#for as long as you will let him mock you with it

[sttoru]

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. spit. hair pulling. p in v. two cawks -> double penetration. reader gets called ‘brat, little girl’

“what did you just say, brat?”

sukuna stills all movement for a good second. his hips are flush against yours, buried balls deep inside both your tight holes. he thought it might have been his vulgar imagination, but when he looks down at your embarrassed expression, he can confirm you did in fact just ask him that question.

your nails dig into his biceps, angry red streaks forming on his skin due to your constant scratching. you look the other way, staring at the shoji in the distance, before glancing back into those red eyes.

“i— uhm,” you swallow thickly before repeating your perverted request, “could you please spit in my mouth, my lord?”

sukuna’s jaw clenches with an effort to hold himself back. he didn’t know his little concubine had it in her to request such a bold thing. though that’s exactly what makes you so interesting, and what causes him keep you around.

“…fuckin’ hell,” sukuna breathes out with a low growl. he drinks in the lewd vision of you splayed out beneath him. your hair is matted to your forehead, chest heaving and eyes glazed with lust—it’s a captivating sight. or dangerous more so.

if you’re asking for such a thing, it must mean he’s doing a good job in fucking you stupid. stupid enough to make you act like a common whore. it certainly boosts the king of curses’ ego.

thus, it isn’t long before a wicked smirk tugs at sukuna’s lips. his fingers instantly tangle into your hair before yanking your head back, crimson eyes glowing dangerously as they focus on your glistening lips.

“you request such a filthy thing, yet ya don’t even take the required actions to receive what y’ desire,” sukuna clicks his tongue in impatience before using one of his other hands to cup your cheek. he starts off with a gentle caress to your bottom lip with his thumb before using the single digit to roughly force your lips apart, “open up.”

you do as told and open your mouth, staring up at the pink-haired man through your wet lashes. he takes in your pathetic yet erotic self, feeling his cocks twitch as he enjoys the display of such vulnerability in his presence.

sukuna can’t help but roughly connect your lips, kissing you passionately, fangs peeking out as he grins against your mouth. only after a few seconds does he realise that he has a job to do.

he slowly pulls away and your lips part with an almost inaudible pop. he gathers the saliva that is pooling on his tongue before gripping your chin with his thumb and index finger, ensuring your mouth stays open.

sukuna tilts his head, your breaths mingling and your noses nearly touching as he parts his own lips. a thick rope of spit slowly drops onto your tongue, some of it escaping and staining your chin down to your bare tits.

the king of curses feels a surge of pride run through his body as he roughly spits the remaining clear liquid from the cavern of his mouth, into your awaiting one. “swallow,” he commands in a low voice, tightening his grip on your jaw.

“fuuuck, there ya go,” sukuna watches, transfixed, as you do as told. the warm globs of spit trickle down your throat and you can’t help but moan at the feeling. that was quite arousing—to both of you.

but for some reason sukuna got even more worked up about it then you did in the first place. he grunts something incoherent before continuing the ruthless pace, hips ramming into you as he keeps all four eyes on your face.

“nasty lil’ girl. didn’t know you had it in ya,” sukuna lets out a mocking chuckle as he gathers your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. he lowers his head and bares his fangs before sinking them into your bottom lip, “i must say.. i do enjoy it—this side of y’rs.”

you’re moaning wantonly as you’re being pounded into the mattress, the lingering sensation of his spit in the back of your throat only adds to the deprived pleasure.

sukuna grins as he roughly grabs your jaw again, eyes glinting with sinful promises.

“don’t tell me y’ think i’m satisfied doing it just once? open that pretty little mouth and maybe i’ll give ya somethin’ else to swallow after.”

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Her Ex Got Engaged

↳ Masterlist

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✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

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Almost two years had passed since the end of the longest relationship she had ever had. Six years that had introduced her to romantic love—and to romantic deception. She could still picture the subtle yet undeniable shift in his expression as she spoke animatedly about the future she envisioned for them. It wasn’t until much later that she realized that moment had been a warning, a quiet revelation that he did not see her in his.

She soon learned what a breakup truly felt like—the endless crying, the ache in her chest, the unbearable helplessness. Absolute hell.

Looking back, though, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the conversation that ended it all. Painful as it had been, it had given her the clarity she needed. It had hurt—stung far too much—to realize he had known for some time that she was not the one but hadn’t ended things sooner. She had spent too long wondering why. But perhaps, if he had, she wouldn’t be where she was now—with someone who loved her the way she deserved. And for that, she was grateful.

It was late morning, and as Max played with the cats beside her, she scrolled through Instagram stories to see what her friends and other people were up to. Clubbing, dinners, traveling, running—the usual things people posted. She would glance at each for just a second before swiping to the next. But then she stopped, her finger frozen on the screen as she stared, at one point almost vacantly, before tapping on the shared post.

Engaged. She stared blankly at the caption, the single word mocking her. After what—a year? He was already engaged to someone else? How? Max barely glanced at her phone at first, still focused on scratching behind the cat’s ears. But when he noticed the way she had suddenly stilled, eyes fixed on the screen, he leaned in slightly.

“Who’s that?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “One of your friends?”

She blinked, hesitating a second too long. “Uh—”

Max smirked, nudging her playfully. “Tell me it’s not another wedding. I’m running out of excuses not to go.”

That earned a small, breathy laugh from her, but it wasn’t quite right—too forced. She locked her phone and placed it face-down beside her. “No wedding,” she said lightly. “Don’t worry.”

Max tilted his head. “Then why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing.”

His smirk faded slightly as he studied her face. “It’s someone, though.”

She sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “My ex,” she admitted. “He got engaged.”

Max’s expression didn’t change immediately. He just stared at her, then let out a quiet huh.

For a second, she thought maybe he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. But then, with that signature bluntness of his, he asked,

“So why do you care?”

She turned her head sharply. “I don’t.”

Max gave her a look, eyes flicking to her phone. “You do.”

His eyes met hers again, piercing through her, almost imploring an answer. Why did she care? It had been two years. She was happy—with herself, with him, with her life in general. And yet, it felt like a hard punch to the stomach.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.

Max’s jaw tensed slightly, his fingers drumming against his knee as he studied her. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but something about this—about her reaction—itched at him in a way he didn’t like.

“You don’t know?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, but there was an edge to it.

She ran a hand through her hair. “I mean, it’s offensive,” she said, trying to explain. “That he just—engaged so fast.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “And that bothers you because…?”

She sighed. “Because it makes me wonder how long he knew I wasn’t the one.”

Max was quiet for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, in a tone sharper than before, he asked,

“And do you still care?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“About him,” Max clarified, his expression unreadable. “Because you look like someone just punched you, and I don’t know why else you’d be this upset if you were actually over it.”

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Max, no—”

“Because if you’re not happy with me, you should tell me,” he continued, his voice still controlled. “If you still want him—”

“I don’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “I swear, I don’t.”

He exhaled, looking away for a second, his fingers tightening into a fist before relaxing. “Then why?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “Why does it feel like you’re still stuck in it?”

She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It wasn’t about her ex, not really. It was about time, about the fact that she had spent years loving someone who hadn’t loved her back the same way. It was about realizing that she had been so blind to it.

But looking at Max now—his guarded expression, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his fingers twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for her or pull away—she realized that he didn’t see it that way.

Her chest tightened.

She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. “Max, I’m happy, the happiest I’ve ever been,” she said, her voice softer now. “With you. I swear, I don’t want him back. I just—it caught me off guard. That’s all.”

His shoulders didn’t relax immediately, his thumb ghosting over her knuckles as he studied her face, searching for something.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and for all his bluntness, there was something vulnerable about the way he said it.

She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure.”

Max exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly like he was mad at himself for even thinking otherwise. Then, finally, he tugged her closer, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck as he rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t like seeing you like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I really don’t like the thought of you still caring about him.”

She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “I don’t.”

His lips barely curved, but the tension in his body faded just slightly.

“Good,” he murmured before kissing her, slow and deliberate, like he was grounding himself in her. Like he was making sure she was here. With him.

Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand still cradling the nape of her neck. His expression had softened—still serious, but there was a hint of something else now. Something almost teasing.

“So,” he murmured, thumb brushing absently over her skin. “If you’re so bothered by him getting engaged, you wanna just… get engaged too?”

She blinked. “What?”

Max shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, why not? Even the score.”

She scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “Oh, now you want to propose, just to be petty?”

He chuckled, but there was a glint in his eyes, something more thoughtful than his usual teasing. “Maybe. I think we’d look better in engagement photos, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes while smiling. 

Max smirked and leaned in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before murmuring against her skin, “One day, though.”

Her breath hitched slightly.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something undeniably genuine. “Not just to ‘even the score’ or whatever,” he added, his voice quieter now. “But because I want to.”

She swallowed, her heart skipping a beat at the certainty in his tone.

“One day,” she echoed, her lips curving slightly.

Max’s grin widened. “Good, and it will be a much fancier ring than that, okay?.”

She laughed, shaking her head as he pulled her into him again. “Okay.”

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✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3

[urbrunettebombshell]

NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE - Part 2

Part 1

Rafe Cameron x FemReader

Summary: After a gut wrenching realization, Rafe Cameron has nothing left to lose, only reader.

Warnings: 18+, jealousy, angst, mental health issues, suicidal themes, mention of eating disorder.

Important info: this is my second writing piece. still extremely personal. also english is not my first language. hope you enjoy it :) (not my gif!)

P.S.: the idea of writing this came from a character.ai bot (_nietakt on the app). not a single word in this was written by a bot! i took the initial idea of reader seeing Rafe and another girl at a bonfire. let me know if you have a problem with that.

Rafe hadn’t slept a single wink. He'd been too worried about her, her skin so cold when he'd carried her out of the water. Now, watching her sleep in his bed, a sense of relief washed over him. She was safe, at least for now.

He stood by the door, arms wrapped tightly around himself, silently watching her as she slept. The faint light of the morning sun seeped through the curtains, gently illuminating her face, but it only seemed to deepen the emptiness in the room. He remained there, motionless, as if afraid to disturb the fragile stillness of the moment. His gaze lingered on her, tracing the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, a rhythm that felt so distant, so foreign to him now. The quiet hum of the world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of the quiet room. The sunlight, soft and pale, seemed to mock the darkness that had taken root in his heart.

Despite that, her body throbbed with a slow, unbearable ache. Her heart and lungs felt too heavy to bear; her head pounded as if she had collided with concrete. Every breath felt like a struggle, each minor movement a battle against the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her. The world around her seemed muffled, distant, as if she were trapped in a fog that wouldn’t lift, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the relentless ache.

But the soft mattress was comforting. The familiar scent of the sheets, the faint trace of him, wrapped around her like a fragile embrace, offering a fleeting sense of peace. The warmth of the room, the quiet hum of the world outside, felt so much like home, even though home had long ago become a place she didn’t recognize.

She opened her eyes to find him standing there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on her with a quiet intensity. He was leaning against the doorframe, dressed in sweats, but there was something in the way he held himself that told her he hadn’t slept. Not a single ounce of rest had touched him. She didn’t speak. The silence between them felt suffocating, as if any word spoken could shatter the fragile stillness that had settled in the room. She was scared — scared of what might come next, of what that look in his eyes might mean.

Rafe's breath caught in his throat as her eyes fluttered open. He'd been standing there for what felt like hours, watching the rise and fall of her chest, making sure she was okay. He pushed off from the doorframe and approached the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge of it. His eyes remained fixated on her, his expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you feeling?”

When he sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sank slightly under his weight and her heart clenched in fear. A mix of longing and dread twisted inside her. She wanted him closer, desperately so, but she knew deep down that if he didn’t keep his distance, she would never be able to move on. She could never heal if he was too near.

She had always been weak when it came to him, her resolve crumbling the moment he was within arm’s reach. She folded so fast, every guard she built collapsing, every promise to herself shattering in the blink of an eye. The pull between them was magnetic, and no matter how many times she tried to push it away, it always found its way back, leaving her lost in the wreckage of her emotions.

“Weird,” she answered him in a whisper. She was feeling every little emotion yet nothing at all. Maybe she was just waiting for her heart to be broken again.

Rafe chuckled softly at her reply, his eyes never leaving her face. He shifted closer, reaching out and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead, his touch tentative yet tender.

“Yeah, I imagined you would feel pretty weird after last night,” he said, his voice quiet. He paused, his expression turning serious as he spoke. “You had me pretty worried, you know that?”

That chuckle was the death of her. It echoed in her chest, a sound that stirred something deep inside, something she had buried long ago. And when his finger brushed against her forehead, she couldn’t help but let out a soft, shaky sigh. Any crumb of attention from him felt like heaven on earth, like she could finally breathe again after holding her breath for so long.

“I didn’t…” she started saying, her voice barely above a whisper, but his serious expression stopped her mid-sentence, the weight of it pressing down like a stone. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but her emotions felt like they were on the edge of breaking. Her eyebrows furrowed, the tension growing inside. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue, even though she didn’t fully understand what she was apologizing for. Maybe it was just the silence between them, or the way things had always been — broken, but never enough to end.

Rafe shook his head, his hand still resting gently against her face. “No, don’t apologize. You don’t need to apologize,” he paused, his eyes searching her face, taking in every detail. He wanted to memorize every little nuance, every little mark, every fleck of color in her eyes, as if each detail was a piece of something precious, something he could never forget. The way her lashes fluttered when she blinked, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the glimmer that flickered when her emotions shifted — it was all so much a part of her, yet so easily lost in the passing of time.

He leaned in slightly, as if trying to capture it all, the very essence of who she was, holding onto the way she looked in this moment. He was afraid that once it slipped away, it would be gone forever, that the memory would fade like a dream upon waking. Every slight movement, every breath she took, felt sacred to him, as if he was witnessing something fragile and irreplaceable. “Just…don’t scare me like that again,” his voice was firm but not harsh, filled with a mix of concern and a hint of scolding.

She allowed herself to take a long, unhurried look at all his features, every single detail she had memorized and loved so deeply. The curve of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the way his cerulean eyes held a quiet intensity even when he wasn’t speaking — each part of him felt familiar, yet it all made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t explain.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, filled with frustration, as the thought of losing him all over again gnawed at her insides. It was a fear she couldn’t escape, no matter how hard she tried to push it away. The thought of the distance between them growing again, of things unraveling like they always did, was almost too much to bear. She could feel the tears threatening to rise, but she held them back, desperate to keep some semblance of control, even though everything inside her was breaking.

She wanted to apologize for being a burden last night, for all the things she couldn’t say or control, for the way she had let her emotions spill over, overwhelming them both. She wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore, that she would find a way to step back, to let him go without dragging him deeper into her mess. She longed to say that he was free of her, that if he truly wanted to be, he didn’t have to stay. He could walk away and never look back. She would find a way to erase him from her heart, even if it felt impossible, even if every part of her screamed to hold on.

But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and suffocating. She couldn’t bring herself to say them. The fear of losing him, of pushing him away for good, paralyzed her. How could she let him go when he was all she had ever known? How could she let him walk away when she knew deep down she was nothing without him?

Rafe noticed the conflict in her eyes, the way she averted her gaze from his, and he could practically hear the thoughts racing through that mind of hers. He knew her like the back of his hand, and he knew what she was thinking. He reached out and gently cupped her cheek in his palm, drawing her focus back to him.

“Don’t start shutting me out again,” his voice was firm yet pleading. “Not after last night.”

Her body trembled when his palm cupped her cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her, forcing her to look him in the eye. He was so close once again, the space between them shrinking until it felt like the world outside had disappeared. But even with his face so near, it still wasn’t enough. The ache in her chest deepened, a longing that couldn’t be satisfied by just proximity, no matter how much she craved it.

And as she stared into his eyes, she wasn’t sure if it was entirely possible for them to ever exist again, to find that place where they could be what they once were. The fractures between them felt too deep, the silence too heavy, as if too much time had passed, too much damage had been done. The fear crept in, a gnawing thought that perhaps this was as close as they could get anymore — the edges of what they had, but never quite whole again.

“I never shut you down,” she scolded him, her voice sharper than she had meant, the words cutting through the silence more forcefully than she anticipated. She immediately regretted the tone, her chest tightening with the weight of it. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she held back the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

“You left,” she continued, her voice quieter now, but still thick with hurt. “I just did what I could to cope with it.” The words tasted bitter as they left her lips, the truth of them stinging as she realized how much she had buried, how much she had tried to suppress. She had told herself it was fine, that she was fine, but the emptiness of those days without him had left scars she could never erase. She wanted him to understand, but part of her feared that even if he did, it might be too late for them to ever find their way back.

Rafe’s jaw clenches at her words, a pang of guilt stabbing through him as she reminds him of the fact he’d left. It was a truth he was all too aware of, one that haunted him every single day. “You think I don’t know that?” He asks, his voice strained. “You think I didn’t know how much I was hurting you when I left?” He lets out a shaky breath, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. “I hated every goddamn minute of being away from you.”

She shut her eyes, squeezing them tightly to keep the tears from falling. It was hurting all over again, a familiar ache that twisted deep inside her, pulling at every fragile piece of her heart. She knew how hard it had been for him after losing his father, how he had struggled, how he had tried to carry the weight of it alone. She understood the pain, the grief that consumed him, and the way he had pushed everyone away, convinced that he was better off alone.

She knew he wasn’t doing well, that he was drowning in his own sorrow, afraid of pulling her down with him. But leaving her had been worse than all of that. The absence of him had left a void she couldn’t fill, and no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she would be okay, she wasn’t. His departure had fractured something inside her, something that hadn’t healed, something that no amount of time or distance could ever fix. It wasn’t just the leaving that hurt. It was the way he had cut himself off, the way he had silently decided that it was better to walk away than to let her in, even when she had been there, waiting for him to reach back. It was the feeling of being abandoned, not because he didn’t love her, but because he was convinced that loving her was too dangerous, too painful.

“Can we not?” She pleaded in a heartbeat. She couldn’t argue about that again, it was too much for her to handle.

Rafe’s heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest as he listened to the plea in her voice. The raw vulnerability there cut through him like a blade, each word a reminder of the damage he had caused, the silence he had let linger between them. He didn’t want to hurt her more; that was the last thing he ever wanted. The guilt that had been gnawing at him for so long twisted deeper, but he knew that ignoring it, pretending everything could go back to how it was, would only make it worse.

He drew in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself, his hand still resting on her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding him. He could feel her breath against him, the tension in her body, and it broke him to know that his actions had brought her to this point.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice firm but not harsh, careful not to let the pain in his chest spill over into his words. “We can’t just not talk about it.” His gaze softened slightly, his eyes searching her face, reading the fear, the sadness that she wore like a veil. He wanted to pull her close, to promise her everything would be okay, but he knew the truth: that wouldn’t fix this. The silence, the unspoken things between them — they needed to be confronted.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back the words that were threatening to spill out. She knew he wouldn’t like it if they talked about it, knew it would only make things worse. Hell, he would hate hearing her talk about it. The thought of confronting the truth — the things left unsaid, the hurt buried beneath his silence — made her stomach churn. He never liked being held accountable for his behavior, never liked facing the consequences of his actions. It was easier for him to retreat, to close off, to pretend like it never happened.

But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend, how much longer she could stay silent while everything between them crumbled. She had to say it. She had to make him see what he was doing to them, even if it meant pushing him further away. The weight of his avoidance was crushing her, and she knew if she didn’t speak now, she might never get the chance again.

“We will end up fighting,” she told him in a shaky tone, her fingers tracing his hand on her skin. “I’m not sure if I can keep fighting you.”

Rafe’s expression softened as she spoke, the touch of her fingers against his skin sending a jolt through him. He knew she was right — any mention of the topic would inevitably lead to a fight. But he couldn’t let this linger any longer.

“Maybe we need to fight,"” he took a deep breath, his voice slightly shaky. “Maybe if we actually talked about this, really talked about it, we could get some goddamn closure for once.”

That damn word set her off like a switch had been flipped, her mind spiraling into chaos. Closure? Fuck him. How could he even ask for that? She wanted to be respected, to feel like she mattered, and instead, he had fucked her over in the worst possible way. Every part of her burned with anger, the weight of betrayal sinking deep into her bones. She couldn’t believe she was hearing that — closure. After everything he’d done, after the silence, after the lies, after the countless ways he had turned away when she needed him most, he was asking for closure? The audacity of it made her blood boil, the sting of every painful memory rushing back with the force of a tidal wave. He had taken so much from her, and now he was trying to act like he was the one who needed answers?

It felt like a slap in the face, the one thing she never thought she would hear from him. The one thing that made all of the pain, all the sacrifice, all the love she had given feel like it had meant nothing.

“You want closure?” She asks in a scoff as she sits up in the bed, her knees shaking against her chest as she holds herself close. “I’ll give you closure.”

She was so vulnerable that anything could set her off. Her emotions were all over the place and all mixed up.

“You were a bad person, Rafe, but I kept up with your bullshit,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she had held back for so long. “I loved you like no one else did, and you did me dirty.” The words cut through the silence, sharp and bitter, and he could almost see them flowing from her soft lips, each syllable laced with the pain he had caused. “You left when things got too much for you,” she continued, her eyes burning with a mix of sorrow and rage. “You left me in pieces, alone to deal with everything. And you had the nerve to show up with someone else just a few weeks later, leaving me like I never mattered.”

Her words hung in the air, and he felt the weight of them press down on his chest, suffocating him. He had known what she was feeling, had known deep down that she was hurting, but hearing it laid out like this — raw, unfiltered — was a slap to his face. There was nothing he could say to make it right, no apology that would undo the damage. The guilt settled over him like a heavy fog, his own shame swallowing him whole. She was right. He had left her, abandoned her when she needed him the most, and now she was sitting there, her heart torn open, and he had no excuse.

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief as the words left her mouth, each one like a dagger to his heart. He had been bracing for a fight, but hearing she lay it all out like that was like a punch to the gut.

“You think I don’t know all of that?” He asks, his voice tight with anger and frustration. “You think I haven’t been beating myself up for it every damn day?” He runs a hand through his head, his expression a mix of frustration and pain. “You think I wanted to leave you?”

Her eyes were glued to his every movement, searching for something that could make sense of the chaos between them. She was burning in anguish, her heart twisting with every word he spoke, every shift in his posture. The anger and hurt churned inside her like a storm she couldn’t escape.

She wanted to know why everything always ended with screaming, why their relationship always seemed to spiral into nothing but pain and conflict. Why couldn’t they ever find a way to just be? Why couldn’t they hold on to the moments when things felt good, when love was enough?

The question clawed at her mind, relentless. Why didn’t he just leave her to drown? She had been struggling for so long, feeling like she was sinking deeper into despair, yet he always seemed to linger, pulling her up just enough to keep her gasping for breath — just enough to remind her how much she needed him, even when he was the cause of the drowning.

“I know nothing about what you want,” she scoffed harshly, spitting venom out of her tongue. “I just know that you did leave me. And it hurts like hell.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, the venom in her words cutting him deep. He knew he deserved every bit of it, but it still hurt.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he said firmly, his voice strained. “I never wanted to leave you, goddamnit. I just thought-“ He cuts himself off, his eyes drifting to the floor. He didn’t want to admit the truth out loud.

Her eyebrows furrowed at his unfinished words. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew it had more to it than what he was saying. She just thought he would never tell her.

“You just thought what?” She asks him.

Rafe takes a deep breath, his eyes still locked on the ground. He knows this is going to be the hardest part of this conversation.

“I thought you’d be better off if I left you.” The confession feels like acid on his tongue, but he forces himself to keep going. “I was such a mess after my father died, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I thought you’d be better off without me.”

The silence that followed the confession was heavy on them. It seemed like hours of them just staring into each other's eyes and breathing heavily. She could see the sorrow in him. She also could see her Rafe.

“You’ve always been an idiot.” She says in a chuckling whisper. What a dumb man. He left to save her and all he did was damn her.

Rafe couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle at her unexpected reply. He had expected anger, tears, anything other than that. But that was just like her – throwing him off guard, making him feel things he thought he couldn't anymore.

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, his expression a mix of resignation and a hint of a smile. “Yeah, I’ve always been a goddamn idiot. Especially when it comes to you.”

She knew she should not have opened her heart to this again. She had promised herself she wouldn’t — promised herself she was stronger than this, that she wouldn’t let him pull her back in. But here she was, standing on the edge of the same cliff, her heart a fragile thing in her chest, ready to leap despite every warning. She knew her friends would kill her if they ever knew what she was doing right now, how she was willing to risk it all for someone who had torn her apart before.

She had been through hell since their split, enduring the long, lonely nights and the endless questions, trying to piece herself back together from the wreckage he left behind. And now, she was dancing willingly in the flames with the devil, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing the pain would come again but unable to stop herself from reaching for it.

“I miss you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely a breath escaping her lips. Her hands shook as they hovered in the space between them, unsure whether to touch him or pull away, torn between the longing and the fear. She wanted them to make up, wanted to believe that there was still something worth saving, something that could be fixed. Yet she was so scared — scared of the same heartbreak, the same crushing emptiness that had followed in the wake of his leaving. But in this moment, her desire for him, for reconciliation, outweighed the terror that had kept her apart from him for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as the words left her trembling lips.

‘I miss you’.

Those words hit Rafe like a ton of bricks, their weight crashing down on him with such force it left him breathless. It was all he had wanted to hear from her for months, the words he had desperately wished for, even though he had never been brave enough to say them first. He had longed for those three words, ached for them with every fiber of his being, knowing that he had pushed her away and ruined what they once had. But hearing them now, soft and fragile, pulled him back to a place he thought he’d lost forever.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of her confession settle in, steadying himself as the emotion threatened to overwhelm him. When he opened them again, his gaze found hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a flicker of something real — something unbroken — in his eyes. His expression was a mix of pain and hope, the raw truth of their past hanging between them like an open wound, but there was a glimmer of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time: possibility.

“I miss you too, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion, the words escaping him with a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he was ready for. But it didn’t matter anymore. The distance, the hurt — it all felt irrelevant now. He was here. She was here. And for this one moment, that was enough.

She can’t help but flinch when he calls her baby again. It was a warm welcoming yet a harsh pull to remind her that she wasn’t his baby anymore. Her lips tremble when she tries to talk but nothing comes out of her mouth. It was so scary to be this confused.

Rafe’s heart breaks as he sees her flinch at his use of the term. Once upon a time, it was his favorite way to address her – a term of endearment, a sign of his love for her. But now it just served as a reminder of what he'd lost.

He closed the distance between them both and slowly reached out to take her trembling hands in his. His expression was one of uncertainty mixed with a desperate hope.

“Baby, I don’t-“ He cuts himself off, his throat closing up.

She couldn’t stay there for another minute. It felt like a dream turning into a tortuous nightmare. She shut her eyes when he called her baby again. Oh, God, what would she do to be his baby again.

“Maybe I should go.” She says in a slightly more subtle tone. She should stop this from happening. They should part ways and get over it.

Rafe’s heart sank as she spoke the words he dreaded to hear. He had hoped — no, he had wanted — this conversation to go much different. He tightened his grip on her hands, refusing to let her slip away.

“No,” his voice was firm, the single word filled with a mixture of plea and determination. “Please, just…don’t go. Just talk to me, baby, please. We can work this out.”

She looked up at him through her big doe eyes, filled with sorrow, a silent plea hidden deep within them. Her gaze searched his face, desperate for something — some sign that this wasn’t just another cruel twist of fate, that they could still find a way back to each other. But all she saw was the same pain mirrored in his expression, a reflection of the brokenness that had once been shared between them. Her eyebrows were furrowed, the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. She couldn’t help it. A lonely sob slipped from her throat, the sound fragile and raw, as if it had been trapped inside her for far too long. It was a sound that broke her, that broke him, and for a moment, neither of them could move, both frozen in the echo of the pain they had inflicted on one another.

She didn’t know how to fix this, how to make it right, but all she could feel was the emptiness that had settled in her heart. The ache was too much to bear, and as the sobs wracked her body, she realized how much she had longed for him to stay, to not leave her alone with the weight of it all.

“And then what?” She asks him in an honest hope of terms. “We’ll apologize for almost killing each other and forget about all that pain? And live happily ever after?”

Rafe's heart aches at the pain in her voice and the tears forming in her eyes. He wants nothing more than to make all the hurt go away – both hers and his. He reaches up and gently brushes away a tear that escapes down her cheek, his touch tender and full of an old, familiar tenderness.

“Baby, I'm not saying it'll be easy,” he says softly, his expression a mixture of pain and determination. “But I want to try. I want us to try.” Those words were a promise, tentative but full of the hope that had been buried beneath the weight of everything they had endured. They weren’t guarantees, but they were real. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

She sobs once again when he holds her closer to him. It felt so right to be in his arms, it didn’t hurt anymore. But it was still terrifying. They weren’t the same anymore.

“I don’t know if I have the strength to try,” she whispered. All she ever wanted was to be his girl again. But what if he decides to leave again? She can’t handle that all over again.

Rafe's heart breaks as she sobs, as she mentions not having the strength to try. He knows he's to blame for that – he's the one who broke her strength, shattered her faith in him.

He pulls her even closer, his arms wrapping around her tightly, desperately.

“You don't have to have the strength. I'll be there, baby, and I'll be strong for both of us,” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of pain and determination. “I won't leave you again. I promise.”

She allowed him to hold her tightly, her head resting on his shoulder while he pleaded so dearly. He was desperate. God, she would fold in his hands.

“Do you really mean this?” She asks again. He had to be sure that he wanted this, that he wanted her.

Rafe lets out a shaky breath as she leans into him, his heart skipping a beat. He never wanted to let her go, ever again.

He takes a moment to collect himself before answering, his voice firm and unwavering. “Baby, with everything I have in me. I want this, I want you. So goddamn badly.”

Her fingers find his face, tracing his jawline ever so slightly. Her touch was so soft and slowly, almost like telling how afraid she was of him disappearing into thin air.

“We can’t be insane this time,” she whispered as she kept touching his skin. They have to do this right or not even try. “We’ll have to get to know each other again. Heal from what happened first.”

Rafe's heart skipped a beat as her delicate fingers traced over his jaw, the touch a bittersweet mixture of comfort and nostalgia. He nodded as she spoke, his eyes never leaving hers. He understood the gravity of those words.

“We can do this right,” he said softly, his voice filled with determination and desire. “We'll take all the time we need to heal, to get to know each other again. I'm not going anywhere, baby. I'll be here for as long as it takes.”

She stared into his eyes for longer than she should, keeping her silence as she tried to catch any glimpse of regret in him. But there wasn’t. He was serious. He has changed.

“Okay.” She whispered.

And just like that she was willing to go through everything again just for his sake.

Rafe's heart leapt in his chest as he heard the word leave her lips. It was such a simple word, but it meant so much.

He pulled her closer, the relief and hope flooding in his system.

“We'll take it slow,” he promised, his voice still trembling. “No more fighting. No more hurt. Just healing and rebuilding, okay?”

She nodded softly at him, her arms hugging him around his neck. She inhaled deeply into his chest, filling herself with his scent. Only God knew how much she missed this. To be his.

She could die right there in his arms. She didn’t need anything else. But she knew she couldn’t throw herself in this situation so blindly.

Rafe wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her close against his chest. He had missed this – her – so much. The feeling of her body against his, her scent filling his nostrils, her breath against his skin.

He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of having her in his arms again.

“We'll be okay, baby,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and tenderness. “I won't let anything come between us again.”

She felt like she could finally breathe again. That lump in her throat going away after weeks of choking me. Her heart finally stopped hurting. She takes a deep breath as she leans her head slightly back to look up at him.

“I love you.” She tells him in reassurance. She's never stopped loving him so deeply. But he has to know that love will not be enough this time.

Rafe's heart nearly stopped at her words. I love you. He had ached to hear those words for what felt like an eternity. And now, here she was, declaring her love for him once again. It was like music to his ears.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So goddamn much.”

Their noses touched, the skin on skin sensation tingling in caress. She never wanted to let go. But she had to.

After minutes of silence, of them just holding each other, their faces touching, she says what she´s dreading to say. “I have to go.”

People may be worried about her disappearing last night.

Rafe's expression shifts instantly, his face falling. He knew this was coming, but he didn't want to let her go. Not yet.

He holds her still, his arms wrapped tightly around her, as if to physically prevent her from leaving.

“No, baby,” he responds, his voice strained with desperation. “Please, can't you stay a little longer?”

She gives him a sad smile when he holds so much tighter. He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want to let go of her. Neither did she.

“Kie might be worried,” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission might make the weight of her words heavier. She knows he’s probably heard that after they broke up, she didn’t go back to live with her parents in their mansion. She couldn’t handle the thought of being in the same world as him, surrounded by the luxury and coldness of a life that felt so distant from the one she had with him.

The thought of returning to that world, to the emptiness of it all, made her feel suffocated, as if every corner of the mansion would remind her of everything she had lost. So, instead, she stayed with her pogue friends, people who didn’t judge her, who didn’t expect anything from her but to be herself, messy and broken as she was. They had offered her a refuge, a place to breathe, away from the world that had crumbled beneath her feet.

She wasn’t sure if Kie knew just how far she had fallen, how much she had sacrificed just to stay afloat. But she also didn’t want to explain the depth of her pain, the quiet loneliness that had become her constant companion. She just wanted to move on, to find a way to piece herself together, even if it meant living in the shadows of everything she had once thought was real.

Rafe’s heart sank further at the mention of Kie. He had known, deep down, that she’d likely spent time with the pogues since leaving him. But hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. The thought of her sleeping under the pogues' roof, away from everything he had ever offered, served as a cold reminder of just how badly he had messed things up.

The image of her, curled up on a worn couch or in a cramped space with people who had nothing to do with their past, made the guilt in his chest grow heavier. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the bond she had with them; he had seen it himself, the way they accepted her without hesitation, the way they had been there for her when he wasn’t. But the idea of her living with them, away from the cold comfort of her family’s wealth, told him so much about where she was now. She had chosen authenticity over comfort, warmth over distance. She had chosen the people who had shown her real care, people who saw her for who she was, not for what she could be.

She chose them because they made her feel something he hadn’t made her feel in so long: safe, understood, loved without conditions. It was like a mirror to everything he had failed to give her.

Rafe had always known that her relationship with her parents was strained, even if she never spoke about it much. He’d seen the cracks in their interactions — the cold silences, the passive-aggressive comments, the way they barely looked at her unless they needed something. He had tried, in his own way, to heal the wounds that came with her family’s neglect. He had held her when she cried, whispered promises of safety when she felt lost in the echo of their judgment, tried to show her that she didn’t need their approval to be enough.

When they were together, he thought he was helping her heal, that he was giving her something better — love, security, understanding. He had wanted to be the one who made her feel worthy, who could make her forget the emptiness her parents left in her heart. He’d believed, with all his heart, that he could be the antidote to the poison they had fed her for so long.

But when they broke up, he never realized just how deep the damage went. He had been so consumed by his own hurt, by the end of them, that he didn’t stop to think about what she was going through. She never went back to her family’s mansion after they split. He had assumed she would, like anyone would in her situation — back to the comfort and luxury of her parents' world, where everything was polished and perfect, even if it came with strings attached.

Instead, she went to the pogues. And that choice, that one simple decision, hit him harder than anything else. It was a quiet admission that the one place she should have gone for refuge, the one place that was supposed to offer her shelter, had never truly been a home. It was the realization that everything he thought was better — everything he had tried to offer her — wasn’t enough to heal the parts of her that had been broken long before he ever came into her life.

He should have known. He should have seen it in her eyes every time she talked about her parents, every time they tried to reach out to her with their hollow love. But he hadn’t, and now, as he thought about it, the weight of it crushed him. He hadn’t realized how badly she had needed that support, how deeply her family’s absence had wounded her until it was too late.

He swallowed the pang of hurt he felt within him, but his arms remained locked around her tightly.

“Yeah, she probably is,” his voice was tight. “But can’t you stay a little longer? Just a bit more?”

She catches a glimpse of him swallowing the lump in his throat, his eyes flickering away for just a moment as if to hide the vulnerability creeping up on him. She thought he was probably holding back some biting comment, something that would inevitably turn into a fight like it always did before. But to her surprise, he stays quiet, his jaw clenched but his words still stuck somewhere between them.

She keeps watching him, studying the lines of his face, trying to make sense of the mix of emotions there — pain, regret, hope. She couldn’t tell if it was the same old cycle they always found themselves trapped in, or if this time, things might be different. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to make up her mind. It wasn’t easy, but then again, nothing between them ever had been.

“A couple of minutes more isn’t going to hurt,” she thinks to herself, almost as if she were giving herself permission to stay in this moment a little longer. Just a little longer. Because once it was over, once she stepped away, there was no going back.

“I’ll text her that I am safe,” she tells him as her fingers brush on his cheeks. “And then I’ll stay a little longer. Okay?”

Rafe's expression softens as her fingers graze over his cheeks, his tension melting away. Her words are like a balm to his anxious mind.

He nods slowly, his grip on her relaxed a fraction. “Yeah, okay. Just a few more minutes. That's all I'm asking for.” His arms remain wrapped around her, holding her close. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go just yet.

She couldn’t help but leave a soft kiss on his cheek, her lips grazing over his skin ever so slightly. She didn’t free herself from his tight hold, just turned around a bit to grab her phone from his nightstand.

She smiles when she sees the clothes she wore yesterday, clean and folded neatly next to it. The sight of them brings a wave of warmth, and her mind drifts back to the moment she had worn them — how sticky and damp they had been after her most grueling day, drenched from the ocean's waves that seemed to swallow her whole.

He had also given her a bath last night, his hands gentle and purposeful, as if he could erase all the weight from her. And then, when she had finally drifted to sleep in his arms, he stayed by her side, watching over her like she was something fragile, something worth protecting.

She was wearing only one of his shirts and his boxers, the fabric too big for her frame but comforting in its familiarity. The memory of how he had tucked her in, his warmth surrounding her, made her heart flutter despite everything that had come before. The tenderness of that moment — the care he had shown — felt like a lifeline, even in the midst of everything falling apart.

Rafe watched closely as she reached for her phone, his arms still loosely wrapped around her, his touch lingering like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Seeing her in his shirt, the way it hung off her frame so effortlessly, sent another shiver down his spine. It was a mix of tenderness and possessiveness, the soft, worn fabric a reminder of the closeness they once shared, and of how much had changed.

She typed out a quick message to Kie, telling her that she was fine but leaving out the details — where she was, who she was with. Rafe could see her fingers moving quickly over the screen, a quiet tension in the air between them. He couldn’t blame her for being vague. It wasn’t like things were clear between them. But still, watching her type, his heart pounded in his chest, unsure of what she was really thinking or what it all meant.

“So,” she says, turning her phone off and shifting her attention back to him, “Breakfast?”

Rafe lets out a small sigh of relief as she turns her phone off, the finality of it almost comforting. At least for now, it felt like they were in their own little world, no distractions, no pressing questions. He raises an eyebrow at her question, his eyes flicking to the clock above them. “I reckon it’s more like lunch by now,” he says softly, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, trying to lighten the mood. He wasn’t sure where things were headed, but in this moment, with her here, he was willing to follow wherever it led.

She giggled softly at his words, that small smirk telling her that he was so comfortable with having her around.

“Lunch it is, then,” she replied with a casual shrug, though there was something uncertain in the way she moved. Rafe’s heart skips a beat when he hears her soft giggle, the sound of it like music to his ears, familiar and comforting in a way he hadn’t realized he missed. Without thinking, he tightens his arms around her just a little, savoring the simple feeling of having her in his presence again, so close, so real.

But as he does, his eyes drift to her body, noticing the way her clothes seem to hang a bit looser than before. He had seen the subtle change in her, the way she seemed smaller, thinner. At first, he thought it was just the aftermath of the breakup, the emotional toll, but now, it made his stomach twist in concern.

She had clearly lost weight after their split, and she was just starting to try to eat normally again. Kie had practically forced her into this recovery, and she was trying — really trying — to get better. But Rafe didn’t need to know the details of that, not yet.

Without even considering how it might sound, he asks, his voice soft but laced with worry, “Have you been eating properly?”

Her eyes snap to him when he asks the question so suddenly, catching her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to notice, hadn’t expected him to see through the subtle shifts. He had caught her, and in that moment, she felt a wave of shame wash over her. She didn’t want to lie to him, but there were things she wasn’t ready to talk about, things she wasn’t sure she could.

“I am now,” she replied, her voice steady, though her gaze avoided his. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. She was trying to eat properly now. She was making an effort to take care of herself, even if it had been a struggle. The truth felt like something she could only admit in small, guarded pieces.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow as he sees her reaction. He can tell he’s struck a nerve, and he’s instantly filled with a sense of guilt and concern. When she responds with ‘I am now’, his heart sinks. That wasn’t a yes, and that wasn't a no. It was an answer that left unanswered questions swirling in his mind.

He takes a shaky breath and nods slowly, trying to keep his voice steady.

“But before now?” he prompts, his voice barely above a whisper.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance when she noticed that he would not drop the conversation. But she knew he was just concerned so she sighed before answering.

“I wasn’t,” she says as my eyes drop to his hands, her fingers playing with his rings. “But I am trying now. That’s all that matters.”

Rafe's heart aches as she confirms that she hadn't been eating properly. It was like a punch to the gut. He knew it was partly his fault – the breakup had taken a toll on her as much as it had on him. But the thought of her not eating, of her neglecting herself - it was enough to make his blood boil.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why weren't you eating, baby?”

She rests her forehead against his chest for a moment, as if trying to hide from the weight of the truth. She knew she couldn’t keep quiet forever, though — the silence only made it worse. Taking a deep breath, she finally looks back up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of shame and frustration.

“I didn’t choose to not eat,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, trying to explain in the clearest way she could. She had to make him understand that she wasn’t relapsing into her eating disorder, even though the tightness in her chest felt like it might swallow her whole. “I just couldn’t get myself to do it anymore.”

The words seemed to hang between them, thick with the memories of how her struggle had always affected their relationship. There had been times before, when things were good, when she would push herself to eat just to be normal for him, for them. But there were other times — dark, quiet times — when the thought of food felt overwhelming, suffocating, and she couldn’t find the strength to make herself care. It had created a distance between them, a kind of unspoken pain. She had wanted him to help, wanted him to understand, but in the end, it felt like he had just watched her slip away, unable to bridge the gap between what she wanted to say and what she was actually feeling.

The breakup hit her harder than she had anticipated, not just emotionally, but physically too. The depression that followed felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone take care of herself. The stress, the anxiety — it all piled up, and with it, the familiar, destructive eating habits returned. She stopped eating regularly, stopped caring about anything beyond just getting through the day. The loneliness, the sadness, made food seem like an afterthought. She would skip meals, forget to eat, or force herself to eat just enough to keep going, but never really nourish herself.

She had been trying to avoid the downward spiral that had taken over her before, but it was like she was caught in a cycle she couldn’t break. The pain from the breakup intensified everything — the way she saw herself, the way she felt about her body, the guilt of not being able to maintain any sense of control. It had felt easier to just disappear into the chaos of her thoughts than to deal with the overwhelming emotions of loss and self-doubt.

But now, slowly, she was coming back on track. She was trying to break free from the habits that had been so deeply ingrained, reminding herself that healing wasn’t just about moving on from the breakup — it was about taking care of herself, about learning to nourish her body and her spirit again. It wasn’t easy, and some days were harder than others, but she was trying. And that, she knew, was the first step to finding herself again.

Rafe swallows down another pang of guilt that wells up inside him. He knew that the breakup had shaken her, but he hadn’t considered the extent of it. The fact that she couldn’t bring herself to eat – it broke his heart.

He had seen the changes, the way she’d seemed distant and withdrawn. It was like a punch to his gut, the realization that his departure had only pushed her further into a place she had been fighting so hard to escape. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. He had always tried to fix things, to help her when she was struggling with those demons, but he had failed her when it mattered most. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t noticed the subtle signs that she was slipping back into old patterns. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how he had walked away without fully understanding the consequences. He had thought that leaving would make things easier, for both of them, but now he saw the damage it had caused.

But then, there was a flicker of hope when she spoke about coming back on track. She was trying. And that realization — small as it was — stirred something deep within him. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for her, that recovery wasn’t something that happened overnight. But hearing her say it, hearing her take the first steps toward healing, made him wonder if there was a chance, maybe just a slim one, for them to rebuild what they had lost.

He wanted to be there for her, more than anything. He wanted to be the one who helped her through this, who supported her as she fought to find herself again. But he also knew that it wasn’t up to him to fix her, to be the one to save her. That was something only she could do for herself. Still, the thought of being part of that journey — if she’d let him — was enough to make his heart race.

He pulls her close again, his arms wrapping around her tightly, as if he could somehow make up for his mistakes.

“Nut you’re eating now, right?” he pressed gently. “You’re taking care of yourself?”

She nodded softly at his questions, forcing a smile to reassure him. She was taking care of herself even though it was a struggle.

“Yeah,” she tells him in a whisper. “My friends helped me a lot,” she says. Kie and Sarah had her back while she was slipping into that dark place.

Rafe takes a moment to process her words, his expression softening slightly. He was relieved to know that she had people there for her while she was struggling, despite how much it hurt to think of her relying on other people for support.

He let out a shaky sigh, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. “And you’re better now?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation.

She tried to take her mind off of the dark parts of what she’s been through, so she did what she did best to distract herself. Her fingers were slowly tracing and mapping every single detail of his skin. Him being shirtless helped her to focus on each little freckle on his shoulders and chest.

“I am,” she told him in honest words. She was better. Especially now that she is in his arms.

He felt a shiver of pleasure down his spine as her fingers traced over his skin, his body responding to her touch even if his mind was elsewhere.

Her answer – soft and honest, but filled with hope – made his heart skip a beat. He held her closer, the feeling of having her back in his arms and the reassurance that she was getting better lifting a weight off his shoulders.

He let out a shaky breath, his voice full of emotion. “Good. That’s good, baby. I’m glad.”

She can’t help but giggle at the sound of him calling her baby once again. Last night it felt like a distant dream to be with him again. And now it was so real. She was afraid of waking up.

She felt like staying in bed with him for eternity.

As her sweet giggle met his ears, Rafe felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest. It was a sound he had missed dearly in the time they'd been apart.

He held her tight, his arms wrapped snugly around her as if to hold her in his reality. He shared her fear of this being a dream, of her slipping out of his grasp like sand.

He chuckled softly in response. “If we stay in bed all day, we won’t have any lunch,” he teased gently.

She bit her lower lip in an attempt to hold back a big smile. Her fingers kept tracing every inch of his skin, memorizing his every spot.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she confessed in a heartbeat.

Rafe’s heart skipped a beat at her confession, his body responding to her touch with a shiver that rippled through him. He couldn’t deny that he wanted nothing more than to spend the day in bed with his girl, her body pressed against his, their hands exploring every inch of skin. But he also knew that neither of them had eaten yet, and he didn’t want to encourage her already poor eating habits. He took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down.

“We should eat something, baby,” he said, his voice huskier than he intended.

She hummed in agreement with his statement. We should eat something. Together. God, they were together again. She couldn’t believe that.

Rafe felt his breath hitch as she leaned in and kissed his cheek again, her soft whisper sending a shiver through him. It was such a small gesture, but it carried a weight that he couldn’t ignore. He had missed this — the quiet, tender moments that had always felt so effortless between them. Now, each one felt like a fragile thread connecting them, and he was terrified of pulling too hard and breaking it.

He couldn’t help but notice the careful distance she was maintaining, though. It wasn’t physical, not entirely, but there was a hesitance in her movements, a deliberate slowness that told him she was holding back. And he understood why. Since the breakup, there had been nothing even remotely intimate between them — not a kiss, not a touch that lingered too long. It was as if they were both treading carefully, afraid of rushing into something that could crumble under the weight of their unresolved issues.

He admired her for it, though. She was right — taking things slow was probably the best way to rebuild what they had lost. But part of him struggled with the restraint. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her like he used to, to feel that undeniable connection that had always been there. Yet, he knew that pushing too hard, too fast, would only risk undoing everything they were trying to piece back together.

As much as it killed him to wait, he realized that this was about more than just what he wanted. It was about her, about earning back her trust and showing her that he was willing to do this the right way. If slow was what she needed, then slow was what he’d give her — even if every fiber of his being ached for more.

He took a shaky breath and loosened his grip on her a fraction, trying to calm the heat that was building within him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice still raspy from the weight of the morning. “Let's get something to eat.”

She let him slip from her arms as he got up from the bed, his hand reaching out to hers. His grip was soft but insistent, pulling her gently to her feet. Standing there in nothing but his shirt, she felt a pang of discomfort, not because she was self-conscious, but because of the memories it brought back. This house had once been theirs. Their sanctuary. Their home.

As they walked through the familiar halls, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts. The echoes of laughter, arguments, and quiet moments filled her mind. They had lived together for months before everything unraveled. She remembered how quickly it all fell apart — the night he told her he didn’t want her anymore, the way she packed her things in a haze of heartbreak, and how she’d walked out without looking back. Instead of returning to her parents' house, which had never felt like home, she sought refuge with Kie, burying herself in a world far removed from this one.

“It looks the same,” she mumbled as they stepped into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room that once felt so alive with them.

Rafe walked beside her, his jaw tight as memories crashed over him. He hadn’t changed much about the house since she left. It was as if he’d been unable to. Each corner, each piece of furniture, held traces of her — moments he both cherished and regretted. Seeing her there now, moving through the space like a ghost of the past, sent an ache through his chest.

“Yeah, it does,” he replied softly, his voice tinged with something between sorrow and longing. “Nothing's changed much.”

He wanted to say more, to tell her how empty the house had felt without her, how he had tried to ignore the hollow quiet that crept in after she left. But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he moved toward the kitchen counter, opening the fridge as if focusing on something as simple as breakfast could dull the ache in his chest.

That gut-wrenching feeling hit her like a tidal wave, threatening to pull her under. She couldn’t stop it. It was as if she was being swallowed by the sea of heartbreak all over again. Nothing’s changed much, he’d said. The words twisted like a knife in her chest. Because everything had changed for her. She had hit rock bottom, been reduced to a shadow of herself. She had turned into a mess, clawing her way back to some semblance of stability. But him? He looked the same. Untouched. Like none of it had mattered.

“I see,” she muttered, a bitter snort escaping her lips. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, but the memories stung too much. He had another girl in his arms just days after their breakup. Hell, she remembered how he had been with someone else just last night. How could he stand there now, acting like any of it meant something?

Rafe flinched at her tone, closing the fridge, a pang of guilt surging through his chest. He knew he hadn’t been fair to her — not in the breakup, not in the aftermath. He had handled it like a coward, grasping for anything to numb the pain. He saw the hurt etched on her face now, and it only deepened the regret that had been gnawing at him since the moment she left.

Running a hand through his hair, his expression crumbled into something raw and pained. “I know I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with remorse. “Trust me, I know.”

He stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them with hesitant steps. His eyes searched hers, desperate to make her understand. “But I was just trying to move on,” he said, the words falling heavy between them. “Just like you.”

The tears welled up in her eyes before she could stop them. Her body began to tremble, and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, as if trying to hold herself together. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like he could see every fracture in her heart.

“I wasn’t trying to move on,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyebrows furrowed as she met his gaze, the weight of her words breaking her all over again. “I was trying to survive.”

Her admission hung in the air like a thundercloud, and Rafe felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. He hadn’t realized the depth of her struggle, hadn’t understood just how much she had endured. For the first time, he saw her pain not as an echo of his own, but as something far deeper and more consuming. It left him standing there, utterly speechless.

The sight of her tears was unbearable, a sharp dagger twisting deeper with every tremor of her body. Watching her struggle to keep herself together unraveled something in Rafe, breaking him apart in a way he hadn't known was possible. He reached out, hesitant, his hand hovering over her shoulder, as if afraid to touch and cause more damage.

“Baby...” he murmured, his voice soft, trembling with an emotion he could barely hold back.

Her words stopped him cold. I was trying to survive. Each syllable cut through the haze of his guilt, striking at the very core of him. His chest tightened as the weight of her suffering pressed on him like a physical force.

She shut her eyes, the sound of his voice too much to bear. It was all too raw, too overwhelming. She loved this man — loved him in a way that terrified her, in a way that made her feel both alive and utterly destroyed. But that love came with scars, ones she wasn’t sure she could heal.

“No, it’s fine,” she whispered on a shaky sigh, her lashes wet as she forced herself to meet his gaze again. She tried to push away the tears, to find some strength in the chaos. “I can’t give us another chance if we keep going back to the past.”

Rafe’s hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her words. She was right, and the realization stung. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, couldn’t erase the nights she spent crying or the days she fought to keep herself afloat. He took a deep breath, his voice a mixture of pain and fragile hope.

“So, what do we do then?” he asked quietly, the vulnerability in his tone almost breaking her resolve.

She bit her lower lip, contemplating his question. They had already decided to take it slow, to tread carefully this time. If there was any hope of making this work, they couldn’t rush back into the storm. They needed to rebuild, piece by piece, to do things differently and finally get it right. She took a deep breath, sliding onto the kitchen counter as she tried to lighten the weight of the moment.

“Coffee?” she asked, a soft smile breaking through the tension, fragile but genuine. One thing at a time.

Rafe felt his heart skip at the sight of her smile, so small yet so full of meaning. It was a flicker of light in the darkness, a tentative promise of something better. He couldn’t help but smile back, a tenderness in his eyes that had been absent for far too long.

He glanced at the coffee machine, then back at her. “Yeah” he replied, his voice still tinged with the weight of their conversation but softening with her warmth. “Coffee sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the kitchen felt less like a battlefield and more like a haven, a fragile space where healing might begin. He walked to the coffee machine, his movements steady, deliberate. The simple act of brewing coffee was grounding, a small ritual of normalcy in the middle of so much emotional chaos.

She sat quietly on the counter, her eyes fixed on him as he worked. The way he moved — effortless, familiar — was mesmerizing. The rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the room, wrapping the kitchen in a comforting warmth that felt almost like home. It was almost cruel how easily the moment mimicked their past, as if time hadn’t pulled them apart, as if heartbreak hadn’t carved deep wounds into both of them.

Her gaze lingered, absorbing every detail of him. The concentration in his face, the way his hands moved with practiced ease. Her heart ached, heavy with the love she still carried for him. God, she still loves this man.

Rafe was painfully aware of her eyes on him. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the unspoken tension curling around them like a fragile thread. It wasn’t uncomfortable — it was grounding, like the coffee. A reminder of everything he’d missed, of the connection that still pulsed between them despite the scars.

As the coffee finished brewing, he turned to her, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “How do you take it?”

Her heart clenched at the question. Something so mundane had become a symbol of how much had changed. Once, he knew the answer without asking. Now, the question hung between them, a stark reminder of the distance they had to bridge.

“Black. No sugar,” she said, her tone clipped. Once, she couldn’t stand coffee without cream and sugar. After the breakup, it became a metaphor for survival — plain and bitter, just like her days without him.

Rafe’s chest tightened at her reply. He remembered her sweet tooth, how she used to grin as she added scoop after scoop of sugar to her mug. Now, the bitterness seemed to mirror something inside her. As he poured the coffee into two mugs, he wondered how much else had changed about her — how much of it was because of him.

He handed her a mug — her mug. The one with the Snoopy drawing. The one he had bought for her after her obsession with Snoopy began. Her fingers brushed against his as she took it, and she couldn’t suppress a soft laugh, her eyes lighting up in a way he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” she said, her voice touched with surprise and a glimmer of warmth. Rafe felt a flicker of relief and hope at her reaction. A small victory. He shrugged lightly, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Of course I still have it. You love that damn dog.”

Her laugh came again, soft and melodic, like a balm to his aching heart. She held the mug close to her chest, biting her lower lip to suppress the emotions rising within her. The Snoopy mug — the symbol of something so simple, so pure — felt like a thread tying her back to him.

“It means a lot,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “That you kept it.”

Rafe’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his fingers grazing hers on the mug. His voice was low, trembling slightly with emotion. “I couldn’t get rid of it. It was a part of you.” He paused, his breath hitching as he met her eyes. “And I never wanted to forget you.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, a soft, involuntary groan escaped her throat, the sound raw and filled with yearning. There he was — her Rafe. The man who had once held her heart so carefully, now standing before her with his soul bared.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, her voice cracking with vulnerability. She wasn’t ready to say more, but her heart swelled at the thought that, even when apart, he had held space for her.

Rafe exhaled shakily, her simple words hitting him with a force he hadn’t anticipated. “How could I forget you?” he asked, his voice trembling. “You’re etched into my soul, baby.”

Her eyes closed for a moment, her body trembling at his words. When she opened them again, she looked up at him, her lips quivering. “Do you mean that?” she asked, her voice filled with desperate hope.

His hand found hers again, their fingers intertwining as though they belonged nowhere else. “Yes,” he said, his voice firm despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re in every part of me. Every breath, every heartbeat — you’re a part of me.”

Rafe watched her closely, his heart pounding as she processed his words. Her silence spoke volumes — an unspoken dialogue passing between them, heavy with the weight of their shared history.

She bit her lower lip, a gesture he knew so well, trying to steady herself. When she nodded softly, her gaze falling to their joined hands, he felt a surge of emotion so strong it almost overwhelmed him. The way their fingers intertwined felt so natural, so right, as though they had never been apart.

He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to gently lift her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed lightly against her jawline, his eyes searching hers for the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask aloud.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise. “But I need you to know... I’m not letting you go again. Not without a fight.”

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, the vulnerability in his words threatening to break through the walls she had so carefully rebuilt. She wanted to believe him — wanted to let herself fall into the warmth of his presence — but the memories of the pain he’d caused lingered like shadows in the corners of her mind.

Still, the way he looked at her now, like she was the only person in the world, made it hard to hold onto the anger. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes glistening as she whispered, “I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again, Rafe.”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, but he understood. He knew he didn’t deserve her trust — not yet — but he was determined to earn it.

“You won’t be,” he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “I swear to you, I’ll spend every day proving that I’m not the same man who let you go.”

She let out a shaky breath, her resolve softening ever so slightly. Looking down at their joined hands again, she couldn’t deny the comfort his touch brought her. Maybe, just maybe, this time could be different. But for now, she allowed herself the smallest sliver of hope as she whispered, “One step at a time.”

Rafe’s thumb continued its gentle caress, his touch trembling slightly as though he was terrified she might pull away. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes she once got lost in so easily, were heavy with a tenderness she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. He wasn’t just looking at her; he was baring his soul, silently pleading for her to see the man he so desperately wanted to be for her.

Her words, soft and uncertain, echoed in his mind: I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again. They struck him like a bolt of lightning, raw and real, cutting through every layer of guilt, regret, and love he carried for her. He had hurt her in ways he couldn’t even begin to forgive himself for, and yet here she was — still in front of him, still within reach.

His fingers tightened just slightly on her hand, as if anchoring himself to this fragile moment. “You have no idea how much I hate myself for hurting you,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Every day, I think about what I did. How I broke something so beautiful… so good.” He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping briefly before he forced himself to meet her eyes again. “You deserved better than me back then. And I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve you now, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying if you let me.”

Her lip quivered as she listened to his words, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at the walls she had built so carefully around her heart. She wanted to stay strong, wanted to shield herself from the possibility of pain, but the sincerity in his eyes was disarming in a way she hadn’t expected.

“I loved you so much, Rafe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though saying it too loudly might shatter her. “I gave you everything. And when you…” Her breath hitched as she blinked back the tears threatening to spill. “It felt like I wasn’t enough. Like I’d never be enough for anyone.”

Rafe’s heart broke all over again at her confession, his chest tightening with an ache he couldn’t put into words. He stepped closer, his free hand moving to cup her cheek as he gently tilted her face toward his. “Don’t you ever think that,” he said, his voice low and thick with emotion. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I was scared, and I let my fear ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She blinked, the tears slipping down her cheeks despite her attempts to hold them back. His thumb brushed them away with the same tenderness that used to make her feel safe. The warmth of his hand, the earnestness in his eyes — it was too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

“Why now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why are you saying all this now?”

Rafe hesitated, his eyes searching hers for a moment before he answered. “Because I realized I was lying to myself, thinking I could live without you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I thought it’d be easier to move on, to forget, but all I did was carry the weight of losing you everywhere I went. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the confession, her mind warring between the lingering hurt and the undeniable pull of the love she still felt for him. “I don’t know if I can just… jump back in,” she whispered, her eyes filled with both fear and longing. “I need to know this is real, Rafe. I need to know you mean it.”

He leaned closer, his forehead gently resting against hers. “It’s real,” he said, his voice a soft, steady promise. “I mean it with everything I have. I’ll prove it to you every day, in every way, for as long as it takes. Just… don’t give up on me. On us.”

Her tears fell freely now, but for the first time, they weren’t entirely out of pain. She didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if they could truly rebuild what had been broken. But as she felt the warmth of his hands, the honesty in his words, and the depth of emotion in his eyes, she allowed herself to believe — if only for a moment — that maybe, just maybe, they could try.

“One step at a time,” she whispered, her voice barely steady but filled with quiet resolve.

Rafe nodded, a faint, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “One step at a time,” he echoed, his hand lingering on hers as though he never wanted to let go.

Rafe watches her struggle to steady herself, her teeth catching her lower lip as her eyes drift downward. He can see the storm of emotions swirling within her, reflecting his own turmoil. Every fiber of him aches to close the space between them, to pull her into his arms and never let go. But he knows better — they need to tread carefully, to rebuild what was broken piece by piece.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that makes her chest tighten.

She draws a shaky breath, lifting her gaze to meet his. A faint smile graces her lips, fragile but genuine. She nods, her fingers lightly tracing his in an effort to calm the unease. “Yeah,” she whispers, though her voice betrays her vulnerability. “I’m just… overwhelmed.” She doesn’t elaborate; she doesn’t need to. Rafe understands without her having to explain.

He nods, his focus never wavering from her face. He feels it too — this bittersweet tension, this dizzying mixture of hope and pain. The sheer weight of being in each other’s presence again. Gently, he lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s a lot, I know,” he murmurs against her skin. “But we’ll take it slow, okay?”

A quiet sigh escapes her as his lips brush her knuckles. It’s a touch so delicate, so thoughtful, and entirely Rafe. Her Rafe. “Okay,” she whispers, her gaze locking with his. The rawness in his eyes mirrors her own, as if the world around them has dissolved, leaving only this fragile moment between them.

Rafe’s heart flutters under the weight of her stare. He takes her hand to his chest, resting it above his pounding heart. “Feel that?” he asks, his voice low and trembling. “That’s for you, baby.”

Her breath hitches, her chest tightening at his words. She feels the steady rhythm beneath her palm, his heartbeat telling her all the things he can’t yet put into words. Tears prick her eyes, but she forces a weak smile as she leans in closer, resting her forehead gently against his.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” she murmurs, her voice laced with a desperate plea. Her palm remains pressed to his chest, feeling his warmth, his sincerity.

Rafe’s breath catches at the closeness, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. His free hand moves to cradle her face, his thumb tracing soft circles against her cheek. “Why not?” he rasps, his voice raw. “It’s the truth.”

Her resolve falters under his touch, his tenderness breaking through her defenses. Their bodies draw closer, her knees parting instinctively as he steps between her legs, grounding them both in this moment. She lets her hands slide from his chest to his shoulders, up to his neck, and finally to the back of his head, her fingers grazing his buzzed hair with an intimacy that feels achingly familiar.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she confesses, her voice breaking. She’s raw, exposed, unable to hide the depth of her longing. “For you to hold me when it got too hard. For you to stay.”

Rafe’s heart clenches at her words, the weight of his past mistakes crushing him. His hands find her waist, pulling her closer as he buries his face into the crook of her neck. His lips brush against her skin, and his voice is a shaky whisper. “I know, baby. I know. I should’ve never left you.”

His hold tightens as his body trembles against hers. “But I won’t make that mistake again,” he promises, his voice thick with emotion. “Never again.”

A soft sound escapes her, caught between a sigh and a sob, as his desperation pulls her closer. She lets him hold her, their shared heartache intertwining in the quiet embrace. His words resonate deeply within her, but she says nothing, letting her fingers soothe the tension in his scalp, grounding him as much as he grounds her.

When he pulls back, his blue eyes meet hers, shimmering with emotion. “You’re too good to me,” he whispers, guilt and gratitude lacing every word. “I don’t deserve you.”

Her fingers trace the lines of his face, soft and reassuring. A faint giggle escapes her lips as she shakes her head. “You’re right,” she teases gently, offering a smirk to lighten the heaviness between them. “But I’m here. That has to count for something.”

Rafe chuckles softly, his heart swelling at the warmth in her words. He leans into her touch, covering her hand with his. “It counts for everything,” he murmurs. “The fact that you’re here, giving me another chance… it’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Her smile softens at his earnestness, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “We deserve another chance,” she says, her voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. She believes it, wholly and deeply.

His hand tightens over hers, his gaze unwavering. “We do,” he agrees, the words carrying the weight of his regret and the hope for a future that feels just within reach. This time, he wouldn’t falter. This time, he would hold onto her with everything he had.

"I should go now," she says, her voice quieter than she intended, her eyes flicking to the clock on the kitchen wall. It’s a quarter to one. She has plans to meet Kie soon, but that’s not the only reason.

Rafe’s heart drops at her words, an ache blooming in his chest. The thought of her leaving, of her walking out that door again, is almost unbearable. But he masks his disappointment with a small nod, trying to respect her space. “Yeah, of course,” he says, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

He steps closer to her, his hands finding her hips, his touch hesitant yet magnetic. He pulls her closer, their bodies aligning as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Just… promise me you’ll come back, okay?” His voice carries a plea, raw and vulnerable.

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, her chest tightening as his warmth envelops her. His hands on her hips feel both comforting and terrifying, grounding her while stirring a panic she can’t quite suppress. She sighs, her body betraying her turmoil, leaning into the familiarity even as her mind screams to run.

She tries to smile, forcing her lips to curve as she meets his gaze. “We’ll talk, okay?” It’s the only answer she can give. She doesn’t know if she’ll come back — not because she doesn’t want to, but because she’s not sure she can survive being hurt again. Her heart is a mess, fragile and aching, and the weight of his presence only magnifies her confusion.

Rafe searches her face, his grip on her hips tightening ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself to her. “Yeah,” he murmurs, the uncertainty in her words echoing in his own. “We’ll talk.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It’s tender and unhurried, a quiet act of affection that sends shivers down her spine. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, letting the warmth of his lips linger, fighting the urge to lose herself in the safety of his embrace.

But when his lips leave her skin, she feels the emptiness creep back in. Her heart clenches painfully, and she pulls back, breaking the connection. “I really should go,” she says again, more firmly this time, her voice trembling despite herself.

Rafe watches her retreat, his hands slipping reluctantly from her hips. He doesn’t stop her, doesn’t push, even though everything in him wants to. Instead, he nods, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll be here… whenever you’re ready.”

She swallows hard, her emotions threatening to spill over as she takes a step back. “Bye, Rafe,” she whispers, her voice almost inaudible.

[revelboo]

My soul is yours for more Jazz 🙏 He's my absolute favorite, I love that big flirty liar so much, I'm so down bad for him

Sure!

Over It Now Pt 22

Jazz x Reader

• “Primus, I love you,” he groans, hips moving against you. And your breath catches, because it’s just sex. He doesn’t mean it. He’d just blurted it out like that about sparking you, whatever that is. It’s not like you’re under any delusions that this can work long term between you. That this can mean anything more than this. And those words only remind you that you’re a temporary diversion for him. Nothing more.

• Didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that anymore than he had about sparking you. Had imagined something romantic, figuring out your human courting rituals and doing this right. But you’re silent. Eyes shifting away instead of meeting his optics. Like maybe this is all of you he’s allowed. And it hurts, but he gets it. That you can’t love a liar. That he’s good enough for a frag, but not to keep around. But Primus it hurts. So much more than he'd thought it would. Slipping free of you, he lets you untangle yourself from him. Why won't you even look at him? "That was amazing," you say, offering him a smile, but its stilted and uncomfortable. A lie and he should know.

• Something shifted and you can feel the tension. He’s back to playing a part, lazily smiling. But there's a hardness to his jaw as he ignores you to right his plating, hiding away his spike. "Yeah. Sure, kitten. You were great." And his tone is neutral, whatever he's really thinking hidden behind that mask of smiling indifference like he had when you’d first met him. And maybe that was all he was after. Sex. Maybe he’s over you now. And you keep thinking about him blurting that he loved you. Another lie? You’d wanted it to be real, not just words. But who blurts it out like that during sex and actually means it? And it hurts because you’ve been falling for him. Think you might even love him.

• Watches you wrap your arms around yourself, awkwardly getting up and hobbling with your cast to the couch to pull a colorful throw around yourself, hiding your body from him. "So, you going to spark me?" You ask, voice awkward and teasing and that ache in his spark expands. Knows you don't understand how badly those words mock him, how much it hurts. That he'd offered you everything, confessed to you and you'd not said anything at all.

• "Drop it, doll." Not even a smile now, his expression is so oddly empty it's unsettling. And you catch his arm when he tries to walk past you. Leaving. "Really. You wanna let go of me." There's an edge to his voice you've never heard before but it makes the fine hair at your nape prickle. Yanking his arm free and walking past you and your own temper flares, hurt that you mean so little. All those days waiting for you. Sitting together talking. Laughing and getting to know each other. None of it meant anything?

• "So that's it? You just wanted to be fucked?" Stopping short at the angry edge in your voice, he doesn't quite trust himself right now. Feels almost out of control as he vents raggedly, internal fans a soft hush. You really want to play the victim now? He'd been honest with you, laid it all on the line and you hadn't been able to give him anything in return. And you're angry?

• "You couldn't even entertain me, could you? Lie to me and say it back." Low, drawling voice sharpening into a snarl, he still won't look at you as his big hands curl into fists at his sides. Say it back? Wait. Breath catching you stare at his back as his door wings drop. Had he actually meant it?

• "No one just blurts that stuff out in the moment and means it," you protest and he glares at you over his shoulder. No, because you still think he's a liar. Always smiling and lying. And why would you think he'd been honest then? Isn't that all he does? Turning and walking away, he hears you hobbling after him. "Wait. Jazz." Ignoring you, he keeps moving and then freezes as something shatters against his back. "I said wait, you idiot." Your face is red and angry when he turns, chin lifting as he looks at the broken glass you'd thrown littering the floor near his peds then at you. "I love you, too."

• And he's just staring down at you, door wings flicking slightly before slowly lifting some. Gasping when he rushes you and hooks his arms around you under your butt, hauling you up off the floor, nearly banging your head on the ceiling fan as he presses his face against you, whatever he's saying muffled against your skin. His servos almost bruising on you. Still irritated at him, but also feeling oddly light. You have no idea how this will work, but you want it to. Want him to stay.

Previous

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

Part 1 with Housewardens

Trey Clover

The argument wasn’t a loud one—no shouting, no slamming doors—just tense words exchanged with too much weight behind them. Trey’s voice had been steady, but his usual patience was stretched thin.

You, equally frustrated, had decided that the best course of action was to remove yourself before either of you said something you’d regret.

So, with a sigh, you grabbed a blanket and made your way to the couch, settling in with your back turned toward the bedroom.

Trey let out a heavy exhale behind you, but he didn’t stop you.

You shifted, adjusting the blanket, willing yourself to fall asleep. It didn’t work. The room was too quiet, too heavy with the remnants of unspoken words. You half-expected Trey to leave you there and go to bed, but then—soft footsteps. A rustle of fabric.

Kneeling beside the couch, Trey placed a hand on the cushion near your arm. His voice was quiet, steady in a way that made something in your chest ache.

“Come back to bed.”

You closed your eyes. “Not yet.”

A pause. Then, a soft sigh. Trey stood. For a moment, you thought he was giving up, finally going to bed without you. The thought left an unexpected hollowness in your chest.

But then, after a few minutes, he returned. You smelled the milk before you saw it—the faint scent of vanilla and honey curling through the air. When you cracked an eye open, there he was, sitting on the floor near the couch, a mug in his hands. He held it out to you.

“Here,” he said. “I know you have trouble sleeping when you’re upset.”

You blinked at him, heart squeezing against your ribs. “Trey…”

He didn’t push, didn’t insist. He just waited, his eyes gentle, patient in the way only he could be.

And just like that, your frustration melted. You took the mug, letting the warmth seep into your fingers. Trey didn’t move, just watched you with that quiet steadiness. Then, softly, he asked again,

“Come back to bed?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate.

You set the mug aside and sat up, only for Trey to immediately wrap his arms around you. His hold was firm, grounding. He buried his face in your shoulder and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him just as tightly. “I’m sorry too.”

Neither of you moved for a long moment, staying there in the quiet. Eventually, Trey pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low, warm. “Let’s go to sleep.”

And this time, when he led you back to bed, you followed without hesitation.

Ruggie Bucchi

The couch wasn’t comfortable. You knew it, and Ruggie knew it. But right now, your stubbornness outweighed your need for a good night’s sleep. You yanked the blanket over yourself, muttering under your breath as you tried to arrange the cushions into something remotely acceptable.

Across the room, Ruggie watched you with wide, calculating eyes. He hadn’t said anything since you stormed off, but you could feel him thinking. And then—

“You remember when you ate my last donut?” he started, voice small.

You froze, narrowing your eyes. “…What?”

“My last donut. You ate it, and you said—” He changed his voice in a mocking impression of you. “‘I owe you one, Ruggie, I swear. Anything you want.’”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Oh my —”

“But it’s fine,” he continued, so dramatically forlorn you almost threw the pillow at him. “I guess I’ll just be all alone in that big, cold bed. No warmth. No love. Just me. Shivering.”

You lifted your head, ready to tell him off, but then—oh, no.

He hit you with the look.

Ears drooping. Tail flicking. Wide, guilt-inducing eyes that shimmered just enough to make your resolve crack.

You exhaled sharply, dropping your head back down. “You’re the worst.”

He didn’t respond. Just fidgeted. Shuffled his feet like he was actually nervous you’d say no.

And that? That got you.

With a groan of defeat, you sighed and opened your arms. That was all he needed. Ruggie practically launched himself onto the couch, slotting himself beside you in a space absolutely not designed for two people. His weight pressed against you, his tail flicking lazily as he tucked his head under your chin.

“…Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your shirt.

“Shut up.”

His arms tightened around you. A quiet beat passed, then—

“Sorry.”

Your hand found its way into his hair, carding through the strands. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

Ruggie hummed, content. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and despite the ridiculousness of it all, sleep found you too.

Jade Leech

The couch was lumpy. Or maybe you were just too angry to get comfortable. Either way, you buried your face into the pillow, inhaling deeply through your nose to keep yourself from snapping again. You just needed some space. Needed to not be in the same room as Jade and his infuriating, calmly amused expression.

“I can’t be around you right now,” you had told him before marching off, voice tight with frustration. And for once, he didn’t push. Didn’t smirk or throw another veiled comment your way. He simply inclined his head, watching as you all but collapsed onto the couch.

Now, wrapped in a too-thin blanket, you willed yourself to sleep. You were almost there—drifting, fading—when fingers ghosted over your hair.

Your breath caught, but you kept still.

Soft strokes. Careful, reverent, as if he thought you might break. It was so unlike him, so gentle, that you almost cracked your eyes open to confirm it was really happening. Then—

“…I’m so sorry.”

The whisper was barely there. But it wasn’t the words that made your heart lurch—it was the way his voice shook.

Jade Leech, ever unflappable, sounded unsteady.

He pulled back, and you knew he was about to leave. That should have been fine. You should have let him go.

But your bleeding heart had other plans.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could slip away.

He barely had time to react before you yanked him back—maybe a little too hard, because the next thing you knew, he was crashing onto the couch with you. A rare, wide-eyed look of surprise flashed across his face, so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it.

And then you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Jade froze.

“I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “We can talk in the morning.”

For a long moment, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slow and deliberate, he dipped down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“…Very well,” he whispered.

His weight settled beside you, and this time, when you drifted off, it was to the sound of his steady breathing, warm and close beside you.

The couch standoff had been going on for way too long.

“I’m sleeping here,” you declared, arms crossed as you planted yourself firmly onto the cushions.

“No, you’re not,” Jamil shot back, equally stubborn. “I am.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not taking the bed while you sleep out here.”

“And I’m not letting you sleep out here while I take the bed.” His arms were crossed now too, mirroring your posture, his sharp gaze unwavering.

For a moment, the tension held. Then, something about the sheer ridiculousness of it all hit you—both of you too annoyed to back down but too caring to let the other suffer the discomfort of the couch.

A laugh bubbled up in your chest before you could stop it. You covered your mouth, but the moment you let out even the smallest chuckle, Jamil’s eyes flickered with reluctant amusement. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head.

“This is stupid,” you admitted between giggles.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah. It is.”

You grinned. “Bed?”

Jamil didn’t hesitate. “Bed.”

The moment you both settled under the blankets, the last traces of tension melted away. His arms instinctively curled around you, pulling you close, and you let yourself relax into his warmth.

“Sorry,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his shoulder.

His grip tightened, lips brushing against your hair. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else. You didn’t need to. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the way he held you just a little closer said enough.

Rook arguing with you was already unexpected. That he let you march off to the couch without a poetic declaration or dramatic plea? Unheard of.

You cocooned yourself in the blanket, stubbornly facing the back of the couch. The silence felt unnatural—too quiet for someone like Rook. A part of you expected him to suddenly recite a Shakespearean sonnet about lovers quarreling.

Instead, something even more ridiculous happened.

You shifted slightly, just enough to glance toward the floor—and there he was.

Laying down right beside the couch on a thin blanket, arms crossed behind his head as though he had chosen the most luxurious sleeping arrangement in the world. His golden hair fanned out on the hardwood floor, and despite the clear insanity of the situation, he looked perfectly content.

You stared. Blinked. “Rook.”

“Oui, mon amour?”

“You’re on the floor.”

“Indeed.”

“You’re going to get sick.”

“Then I shall suffer beautifully, just as you do now, exiled from the comfort of our bed.” His eyes twinkled, completely unrepentant. “If my beloved must endure the cruel fate of sleeping alone, then I shall share in their hardship.”

You pressed your fingers to your temples. “Rook, go to bed.”

“I am in bed.”

“No, you’re on the floor, being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Ah, ma chérie, I am simply a devoted man.”

You groaned, throwing your arm over your face, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. It was impossible to stay mad when he was like this. Ridiculous. Completely, helplessly devoted.

Sighing, you reached out and flicked his forehead. He gasped theatrically, touching the spot as though you had struck him with Cupid’s arrow. Before he could say something absurd, you leaned down and kissed the spot gently.

“Come to bed, you idiot.”

His eyes widened slightly before his lips stretched into a dazzling smile. Without hesitation, he stood—and then immediately scooped you into his arms.

“Rook—?!?”

“Ah, mon amour, such sweet mercy! Allow me to carry you away from this exile!” He spun dramatically, pressing an exaggerated kiss to your forehead before striding toward the bedroom.

You should have expected nothing less.

You sighed against his shoulder, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you adore me.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Lilia Vanrouge

You had firmly decided that you weren’t going to sleep in the same bed as Lilia tonight.

You needed space. You needed time to cool off. You needed—

Blink.

One second, you were wrapped in your blanket on the couch. The next? You were in bed.

You shot up, heart pounding. Lilia stood at the bedside, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Lilia.” Your voice was dangerously even.

“Yes, my dear?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you teleport me?”

A smug smile. “Would you rather I carried you?”

Oh, you were about to start another argument—

But then you noticed something. In his hands: a pillow and his own blanket.

You frowned. “What are you doing?”

Lilia hummed, casual as anything. “If my beloved insists on sleeping elsewhere, then I shall take the couch in their place. I have endured far worse in my lifetime—” his eyes twinkled mischievously “—but I’d hate for you to wake up with an aching back.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “That’s so unfair.”

“To be this thoughtful and charming? I know.”

You shot him a look, but he simply smiled. You hated how sweet he could be even when you were still irritated.

With an exasperated sigh, you sat up and grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward you. He followed easily, his blanket forgotten as he slipped into bed. Without hesitation, he wrapped himself around you, chin resting atop your head.

His voice softened. “I’m sorry, dear.”

You exhaled, tension leaving your body as you relaxed into his hold. “…I’m sorry too.”

His lips brushed against your temple, and with that, the night’s quarrel was put to rest.

Masterlist

[jinisnuggets]

✧.* ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ?

INCLUDES | Yuji, Megumi, Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Sukuna, Toge, Yuta

READER | G/n

WORD COUNT | 0.5k (about 70 per character)

GENRE | Fluff, Headcanons

WARNINGS | Dirty jokes mention.

A/N | I hadn't noticed how long it had been since I last uploaded anything Jjk related.

➼ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ

Yuji

Yuji is an absolute sweetheart, he loves showering his partner with compliments and affection so they are aware just how incredible and meaningful they are. He knows his limits and is absolutely willing to surpass them if it means protecting his partner from any harm. He would be a bit obnoxious and maybe a little annoying at times, but he doesn't mind going shopping or doing other activities that you may enjoy.

Nanami

I genuinely think Nanami would be a pretty good partner. I think he would be a respectfully mature boyfriend/husband who would be affectionate at times and kiss you when stress gets the better of him. I think his partner would be his escape from the world and job, so he would treasure the time he gets to wrap his s/o around his arms and simply rest in safety and assurance.

Geto

Geto is an absolute tease, he would mock his partner because that's his love language. However, he will always assure no one makes you uncomfortable (and if someone does then we pray for that person). He will always be sure to let others know their boundaries whenever it comes to you, never letting someone take a step to close. When you feel upset, he will sit down and always listen to you.

Sukuna

Again, Sukuna is a tease and enjoys mocking his partner because that's his love language. Sukuna tends to be a bit more romantic with his teasing, often hitting you with things like “you know you love me” or the good old “Relax princess/prince.” He will sometimes (often) sneak in some dirty jokes. There's nothing he loves more than taking the initiative and seeing your flustered face whenever he gets the opportunity.

➼ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ

Toge

I think the reason Toge is here is obvious, due to his cursed speech, he is unable to speak his sentiments in a genuine manner. So I believe he'd like whenever you show small actions of care or interest towards him: things like brushing his hair, cupping his cheeks, kissing him on the forehead or cheek are all things he adores. He doesn't need much; he's content with small actions of affection.

➼ ʙᴏᴛʜ

Megumi

Fushiguro has been rightfully depicted as the “perfect man” of Jjk, so therefore he lands a spot here. He isn't a very physically affectionate partner, but he always shows he cares by listening to you attentively and assuring you with words of affirmation or advice if that's what you wish; in addition, he is very protective over his partner. I think he'd relatively enjoy whenever you take the initiative to kiss or hug him.

Gojo

Gojo can be a pretty immature person, so I think he'd be the type to show off his partner: introducing them as the great Gojo’s wife/husband, etc. Gojo would like giving compliments, but he'd also like receiving them to increase his ego. I think he'd constantly buy gifts for his partner and spoil them despite you asking him not to, but of course he likes whenever you stand up and kiss him or give him small words of encouragement.

Yuta

Yuta is another sweetheart of the series, so I think he'd always make sure to spend his time to the fullest whenever he's with you. He is constantly gone on overseas missions, so therefore, his time with you is limited. He'd spend that limited time with you and treasure it, whether it's by practice, or lunch. Picnics are common and he adores them, or other small things like drawing competitions. He doesn't care as long as you both are having fun.

[simpjaes]

Hey I saw your Jay x Sunghoon fic and I was thinking if you could write Sunghoon and Jake fic where Jake thinks Sunghoon has a big dick but finds out he does not and Jake fucks him and like degrades him🙏

warning: jake bottoms actually, sunghoon stuffs his pants lmfao

note: don't wanna read mxm? then dont. it's that easy!!!

~ Sunghoon wishes he could live up to the ego Jake has given him over the last few months.

He really, really, wishes he could.

A night-time shame session is what he's usually left with after hanging out with his dear Jake. Always so alone when he's pulling the sock out of his pants with an embarrassed expression despite no one around to catch him in his lie.

Arguably, he should have a big dick, shouldn't he? With shoulders so broad, legs so long...he should at least be a little more than average right? A shower and a grower?

Sunghoon stands ashamed in front of his bathroom mirror after a shower, narrowing his eyes at his groin. He's not a shower, and barely a grower.

Five inches is average, that's what google says. Five inches is enough to get girls off, reddit says. Five inches is the best selling size of dildos. Five inches.

Probably five inches less than what Jake would want. God, why did he feed into the little comments? Why did he start stuffing his pants? Why does he still get off the to the fact that Jake seems to want him soooo badly based on the size of his cock?! And that leads to now, with Jake's tongue all over Sunghoon's neck and his hands reaching dangerously close to the most embarrassing, heart shattering lie known to man. Sunghoon tries to pull his hips back and away, but god it feels so good to finally have someone on him again. His hips fight the need to keep his secret, pressing up, almost chasing Jake's hand until... Jake squeezes, his tongue pulling back in his mouth as he lifts his head to meet Sunghoon's gaze. He squeezes again, now raising a brow. "Is that a fucking sock?" Jake snorts in shock, blatantly grabbing the non-cock in Sunghoon's pants. "There's no fucking way." Sunghoon looks away from him, flushed cheeks going darker as he holds his breath. How can he even explain himself? He knew allowing Jake to suddenly leap forward and kiss him was a bad idea, and he knew lying him down on the bed was an even worse idea. But he just, he likes Jake so much. The inevitable is coming. Sunghoon can feel it in the way Jake's hands fumble at the hem of his pants, shoving them down and revealing, yes, a fucking sock. Ah, he winces in embarrassment, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for the mocking, the shaming, the- "Hoonie," Jake says sternly, gripping the very average, less than amazing sized cock. "Why the fuck are you stuffing your pants?" "You said I looked like I'd have a big dick..." He says it pathetically with a croak in his voice, keeping his eyes closed despite that nice grip he feels around the head of his length. "I didn't want to disappoint." Jake sighs, knowing Sunghoon can't see the smile on his face. "Honestly? You can't be that small." Jake tries to make excuses for him. "I'll still choke on i-" Jake cuts himself off at the realization that Sunghoon is very, very average. There it is. Sunghoon fumbled him. It's over. He can't even respond at this point as the embarrassment threatens to come up in the form of sickness. He stomach hurts. His cock is going soft and sore, and the fucking sock is just lying there beside them laughing about it. "I-" Sunghoon starts. "I understand." "Like, I really expected more than this" Jake pokes and prods, trying to keep him hard, letting his tongue fall out and lick up and against Sunghoon's neck again. "What? Is it like, three inches or something?" There's confusion in Sunghoon's gut now. What the fuck is happening right now. "It's five." Sunghoon mumbles with a pout. "We'll make it work." Jake giggles against him. "What, you expect to shove a sock in me?" Sunghoon isn't exactly pleased with this awkward instance but the fact that Jake somehow still wants him means something. "Wait-" Sunghoon opens his eyes, grabbing Jake's hair at the back of his scalp and forcing him to look at him. It's more gentle than rough, but Jake loves it. "We'll make it work?" Jake sighs into his grasp, eyes slightly rolling back at Sunghoon's hold. "If you keep grabbing me like this, yeah." Fair enough. Sunghoon thinks now is a better time than ever to prove that despite him not being a nine incher, at least he knows how to use the five inches he's got. "Yeah?" Sunghoon says, confidence now rising. "Suck it then." Perfect. Jake thinks he's perfect actually. After all, it's not like he wasn't all talk too. If anything, he's never taken anything too big and he swore up and down he could deep throat. At least now, he actually can. And he does. He even gags a little bit, which only drives Sunghoon further. He's not huge, but he's clearly big enough.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🌑 A Dance of Shadows: Chapter Two

A Dance of Shadows Masterlist: Trapped under Tamlin’s control at the Spring Court, you secretly exchange letters with Feyre, who arranges for the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel, to rescue you. Suspicious yet desperate, you escape with him to Velaris, where you face Rhysand’s relentless teasing and an unexpected stay at Azriel’s home. As you navigate the Night Court’s social circles, tensions rise between you and Azriel—stolen glances, whispered shadows, and meddling friends stirring emotions you've never felt before. Unaware that Azriel is guarding a deeper truth—that you are his fated mate—you find yourself drawn to him, despite his careful distance.

Warnings: Blood Description.

To Note: Azriel x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: ~3.2k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You’re standing in the shadows of a cavernous chamber, the flickering torchlight making the slick stones underfoot gleam with a sickly sheen. You know this place. Under the Mountain. Somewhere in the distance, water drips into shallow puddles, the hollow sound echoing off unseen walls. Each drop makes you flinch as if it might herald Amarantha herself.

It's probably not water, but the blood of Amarantha's latest victim. Or the Wyrm’s.

In front of you, Feyre stands alone, chest heaving, her knuckles white around he makeshift bone sword. Her face is streaked with dirt, mud and blood—some of it hers, some belonging to the Wyrm. You watch helplessly from the sidelines, heart pounding with a dreadful, suffocating rhythm.

She struggles to keep her footing, the arena’s floor mired in mud. Amarantha’s mocking laughter reverberates above, and the crowd—faeries of every shape and size—stirs wildly. You try to shout, to tell Feyre to run, to hide, to do anything but stand her ground. You don't want to lose her. But your voice won’t come. You’re mute, trapped in the role of spectator.

When the first snap of bone echoes, you realize the Wyrm has broken through the far wall, burrowing upward in a deafening roar of shifting earth and crumbling stone. Feyre’s expression is pale with terror, but she forces herself to move. She dashes to the side, ignoring the jeering laughter. You want to reach out, grab her arm, pull her to safety… but your feet refuse to move.

The Wyrm surges closer, a monstrous serpentlike creature of pale, slimy flesh, its teeth as long as your arm. Feyre is in its path, desperately maneuvering the twisted labyrinth of broken walls and debris. She stumbles, scrapes her leg—blood drips onto the stones. Crimson, metallic, sickly. A hush seems to fall over the crowd as the beast whips its head around to scent the air. You see the adrenaline and fear warring in Feyre’s gaze.

In an instant, the scene changes. You blink, and suddenly it isn’t Feyre standing there—it’s you. The sensation is dizzying. Your hands tighten around the bone sword; your vision tunnels to the monstrous shape slithering toward you. The crowd’s cheering swells to a nightmarish crescendo, every breath you take sour with sweat and panic. Gods, you are not equipped with the skills top take on the Wyrm!

Your heart thunders in your chest as you turn and flee. Each step you attempt is met with slick stone that threatens to topple you at every turn. You catch sight of the Wyrm’s open maw, trained on your slightest movement. Scenting you, hunting you down like you are but a rat. A rancid smell clogs your nostrils, and the hiss it emits rattles your bones.

Your mouth opens to let out a terrified scream, but the sound dies in your throat as the Wyrm lunges. You hurl yourself sideways, pain lancing through your shoulder when you land on the wet stones. Rolling along mud and stone, you scramble back to your feet, eyes darting frantically for any scrap of cover, any weapon stronger than the shaking bone sword in your grasp. But walls close in behind you, and broken shards of stone litter the ground. The beast bears down, drooling hunger, your blood pounding in your ears—

You wake with a strangled gasp, your hands clenched tight around the sheets, heart hammering so fast it hurts. Even in the hush of your room, you can’t shake the smell of earth and rot, or the rush of terror that still clings to your skin. Carrion. A metallic tang fills your mouth and reaching up, you press your fingers against your lips as you taste the fresh tang of blood in your mouth.

You'd bitten your tongue, perhaps even the insides of your cheek.

Stomach rolling, you close your eyes and count backwards from ten, trying to hold back the roll of your stomach and the swell of queasiness that now fills your body.

You press your fingers against your lips again, half-disbelieving the taste of blood is really yours. The remnants of the dream cling to you like stains on fabric, each breath feeling too shallow, too quick. Swallowing hard, you try to steady yourself, counting down from ten in your head once more. It’s a flimsy lifeline, but it’s better than nothing.

Eventually, you force your eyes open. The faint glow of moonlight seeps through the curtains, illuminating the quiet hush of your room in the Spring Court manor. Everything around you is still—no screams, no snarls, no shifting shadows of Under the Mountain. Yet the nightmare’s chill clings to your skin. You inhale again, deeper this time, willing your heart to slow.

You run your throbbing tongue over the small wound inside your cheek. The tang of copper grows, and you grimace. It’s a cruel reminder of how vividly you’ve relived Feyre’s trials, and how easily you were thrust into her place. The notion leaves your stomach roiling, your mind racing with thoughts you’d rather keep buried.

Often you find yourself wondering if Feyre is plagued by the same nightmarish dreams as you. No doubt, but do they twist at her mind and dig their claws into her waking conscious like your own do?

Finally, you push yourself upright, leaning against the plush headboard. The sheets are twisted around your legs as though you’ve been wrestling demons all night—which, you suppose, you have. Another breath, another slow exhalation. Outside, a nightingale trills a lonely note, the only sign of life you can focus on beyond your own ragged pulse.

At this rate, you are never going to get to sleep.

Running a hand over the braid Alis had done hours earlier, you grimace at the stray hairs sticking to your neck and face. You need air. You need a place to breath. You need something to make you feel like you are someone other than a caged bird. Glancing at the door to your room, you purse your lips, knowing that if you sneak out that way, your presence will be reported to Tamlin.

Then your eyes flicker to your window.

Sure, the rose thorns won't be particularly comfortable scraping against your skin and catching on your nightgown… but desperate times, desperate measures?

"Thorns'll do," you breathe to yourself, sliding your legs free of the twisted sheets and reaching for your knife sheath. Your fingers go to the metal clasps at the end of the leather strap and hiking up your nightgown, you fasten the knife to your thigh and buckle it secure. You might be sneaking out and breaking Tamlin's rules, but you aren't stupid. Everything in these lands wants a piece of you.

You crack open your window and look down at the vines and various plants crawling up a trellis structured perfectly beneath your window. If he didn't want you sneaking out, he should have put you in a room with windows that didn't open. Unfortunately, that is still an option when he finds out you are sneaking out this way.

"Sorry Tam, not a bird," you softly heave out before hiking your leg over the windowsill. Your hands steady yourself as you balance on the edge before swinging your other leg out until you are sitting on the window sill and enjoying the midnight breeze. Without thinking about how you planned on getting back inside, you push off the window sill and jump onto the trellis, fingers digging into wines and cross-crossed wood.

Your pulse flutters as you cling to the trellis, the night air cool on your cheeks. The thin slats groan beneath your weight, and more than once you’re sure you feel them bend. But the adrenaline buzzing in your veins demands you keep going. Moonlight filters through the tangle of vines and flowering roses, their sweet scent laced with a faint threat of thorns biting into your hands.

Still, better a few scratches than Tamlin’s stifling oversight.

You try not to look down, though a quick glance reveals the courtyard below: dark, shadowed, but oddly peaceful in its slumber. No patrolling sentries on this side. Maybe Tamlin thinks no one would dare break his rules—or maybe he’s left the watch to invisible wards and illusions. You can’t be certain, so you focus on each slow, careful movement, your toes searching for footholds against the lattice.

A thorn snags your nightgown, and you mutter a soft curse, carefully disentangling it with trembling fingers. Your heart thrums like the caged bird you’re trying not to be, spurring you onward even as a flicker of doubt makes your stomach twist. But the memory of that nightmare—the Wyrm, the blood, the suffocating helplessness—tightens your throat. You can’t stay sealed behind those walls tonight, not when your skin feels like it’s crawling with dread.

Creeping lower, you grit your teeth as fresh scratches bloom on your palms. The smell of crushed petals and raw earth clings to your fingers. You pause now and then to catch your breath, listening for the telltale creak of a window or the whisper of servants in the corridors behind you. Only the hush of night answers, broken by an occasional chirp of a cricket or the distant rustle of a breeze stirring the gardens.

Finally, your bare feet land on solid ground, and you bite back a triumphant grin. You listen, holding your breath. No alarm. No flurry of sentries or snarling Tamlin. Just the gentle hush of the garden. Your pulse still drums in your ears, but a strange, exhilarating relief seeps through you.

It's been weeks since you were outside.

You ease away from the trellis, wiping clammy palms on your nightgown. The neat rows of moonlit roses and softly swaying flowers stretch ahead. You take a moment to yourself—breathing in the sweet-sour aroma of blooming vines, letting the reality of your freedom settle in.

There. You did it. You’re outside, under the moon and stars. No guards, no Tamlin’s shadow looming over you. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Glancing back up at the window you left behind, you brush the hair from your face—stray pieces have escaped Alis’s braid, wild and free just like you wish to be. Your gaze skims over the darkened windows nearby, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing.

Turning back around, you carefully step forward, your bare feet making hardly any sound as you pad your way towards your favorite garden: the nocturnal courtyard. It has flowers that only bloom beneath the moon and is one of your favorite places to be because it is tucked away from view of the manor. And basks in moonlight.

As long as you stay quiet, none of the sentries should find you sitting on the bench in the garden, enjoying the night blooming flowers and the softly tricking water fountain. The walk to the garden is uneventful and you are nearly drunk on the freedom of simply being outside by the time you step into the sheltered area.

You pause at the threshold of the nocturnal courtyard, the soft glow of moonlight glistening on the white petals that open only in darkness. Their faint perfume curls through the air, weaving in with the gentle burble of water from the fountain at the center. For a moment, you simply drink in the sight—so different from the bright, manicured gardens Tamlin tends to show off. Here, in this hidden alcove, everything feels dreamlike and secret, far removed from the constant tension of the manor.

Careful not to disturb the stillness, you pad across the grass until you reach your favorite bench, nestled among jasmine and moonflowers. Their blossoms nod gently in the breeze, as though welcoming you. Relief courses through you as you settle onto the stone seat, your bare feet curled against the cool surface.

You close your eyes, letting the hush of the courtyard wash over you before opening them again and staring at the sky. The stars are brilliant tonight, twinkling through the vines overhead, and you tip your head back to breathe in the silvered sky. It’s nearly impossible to believe how long you’ve been cooped up indoors, half convinced the world beyond was lost to you. Yet here you are, defying Tamlin’s ever-watching rules, embracing the crisp night air filling your lungs.

Each breath helps soften the lingering terror of your nightmare. Under the Mountain is so far away—yet that memory lingers in the corners of your mind, and you’re not sure it will ever fully leave. Slowly, though, you feel yourself coming back to the present: the rustle of leaves, the soothing trickle of water, the gentle brush of petal against your fingers as you reach out to graze a flower’s edge.

You remain perfectly still for a few minutes, listening for any sign of sentries making their rounds. Fate is tempted as long as you remain. But all you hear is the faint chirp of nocturnal insects and the soft whisper of wind through the foliage. The thought makes your heart flutter with a sense of daring—what if you could linger here for the rest of the night?

Perhaps it’s reckless to tempt fate like this. Yet after the stifling grip of your bedroom walls, every second of freedom is worth the risk. Here, in this moonlit sanctuary, you feel a sliver of the person you used to be before Tamlin’s caution wrapped around you like iron chains. A version of yourself who could dream of family and future, who wouldn’t be cowed by nightmares or the weight of someone else’s grief.

So you settle in, spine against the bench’s back, and gently close your eyes. You focus on the rhythmic lapping of water in the fountain and let the night’s peace cradle you. Yes, you’ll have to return eventually—awkwardly slip in through that window because you certainly lack Feyre's grace, face Tamlin’s quiet suspicions another day. He’ll find out eventually. You pity whoever is on duty this night, for they surely will receive lashings in response to not keeping you properly under lock and key. But for now, you’re content to feel this wondrous sliver of freedom.

A soft rustle in the garden’s foliage draws your attention. The wind? A small animal? You keep perfectly still on the bench, barely breathing. Then you sense it—a presence behind you, something cloaked in darkness. Fear prickles along your spine. You meant to escape all eyes tonight, especially Tamlin’s, yet here you are, caught.

In a single silent sweep, a dark figure steps into the faint moonlight. Black hair, hazel eyes, tanned—intense and unreadable. He’s leaning casually against a vine-covered arch, almost as if he’s been there all along, but there’s a tension in his posture. A sense of readiness that sets every one of your nerves on edge. You push yourself back into a sitting position, chin turning ever so slightly to acknowledge the figure.

“Rhys and Feyre sent me,” he says quietly, voice low and steady. “You need to come with me.”

You stiffen. Rhys and Feyre? Surprise wars with distrust in your chest. You refuse to look at him, wary of being enthralled by that otherworldly beauty so many fae possess. Instead, you focus on the patch of grass by his feet. “And why should I believe you?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain calm, clipped. “Faeries lie.”

He doesn’t sound offended. In fact, there’s a subtle thread of patience in his tone, as if he’s used to people bristling at the mere sight of him. “I’m Azriel,” he offers. “And I give you my word: I’m here to help.”

You bark a soft, humorless laugh. “Wonderful. And your word is supposed to mean something to me? Tamlin gave his word, I'm still waiting on that. Feyre disappeared from here over a year ago. I don’t have much trust in a anyone at this time.”

Azriel shifts slightly, the soft crunch of his boots on the gravel seeming unusually loud in the hush of the garden. You watch his feet, still refusing to meet his gaze. There’s a moment of tense silence, filled only by the distant trickle of the fountain and the beat of your own heart.

“I’m not Tamlin,” Azriel says softly, not defensive or pleading—just certain. “I don’t take my promises lightly. And Feyre, Feyre had her own issues to contend with.”

Your pulse twists, torn between resentment and a flicker of hope. He sounds genuine. But Tamlin once sounded genuine, too, offering comfort and protection that turned suffocating. And Feyre was almost like a sister. You swallow, jaw tight.

“Even if I wanted to believe you,” you manage at last, your voice taut with the strain of keeping it low, “I have no reason to.”

Shadows shift around Azriel, as if they sense his thoughts. “You might have no reason, but you have a chance,” he says, tone carefully even. He pauses, then continues in a quieter voice, “Feyre knows what you are going through. She wouldn’t stand by and let it happen to someone else. Especially her friend. She's now in a position to make that change.”

Feyre. Hearing her name spoken by someone else sends a pang through your chest—because if anyone understands your plight, it’s her. But she is the one that left you all alone. No, that isn’t right. She wanted an out, needed an out. Rhysand was able to give that to her, you can’t blame her for taking his hand. Still, you force yourself to stay guarded.

“You have my word, I do not lie,” he says, offering a hand in the corner of your vision. The quiet conviction in his voice sends a small tremor through your guard. Your fingers curl around the bench you are perched on, your teeth sinking into your lip as your mind fights against the part of you that wants to melt from his quiet voice.

But before you can form a reply, a roar rips through the night air—a bellow of pure, furious anger. Tamlin.

Your stomach plummets. You can practically feel the High Lord’s power crackling through the courtyard, searching for the intruder. If he finds you outside and with this male…

"Shit," you utter, head snapping up and in the direction of Tamlin's bellow. Your heart once again pounds painfully in your chest.

Surging to your feet, you snap your head around and reach out to take his hand, only be greeted by the full image of Azriel—a tanned man with giant wings, that somehow instantly makes your heart stutter. When your eyes meet, he stiffens, his outstretched hand trembling as he stares at you. You think you glimpse surprise there, maybe even a flicker of awe, but the next thunderous roar from Tamlin snaps you both into motion.

“Oh hell he is angry,” you whisper in panic, slapping your fingers against Azriel’s scarred palm. You can already feel the High Lord’s power rippling through the garden, closing in on you.

Azriel’s eyes flick toward the manor, then back to you. The second your fingers thread with his, he moves—swift and decisive. A firm yank pulls you flush against his chest, the scent of night air and something darker curling around you. His shadows swirl, their cool tendrils wrapping around your arms, your waist, your face. Your vision warps into inky darkness.

The world drops away in a rush of cold night air, the roar of Tamlin’s rage cutting off in an instant. Your stomach lurches as if you’ve leapt off a cliff. Shadows swallow you.

Date Published: 1/30/25

Last Edit: 1/30/25

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[edward-munson]

kissing the cold away | E.M.

Summary: Eddie always visits you at the coffee place during his breaks, ordering the same drink every day.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!reader

Word count: 1.6k

No warnings

❆☕︎

Eddie walked in the coffee place, trying to warm his hands that were almost hard as rock from the cold. It was snowing outside, and he was on his break.

The Hideout was in the same street as your work. He would always come to get coffee whenever he was free in the afternoon. It was always almost by 4 pm. The bell above the door rang and you looked at it, facing him. He was wearing a black beanie, leather jacket on top of a sweater and ripped jeans. God. He can never let go of his style, even when it's freezing cold.

He sits on the stool close to the espresso machine. He loved the smell of it. He loved the smell of it mixed with your perfume, actually. And it's probably something he could never admit out loud. You turn around and shoot him a warm smile. One that makes your eyes crinkle. He smiles back at you and crosses his arm on top of the counter.

"What can I get you today, nerd?"

He grabs the menu from the counter and lifts it up to his face. You roll your eyes. He pretends he's reading the list of coffee options. You know he just likes to drink cold brew with almond milk. You don't know how or why. Even if it's not that, he just chooses a Frappuccino instead. You think it's because it's warm inside, because how else would he drink that outside? Might as well just pick up the snow from the floor and make a snow cone.

"Uhhhh" He stalls, purposely. "I'm going to want a cold brew with almond milk. And please add extra ice"

You gasp. You're not sure if he's joking or not. He starts chuckling, throwing his head back.

"Wouldn't you like me to pick some ice from outside? Maybe there's some with pee on them" You retorted, playfully mocking him.

"Now that's–" He points his finger at you in objection "Really low of you, honey"

You melt with the nickname. Your ears start to burn immediately every time he calls you that. You're not sure it's because you're shy, or because it sounds too sweet coming from him.

You shrug and start his order as you catch up with the news of the day. He says he's going to play a small gig next weekend. You tell him you're going to have a week off next month.

He drinks his coffee and makes a scene whenever he takes a sip. He closes his eyes, knitting his brows, and his lips leaves a sigh in delight.

"You're such a dork"

He muses towards you, placing the mug on the counter, and tilts his head.

"A dork yes, but you love him"

You eye him up and down and grimace mockingly. "Yeah, you wish"

You turn your back to him, only to serve a new customer. He watches as you smile at them, giving them suggestions about the drinks. He swallows his coffee slowly, gulping when you glance at him for a split second before using the machine.

He suddenly became incapable of speaking. You're just in your usual barista uniform, your hair tied in two small braids on the front. Your eyeliner is very discreet. Eyelashes with mascara fluttering as well. Your makeup is so light, and yet it lasts an entire day.

His coffee is sitting on the counter for almost five minutes, because that's how long it took for you to finally be free to talk to him again. You look at it first, and then to his face.

"Your coffee ain't getting colder, you know" You speak up, nudging your head towards the mug.

He creases his brows in confusion, looking down at it. Eddie didn't think he was being too slow to drink his coffee today and you seemed to have noticed it though.

"What do you mean? I'm a slow drinker" He tries to be bold about it, but you scoff at him.

"You almost always inhale your drinks. Unless it's a Negroni, which is like the worst drink ever"

Eddie opens his mouth in offense. "Don't you dare speak of the best recipe invented!"

You're staring at him, defiantly. You're leaning against the counter, holding the edge of it with both hands. He downs the entire cold brew, placing the mug back on the counter. He licks his lips and glances up at you, wiggling his brows.

"Now you're just going to get a brain freeze, dork" You giggle at him.

Eddie is the king of acting. So when you least expect from him, he shows his skills. "Ow, fuck. Ow, ow"

He's squirming in his seat, one hand spread over his forehead like he's having a headache. You immediately take a step further and hold his head with both hands, looking concerned. He removes his hand from his face and smirks at you.

"You're the most insufferable person I know, Munson" He watches as you slap his hands away, laughing at your reaction. "You finished your beverage. Now get out of here"

He is still giggling at you. Your face might show how annoyed you are, but deep down you match his energy. His sense of humor is one of the things you like the most about him. You love the way there's never a bad time for him, even if he's short on money.

"Hey, you can't kick your clients out! It's snowing outside, it's a crime to let people freeze"

When you look at him, he knows you're about to be serious. "I'm gonna commit a crime myself if you don't stop annoying me"

Your forehead is wrinkly because of your eyebrows that are knitted. He tries not to laugh at you, but he finds it difficult when he's having fun pushing you.

"Sorry, honey. Just trying to lighten up your day a little more" He raises his hands up in surrender, his bangs moving as he shakes his head.

He stays there until he has to get back to work. He tells you the most stupid jokes, he tries to flirt with your friend Betty and when you try to whack him with your dish cloth, he shields himself with the menu. Eddie makes your day better, no matter how it's going. He knows when you're in a bad mood, too, which makes him dial down his clownish demeanor.

He always offers to pick you up from work and drive you home. Even if you live only a few blocks after him. He doesn't care if he has to go back. You try to bring your own food every day so you eat better, but sometimes he makes up the idea of having different food whenever he thinks of it. And today you were going to eat pizza.

You're sitting on your couch as Thundercats is on TV. You talk through eating and watching the TV, laughing every now and then when you start gossiping.

Eddie finds the most random things to talk about and, strangely enough, you like to hear about them. He geeks out about Lord of the Rings and D&D, which you don't understand but you nod anyway.

You're talking about your plans to go to college, rambling over your insights, and how you're planning on getting a place to share with Robin. You're distracted by your own subject, when Eddie impulsively reaches out his hand to rub off the pizza sauce from the corner of your mouth. He slightly ran his rough thumb over your skin, removing the stain off of it.

He gave you a kind smile as soon as he dropped his hand back to his plate. You sheepishly smiled, like you just lost confidence by standing next to him.

Sometimes he doesn't want to leave your place, he wishes you would ask him to stay, but he doesn't want to overstep his limits. As he dries the dishes, Eddie stays in his daydream, thinking of how he could ever ask you out. Because he would love to. He just wouldn't know if you'd love to.

As you stand on your doorstep, you say goodbye to each other while he makes another joke or two. It's always like that, he wants to make sure you're still having a good day when you lie in bed.

It didn't cross your mind before, but now it feels like you could actually have him around sometimes. Do some sleepover, or something. You take a step towards him, lifting your feet up to stand on his height. You press your lips against his cheek, inhaling his fragrance that slightly lingers on his skin. One of your hands reaches for his shoulder for support.

Eddie stays frozen for a moment, until he holds your waist against his arm. Suddenly he doesn't feel cold anymore. He turned his head only a few inches, pecking your lips gently. They're plushy and soft. You don't know why you haven't done that before, and you're great he did for you.

He stands still, holding your face with his hand, rubbing his thumb over your chin. Both your noses are cold.

You're both a little shy. He can't express the feelings that are bubbling inside of him. But he doesn't want to cross a line yet. And he thinks you would agree with him.

"Till tomorrow, honey" He says as he takes a step back, walking to his car. "Don't forget to lock the door!"

You chuckle at his words. He's always been too protective over you.

Once he's inside his car, he buckles the seat belt and grins at himself. He's feeling like he's on cloud nine and it was only a kiss. Eddie stays in the car for a couple of minutes, digesting what happened. He tries to remember your taste, pinching his lower lip.

You're still standing by your door, your back leaning against it. Your heart is hammering against your chest, and you can't describe how good it was.

He can't wait to see you again tomorrow, and he wonders if he's still going to kiss you again. You can't wait to see him, wondering if he still wants to kiss you again.

[starrihan]

Lipstick Stain (Woonhak Fic)

-> Pairing: Woonhak x afab! Reader

-> Plot: your 6 month anniversary spells surprises as your boyfriend has the perfect night set up for you

-> Genre: tooth rotting fluff, like its so sweet, Woonhak is so cutie baby i love him so much, mentions of kissing and a little kiss at the end, Jaehyun and Sungho act like his parents

-> Warnings: none (not proofread!)

-> Word Count: 1,377

-> Notes: idk where this idea came from but i wrote this in like 2 hours and in one sitting (say youe proud of me please my attention span has been nonexistent since school started). i also typed this with long nails on (theyre press ons) so literally my fingers hurt but I hope you guys enjoy this 🫶🏽😘

-> Notes pt. 2: this is my 50th post 🤧🫶🏽

༄ ༄ ༄

Even though you had been together for a little bit now, you and Woonhak were still romantically shy around each other. You guys had only kissed a handful of times, but it was always so sweet and romantic. Everyone adored your guys’ relationship, and his members were no exception. 

Here you were, at his doorstep, dressed in a cute pink dress, ready for your weekly date. When you knocked on the door, you weren’t surprised to see that Jaehyun was the one who opened it. His reaction to you dressed so cute was priceless, like a father seeing his daughter go on her first date. Granted his reaction was like this every time you and Woonhak went on a date but still, it was very endearing. 

“Woonhak! Y/N’s here!”

Upon hearing the news of your arrival, Woonhak stepped out of his room, fixing his shirt cuff, hair slicked back. You felt your jaw drop, gawking at your stunning boyfriend. Jaehyun is equally as shocked, not knowing how much more handsome Woonhak could get. Woonhak looks up, pulling a mocking face at Jaehyun but smiling when his eyes travel down to you. You’re beaming as he walks up to you, arms open to give him a hug. You let out a yelp when, instead of hugging you normally, he picks you up, spinning you before putting you down and planting a quick on your forehead. Your blush is heavy as you try to hide your face in his chest, careful not to mess up your makeup.

“Y/N! I missed you! You look so gorgeous.”

He says, pulling back to look into your eyes. Your cheeks heat up even more, blush growing deeper at his adoring compliment.

“I could say the same to you. You’re so strikingly handsome.”

The way you two were staring into each other’s eyes was enough to get Jaehyun to fangirl, pulling out his phone and taking a picture of the sweet moment. 

“You’re so embarrassing.”

Woonhak says, stomping his feet like a child throwing a tantrum, which you find so adorable. You both take your leave, walking to the restaurant nearby that Woonhak had reserved for the both of you. Today was your 6 month anniversary and he insisted he take you out somewhere nice, despite not having a lot of money. You found him so charming, how could you not? He was so sweet to you, always taking you out or just having you around. 

Upon arriving at the restaurant, the waiter led you to your table. You’re awestruck when you see the big bouquet of flowers sitting in the middle, something that Woonhak personally went out of his way to set up for you, knowing you love cute gestures like these. His smile is almost as wide as his face upon your reaction, finding your reaction so adorable. 

“Woonhak… this is so sweet. Thank you!”

You fight the urge to jump on him and hug him, sitting in your chair, that he pulled out for you, and smelling the flowers again. 

“And my favorite flowers too… you’re so perfect.”

He chuckles as he takes his seat across from you, taking your hand in his, intertwining your fingers while you look through the menus together. 

༄ ༄ ༄

At the end of the night, Woonhak walks you back to your house. Hand in hand, you guys take your time walking back, talking about anything and everything. You even stop by a small ice cream shop that’s near the restaurant you were at, indulging in the sweet treat despite having eaten dessert already. You take your time savoring the sweet, not wanting the night to end yet. Woonhak swears he can watch you eat forever, smiling never fading the entire time he’s with you. 

“Woonhak stop staring, you’re making me blush!”

You laugh as you look away, avoiding his playful yet strong gaze. He just smiles even harder, getting up from his seat to kneel in front of you, playfully continuing to watch you. He opens his mouth, indicating that he wants a bit, to which you oblige, feeding a spoonful of the strawberry ice cream into his mouth. He cutely eats the cold dessert, winking at you as you throw your head back, laughing at his antics. This truly was the perfect night.

After your ice cream detour, Woonhak takes the scenic route home, stargazing on the way back. To you, he was being oddly affectionate, in a good way. He was never one to express his feelings much through words, but he always tried for you. 

“Not even the amount of stars in the night sky could amount to how much I care about you.”

You were taken aback by his confession, smiling to yourself as you lean into his taller frame.

“You’re so verbal about your feelings today. Are you gonna tell me something crazy like that you’re going away forever or something?”

You thought your joke was funny, but Woonhak gulps, body tensing when you bring up him having to tell you something important. 

“Actually, I do have something really important to tell you.”

Now you’re worried as he stops in his tracks. You’re only a couple doors away from your house, so you tug at his arm, forcing him to continue walking. When you arrive in front of your door, you swallow the lump in your throat, preparing for the worst. Your mind is racing at a million miles a minute, worried that he’s going to break up with you. You try to calm yourself down from those thoughts, turning to face him. 

“What is it that you have to tell me?”

You tilt your head, trying your best to steel your nerves and prepare yourself for what you’re about to hear. Woonhak’s hands are sweating like crazy as he pushes loose strands of hair out of his face. 

“Y/N… we’ve been together for a bit now. First of all, I can’t believe we’ve spent 6 months together. These have been the best 6 months of my life…”

His pause has tears welling up in your eyes, afraid that your worst nightmare is coming true.

“Truthfully, I’m not very good at expressing how much I care about you with words, but I hope it's not too early to say this. I love you, Y/N…”

He closes his eyes like he's waiting for your rejection. But he is instead met with your hands cupping his cheeks, smile so big it could scare a child as a single tear falls from your eye. He panics, thinking that he scared you with his confession.

“Y/N, you're crying. I’m sorry if it was too early I didn't mean it haha–”

“I love you too, Woonhak.”

Now it's his turn to be silent as he relaxes in your hold, the biggest sigh of relief leaving his mouth as he can’t help but laugh at the situation. 

“You love me? For real?”

“Well I don’t love you for jokes. You scared me with how many pauses you took. I thought you were breaking up with me and leaving the country.”

You guys both laugh, looking into each other's eyes when you realize your hands are still on his face. You sigh lovingly, pulling him in for a short, but sweet kiss. 

“I love you so much, Kim Woonhak.” 

༄ ༄ ༄

His walk back to his dorm was spent dazed. He couldn’t believe he told you that you loved him. He couldn’t believe that you had reciprocated his feelings. He can’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face as he enters his dorm, Jaehyun and Sungho already waiting for him on the couch. 

“You finally told her, huh?”

Jaehyun smirks as he knows exactly why the younger looks so lovestruck. 

“You can tell she said it back, he has a big lipstick stain on his lips.”

Woonhak stands there, touching his lips delicately, like he’ll wipe off the lipstick if he dares touch it too much. 

“Our Woonhak has finally grown up. I’m so proud of you.”

He doesn’t even fight off Jaehyun’s hug, too much in awe to care. He finally told you how you felt, and you felt the same. That’s all that mattered. 

༄ ༄ ༄

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 6 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇we FINALLY meet other characters

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Antinous leaned against the cold stone wall of the training grounds, his chains rattling softly with each movement. His sharp eyes tracked Telemachus, who stood across from him, tense and visibly fraying at the edges as the weight of the looming war pressed down on him. “Tell me something, king,” Antinous began, his tone dripping with venom. “Do you really think you’ll make it to y/n in time? Or do you just enjoy playing the tragic hero for show?”

Telemachus’s fists clenched, but he didn’t turn around. “We’re preparing. Every soldier is being trained, every ship outfitted. I’ll get her back, Antinous. I swear it.”

Antinous scoffed, the sound filled with derision. “Swear all you want. Swear to the gods, swear to me. It doesn’t change the fact that she’s gone. And who knows what that bastard is doing to her right now?”

Telemachus spun around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Shut your mouth!” he snapped. “You think I’m not already tormented enough?”

Antinous took a step forward, his chains clinking as he moved, the mocking smile on his face fading into something cruel and unrelenting. “Tormented?” he repeated, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. “You don’t even know the meaning of the word, Telemachus. Do you realize what could happen while you waste time preparing? She might already be carrying that monster’s child by the time you finally decide to act. Or worse…” He leaned in closer, his words slicing through the air like a blade. “She might not be alive at all.”

Telemachus froze, the weight of those words slamming into him like a blow. He opened his mouth to argue, to scream back, but nothing came. His breathing turned ragged, his mind flashing with horrifying images he didn’t want to believe. “You think she’s just sitting there, waiting for you to come save her?” Antinous continued relentlessly, his voice rising with bitter anger. “She’s suffering, Telemachus. Every second you waste is another second she’s being tormented by that prince you so graciously welcomed into your home. You let this happen. You let him near her. And now, you’re just standing here, hoping war will fix everything.”

Telemachus’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of guilt pressing him down. “I’m doing everything I can…” he murmured, his voice cracking.

Antinous sneered. “Everything you can? Clearly, it’s not enough. You’re her husband, aren’t you? Her protector? Then why is she gone? Why is my sister—your wife—at the mercy of a man who doesn’t know the meaning of mercy?”

Telemachus took a shaky step back, his mind a storm of emotions: anger, shame, fear. Antinous’s words were cruel, yes, but they carried the sting of truth. “I’ll get her back,” Telemachus finally whispered, his voice hollow but determined.

Antinous shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’d better. Because if you don’t, if she’s already lost by the time you finally get to her…” His expression twisted into something cold and menacing. “You’ll wish I was still chained when you return.” The words echoed in the space between them as Telemachus turned away, his heart heavy and his resolve burning brighter than ever.

——

The salt laden wind whipped Telemachus’s cloak as the Ithacan ships sailed eastward, their oars cutting through the restless waves. Determination burned in his chest. He needed more men—strategists, warriors, anyone who could strengthen their force and ensure his wife’s safe return. He scanned the horizon as their fleet neared the ports of various islands, each harbor holding the potential to tip the war in his favor.

Druses

Telemachus stepped onto the polished marble streets of Lyris, a city known for its artists and beauty. Among the crowd gathered in the marketplace stood Druses, a man with an ethereal elegance that rivaled the gods. His long black hair flowed like a river of silk, and his piercing purple eyes seemed to strip away all pretense. When Telemachus approached him, Druses’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “King of Ithaca,” he drawled, his voice smooth but laced with indifference. “What brings you here, so far from your shores?”

“I’ve come to ask for your sword,” Telemachus said plainly, meeting his gaze. “Your reputation precedes you, Druses. I need warriors of your skill.”

Druses tilted his head, inspecting Telemachus like one might study a sculpture. “And why should I care about your war? What honor is there in chasing after a stolen wife?”

Telemachus clenched his jaw but kept his tone steady. “This isn’t just about my wife. It’s about justice. If men like Raphael can take what they please without consequence, then what’s to stop them from doing it again? Stand with me, Druses, and your name will be sung for generations as a champion of righteousness.”

Druses’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “Honor, you say?” He paused, letting the word linger in the air before nodding. “Very well. I’ll join you, if only to see if your conviction matches your words. But be warned—I expect no less than glory on this campaign.”

Florus

Their next stop was the tranquil island of Myrinthos, where the forests stretched endlessly and whispers of an unmatched strategist echoed through the villages. Telemachus found Florus perched in a tree, his bow strung lazily across his back. The young man was slight, with an air of calm intelligence that belied his sharp wit.

“Florus,” Telemachus called out, drawing the archer’s attention.

Florus glanced down, one brow raised. “And who might you be, shouting into my forest?”

“King Telemachus of Ithaca,” he replied. “I’ve heard of your skill with the bow and your brilliant mind for strategy. I’ve come to ask for your aid in a war.”

Florus hopped down from the tree, dusting off his hands. “A war, you say? Sounds messy. And loud.” He gave Telemachus a lazy smile. “Not exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Would you rather stay here, bored out of your mind, while the world changes around you?” Telemachus countered. “You’re too sharp to waste your talents in obscurity. Join us, and you’ll have the chance to shape the course of history.”

Florus considered this, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Boredom has been a problem lately…” He grinned. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. But only because I can’t resist a good challenge. Just don’t expect me to get my hands dirty too often.”

Cassander

Their final stop brought them to the bustling city of Almyros, where Cassander was found in a tavern, charming a group of women with his cocky grin and boastful tales. The man was tall and broad shouldered, his confidence radiating like the sun. Telemachus approached, his presence commanding enough to make Cassander glance up from his admirers. “And who are you?” Cassander asked, raising a brow.

“King Telemachus of Ithaca,” he introduced himself. “I’m forming an army to wage war against Skiaphos. I need men like you—strong, fearless, and skilled in battle.”

Cassander laughed, leaning back in his chair. “And what’s in it for me, your majesty? Gold? Glory?” His grin widened. “Or perhaps the promise of beautiful women to claim as prizes after victory?”

Telemachus fought back a grimace. “If it’s women you want, then you’ll find no shortage of them on the battlefield,” he said evenly, though his tone carried a subtle edge. “But if you’re truly as skilled as they say, then you’ll also earn the respect of kings and warriors alike. Your name will be known far beyond Almyros.”

Cassander chuckled, clearly pleased by the prospect. “Alright, King Telemachus. You’ve got yourself a deal. But don’t forget—when this is all over, I expect my rewards to be worth the trouble.”

With Druses, Florus, and Cassander aboard his fleet, Telemachus felt the weight of his army grow stronger. Each man brought something unique to the table, honor, strategy, brute strength, but as the ships sailed onward, Telemachus’s mind remained focused on one thing: bringing y/n and Adonis home. No matter the cost.

——

The sea stretched endlessly before them, the waves rocking the fleet of warships as they made their way toward Skiaphos. But no amount of salt air or open water could calm the growing tension aboard the Ithacan flagship—thanks entirely to Antinous and Eurymachus. “Can you not chew like a wild boar?” Antinous snapped, glaring at Eurymachus, who was sitting on a crate and loudly munching on a piece of dried bread.

Eurymachus smirked, deliberately chewing even louder. “What’s the matter, dungeon boy? Can’t handle the sound of freedom?”

Antinous’s jaw twitched as he took a threatening step forward. “Say that again, and I’ll throw you overboard.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Eurymachus shot back.

Before Antinous could follow through on his threat, acrisios groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For the gods’ sake, can you two not brawl for five minutes? Some of us are trying to work!” Antinous crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, while Eurymachus grinned smugly, enjoying his small victory.

Later, Telemachus assigned Antinous and Eurymachus to work together, hoping the shared responsibility would force them to cooperate. It didn’t. “You’re supposed to tie the knots tighter than that,” Antinous barked as Eurymachus attempted to secure a sail.

Eurymachus raised an eyebrow. “And you’re supposed to be useful. Guess we’re both failing today.” The knot slipped loose, and the sail whipped wildly in the wind. Antinous cursed, lunging to fix it while Eurymachus leaned lazily against the mast, clearly enjoying the chaos.

When the sail was finally secured, Antinous turned on him, his face red with fury. “Do you have any idea how close that was to tearing?”

“Relax,” Eurymachus said with a shrug. “You caught it. No harm done.”

Antinous lunged at him, and the two ended up wrestling on the deck, much to the crew’s dismay. It wasn’t just each other they tormented, Antinous and Eurymachus managed to irritate everyone else on the ship as well.

Antinous had a habit of pacing the deck at all hours, his restless energy keeping half the crew awake at night. “Could you not stomp around like an elephant?” one sailor finally snapped.

“I’ll stomp wherever I want,” Antinous retorted, glaring at the man.

By the third day at sea, Telemachus was at his wit’s end. He cornered the two troublemakers on the deck, his voice low but filled with warning. “If either of you causes one more problem, I’ll personally throw you both overboard,” he growled.

Antinous crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “I didn’t ask to be here with him, king.”

“And I didn’t ask to babysit a dungeon rat,” Eurymachus added, grinning. Telemachus rubbed his temples, wondering leaving them chained together in the brig for the remainder of the journey might actually be worth it.

Despite their constant bickering and knack for causing chaos, there was an odd energy between Antinous and Eurymachus that somehow managed to keep morale from sinking entirely. Whether it was the absurdity of their arguments or the sheer entertainment of watching them try to one up each other, the crew found themselves laughing more often than not, even if it was through gritted teeth.

——

The ships rowed steadily through the darkened waves, the creak of the oars and the low murmur of voices filling the air. But even the rhythm of the sea couldn’t drown out the constant bickering and antics of Antinous and Eurymachus. Their usual antics got on the nerves of the crew, especially Druses, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, trying to focus on sharpening his blade.

Finally, with a loud clang, Druses slammed his dagger down onto the wooden crate beside him. His usually composed and serene face twisted with frustration as he stood up abruptly, his long black hair whipping around him like a dark storm. “Enough!” he roared, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Everyone froze. Even Antinous and Eurymachus stopped mid insult, turning to look at him. “What is the point of this ridiculous expedition?” Druses snapped, his violet eyes blazing as he gestured toward Telemachus. “All this effort, all this chaos, to save a woman who, let’s be honest, has likely already been defiled and used by that Skiaphosian prince you’re so obsessed with! She’s probably broken by now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud, and the crew shifted uncomfortably, some exchanging nervous glances. Telemachus’s hand shot out, slamming against the mast as he pushed himself to his feet. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced with a cold fury that made even the bravest men step back. He locked eyes with Druses, his voice dangerously low but steady.

“Say that again,” Telemachus hissed, each word laced with venom. “Insult my wife one more time, and I’ll throw you as a sacrifice to Poseidon myself.”

Druses scoffed, crossing his arms but stepping back a fraction. “You’re blind, Telemachus. You think she’s waiting for you with open arms? You think she hasn’t been ruined—”

Telemachus didn’t let him finish. He strode forward, grabbing Druses by the collar and yanking him close, his teeth bared in a snarl. “She is my wife,” he growled. “The mother of my son. You will not speak of her that way. Ever.”

The tension was suffocating, the other men watching with bated breath. Antinous leaned against the railing, clearly enjoying the show, while Eurymachus raised an eyebrow, muttering, “Didn’t think Druses had it in him.”

Druses, though shaken by Telemachus’s fury, held his ground, meeting the king’s glare with a defiant gaze. “Fine,” he said evenly, though his voice was quieter now. “But don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. You’re leading us into war over one woman. If this fails, it’s not just your loss—it’s ours.”

Telemachus released him with a rough shove, his hands trembling slightly from the sheer force of his rage. “Then stay behind if you’re so concerned about your loss,” he snapped. “No one’s forcing you to be here, Druses. But don’t you dare insult her again, or I’ll make sure you regret it.” Druses straightened his tunic, his jaw tightening as he turned away without another word. The crew remained silent, the tension thick as Telemachus stood there, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths.

Finally, Eurymachus broke the silence with a lazy drawl, “Well, that was entertaining. Let’s see who snaps next.”

“Shut up, Eurymachus,” Telemachus barked, and the former suitor raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. The king returned to his spot, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His heart ached, not from Druses’s words, but from the fear that they might be true. But he shook the thought away. She was strong. She was his—and he would bring her home, no matter the situation.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

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[onlyquinns]

COFFEE SHOP CONFESSIONS, q. hughes

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

content: sitting for a cup of coffee with quinn takes a turn when unspoken thoughts from years ago finally arise, angsty, quinn might be ooc, allusions to sex but no actual smut

rain patters harshly against the window panes of the little coffee shop quinn sits inside of, calloused fingers wrapped tenderly around a warm ceramic mug. his head is ducked low and his hair is pulled back into a black yankees cap—one that he had to steal back from jack during the devils's short visit to the city.

a memory from years ago comes to the front of his mind as he peers up at you sitting across from him; glimpses of long limbs tangled in his sheets, his hands and fingers pressed into your soft skin, your hair sprawled out beneath you, and the soft sound of gasps and moans.

he doesn’t know how the two of you have got to this point, gone from lovers and best friends to acquaintances who meet once or twice in a blue moon to ‘catch up,’ an excuse quinn makes up every time to see your face one more time before he thinks you’ll inevitably refuse to.

you glance up from your own mug and smile softly at quinn, and he tries to memorize every freckle and faded acne scar on your face, so desperate to recall the way you look in the case you go from acquaintances to strangers. your cheeks are far less rounded now than when you’d first met during orientation at umich, more defined now that you’re older and out of college, and quinn is so devastatingly aware of how sharper and more defined his own face is—how fast time goes by without you by his side even though to him it feels like an eternity.

“so,” you start softly, drawing quinn from his thoughts, “what’s up?” you say it so casually that quinn’s chest aches and he swallows harshly, his throat dry and burning.

“aren’t you sick of this?” he blurts, his green-blue eyes peering at his own reflection in his coffee mug. the distorted version of himself seems to mock him, glaring at him for trying to destroy something that could be good with someone the both of them need.

confusion splits across your face, soft smile turned unsure and brows pinched together—quinn grips his mug a little tighter to keep himself from smoothing the space between them over, a habit he’d developed during your first finals week in college.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, unsure smile now gone and a small frown pulling at your lips instead. you tilt your chin down toward your mug and stare blankly into the liquid inside, losing yourself in the dark contents. “what’s there to be sick of?”

anger bubbles in quinn’s chest, not at you—never at you—but at the situation he’s put himself in. “this,” he vaguely insists, freeing his mug from his rough fingers and instead taking hold of his cap and hair. “where we act like i’m not in love with you anymore, where we pretend everything is fine and ignore that at one point we knew every detail about one another. aren’t you sick of that?”

tears prickle in your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. quinn’s right; you were so tired of pretending with him, so exhausted from going about your daily life trying to rid yourself of every thought of him only to end up back in vancouver in a desperate act to see him again.

“yeah, i am,” you whimper, breaking quinn’s heart a fraction. “i’m really tired of acting like… like i don’t pretend every other person i’ve ever been with is you.”

your admission sends shock rippling through quinn’s body, stunning him momentarily. the little reflection of himself in his coffee mug ripples away, like a little spirit finished with what it intended to do before separating from the real world.

“then don’t,” he tells you, reaching toward you to grip your soft fingers between his. he runs his thumb in circles and letters over the backs of your knuckles, the action soothing for the both of you. “i want to be yours—if you’ll let me. i won’t mess things up this time; i won’t leave you.”

your fingers weakly grip his, trembling in his hold. your guys’ drinks are long cold and the rain outside has lightened, inviting the sun back through the clouds. light streaks across quinn’s eyes, wide and hopeful, and the growing sunlight highlights the specks of brown scattered through the blue.

you inhale deeply, the sound rattly from the unshed tears and emotions deep in your chest. “what if you do, though,” you breathe. “what if i wake up and one day you’re gone, realized i’m not worth it.” insecurity plagues your mind, ebbing its way into your features, into the way you look at quinn through watery lashes.

quinn’s heart sinks deeper with your words, regret filling his entire body. “i’m sorry for leaving you,” he says, inhaling deeply as the memory of his last morning in michigan with you several years ago comes to mind. he’d left you still asleep in his bed at his parents’ house, the sheets curled tightly to your chest and smelling so heavily like him you hadn’t noticed he’d left. “it was a stupid mistake. i didn’t realize that what i had back then—with you—was the best thing to have ever happened to me. i thought… i thought playing in the nhl was the most important thing to have ever happened to me, but i know now that it was actually meeting you—loving you, being loved by you. i’m sorry.”

tears stream down your cheeks as you sob in the quiet coffee shop, fingers tightly digging into quinn’s. the way he looks at you is so earnest you have no choice but to believe him, believe that if you were to pack up your life back home and haul it to canada that quinn wouldn’t abandon you like an old toy after a week.

“please,” quinn nearly begs as he squeezes your hand even tighter, knuckles whitening against yours. “i need you in every way possible, in every universe ever. we can work things out, here in vancouver—or anywhere. i’d drop anything, everything, for you. i promise—i swear.”

quinn’s throat bobs as he watches you intently, waiting for a response. you nod your head furiously, nose scrunched up as you choke on a sob. you cover your mouth with the back of your free hand, still nodding.

“okay,” you rasp against your hand, tears no longer streaming down your face. “i believe you. we can work this out together. i believe you.”

quinn ducks his head graciously, reaching across to cup your hand with both of his. his palms easily envelop yours, tightly wrapped around it as if you’ll take your words back and walk away from him forever.

“thank you,” he whispers, his lips nearly brushing the table. “thank you.”

all photos from pinterest

[cornykrameri]

Silco x Female POV Snippet Tags: Switch Silco, Power Play, Smoking, Light Bondage, Brat Taming, some-kinky-shit

— What’s taking so long? Never tied someone up before?

His voice was melodic, laced with mockery, and I felt heat rush to my cheeks. But I recovered quickly, shooting him a sharp look as I pulled the knot tight.

— Not someone as stubborn as you, — I shot back, tugging on the loose end of the tie.

He leaned forward, his face so close to mine that I almost gave in and kissed him again. Instead, my hand reached for the cigar box on the table.

Silco watched as I took one, placed it between my lips, and lit it on the second try.

— Bold, aren’t you? — his voice played like a melody, both mocking and intrigued.

I met his gaze, inhaling the heavy smoke.

— You have no idea, — I murmured lowly.

Clenching the cigar between my teeth, I pulled the tie’s loose end upward, forcing his hands higher. His wrists tensed, but he didn’t resist. With my free hand, I grabbed the end of the tie behind his back and pulled it downward, locking his hands behind his head. His eyes were sharp, studying me with playful, defiant attention. It wasn’t a submissive gaze—it was a challenge. And it thrilled me. I wanted to see how far he would let me go.

Taking the cigar in my left hand, I pressed against his chest, pinning him against the back of the couch.

— We’ve got some problems, — I began in an even tone, feeling the nicotine-induced lightheadedness creeping in. — But I’m just a person with pain, — I continued, swinging a leg over to straddle him, keeping his bound hands above his head. — And I want to take yours away, — I whispered.

He smirked, watching as I slowly drew on the cigar and released the smoke, tilting my head back. Pressing down harder on his lap, I extended the cigar toward his lips, offering him the chance to take a drag.

Silco stared at me for a long moment before tilting his head slightly to the side, rejecting my offer.

— Do you really think you can control me so easily? — he asked, his tone brimming with defiance.

What a stubborn man.

— I think I can, — I replied, pulling the cigar back and leaning in close. — Don’t pretend you don’t want this. Don’t act like you don’t crave giving me your soul and losing control just once in your life. — My voice was steady as I stared into his eyes, feeling every beat of my pulse echoing in the air between us.

I looked straight at him, wanting him to understand that I could see deeper than he allowed. Something shifted in his expression. His lips parted slightly, and I took it as an invitation. Slowly, I brought the cigar close again, leaving only a fraction of space between its tip and his mouth.

— Then admit you want it, — I said calmly.

His gaze darkened, and with a quick motion, he snatched the cigar from my hand with his teeth, taking a long drag.

— No, — I cut him off sharply, immediately taking the cigar back.

I pressed my lips to his, drawing the smoke from his mouth and throat. It pleased me that he let me do it—it meant he was playing along, teasing me, but it only made me more determined.

Pulling back, I exhaled the smoke, my head spinning and an unfamiliar, exhilarating sensation blooming in my chest. I looked at him—his hands tied above his head, his steady, confident gaze meeting mine. That feeling was turning me inside out, twisting in the most intoxicating way. It was the thrill of power. How long would he last before he gave in? What would it take to make him surrender?

— Shall we try again? — I asked calmly, looking him over from head to toe as I brought the cigar close to his lips, so close that he could snatch it back if he wanted to.

He studied something in my eyes, his gaze tinged with doubt. For a moment, he glanced at the cigar before locking eyes with me again. His mouth parted ever so slightly, but instead of speaking, he clenched his jaw, refusing to give in so easily.

— Ask me for it, — I added, tilting my head slightly as I tugged his hands bound by the tie a little farther. — You won’t get it unless you just ask.

I saw something shift within him. Silco swallowed, his chest freezing for a brief moment as though he were wrestling with the decision. That tension was mesmerizing: he was trying to hold firm, but I caught the subtle cracks in his armor. Finally, he looked up at me and, in a quiet, raspy voice, said:

— Would you be so kind as to let me smoke?

Those words were clearly a struggle for him. My lips curved into a smile. I had succeeded: I had pushed him somewhere he hadn’t been before, and it intoxicated me more than the alcohol coursing through my veins.

— Anything for you, — I said, allowing him to close his lips around the cigar as I pressed closer to him.

He inhaled slowly, deliberately avoiding my gaze. It was endearing, his attempt to hold on to some scrap of control when I knew I was already winning. I felt his breath grow heavier, his body warm beneath mine. Moving the cigar away so he could exhale, I added softly:

— That must’ve been hard for you—saying it out loud, wasn’t it? — My words cut through the tension like a blade. — But see, the result was worth it, and nothing terrible happened.

He stayed silent, but I felt his bound hands twitch against the tie as if testing the knot. I didn’t waver; I observed him, soaking in the emotions he tried to hide. This was a moment of truth: he wasn’t surrendering all at once but step by step, allowing me to push further and torment us both. His vulnerability felt unnatural, but he permitted himself to show it in my presence, and that made my heart ache with contradictions.

— I know you’re scared. You are pins, — I whispered, taking a slow drag from the cigar before exhaling heavily. — Let me be your needles.

I leaned closer, my lips nearly brushing his, feeling his breath mix with mine, his body tensing beneath me. His intoxicating scent, that teasing look in his eye—I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out, but I wasn’t ready to give everything away just yet. My tongue traced the scar at the corner of his lips, sliding to the middle of his cheek, and I felt him freeze under my touch.

[littlelamy]

hey queen was wondering if you could do an angsty rafe fic don’t care what the topic is just need my soul to be crushed tbh…

anyway love your work😛😛

lamy's note: thank you bby!! i hope i did it justice! 💗

the evening clung to the air, heavy and suffocating like a storm waiting to break. you stepped into the mansion, your heels clicking against the marble floors, echoing in the quiet stillness of tan lines and rosegold hues. everything about tonight felt off. rafe’s texts had been sporadic, distracted. but you’d convinced yourself it was just his usual mood swings—the volatility that came with his name, his family, his demons.

“just come over,” he’d said earlier, voice low like he was speaking through gritted teeth. you’d asked if everything was okay, but the curt reply and abrupt end to the call told you everything you needed to know. he was pissed about something. probably ward. maybe topper. or… maybe you.

anxiety gnawed at the edge of your thoughts, a sharp-toothed beast sinking into your resolve. still, you went. because it’s rafe. and you’ve never been able to stop yourself when it comes to him. his pull was magnetic, a gravity you couldn’t escape no matter how much it burned.

but as you approached the living room, your heart sank. voices. hers.

sofía.

your pulse quickened, thundering in your ears. you knew sofía had been hanging around more. her smile always too sweet, her touch lingering a second too long when she’d brush rafe’s arm at parties. you’d pretended not to notice. pretended to trust him. because rafe promised you, over and over again, that he was yours.

but now, as you turned the corner, you saw it.

rafe’s back was to you, broad shoulders taut under the strain of whatever this was. sofía stood inches from him, her hand on his chest, and before you could even process what was happening, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

for a moment, it felt like time stopped. your lungs seized, your vision blurred. the room tilted like you’d just stepped off a spinning carnival ride, nausea and disbelief crashing into you all at once.

“rafe,” you choked out, voice cracking under the weight of betrayal.

his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with shock. “baby, it’s not—”

“this isn’t what it looks like!” sofía interrupted, a perfect picture of feigned innocence, but you saw the glint in her eye, the slight curl of her lips. she wanted this. she wanted you to see.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spat, glaring at her. your hands were trembling now, the fight-or-flight adrenaline coursing through you making every nerve hum with raw energy. “are you seriously trying to act like i didn’t just see you?”

sofía shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. her expression was maddeningly calm, like she was toying with a piece of prey. “he didn’t kiss me back,” she said smoothly, like that somehow made it better.

“get the fuck out,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous. the venom in his tone made even sofía hesitate for a split second before she gave a mocking smile and sauntered out of the room, hips swaying like she’d won.

silence hung between you like a blade, sharp and ready to sever whatever fragile thread was left.

“you’re unbelievable,” you finally said, your voice trembling, barely containing the torrent of emotions surging within. “she’s been throwing herself at you for weeks and you just… what? let her?”

“no!” rafe took a step toward you, his face a mess of desperation and guilt, but you recoiled, and it hit him like a slap. “baby, i swear to god, i didn’t—i wouldn’t. she kissed me, i didn’t even—”

“but you didn’t stop her.”

he froze, his jaw tightening as your words landed. “what?”

“you didn’t fucking stop her, rafe.” your voice cracked, the dam breaking as tears spilled over despite your best effort to keep them at bay. “how am i supposed to believe you when you just stood there?”

“baby, please.” his voice broke, raw and pleading. he reached for you again, his hands trembling now, but you stepped back, shaking your head. the distance between you felt insurmountable.

“i trusted you,” you whispered, the words bitter on your tongue. “i fucking trusted you.”

“and you still can,” he insisted, his voice rising with desperation, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you’re it for me. you’re the only one, i swear. she’s nothing, okay? she’s fucking nothing.”

“but i’m supposed to just ignore what i saw?” your voice rose too, the pain clawing its way out of your chest, demanding to be heard. “how many times do i have to wonder if i’m enough for you, rafe? if you even fucking want me?”

“you are,” he said fiercely, the raw intensity of his words cutting through the tension. he stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until you were backed against the wall. his hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you’re everything. i need you to believe me.”

you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “i don’t know if i can.”

his hand dropped, his expression crumpling as the weight of your words crushed him. “don’t say that,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “don’t fucking say that.”

“then prove it,” you said, your voice trembling but firm, the storm inside you raging. “prove to me that i’m not wasting my time loving you.”

his eyes searched yours, frantic, his chest rising and falling as he tried to find the words. and for the first time, you saw it. fear. raw, unfiltered fear. because he knew. he knew he was on the verge of losing you, and for once in his life, rafe cameron didn’t have a plan to fix it.

and the worst part? you weren’t sure you wanted him to.

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[nuyhado3o]

풀어

Gong Yoo x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: A photoshoot with Gong Yoo takes an unexpected turn as you’re asked to pose together, bound by tape marked DANGER. What begins as a bold concept soon turns into a slow-burning moment of intense attraction, blurring the lines between professional and personal.

wc: 2k

You always knew dating someone like Gong Yoo would come with certain surprises. Unexpected schedule changes, whirlwind trips, long months apart. But when he casually mentioned Marie Claire wanted you in his upcoming photoshoot, you realized there were still some things you weren’t prepared for.

It was early morning when he told you, your body still wrapped in the warm cocoon of his sheets, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your bare shoulder.

"They want to do something different this time," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You made a soft, inquisitive sound, not fully awake yet.

His fingers paused. "They want you in it."

That jolted you upright. "What?"

Gong Yoo turned onto his back, one arm tucked behind his head, watching your reaction with an amused expression.

"They think a shoot with both of us would be interesting," he explained. "Something raw. Intimate."

Your brows furrowed. "I’m not a model, Yoo."

His lips twitched. "You don’t have to be. You just have to be you."

You sighed, leaning against the headboard. "And what exactly do they want us to do?"

He hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. "The concept is… bold."

You narrowed your eyes. "How bold?"

Gong Yoo finally sat up, reaching for his phone. He scrolled for a moment before turning the screen toward you. The mock-up reference photo showed a man and woman, their hands bound together with thick black tape labeled DANGER. The pose was intense—like they were caught between resistance and surrender.

You swallowed. "That’s… dramatic."

He chuckled, dropping his phone onto the nightstand. "It’s just an artistic concept."

You weren’t sure if just artistic was the right way to describe it. The image practically pulsed with tension. The way the models leaned into each other, the way their bodies curved instinctively toward one another, as if drawn by an invisible force. It wasn’t explicit, but it felt deeply, unmistakably intimate.

"Are you sure about this?" you asked quietly.

Gong Yoo reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Only if you are."

You sighed. Trusting him had never been difficult.

"Fine," you murmured. "But if I look ridiculous, I’m blaming you."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Deal."

You arrived at the studio early, your nerves barely contained beneath the cool exterior the stylists had given you. The outfit was sleek—minimalistic but striking—something that made you look like you belonged in a high-fashion spread. You barely recognized yourself in the mirror.

Gong Yoo arrived shortly after, effortlessly magnetic even in something as simple as a fitted black shirt and dark pants. The moment he saw you, he stopped mid-step, his gaze dragging over you in slow appreciation.

"You look…" He exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Incredible."

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse stuttered at the way he was looking at you.

Before you could respond, the photographer clapped his hands together. "Alright, let’s get started!"

The set was dimly lit, moody shadows cast against concrete walls. A large chair sat in the center, its dark leather contrasting starkly with the bright white DANGER tape being prepped by the crew.

"We’ll start separately," the photographer explained, adjusting his camera. "Yoo, sit in the chair. Look at her like you need her. Like she’s the only thing keeping you from breaking."

Your breath caught at the instruction. Gong Yoo only smirked, slipping into character effortlessly.

And God, was it unfair.

Even just sitting there, with his legs spread slightly, one arm draped over the chair’s back, he looked like temptation itself. His eyes, dark and smoldering, locked onto you with an intensity that made your stomach tighten.

You swallowed hard. How were you supposed to survive this shoot?

The first shots were easy enough. A few moody, distant poses. You looking away, him looking at you. Then came the DANGER tape.

They started with his hands first, wrapping the black and white strips around his wrists, then threading it between his fingers. You watched as he flexed his hands, testing the restraint, his jaw tightening just slightly.

Then it was your turn.

The stylist wound the tape around your wrists, careful not to make it too tight, but snug enough to look real. The photographer stepped back, tilting his head.

"Good. Now, sit on his lap."

You stiffened. "What?"

The photographer chuckled. "It has to look natural. Like you’re trapped together, but neither of you really wants to escape."

A muscle in Gong Yoo’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing, simply waiting for you.

You exhaled, stepping forward. He spread his knees slightly, making room for you, his hands still bound.

"Come here," he murmured, his voice quiet but firm.

And just like that, the tension changed.

You hesitated for only a moment before settling onto his lap. His body was warm beneath you, solid and steady. His bound hands rested on your waist, fingers flexing slightly.

The camera clicked.

"Now, lean in," the photographer instructed. "Just a breath away."

You obeyed, your face inches from his. Gong Yoo’s eyes flickered to your lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly.

The air between you thickened.

The camera kept flashing, but the world outside this moment didn’t seem to exist anymore.

"You okay?" he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You swallowed, nodding. But you weren’t sure it was the truth.

"Last one," the photographer called. "Yoo, tilt your head—almost like you’re going to kiss her, but don’t."

He moved, so, so close that his breath fanned over your lips. Your pulse roared in your ears.

The final click of the camera sounded deafening.

"Perfect," the photographer exhaled. "That’s a wrap."

You barely registered the words. Gong Yoo’s gaze hadn’t shifted, his hands still resting lightly on your waist.

Slowly, he leaned in—not quite a kiss, but close enough to make your breath catch.

"You should do photoshoots with me more often," he murmured, his lips just brushing the corner of your mouth.

Your heart stuttered. "I think that would be dangerous."

He smiled against your skin.

"Exactly."

A/n: woah woah woaaaah, yei yei yeaaah

[humpster35]

Matt, Please

This smut includes: unprotected rough sex, pussy eating, angst, loss of virginity, daddy kink, asshole Matt (if you squint) slight baby trapping and praising.

It was a late night, nothing was like this feeling i’ve felt in this moment. Matt and I have been together for awhile now and we haven’t had sex. “Matt….why are you doing that?” I laughed watching as Matt fixed his desk rapidly, he moved in a funny way. “I’m trying to make this aesthetic for you, I know you like when things are neat and pleasing to look at. I mean(he poses showing a cheeky smile) you ARE dating me.” This asshole. I thought as I shook my head. The bed creaked as he sat down, he wore a black shirt, sweatpants, a necklace and his hair was left messily hot after gaming all day. “Matthew you ARE quite sexy…maybe I should reward you.” I shrugged while smiling.

Silence. It filled the room up as if it could envelop me whole and leave nothing behind. Oh shit…I was a virgin wasn’t i? “Matt wait i’m sorry i-“ He got up quickly. “Why do you have to do that Y/n? We haven’t fucked ever. You keep teasing me but whenever it’s time to actually do something about it you bail on me.” “I don’t bail on you- I just..I just” “Can’t commit to anything?” Feeling insulted by his words I get up and begin removing my top. I’ve always been the more naive one of the group, being friends with the triplets and moving to La to film with them i’ve come across a lot of much more experienced people. It’s silly i know but, in my head I though that if i didn’t tell Matt about my virginity then things would just remain the same between us…after all guys do act differently once they find out. I looked at Matt when my top completely comes off, my white lace bra visible. You’re not like that…are you Matt? “What are you just standing there for? Why even remove your shirt if we’re just gonna cuddle?” Matt shrugged as he laud down on the bed and rested his arms behind his head. “I wanna—no I can do it. I’ll have sex with you.”

Matt stared at my face intently, was he studying me? He stood up and took off his black shirt. I watched as his tattoos were painted on his left arm…he was so fucking hot. “We gonna fuck hm?” Matt said mockingly. “If i’m gonna fuck you then i’m gonna need you to promise me something.” Puzzled my face looked up at him while he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to his body, it felt as if any closer and we would become one. “Matt don’t be a dick okay? I said we can have sex so stop mocking me.” He chuckled. “Promise me you won’t make any noise.” Confused I looked at him before getting close to his face and kissing him. “I….I promise.” Matt chuckled and tucked of strand behind my ear. “I’m not mocking you darling..hm? I just wanted this for awhile now…are you sure you’re ready?” I moaned softly as his soft pink lips placed butterfly kisses along my jawline to my neck, his hand roamed further down to my crotch. “it feels good Matt…can i have more?” Matt chuckled a bit as he lifted his head up, staring into my eyes he smiled before kissing my plump lips. “Come on, let me take care of you.” He lifted me up by my waist making me throw legs around him. “Let daddy take care of you hm?” “O-okay daddy.” I watched as Matt started laughing, his face turning red. “Why’d you say it like that? Are you embarrassed?” “Shutup I am not embarrassed-.” “I think you are(Matt laughed even harder into my shoulder while he stood between my legs.) Have you not called anyone daddy before?” I shook my head no embarrassed. “Awww shhh shh it’s okay baby…you don’t have to ever be embarrassed mmkay?” Matt pulled my pants off slowly, I studied his actions anxiously. Next was my underwear, he slid those to the side before he stopped and looked at me. “Daddy will always take care of you.”

Matt pull his dick out of his boxers. “Woah.” was all I could say as I watched the long and slightly dick bounce against his chest for a second due to Matt’s sudden movement. “Woah?” Matt laughed, he started stroking himself while looking down at my pussy. “Yea…Yeaaaaa that’ll do hm?” I moaned softly feeling him rub his tip on my clit. Before I could even warn Matt that I was a virgin he slammed into me causing me to moan loudly and grip his shoulders. “fuckkkkk ouhhhhh shit you’re fucking tight.” Matt moaned while he let go of his dick and rested his hands on my hips getting ready to fuck me. “m-matt wa-wait…mmmm” I couldn’t get out any words due to his size and pain. It hurt but felt good, i’ve had his fingers inside of me before but this. This was much different, more bigger and much deeper. THRUST THRUST THRUST THRUST THRUST. Back to back Matt was fucking me hard on his gaming desk, I watched him with half open eyelids throwing my head back. “ah ah ahhhhhhh Mattyyyy please I can’t..” “hm? speak up.” Matt was so arrogant at times, even now that he’s fucking me he wants to taunt me. I gripped his shoulders hard causing him to bleed. Matt started fucking into me extremely rough and hard as he gripped my ass for support. “MATTTTTTT AHHHHHHHH” “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKKK OH FUCKING FUCKKK.” Matt screamed in ecstasy as he bit his lip hard. “mmm ouhhh yeaaaa baby fuckkkk right there for daddy yes yes yes yes.” My tits bounced aggressively through my bra while i struggled to breathe at this point. This man doesn’t even know im a virgin and he’s fucking me like he hates me. “Matt wait-.” Matt kisses my lips and pulls me closer to his body, in one fast swoop he lifts me off of his desk and transfers me to his bed. “Ah!” “M’gonna fuck you here now baby.”

Without warning Matt again inserted himself into me. This time i had something to hold onto before he started pounding, I grabbed his bedsheets while he threw his head back. “Fuck I haven’t pussy in awhile…” I bit down hard on my teeth trying to hold in any sound I was making. Clearly Matt also forgot about his so called “promise” because once he lifted my legs on his shoulders to get a deeper angle he started moaning loudly. “AHHHH OHHHHH Y/N Y/N IM SO FUCKINF CLOSE…i’m so close imsoclose imclose.” THRUST THRUSTTHRUSTTHRUST. I let out mewls and mewls of moans loudly as Matt started biting my neck slightly, every move he made I felt him knock my cervix back by like two inches. It was so painful…but it hurt so good. “Matt wait..pleasepleaseplease wait-.” “Shut. THRUST. the. THRUST. fuck. THRUST up.” THRUST. My legs started shaking around his shoulders, the bed creaked loudly and he was pounding into me so hard that I felt myself being pushed into the back of the headboard. “M’gonna cummmmmm” “ahhhhouuhhh yes yes baby i’m gonna fucking cum in you.” What. Did he just say he was gonna cum in me-.

I felt Matt’s long fingers begin to rapidly rub my clit, he stopped for a moment and stuck them into my mouth. “Spit on it bitch.” He angrily said and I immediately did what he asked, he took his fingers out of my mouth and begin to rub my pussy again. “OHHHH FUCKKK. MATT aahhhhhhhh-.” “yeaaaaa let’s fucking cum hm? wanna cum together? you wanted to have real sex well here you go—.” Matt made me cum instantly with his aggressive tone and his long fingers, My legs continued to shake while he pounded deeply into me and he didn’t stop rubbing my pussy. “S-stop please…” My small hand tried to push his much larger one away weakly due to my body being spent. It was getting overwhelming and overstimulating. “Matt, Please.” He stopped and looked at me, “Okay. okay baby.” Matt gently kissed me before he hurried and started thrusting deeper to get his own orgasm. THRUST THRUST THRUST THRUST. “ohhhh i’m gonna cum..IM GONNA FUCKINF CUM IN YOU AHHHHH.” “NOOO AHHHHH.” We both let out loud screams of moans as Matt came deep inside of me. I tried to push at his chest to get him to pull out, “Matt please I don’t wanna be a momma.” Matt chuckled and shushed me. “Shhh shhh baby, it’s okay hm? daddy’s got you.” I started crying out of frustration and overstimulation while Matt gently kissed everywhere on my face and neck. “I fucking hate you Matt…..” Matt pulled out of me as his dick made a wet pop sound and I immediately closed my legs. “I know….but i’ll always love you.” My breath hitched as he wiped my tears, he picked me up and took me to the bathroom to clean me up.

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