulnerability in his voice, and you reach over, squeezing his hand.

“yeah,” you say, smiling at him even as your cheeks heat up again. “we’re still best friends.”

jisung visibly relaxes at your words, his lips quirking into a relieved smile.

“okay,” he says softly, then after a second, “but, uh… does this mean we’re, like, best friends who, y’know…” he gestures vaguely, his ears turning bright red. “do this stuff now?”

you blink at him, then burst out laughing, the sound spilling out before you can stop it. jisung groans, hiding his face in the pillow again.

“stop laughing! i’m being serious!”

“you’re not real,” you manage between breaths, leaning over to press a light, teasing kiss to his temple. “but yeah… i think we’ll figure it out.”

jisung laughs again, the sound is so warm, so yours.

“i love you, y/n,” he says softly, his voice quiet.

your breath catches, and for a second, all you can do is stare at him, your heart feeling like it’s about to burst.

“i love you too, you’re everything to me.” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his lips.

in this moment, nothing else matters but him, jisung, your best friend, or should i say your boyfriend, and how stupid you were for not realising how in love you were with him.

and the way he looks at you now? you know your feelings are reciprocated.

[fungateshortcakes]

Kissy Missy

I got my inspiration for this from the movie Scoop (2006), in which Hughs character Peter Lyman says "I can't let you go, you're too beautiful. Look at ya, I can't." to his affaire while kissing her in between words.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x gender neutral!Reader

Summary: Logan can't stop kissing you

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warning/tags: none, pure fluff, established relationship, lots of kissing, english isn't my first languange,

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It started innocently, like most things with Logan did, oddly enough. A sweet kiss here, a short peck there. On your cheek, on your lips, on your temple. Nothing you couldn’t handle. But you were quickly realizing that when it came to the simple task of kissing you, Logan Howlett was insatiable. Like kissing you was his way of breathing oxygen.

You had no idea when this happened. When he became so addicted to pressing his mouth to yours every chance he got. Maybe it was the first time you kissed him and he discovered just how soft your lips were, how good they tasted when he timidly let his tounge sweep over them. Or maybe it was the way you always sighed when he kissed you like you’d been waiting for it all day.

All you knew now was that Logan couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Never. You would have to escape his cold, dead hands for it to stop.

“Logan, seriously-” you muttered against his eager lips that seemed to magnetically attach to yours. “Nope” he cut you off, hands settling firmly on your waist as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. Again.

“Logan” you tried for what seemed to be the 100th time, your attempt futile as he kissed you yet again. One kiss turned into two. Two turned into three. Soft, quick little pecks that left you breathless and laughing, your hands pressing against his chest in an effort to push him away. Which was only halfhearted. It was too easy to get lost in his kisses and you almost forgot why you didn't want him to love you with his lips.

“Stop interrupting me!” you scolded, though the smile on your face gave you away in an instant. You didn't have it in you to be mad when he kissed you. “Can’t help it” Logan murmured lowly, the sound only a rasp in the back of his throat, his voice rumbly against your mouth. He tilted his head, brushing his lips across yours again ever so softly, sighing through his nose. “You talk too much.”

His words made you gasp in mocked offence, shoving at his chest as he chuckled in that rough, gravelly way that made your stomach do flips. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirked smugly and kissed the corner of your mouth. He knew you weren't truly angry, he would have already gotten a hefty slap to the face if you were. “You heard me" he teased, grinning in that rare way that made him look years younger than he was. He pressed a kiss to your flushed cheek. “Too much talkin’” Another kiss. “Not enough kissin’”

Before you could fire back a snarky remark, he claimed your lips again, this time a little longer, a little slower, deeply savouring the way your lips made his tingle with every touch. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you flush against him like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

You melted against him, forgetting entirely what you had been so determined to tell him in the beginning. Your hands wrapped around his neck, one buried in his thick hair, while the other slipped under the back of his shirt collar. When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you both breath, you blinked up at him, dazed. And oh, so in love.

“See?” Logan said, his voice rough but teasing. “Quiet now.”

It wasn’t just that moment, either. The man was relentless in every sense of the word, every time of day. You couldn't seem to catch a break from his love.

You would be sitting on the couch in the common room, all alone, minding your own business, when Logan would walk by, only to pause, look at you, and say, “C’mere, baby”

And before you could respond, hop off the couch or something before he got you in his iron grip again, he would lean down and kiss you -once, twice, three times - as many times as were needed to leave yu giggling like an idiot.

Oh, don't even think about to leaving the room the room when he is in it. “Where you goin’?” he would ask, already getting up to follow like a little puppy on a leash, trotting beside you.

Your hand was already on the door handle as you turned to him, a basket of dirty clothes under your arm “Uh, laundry?” you said, more like a question because it seemed so obvious to you. How naive you were, you should have seen it coming. “You sure that can't wait?” he had asked you, taking the basket from you and tugging you back towards him by your hand. “I haven't gotten my daily fill of kissed yet” he really chose the worst times for this. Before bed, you would be cuddling and have all the time in the world to kiss until your lips fell off, but no, Mr. 'If-you-dont-kiss-me-right-now-I-will-think-you-hate-me' had other ideas. And he would kiss you again, like he was a man dying of thirst and you were the only thing in the universe that could sooth the ache in his dry throat.

One evening, you were attempting to cook dinner for the X-men team, standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in hand and stirring some veggies in a pan, when you felt Logan’s presence behind you. That meant no one else was around in a one mile radius most likely. Logan wasn't a big fan of pda and didn't need anyone to catch his soft side.

“Don’t even think about it” you warned without him even touching you or saying anything, knowing exactly what he was about to do.

Logan put up his hands in defense for a second, even though you couldn't see. “Think about what?” he said innocently, though his hands were already sliding around your waist. You groaned. “Logan, I’m cooking-” He kissed your neck. It made your breath hitch, but you quickly catched yourself “Logan” Another kiss, right on your jaw this time. It wasn’t anything of sexual nature. Just pure and raw affection that overcame him everytime he saw you.

“I swear, if you don't quit it-” you barked, but it didn’t have any serious bite to it. He turned you around before you could even finish your sentence, his hands framing your face as he kissed you deeply, pulling you against him like the rest of the world didn’t matter. You melted instantly, any words against his actions dying on your tounge, forgetting the stove entirely as you clung to him.

When he finally pulled back, Logan smirked, looking far too pleased with himself. It made you want to wipe that self-assured smile off his face. But who were you kidding? He had you wrapped around his finger as much as he was wrapped around yours.

“You were saying?” he murmured, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks. The look in his eyes, so tender as he admired your face, it took your breath away. You narrowed your eyes, though your flushed face gave away just how much you loved this. “You’re impossible.”

Your words pulled a grin from him. “Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Look at you.” Another kiss, this time on your lips. “Can’t just let you go.” Kiss. “You’re too beautiful.” Kiss. “Way too beautiful.”

You smiled against his lips with every kiss, your heart threatening to burst. "Logan!” you squeaked through laughter, swatting at his chest. “The food’s gonna burn!” but your concerns fell on deaf ears “Let it.” He grinned, swooping in to kiss you again like he couldn’t get enough. He really couldn’t.

It wasn’t just the passionate kisses, either. Sometimes it was soft, absentminded things that caught you off guard and left your heart doing flips like it never had for anyone before. Logan would kiss your temple when you leaned into his side during a movie. He would press a lingering, loving kiss to your hand when he grabbed it, just because he could. He would kiss your forehead when you were curled up with him in bed, all cozy and warm in his strong arms, his lips brushing against your skin like a quiet promise.

Logan wasn’t great with words - he never had been. But this? This was how he showed you what he couldn’t say. And you wouldn't change that for the world. You'd rather have a man that didn't say 'I love you' quite that often and instead showered you with love that you could feel, instead of a guy that chewed your ear off with meaningless words used to make you think he actually cared, but never getting to feel what his words promised you every day.

One night as you laid in bed together, you found yourself tracing circles across his naked chest with your nails and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The patterns you drew against his skin made pleasant shivers run down his spine. Logans hand slid up to tangle lazily in your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple while he planted a kiss there, letting his lips linger.

You huffed, kissing his chest “You really can’t stop kissing me, can you?” you teased softly, looking up at him through your lashes. Logan cracked an eye open, his lips twitching with the barest hint of a smirk. “Not my fault you make it hard not to.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though the warmth in your chest betrayed how much his words meant to you after all. He caught you rolling your eyes like that and frowned softly. “I’m serious,” he added, his hand slipping down to cup your cheek. “You’re sittin’ here, lookin’ at me like that and you think I’m not gonna kiss you?”

Before you could respond, Logan leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that made your head spin. When he pulled back, you were breathless. It stunned you how he had kissed you countless times already and your bashful reaction remained the same. The warm and giddy feeling in your chest never faded away, only grew stronger with every touch of his lips.

“You’re unbelievably corny, you know” you muttered, though you were smiling. How could you not when you had him loving you more than anything else?

Logan grinned faintly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah? You love it.”

And you did.

You really, really did.

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I really hoped you liked this relatively short fic! Let me know your thoughts down below in the xomments and don't forget to like and reblog to support me if you want <3

I just NEED NEED NEED Logan to kiss me (or any Hugh Jackman variant) it would literally solve 99% of my problems

[littlemissaddict]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

"Oi, where do ya think ya going love?" Simon grumbles, sleepily reaching out for her as he feels her body moving from his own. Perks (or rather problems when he's on leave) of working in the field is that while he can sleep almost anywhere, the slightest sound or movement is enough to jolt him awake.

Her on the other hand, didn't hear a word Simon just said as she's still fast asleep, lost in dreamland as she rolled away from him.

Simon, though, seems to take it personally that she moved away from his embrace no matter how unintentional it may have been. The mattress dips under his broad form as he shuffles along the bed towards her still sleeping form, his large hands finding her waist and pulling her back into him with a sigh.

The unexpected movement finally wakes her, "Mhmm Si-" She mumbles out groggily, trying to turn in his hold to face him.

"S'kay love, jus' go back t'sleep"

Johnny 'Soap' Mctavish:

Normally, trying to wake Johnny when he was on leave was like trying to wake the dead but tonight it seemed the tiny movement of her climbing out of bed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night was more than enough to wake him. His strong arms curling around her middle and stopping her in the process as her bladder cries in protest.

"Where ya runnin' off ta?" His voice rough with sleep as he asks.

"Nowhere, just need to pee" she almost pleads with him, squealing when he tightens his arms around her a squeezing slightly.

"Nah, I think I'll keep ya righ' 'ere" he hums, closing his eyes again as his arms rest heavy against her body.

"I swear Johnny, let me go or there'll be a puddle in the bed" She warns, "and not the fun kind" She frowns, forgetting that he can't see her as he still has his eyes closed, in hopes of spurring him onto let her go.

"Ooh, the fun kind eh" he teases, perking up again, "an wha' fun would that be?" He smirks, knowing the answer already as to what she was referring to.

"Doesn't matter because you won't be getting none if you don't let me go" She threatens as a last-ditch effort for him to finally release her even though they both know that she could never refuse him for too long.

It works in her favour as he let's her go with a pained groan as if she's wounded him. She's used to his dramatics now, rolling her eyes as she rushes to the bathroom.

She returns to find Johnny watching her expectantly from the bed, the mischievous glint still shining brightly in his eyes, but she cuts him off before he can start again. "I don't think so, I'm going back to sleep" she warns sternly, knowing that a few well planned touches from Johnny and she'll be putty in his hands.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 4th. theodore nott — kiss it better.

theodore nott x fem reader

summary ; he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his. word count ; 2.6k warnings ; fluff, kissing, mentions of blood

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Theodore never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.

There you were, sitting across from him in the library, your hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes, lost in thought. He should’ve been focused on his own work, on the potions essay that was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept drifting back to you. Every time your quill scratched the parchment or your lips pressed together in concentration, his chest tightened. You had a way of drawing him in, pulling him closer with every small, unconscious movement.

It wasn’t like he’d never noticed you before. You had always been part of the group, hovering on the edges of conversations, offering sharp comments when the boys got too ridiculous, but you never quite entered Theo’s orbit like this. Now, though? Now, he was starting to realize that he’d been wrong to overlook you. You were too… soft. Too gentle in a world that had taught him to be hard, distant. It made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling.

Then it happened—something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have left a mark on him, but it did.

A paper cut.

He didn’t even flinch as the thin slice formed on his finger while rifling through his notes. Theo muttered a low curse under his breath, instinctively moving to press his thumb against it, but before he could do anything, you noticed.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice warm, as though you had known him for ages. 

Theo blinked, unsure why you were even asking. “Just a paper cut.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you set your quill down and leaned forward. “Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”

For a split second, he thought you were joking. He stared at you, unsure how to respond. That wasn’t the kind of offer people made to him. Kisses didn’t fix anything—not the way his childhood had been, not the way life worked now. But the way you looked at him, playful yet sincere, made something stir in his chest.

“That works?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

 You laughed lightly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sure it does. My mom used to do it for me when I was little. Worked like a charm.”

The mention of your mom caught him off guard. His own memories of his mother were hazy, distant, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long. He couldn’t remember if she had ever kissed his cuts, couldn’t remember if anyone had ever cared for him like that. Affection had always been scarce in the Nott household. His mother had been gone for a long time, and the little acts of tenderness you described had died with her.

You stood and walked around the table. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop you, didn’t say something sarcastic or brush it off. 

“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, trying to pull his hand away, but you held it gently, your fingers warm against his.

“Let me see,” you said softly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He held his breath as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his finger in the softest kiss. The contact was fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but it sent his mind reeling. He didn’t understand why something so simple, so childlike, could make him feel… different.

“There,” you said, your voice light as you pulled back. “All better.”

He could only stare at you, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah… thanks.”

You smiled, returning to your seat like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just unknowingly changed something in him. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, the phantom of your lips still tingling on his skin. He didn’t know how to process it. No one had ever looked at him that way, treated him that way. 

But he knew one thing for sure—he wanted to feel that again.

The next day, Theo’s mind was still replaying that moment, over and over. It had awakened something inside him, something that ached for more, and before he knew it, he found himself searching for a way to feel it again. This time, though, he didn’t want a kiss on the hand. He wanted more.

Theo found Draco leaning against one of the stone walls outside. He approached him with a strange sort of determination, one that was equal parts reckless and desperate. Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Theo approaching.

“Need something, Nott?” Draco drawled, clearly amused by the look on Theo’s face.

Theo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Punch me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I need you to punch me,” Theo repeated, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the request.

“Alright, gladly, but why?”

Theo swallowed, his throat dry. He knew it was ridiculous, that this whole plan was absurd, but he needed this to happen. He needed you to kiss him again, to care again. "Just... trust me. I need a bruise, a cut, something that’ll make her—” He cut himself off, his face heating up.

Draco’s smirk only widened, a glint of realization flashing in his eyes. “Ah. Her.” He stood up straighter, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re finally doing something about it. You want me to punch you so she’ll fuss over you. Clever.”

“Just do it, will you?” Theo muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

Draco shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “If you insist.” Without further warning, Draco’s fist came flying toward Theo’s face. He didn’t hold back either—Theo barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded in his mouth. 

He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his lip. Blood welled up immediately, the sharp sting spreading across his jaw.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo muttered, his vision momentarily swimming. “I said punch me, not break my damn face.”

Draco stepped back, grinning like he had just done Theo the biggest favor in the world. “There. You’re welcome.”

Theo wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, already thinking about what would come next. He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about anything except the idea of you seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable—and caring for him again.

He found you in the common room later that day, sitting in your usual spot near the fireplace. You didn’t see him at first—too absorbed in the book you were reading, a small frown of concentration on your face. 

Theo hesitated for a second, suddenly feeling nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if you didn’t react the way he hoped?

But then you looked up, and your eyes immediately widened in shock as you took in the sight of him—blood smeared on his lip, a fresh bruise forming on his jaw.

“Theo!” you gasped, your book forgotten as you rushed over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tried to shrug it off, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, though the pain in his mouth made it hard to play it cool. “Got into a fight. No big deal.”

You didn’t look convinced. Your fingers hovered near his face, concern etched into your features. “Does it hurt?”

Theo could feel his heart pounding, his mouth dry as the moment he’d been waiting for arrived. His voice was lower than he intended as he muttered, “A little… are you… are you not gonna kiss it better?”

Your expression softened, that same playful smile from the day before returning. “Again, huh?” 

You leaned in, your eyes flicking to his lips, and Theo’s pulse quickened. When your lips brushed his, it was soft, cautious, but this time there was something more to it—something that made the ache in his lip completely disappear.

And just like that, Theo knew he was done for.

Your lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it was enough to set Theo’s blood humming. The softness of your touch felt like a balm, not just for the bruise but for something deeper—something buried in the recesses of his mind that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

When you pulled back, your gaze met his, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. Concern? Amusement? Theo couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that he didn’t want that moment to end. Not yet.

"You really need to stop getting into fights," you murmured, shaking your head with a small, exasperated smile. "What were you even thinking?"

Theo almost laughed at the irony. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth—that the whole thing had been orchestrated just for this. Just for the briefest chance to feel your lips on his. 

Instead, he shrugged, playing it off. "You know how it is. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t mix well."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness behind it, something that made Theo’s chest tighten in that unfamiliar way again. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself hurt for real, and then I won’t be able to kiss it better.”

That sent a jolt of warmth through him, stronger than the pain in his lip. He let the silence stretch between you for a moment, watching as you shifted nervously under his gaze.

"Maybe," he said slowly, his voice low, "I just like the way you kiss me."

Your eyes widened slightly at that, a faint blush creeping across your cheeks. Theo smirked inwardly, relishing the way his words seemed to fluster you. You always had a quick response for everything, but now you were quiet, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.

“I—” you started, your voice trailing off as you looked down at your hands.

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to grab your wrist and pull you back in, to kiss you again but for real this time—not as some excuse to soothe a bruise or a cut.

Before you could speak, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Well, look at you two,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the common room, clearly interrupting something he knew full well was important. “What did I say, Nott? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Theo shot Draco a glare, a deep scowl crossing his face. Of course he had to show up now, just when things were starting to move in the direction he wanted.

You, however, looked between them, confusion evident on your face. “What’s he talking about?”

Before Theo could respond, Draco answered for him, leaning casually against the wall with that insufferable grin. “Oh, nothing. Just that Nott here got himself punched on purpose. Quite the romantic, isn’t he?”

Theo’s heart dropped. He glared at Draco, fury bubbling up in his chest. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

But it was too late. You were already staring at Theo, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”

Theo tried to backtrack, scrambling for some sort of excuse, but he wasn’t fast enough. You took a step back, your brows furrowed in confusion as realization slowly dawned on you.

"You… you let someone punch you just so I’d…?"

The color drained from Theo’s face as he saw the pieces falling into place in your mind.

“I—” he began, his voice unsteady, “It’s not like that.”

You crossed your arms, staring at him like you were trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or something in between. “Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted—” He cut himself off again, feeling ridiculous. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But you were still looking at him, waiting for an answer, and the weight of your gaze was too much to bear.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Theo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—something gentler. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer, your eyes searching his face.

"You could’ve just asked," you said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Theo blinked, thrown off by your reaction. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even laugh and walk away. But there you were, looking at him with something that felt dangerously close to fondness.

“You… wouldn’t have laughed at me?” he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.

You shook your head, your smile growing. “No, Theo. I wouldn’t have laughed.”

Theo didn’t know what to say to that. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you, the words dying in his throat. He felt foolish, standing in front of you like this, bruised and vulnerable, all because he didn’t know how to ask for something he wanted so badly.

But then you reached out, your hand gently brushing against his bruised lip again, and all the embarrassment, all the uncertainty melted away.

“If you wanted me to kiss you,” you murmured, stepping even closer, “all you had to do was say so.”

When your lips finally met his, it wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a kiss to make anything better. This was a kiss because you both wanted it.

Theo’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, and Theo felt like he was drowning, lost in the feel of you, in the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “Yeah, I still don’t regret anything,” he muttered.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. “Next time, just ask, Theo. No more getting hurt.”

Theo nodded, his heart still racing as he held you close, a grin tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

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