#had some late night stick figure thoughts last night

[the-irken-pony]

You ever come up with an idea and you’re not sure how to categorize it

[sapsolais]

.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Eat Me, Number One.

✩ allmight x pro!heroFem reader

wanting to get a little taste of the number one hero, during the hero’s banquet.

✩ warnings and tags: public sex, secret sex, ass eating, rough sex, multiple orgasms, nipple play, breeding, size difference, age gap, (late 20s reader), etc.

shout out to my editor, tysm <333!

“fuck, this latex is sticking to my skin. shota, can we go? im not in the mood for this uppity shit, maybe we can get some ramen or something?”

“no, unfortunately the both of us are stuck here. i lost yamada an hour ago, which is really odd since he’s the loudest one out of all of us.” aizawa, your best friend and colleague, replied as he took a bite of the salty chip in his mouth. you sighed and downed the shot in front of you, while tugging on the latex of your hero suit with your free hand.

the three of you were currently attending the annual hero’s banquet, which was made for all heroes to meet and mingle with each other. yamada had spotted the karaoke room and tip-toed away from the group when the three of you arrived, leaving you and aizawa alone. you both hated coming to these things, but yamada forced both of you to come every time.

“gonna find the bathroom and possibly yamada, so we can leave.” your dry-eyed friend gave you a nod before you took your leave; grabbing a shot from a tray a waiter was carrying—downing it like it was nothing. getting hammered was your goal. maybe you could get *him* off of your mind. you maneuvered through the crowd of heros, mind bubbling with thoughts before your eyes landed on the huge figure of the number one hero; allmight.

it might’ve been the liquor finally taking its toll on your body, making your legs feel like jelly or just seeing him period, that had butterflies filling your stomach. you were beyond nervous, it had been months since the last time you’ve seen him. the last time you did wasn’t the best experience. "duty calls" he had said before he ran off. but, you weren’t gonna let that one time stop you from saying ‘hello’ and running off to find the bathroom.

you managed to walk over and tap the bottom of his muscular back, his seven foot frame towering over you as he turned toward you. his usual ‘smiling’ eyes softened when he saw you and he kept that same bright smile like always. “y/n, it’s good to see you.”

“likewise,” you quickly turned on your heels as your memories from that terrible night plagued your mind. “wait—y/n,” he grabbed hold of your wrist and pulled you back towards him, his eyes scanning your face before dropping to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “can we talk?” you gave a quick nod and he pulled you away. you wanted to get answers, closure for the last time you two saw each other, so you could finally stop cringing at the memory.

the older pro hero led you through the crowd and into an empty room, which happened to be the bathroom. the seven foot tall man closed the door behind you both, and locked it—before turning to look at your smaller, yet curvy frame.

“y/n, I just wanted to apologize for last time. it wasn’t your fault that the date ended like that. i never meant to leave you like that. i know duty calls, but I should have never left like that without telling you, i'm sorry.” his voice was soft, sincere, and you could tell by his body language that he truly meant it.

a few months ago, you had went on a date with the number one hero. it was all going good, you had gotten to know each other really well during drinks and when you two had finally made it your table for food, he just disappeared in a blink of an eye. he didn’t call nor try to reach out to you, which made you become very insecure—leading you to believe that he didn’t actually like you.

“you don’t have to apologize—“

“but, i do. you were wonderful and im a little disappointed I couldn’t make this into something more serious; didn’t have the opportunity to kiss you—.”

“you wanted to kiss me?” it was silent for a moment, both of your eyes locked onto each other’s. the more the two of you stared at each other, the more your body temperature rose. everything about him was so captivating. maybe that was a perk of being one of the best hero’s japan has ever seen, but you were definitely falling for him.

it was sudden but his lips were on yours and all you could do was happily accept. your lips melted onto each other’s, dancing a smoother dance than a tango—with your tongue sliding into his mouth, tongues swirling around each other's. you couldn’t fight your growing arousal anymore, the crush that you had on the older man was bigger than ever.

he swiftly picked you up, not breaking the kiss not once. it was like a scene in a movie with the way he handled you. he propped you up against the white bathroom door, while he made love to your mouth. you clutched onto his yellow locks, pulling away from this kiss that had left you breathless. “think you teased me enough, number one. i need more of you.”

he had never been more turned on, until now. with one hand holding you up, he used the other hand to unzip your hero costume—freeing your plump and swollen breasts. allmight quickly wrapped his lips around your tender love buds, began to suck on them like it was the best candy he had ever tasted. you couldn’t suppress your moans; letting them flow freely out of your kiss-bitten lips.

he removed his mouth from your nipples, kissing between your breats and down your stomach. “allmight—please~”

“toshinori,” he corrected with a squeeze to your ass; making you squeal out. you had long forgotten about the party, or the possibility of other people being there.

“toshinori, please. just fuck me already.” he was taken aback by your vulgar words, but it riled him up even more. your hero suit fell down in an instant and he was lifting you off to the other side of the bathroom. using his quirk, he slid the toiletries off the sink’s counter and placed you on your knees—your ass sitting up in the air just for him; allowing him to dive his head right in between.

gasping, you held onto the marble countertop, while he licked your from your ass all the way down to your swollen clit. his fluid mixing with yours created a slippery mess, which caused you to go crazy. no wonder he was considered a pro.

“shit toshi—just like that, fuck…” you bounced your ass back onto his face, his big hands gripped your waist tighter; lips still attached to your wet clit. you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you and you were ready to accept it. however, much to your dismay, he pulled away from your dripping wet backside.

“wait toshi, i was gonna cum.” he ignored you, flipping you over onto your back; looking at you in all your glory before he gripped himself through his suit. “look, im going to warn you. you might not be able to take all of me, and that’s okay—,” you cut off his rambling by replacing his hand with yours on his bulge, fondling it. it left him groaning, eyes shutting from the pleasure.

“i'm a big girl, i can handle it. besides, a hero never backs down from a fight.” he chuckled at your response and gave you one last look, before he let his blue hero suit and briefs fall to the ground; showing all of him.

you could’ve sworn your eyes had fell out of your head due to how widen you opened them. standing about nine inches tall, his cock greeted you; dripping nothing but translucent fluid. it stood against his abs, twitching with need. not only was he lengthy, he was girthy too. you couldn’t help but to gulp as you thought about him entering you.

as much as you were nervous, you swallowed that doubt and angled him towards your aching entrance; after all you were a hero, you couldn’t let this scare you.

pushing him inside of you, you winced at the pressure—you had never been spread open like that. profanities flew out your mouth as he helped push himself inside, your soft walls clenching around his shaft; making him curse lowly.

he was only half way inside, since that’s all that could fit, and he began to move his hips slowly. the more toshinori moved—the wetter you became. soon, the sound of your cunt squelching and your lewd mewls filled the bathroom—driving the older man crazy. he was losing control over himself, each time you made those sexy noises; he wanted to slam himself deeper inside of you. to hear you yelp out and to feel you squeeze around him. to see all the cream build around him. to see how far he could drive you to insanity just by fucking you.

despite being a hero, the way he was thinking about punishing you with his dick; contradicted his heroic beliefs.

you on the other hand felt like you were going to die, in the most pleasurable way possible. each time he plunged inside of you, his thick tip hit your spot everytime—causing your toes to curl so tight; they felt like they were going to fall off. you babbled and moaned as he fucked the living shit out of you, calling his name while an orgasm ripped through you.

this was the most intense orgasm you had ever had. you were disconnected from reality a bit because of it, so you didn’t realize that you were no longer on the sink’s counter and now on the bath’s plush blue rug—until toshinori slammed down into you once again.

“fuck, you just keep getting tighter and wetter!” you had never heard him curse this much before, it was turning you on more and more.

he had you in the mating press position, hitting your most sensitive spot each time, while your hips and his balls met each time. you cunt was beyond wet, your juices dripped out and slid down onto the ground—creating a huge puddle underneath you.

you could feel him twitch inside of you and his strokes became faster and harder. he was cumming, hard.

a knock on the bathroom door startled you, causing you to look at it.

“hey! can you hurry up, i really gotta use it,” a voice could be heard from the other side, following another knock. you looked at allmight, waiting for his next move.

“in a minute….having some—shit—s-s-stomach problems”

“c’mon dude! you’ve been in there for like an hour”

“in a minute!” he yelled back, not stopping his movements. he was going to cum and nothing was going to stop him from finishing. with a few more slams, he released inside of you; while you came once more with him—this time you squirted all over him.

he grabbed your smaller body and rolled over on his back, with you lying on top of his sweaty, naked body.

“we’re going to need a plan to come out of here without them suspecting a thing,” you chuckled, peppering his chiseled face with kisses.

“this is why we have quirks, to get out of situations like this. now let’s get dressed, so i could show you more of why I’m number one~”

[itneverendshere]

played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron (three) - finale

request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made" pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader. warnings: more angst <3; part one here; part two

Staying away from Rafe was hard.

It was hard before you two tried to be friends and it’s even harder now that you gave him the no-contact ultimatum. Everywhere you went, it felt like he was there, even if he wasn’t. It was in the songs that played on the radio, in the way the sun set over the patio near your dorm, in the way his, now yours, shirts still smelled like him. 

You missed the late-night conversations, the way he’d laugh at your jokes, and how he could read you better than anyone else. But more than anything, you missed the way he made you feel—even if it wasn’t real at first. 

Every time your phone buzzed, you stupidly hoped it was him, even though you knew it wouldn’t be. You’d told him to stop, to leave you alone, and he had respected your boundaries even when it seemed like the last thing he wanted to do. And you’re proud of him for it—for once, he’s doing something right. But you’re mostly proud of yourself too, for sticking to your decision, for not letting him back in so easily.

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier.

You thought giving yourself space would help you move on, help you figure out if you could ever really trust him again. But instead, it just left this space where he used to be. You kept wondering how much of it was real for him—if any of it was. Maybe that’s why staying away felt impossible because a part of you wanted to believe he meant some of it, that his feelings weren’t just part of some game. 

You had to draw the line, to protect yourself from getting hurt all over again. And even though it hurt to keep him out, you knew it was the only way you’d figure out what you really wanted, without him clouding your judgment.

You tried to move on.

Slowly, cautiously, you started going on dates—nothing serious, just enough to remind yourself that there were other people out there, that Rafe wasn’t the only guy who could make you laugh or feel special. Every few weeks, you’d let yourself get dressed up, put on a smile, and meet someone new.

The first date was awkward, more like a practice run than anything else. You spent most of it comparing the guy to Rafe, noticing all the little things that didn’t measure up. It wasn’t fair to the guy, but you couldn’t help it. He wasn’t Rafe, and that’s all you could focus on. You ended the night with a polite hug and a promise to text, but you knew you wouldn’t.

The second date was better, but not by much. The guy was nice, made you laugh a few times, but there was no spark, no connection that made you want to see him again. You tried to be present, to give him a chance, but your mind kept drifting back to Rafe, to what he would say or how he would react to something. By the end of the night, you felt more exhausted than excited.

After that, you took a break. It was too soon, you told yourself. You weren’t ready to move on yet, and that was okay. 

Some days, you almost reached out to him. You’d pick up your phone, scroll through your messages, and your finger would hover over his name. It would be so easy to send a quick text, something casual, just to see how he was doing. But you never did. You knew that one message could ruinl everything you’d worked so hard to build—the distance, the boundaries, the fragile sense of self you were trying to protect.

Instead, you threw yourself into other things. Classes, the cheer squad, hobbies, anything to keep your mind occupied. You spent more time with friends, even though it was hard not to talk about him. You kept the conversations light, steering away from anything that would bring his name up. You didn’t want to be that person who couldn’t stop talking about their ex, who couldn’t let go, even if that’s exactly how you felt inside.

It helped, sometimes.

For brief moments, you’d find yourself genuinely laughing at a joke or losing yourself in a book or a project. But then something small would happen—a song on the radio, a glimpse of someone who looked like him, or the sound of his name in passing—and it would all come rushing back. It wasn’t fair. 

You’d think you’d be used to it by now, but each time it felt like a fresh wound. The memory of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he always knew just what to say—it was as if he left a ghost behind, haunting every corner of your life. And in those moments when you’d catch yourself smiling or feeling light, it was like a betrayal. How could you allow yourself to feel joy when he wasn’t there to share it?

It was like trying to run from a shadow that moved with you, always there, no matter how fast you tried to go.

Every time you thought about him, about how he had hurt you and how you were struggling to move on, it felt like stabbing at an old wound, hoping it would heal faster if you just made it worse. The reality was that you missed him in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

Running into him was inevitable. Despite your best efforts to avoid the places he might be, your college was too small, too intertwined with memories of him.

The first time you saw him after the ultimatum was at a party you had reluctantly agreed to attend. You spotted him across the room, laughing with his friends, looking just as carefree as ever. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and for a moment, you felt stuck to the ground. But then he looked up, his eyes meeting yours, and the smile slipped from his face.

It was a small moment, one that no one else seemed to notice, but it felt like the all the air in your lungs had been sucked out. You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the conversation happening around you, but it was impossible to ignore the feeling of his eyes on you.

The second time was worse.

You were at the grocery store, just trying to get through your day when you turned a corner and nearly collided with him. The shock of seeing him so close, so unexpectedly, made you want to disappear on the spot.

You both mumbled awkward apologies, neither of you really saying anything of substance, just trying to avoid the awkwardness. But then he asked how you were.

“I’m fine,” you replied, too quickly, too sharply. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

He nodded, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more, to reach out and touch you, but he didn’t. You both stood there, trapped in a painful silence, before you finally made an excuse and walked away, leaving him standing there in the aisle.

After that, the encounters became more frequent. You saw him at the beach, in coffee shops, passing by on the street. Each time, it was the same—an awkward exchange, a few forced pleasantries, and then a quick retreat. It was like the universe was conspiring against you, refusing to give you the space you so desperately needed.

And each time, it hurt just a little bit more. Seeing him in these mundane, everyday moments, like nothing had changed, made it harder to keep up the distance you’d built. It reminded you of all the times when being around him had felt natural, easy, like he was just supposed to be there.

But the worst part was the way he looked at you. Jessica had told you before. He’d never looked at any girl like that. And you stupidly held onto that tiny hope even if you shouldn’t. 

You’d been trying to keep it together all night, but the sight of Jessica and Tyler laughing together, so effortlessly in love, was making you bleed inside. The drinks kept coming, one after another, until the room started to blur around you. You didn’t even notice how much you were drinking—only that it was easier to keep swallowing than to think about Rafe. 

But the alcohol wasn’t enough to quiet your thoughts.

Instead, it seemed to amplify them, making everything feel sharper, more painful. Jessica and Tyler’s whispered words of affection, the way his hand rested on her thigh, the way she looked at him with pure adoration—You couldn’t stop thinking about how that should have been you and Rafe.  

By the time you realized you were too far gone, it was late. You stumbled as you stood up, the room spinning wildly around you. Someone—Jessica, maybe—asked if you were okay, but their voice was muffled, distant. You tried to nod, to say something reassuring, but your legs buckled beneath you, sending you crashing back into your chair.

"Whoa, easy there," Jessica’s voice was sharper now, filled with concern. She crouched down in front of you, her hands steadying you. “You’re not okay. We need to get you out of here.”

You tried to shake your head, to insist that you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come. The room was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t focus on anything. Your vision was blurry, your limbs heavy, and you realized, with a sinking feeling, that you were too drunk to take care of yourself. You couldn’t even stand up, let alone make it home.

Panic started to set in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to lose control like this. You weren’t supposed to need help.

“Jess… I’m fine…” The words slurred out of your mouth, but even you didn’t believe them.

“No, you’re not.” Jessica’s voice was firm now, almost authoritative. She glanced around, clearly trying to figure out what to do. The other girls were watching, their laughter fading into worried murmurs, “Baby, can you go and get her some water and sugar, please?”

She gently guided you to lean back, her hand on your shoulder to steady you. You tried to focus, tried to push through the fog in your mind, but everything was slipping away, your thoughts swirling together in a jumbled mess.

“Hey, stay with me, okay?” Her voice was softer now, almost pleading. She wasn’t just a concerned friend at this moment; she was scared. You’d never seen her like this before. 

“I—” You started, but the words tangled in your throat. You wanted to tell her that you were sorry, that you didn’t mean to ruin the night, that you just wanted to stop thinking about him for a couple of hours, but all that came out was a garbled sound that barely resembled a word.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she soothed, her thumb brushing lightly against your arm. “We’ll get you out of here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Tyler returned with the water and sugar, and Jessica took the glass, trying to get you to drink. The water felt cool against your lips, but swallowing was harder than it should’ve been. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“Come on, just a little more,” Jessica urged. You managed a few more sips before the glass slipped from your grasp, water sloshing onto your lap.

“Jess, I—” You tried again, but before you could finish, you heard another voice, one that sent a jolt through your foggy mind.

He was there, right in front of you, and you knew it was him without needing to open your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard him mutter. He crouched down, gently lifting your chin so you were forced to meet his eyes. “What the hell happened?”

“She had too much to drink,” Jessica explained quickly, her tone defensive, as if she expected him to start blaming her. “We were just about to get her out of here.”

You tried to smile, to play it off like it was no big deal, but all that came out was a shaky breath. “Too much… too much, Rafe…”

“I can see that,” he said, his tone softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. He turned to Jessica, his voice all business now. 

You didn’t know how long he had been standing there. Was your brain torturing you? Making you believe he was there?

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he knelt down beside you, his hands grabbing your trembling ones. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, as if he was afraid you might break into pieces if he spoke too loudly. “I’m gonna get you home, okay?”

You wanted to say no, to tell him that you didn’t need him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you just nodded, too tired and too dizzy to fight it.

He exchanged a look with Jessica and she sighed, her worry morphing into something closer to relief. “I’ll help you get her to the car.”

Your legs were useless, and you sagged heavily against his chest. He didn’t hesitate, scooping you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, cradling you against him. His scent surrounded you, familiar and comforting, and despite everything, you found yourself leaning into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue. Your eyes fluttered shut as he carried you out, the sounds of the party fading away behind you.

The ride to your dorm was a blur. 

You were vaguely aware of Rafe’s arm around you, of Jessica sitting on your other side, rubbing your back in small circles. The motion of the car made your stomach churn, and you had to close your eyes to keep from getting sick. Uber or not, you weren’t about to ruin someone else’s car. 

When you finally arrived, he practically carried you inside while Jess fumbled with your keys before pushing the door open.

He led you to your bed, easing you down onto the mattress.

“I’ll stay with her,” he muttered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Jessica hesitated, looking between the two of you, before nodding slowly.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said to Rafe, squeezing his arm before she left.

You were barely aware of her leaving, still too drunk to process much of anything. He knelt down beside your bed, brushing a stray hair from your face. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured, his voice a soothing lullaby.

You wanted to say something, to tell him that you didn’t need him, that you were fine on your own.

You felt your bottom lip tremble. 

He noticed the change immediately, his blue eyes softening as he continued to gently brush the hair from your face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his thumb lightly tracing the curve of your jaw. “Just breathe.”

But that only made it worse. You could feel the tears welling up as you realized just how much you’d missed this—missed him. The safety of his presence, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did.

Your stomach churned, the nausea that had been building since you first sat in the car finally reaching a breaking point.

“Rafe,” you mumbled, your voice weak and shaky, “I think I’m gonna—”

He reacted instantly, his arms tightening around you as he quickly looked the room. “Okay, okay, just breathe,” he said, “You’re gonn be fine.”

But breathing was the last thing on your mind as the room started spinning faster. You tried to push away from him, your hand gripping his shirt as you fought to keep it down.

“Rafe, I need to throw up,” you managed to gasp, panic rising in your chest.

He didn’t hesitate, scooping you up from the bed and hurrying toward the bathroom. You barely registered the fact he was touching you again after so long, your mind solely focused on the nausea.

He got you to the bathroom just in time, guiding you to the toilet as you collapsed in front of it. He held your hair back with one hand, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back as you retched, the sound of it echoing harshly in the small space.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” he murmured, grounding you as you emptied your stomach. You could feel the heat of his hand on your back, the gentle way he kept your hair out of the way.

When it was over, you slumped against the cool porcelain, too exhausted to care about anything other than the relief of having the nausea finally subside. Rafe handed you a damp washcloth, and you pressed it against your face, the coolness soothing against your overheated skin.

“Better?” he asked softly, crouching down beside you. 

You nodded weakly, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything, just stayed close, while you avoided his gaze entirely. The room was quiet now, the only sound the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing as you tried to regain some control.

“I’m sorry.”

You felt embarrassed, and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected, and you hated every second of it.

“Stop apologizing,” Rafe said gently, his hand still resting on your back. 

“Can you… can you stay over?” 

You didn’t want to be alone, not tonight, not with the way your heart was aching.

Rafe’s eyes softened, the way they did only for you, and for a moment, you thought he might agree, that he might stay and help you forget, even just for a little while. 

But then he shook his head, his expression pained.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice strained, like it hurt him to say it. “You know I can’t, sweets.”

You tried to hold it together, but it was no use. Before you could stop yourself, you were crying—quiet, heartbreaking sobs that you couldn’t control.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he reached out, brushing the tears from your cheeks, but it only made you cry harder. “I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t even respond, the words tangled up in your throat. It wasn’t just that he wouldn’t stay; it was everything—the confusion, the heartbreak, the way you felt like you were losing him all over again, even though he was right there in front of you.

“Please don’t cry,” Rafe pleaded, his voice breaking. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “I hate seeing you like this.”

You buried your face in his chest, the sobs shaking your entire body. The warmth of his touch, the familiar scent of him—it was too much, too close to everything you’d been trying to avoid. But you couldn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

“I just… I just miss you,” you choked out, the words spilling from you in a broken whisper. “I miss you so much, Rafe.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I miss you too.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing. The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the ache in your chest, the one that had been there ever since you’d forced yourself to let him go.

“I wish things were different,” his usually bright eyes were dimmed, his brows drew together as if he was in pain. He looked at you like he was memorizing every detail, like he was afraid this might be the last time, “I keep hurting you.”

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his touch gentle as his fingers cradled your face. His thumbs brushed away the tears again, but they kept coming, fresh and spilling over. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a ragged breath.

“Please don’t hate me more for this,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely holding back. His eyes searched yours, desperate for reassurance, for something to cling to in this moment that felt like it was tearing you both apart.

“I could never hate you,” you whispered back, the words catching in your throat as the tears continued to fall. It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud.

He left that night.

You had almost convinced yourself that it was better this way, that moving on, that he did you a favor that night by leaving, that keeping him out of your life was the only solution. 

Staying away from you was killing him. 

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

Rafe spent his days trying to distract himself, throwing himself into his studies for the first time in his life, into parties, into anything that would take his mind off you. 

But nothing worked. Every time he saw something that reminded him of you, it was like a punch to the gut—a song you liked, a place you used to go together, even the smell of the ocean would bring memories crashing back. He missed you so much it hurt.

And when he saw you, it was even worse. The first time he ran into you after the break, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. He was at a party, trying to forget, trying to lose himself in the noise and the crowd, when he saw you across the room. For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him. But then your eyes met his, and his heart almost stopped.

You were as beautiful as ever, maybe even more so, but there was something different about you—something guarded, distant. But before he could even think about crossing the room to talk to you, you looked away, your expression closing off, leaving him standing there like an idiot, staring after you. 

He’d told you he’d wait for you and he intended on keeping that promise. He couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to have you back, to hold you, to tell you how much he loved you, how sorry he was. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, never been this wrecked over a girl, but you weren’t just any girl. 

Rafe had never been good at groveling, at admitting he was wrong, but for you, he’d do anything. He’d get on his knees and beg if that’s what it took. He didn’t care about his pride anymore, not when it meant losing you. He was willing to do whatever it took to make things right, to prove to you that he was serious, that he loved you more than he ever thought possible.

But every time he saw you, he felt that hope slipping further away. The look in your eyes, the way you avoided him, it all felt like a final nail in the coffin. And yet, he couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop himself from yearning for you, from wanting you back in his life. He was going out of his mind, torn between respecting your wishes and fighting for you with everything he had.

Rafe knew he had to do something different, something that would show you just how much he had changed. The problem was, he didn't know what that was. He needed to find a way to prove to you that he was serious, that he was willing to put in the work to make things right.

So he started small.

He stopped going to parties, and stopped trying to drown out his feelings in distractions. Instead, he focused on becoming the person he thought you deserved—the person he knew he could be if he just tried. He started paying more attention in class, showing up on time, and actually studying. He even started volunteering, something he’d never done before, just to keep his mind occupied with something productive, something that wasn’t about him for once.

But the real change came when he began working on himself. He started seeing a therapist, something he’d always scoffed at before. He had a lot of baggage, a lot of unresolved issues that had driven him to hurt you in the first place, and he knew he needed to work through them if he ever wanted to be good enough for you.

It wasn’t easy. Therapy forced him to confront things he’d buried deep, things he’d avoided dealing with for years. Family trauma and all. But he stuck with it, because he knew it was the only way to get better, to be the kind of man you could trust again.

Slowly, he started to see changes in himself. He was more patient, more understanding, and more aware of how his actions affected others. He didn’t expect you to notice any of it—he was doing it for himself as much as for you—but he hoped that maybe, just maybe, you’d see that he was trying.

And then he had to pick you up that night.

He had never seen you drunk before, you’d always preferred your fruity punch over any other alcoholic drink. He’d always known you as strong, independent, someone who could hold your own. Seeing you like that—broken, hurting—made something in him snap. Was this his fault? Had he done this to you? 

He knew he couldn’t stay that night. As much as it killed him to leave, he understood that this was part of growing too—the part where he learned to respect your boundaries, to give you space even when all he wanted was to hold you and never let go. You’d hate yourself the next day. He was doing you both a favor. 

The next morning, Rafe didn’t text or call. He wanted to give you time, to process everything without the pressure of him hovering. Instead, he threw himself back into his routine, keeping himself busy but always with you at the back of his mind. He wondered if you remembered anything from the night before—how close he’d come to breaking down when you asked him to stay, how it had taken every ounce of self-control to walk away from you again.

Days passed, and he didn’t hear from you. It felt like a new kind of torture, but he stayed strong, if this was part of the process then so be it, he needed to be patient. 

He didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to make you feel like you owed him anything. But he couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, just maybe, you were thinking about him too.

So when the call came that you were in the hospital, his heart nearly fell through his ass. He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—he just went.

The thought of you being hurt, of something happening to you, was enough to make him speed over the legal limit. He needed to see you, to make sure you were okay, even if it was the last thing he did.

When he got there, his heart clenched tightly in his chest as he pushed through the doors of the hospital. He hated hospitals, hated everything about them—the smell, the sterile white walls. But none of that mattered now. All he could think about was you.

The nurse at the front desk directed him to your room, and he practically sprinted down the hallway, his mind racing with a thousand worst-case scenarios. He’d been too fucking anxious to ask if you were okay, as soon as your name and the word hospital registered, he was rushing over. When he finally reached your door, he paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you told him to leave?

But then he heard your pretty voice, soft and familiar. He pushed open the door and there you were, sitting up in the hospital bed with a sprained ankle, looking more frustrated than hurt. He breathed out in relief, so intensely it made his knees weak.

“Rafe?” you blurted out, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw him standing there. “What are you doing here?”

He took a step closer, “They called me. I’m still your emergency contact.”

“Oh,” you muttered, looking down at your hands. “I didn’t realize.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, but he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you were trying to hold it together. “It’s just a sprained ankle. Nothing serious. Did a little too much during practice."

Rafe nodded, but he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The sight of you in that hospital bed, even for something as minor as a sprained ankle killed him. 

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine. Really.”

But he couldn’t leave. Not now, not when you were right in front of him, looking so small and vulnerable. He shook his head, his voice coming out rougher than before, “I’m not leaving.”

You blinked up at him, “But you don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, his voice firm. “I know you can handle yourself, but I’m staying.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t kick him out.  “Okay.”

He pulled up a chair beside your bed, settling in like he had no intention of going anywhere. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint beeping of the machines and the murmur of voices from the hallway outside. For a moment, neither of you said anything.  It was strange, being this close yet so far away from you. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, taking in the way yours had softened, the way the lines of worry on your face were starting to smooth out. You looked tired like you’d been lacking sleep. He wished he could help, even if just for a little while.

“You know,” he said quietly, breaking the silence, “I used to think I was pretty good at taking care of myself. But then I met you, and I realized I’d never really let anyone take care of me before. Not like you did.”

“Rafe—”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted gently, “I’m still here. I’ll always be here, even if all I can do is sit in a hospital room with you and make sure you’re okay.”

You looked down at your hands, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the words so quiet he almost didn’t hear them.

His breath caught in his throat, his heart squeezing painfully at the admission. “I missed you too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you for that night.”

He shifted slightly in his chair, leaning a little closer, careful not to overwhelm you but needing to be nearer all the same.

“I didn’t do anything special,” he murmured, though his mind replayed the events of that night. The helplessness he’d felt seeing you in that state, knowing there was little he could do to make it better. He hadn’t been sure then if you’d even wanted him there, but he’d helped you anyway. He couldn’t leave you, not when you needed someone—when you needed him.

“You were there,” a tear slipped down your cheek, and he instinctively reached out, his thumb gently wiping it away. The touch was soft, almost reverent, and it made your breath get stuck in your throat.  “That’s more than enough.”

You leaned into his touch for a moment, savoring the comfort it brought, even though it hurt to let yourself feel it, “Just glad you’re safe.”

“Why did you come?”

“Because I love you,” he admitted, tired of carrying the truth inside him, “I know I screwed up—God, I know that. But I’ve spent every day since trying to be better, trying to be the kind of man you deserve. And I know I have a long way to go, but I’m not giving up. Not on you. Not unless you ask me to.”

“You love me?”

Your voice sounded so meek, so unsure it made him want to punch himself in the face. This was entirely his doing. 

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. He looked nervous, and vulnerable, “Yeah,” he said, “I do. I’m in love with you, I just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to say it, or maybe I was too scared to. Didn’t want to make you think I was saying it to save my ass, y’know?”

You’d always wondered what it would be like to hear those words from him, to have him admit that he cared for you in the same way you cared for him. 

“I didn’t want to push you,” he continued, fingers intertwined, “But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I couldn’t let you think that I didn’t care, that I didn’t want this, want you.”

You blinked, trying to process everything he was saying. This was the Rafe you’d always hoped for—the one who was honest and unafraid to show his emotions. But it was also the Rafe who had hurt you, who had made mistakes that left scars you weren’t sure had fully healed.

“Rafe, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to say it, sweets. It’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I’m scared of getting hurt again, of going back to that place where everything fell apart.”

He had changed—you could see it in the way he carried himself, in the way he spoke to you. He wasn’t the same Rafe who had hurt you.

"I’m not asking you to trust me right away," he continued, though there was a hint of desperation in it. "I know I need to earn that. But please, give me a chance to prove it. I don’t want to lose you again."

"You can’t wait for me forever.”

“I’d wait for you a lifetime. I told you,” His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing when he spoke, as if he was trying not to cry, “If you ever want me, I’m yours.”

His hands, usually so restless, were still now, resting on his knees as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. You saw the man he was trying to be—the man he wanted to be for you. He wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but he was trying. And that had to count for something.

“Even if I made you wait until we’re eighty and grey?”

Rafe let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained but genuine, “Even then,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “You’re it for me.”

It scared you how much you wanted to believe him, how much you wanted to pull him into your arms and tell him that he was it for you too. He reached out, his hand hovering near yours, waiting for you to close the distance. You hesitated for only a moment before your fingers intertwined with his.  It felt right, like coming home after being lost for so long.

He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were thinking, feeling. He looked like he was holding his breath.

“I love you too.”

It was still scary, still uncertain, but you realized that nothing worth having ever came easy. And Rafe, with all his flaws and all his efforts to be better, was worth it.

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief, “I don’t deserve you,” he said whispered, lips pressed against your fingers, “But I’m going to spend every day trying to. I swear, I’ll never stop trying.”

You closed your eyes, “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, as if he could physically hold you together through sheer will alone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” he started, his voice panicked, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“No, it’s okay,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet his. “I just… it’s been a long time since I let myself feel this way.”

He nodded, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. “You don’t have to hold back with me. Not anymore. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, running down your cheeks. Rafe was there instantly, his other hand reaching up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears with a tenderness that made your heart hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked, “For everything I put you through.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you, giving you the strength to keep going. “I was so miserable Rafe,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Scared that if I let you back in, I’d get hurt again. Scared that I’d lose you all over again.”

“I know,” he said, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere this time. I’m here, and I’m not going to let you down.”

“I want to try.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, and he pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours as if he couldn’t  believe what he was hearing. “You do?”

You nodded, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. “I do. But we need to take it slow, okay? I need time.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, his eyes bright with hope. “We’ll go as slow as you need. I don’t fucking care sweets, I’m not leaving.”

You weren’t just giving him another chance—you were giving yourself one too. A chance to heal, to forgive, and to find your way back to each other.

Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment as if sealing the promise between you. “We’ve got this,” he murmured against your skin. “It’s you and me, okay?”

“You and me.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and a genuine smile tugged at his lips, one that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. It was a smile you hadn’t seen in a long time, and seeing it made you want to bawl all over again. His hand cradled your cheek, his fingers tracing delicate circles on your jaw as his eyes locked onto yours, silently asking for permission, for forgiveness, for a chance to be close to you again. And when his lips finally brushed against yours, whatever pain you were feeling on your ankle disappeared. 

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid you might pull away, afraid to push too far too soon. But the moment your lips pressed back against his, that tentative touch deepened. Rafe’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand to be apart from you even for a second. You could feel the desperation in the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath hitched when you parted your lips to let him in.

Just as you were about to lose yourself in him, the door to your room swung open with a creak. You both froze, lips still touching, as someone cleared their throat.

You pulled away from each other reluctantly, your cheeks flushed, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your eyes met Rafe’s and you saw the same blush of color on his face, the same love-sick expression that you were sure mirrored your own.

The doctor stood in the doorway, a clipboard in hand, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, I see you’re feeling better.”

Rafe cleared his throat, stepping back slightly, his hand still lingering on your arm as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet. “Uh, yeah, she’s doing great,” he mumbled.

“You must be the boyfriend.”

You couldn’t help the grin that took over, “Yeah. He is.”

[railingsofsorrow]

drabble #11

summary: you are caught red handed squinting while reading and your coworkers don't let it slide.

w.c: 682

warnings/content: no warnings just fluff and bickering between friends; annoyance towards dirty lenses (based on a personal experience); secret relationship (implied).

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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“pretty girl.”

you were writing something down in a post-it note that you thought was relevant for the investigation before derek's voice came out of nowhere, startling you.

you look up at him, frowning, “why do you have to sneak up on people like that?”

“where are your glasses?” he inquired, narrowing you down with a suspicious look. his arms crossed over his chest as he had the serious stance he usually carried when he was trying to figure someone out. you straightened your back slightly, choosing to go back to your reading since you didn't have a reading speed of 20 000 words per minute and you also didn't want to answer that question.

see, here's the thing. glasses are annoying. dealing with dirty lenses is the worst part of wearing them, because as soon as you clean them up, they get absolutely filthy in the next second. also, you broke your lenses at least three times given your line of work.

so, yes, you purposely forgets them a few days a week to not deal with these issues.

maybe more than just a few days a week.

and your coworkers decided to make a comment or give you a look every time they catch you squinting up at a page.

“hey,” you glared up at derek morgan as he flickered your case file much to your annoyance. “i'm talking to you. where are your glasses? can you even see me right now?”

“shut up, derek.”

“do I need to get you a new pair to leave it here in the office?” he asked with indignation written all over his face. “that's the only way you'll wear them!”

“I don't need to wear them.” you practically hissed at him before he broadcasted the conversation into the entire bullpen. “they're reading glasses, it's not like I need to have them on all the time.”

“the strength of your glasses recently increased to 2. so you do need to wear them if you don't want it to get worst.” spencer dropped his things on his desk, butting in on the conversation as if he had been invited. you scowled, not the slightest amused. he only shrugged.

“see what I'm saying, pretty girl?” derek gave you a look. he resigned with a ruffle to your hair then walked away to make some coffee.

you let out a sigh, fixing up your strands in frustration.

“here.” you looked down at the object placed in your lap. “you forgot it at my place last night.” you blinked up at him, mouth agape.

“i-what?”

“at the bedside table?” spencer gave you a look. the faint memory of your eyeglasses case on top of his bedside table came to your mind.

which was why you couldn't recall where your glasses were at home. you had been late for work and decided to give up on the search.

but they weren't even at your place.

“I cleaned them up.” he added.

“oh. right.” you took the case from him, a coat of pink painting your cheeks. you hoped he didn't expect you were going to wear them. “thank you.”

“thankfully you didn't purposely forgot it at home, right?” spencer softly teased, poking your hip which earned a kick in his ankle.

“shut up.”

he chuckled, stealthily eyeing the bullpen that was fairly empty because it was still early in the morning. he leaned down and quickly pecked your cheek then the corner of your mouth.

“spencer!” you hissed, a warning in your tone as you looked around for any prying eyes.

grinning cheeky at you, he took a few steps back. probably to go to the kitchen to grab the coffee derek was taking too long to bring. “movie night at 8 again?” he mouthed.

with a roll of your eyes, you nod “yes.” you mouthed in return, sticking your attention back to the twenty files to be finished at your desk.

“put your glasses on!” he said out loud on purpose, now attracting attention.

you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.

idiot. an absolute idiot.

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taglist: @lilyviolets

[hispg]

My sweet friend

Pairings: Best friend Leon! x fem! Reader

Wc: 2.2k

Summary: After a party you decided to sleep in your best friend's house, little do you know that sleeping is the last thing that he'll do.

Warnings: Porn without plot, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, somnophilia, dub-con, drunk sex, dirty thoughts, a bit of dirty talk, shameless smut.

He was shirtless, just wearing his sweatpants, all at ease as he waited for the episode to finish.

Another quiet evening in Leon's apartment. He was just lazing around watching some series on TV. It was his day off, so he was making the most of it.

He wasn't one for staying up late, and considering it was already half past ten at night, it was high time he fell asleep.

He was about to doze off on the sofa when he heard the doorbell ring. This puzzled him since he hadn't invited anyone to his apartment that night.

Sleepily, he got up from the sofa and headed for the door. He opened it while rubbing his eyes, not even paying attention to who was waiting for him.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite police officer!" You say in a slightly raspy, slurred voice. You were very loud that night.

He opens his eyes, noticing your figure. He was used to these visits from you. After all, you were best friends, but he'd never seen you so loose like this.

"Uhm, what are you doing here?" The question came quietly from his lips, although he kept a sweet smile for you.

Of course, he heard when you started talking, but paying attention to what you were saying was another story. His eyes traveled down your body, and seeing the way your curves were being hugged by your tight black dress was simply immoral.

He took a deep breath, remembering every detail. It wasn't hard to guess that you were coming from a party, and you looked so beautiful.

"Mhmmm, Leon! Will you let me in?" You whimpered slyly, throwing yourself into his arms.

"Ugh, you stink of alcohol." He grumbles, gently dragging you inside.

All you did was mumble some nonsensical things, which frankly Leon didn't even try to pay attention to. He just dragged you into his room, laying you on the bed.

You needed that, just as you would need him the next day. He swore to God he was trying not to look at you, but the way your curves were so exposed in that dress.

He shouldn't have, but he could already feel his blood pulsing in his lower body. As a precaution, he decided that he would sleep on the sofa for the night until he heard your whimper.

"Am I going to sleep alone? No! What if there's a monster under the bed?" You said in the same drunken, raspy voice. He wondered how much you'd had to drink that night. And for making the situation more amusing somehow, you sat on the bed and pouted at him.

He hides a laugh from you, finding your childish behavior comical, to say the least.

"Ok, I'll sleep here. But if you kick me out of bed, I'll throw you out. Do you hear me?" Leon whispers jokingly, sticking his tongue out at you.

You nod desperately, pulling him into bed with you. He falls onto the bed gently, snuggling into his side.

And once you lay back down on his bed, he can't help but look at you with the most pleading eyes on earth. Even if you're not noticing it, too busy trying to be comfortable on his bed.

But he can't help it. The way your dress always lifts up a bit, threatening to show the curve of your ass. Fuck, too exciting for him not pay attention. He could end this, surely, just putting a blanket over you would solve the problem.

And that's exactly the point, he don't want to solve the problem.

He preferred to stay on his side of the bed, looking at your ass bouncing every time you tried to get on a comfortable position, the way that the dress drawns your curves so damn perfectly.

He swear to God that he's trying to not think about it, but the way that his cock is throbbing on his pants says otherwise. He even grabs a pillow, softly rubbing against his erection, hoping that this helps him to ease a little.

Didn't take long for him to get mad about it, why instead of the pillow, it couldn't be that pretty mouth of yours? That pretty plump, pink lips of yours? Damn, the way that it would fit perfectly around his cock.

Or even better, what if he can use that pretty pussy of yours? He can bet that your pussy it's just pretty as you.

Without even noticing, his hands slipped through his pants, his fingers rubbing the tip of his hard cock. And he can already feel the considerable amount of pre-cum sliding down on this dick, messing his thighs on the process.

When he felt what he was doing, he stopped himself, thinking about how wrong it was. No, it was too dirty to do that while you were beside him.

He breathed heavily, trying to focus on getting his composure back. He got his phone, and started to scroll it, praying that this give him some sleep, so he can just close his eyes and rest, even if he doubt that he's going to be able to sleep this night.

A couple of minutes later, he felt a bit more calm, taking deep breaths and trying his best to not think about you. But when he turned to your side, his mouth fell open, eyes widening at the sight.

There you were, laying on your stomach, your dress was now at your waist, giving him a perfect angle of your bare ass cheeks. His mind goes wild, seeing how round and plump they're.

And then again, he felt his cock hardening, so damn hard that he can see it through the sheets.

"Fuck me.." He murmured, drooling at the magnificent sight of your bare ass.

His hands trembled, and he was willing to at least give a squeeze on that ass, he can't control himself. It was such a hot sin in front of him.

And well, before he even realized his hand was on his cock, palming himself to get some relieve.

His another hand roaming in your arms, gently caressing it. He can't believe how much he gets aroused only by such a simple touch like this. He felt your soft skin under his fingertips, and it was so damn smooth.

You shivered at his touch, even if you were sleeping, just one involuntary action. As if even when you were sleeping, you still wanted his touch.

He couldn't help, letting out a soft whimper while he was jerking off, feeling so excited over you. He can't contain himself, too much for him.

Finally, his hands reached your lower back, and he started to play with the waistband of your panties, wanting to desperately feel what's underneath.

Slipping his hand down further, he gets to touch your ass cheek. Dragging his fingers over it, rubbing and giving little squeezes. Feeling the soft flesh of your ass.

And shit, he felt so turned on by that. Cock twitching and pulsing on his hand, he's sure that once he come, it's going to be a thick,long load. He's more than sure of it.

You stirred, shifting your ass a bit more up, stretching yourself a bit, soon turning back to your normal position.

And then again, Leon whimpered, hand dangerously close to your covered pussy, fingers roaming eagerly your ass, wavering around each centimeter.

That purked little cunt, that he desperately wants to suck and lick until you're begging him to stop. That little cunt that he wants to fuck over and over, and fill it up with his cum. 

In an impulsive thought, his hands slide to your already wet folds, not touching it directly. The tip of his indicator finger stroking it above your soaked panties, and he was whining so damn much right now.

He keeps telling himself that this is wrong, that he shouldn't be doing this. But hell, if is this bad, why you're so fucking wet? There is no way that you didn't want this, too.

The way that you started to rub your thighs together, pressing them against each other so tightly. This was the bit of sight that he needed, and well, he would keep going.

He kept stroking his cock with one hand,  he was trying his best to not cum that fast, but he can't help it. When he entered his finger on you, feeling your tight wet walls sucking him in, he whined loudly, more than he should.

Words can't describe how relieved he felt knowing that you were a deep sleeper this night, maybe from the tiredness along with the fact that you were a bit drunk. Enough to knock you down on this bed.

Then again he slipped another finger, whimpering at the sensation of your tight little cunt. Wanting so bad that it was his cock instead.

His fingers started to grind you, moving at a slow and steady pace. Feeling your gummy and velvety walls embrace him tightly.

"Mhm.." There it was, your sweet voice moaning at his touch.

You started to stir, drowsy opening your eyes. Your eyes nervously darts around, while Leon look at you with a soft smile, as if he wasn't doing anything. But you could clearly feel how hot it was between your legs, you could feel your fluids dripping down your thighs.

Too bad you were too tired to protest, not that you were against it either. Not least because as soon as you realized what he was doing, you swung your hips towards him, thrusting in a way that made what he was doing easier.

Another sweet whimper escapes his lips, his fingers start to move faster. In and out, curving around and hitting your sweet spots. By then, you were buried in the pillow, letting out sleepy cries and moans, and that made him even hornier.

Just seeing that you accepted him even though you were in such a vulnerable state made him lose his mind easily. And without waiting long, he asked you, "Do you want me to rock you?"

It seemed like an innocent proposal at first, not that you were in the best state of mind.

But all you did was nod, wanting him to rock you to sleep. He quickly withdrew his fingers from you, making you whimper at the emptiness you felt.

He licked his fingers, savoring the taste of your sweet honey. And indeed it was just as he imagined, you were as sweet and delicious as honey.

And then he pulled you to him, your back against his chest, one of his hands finding your hips, pushing them forward a little.

In one swift movement, he shoved his cock into you. With one strong, deep thrust, he was all the way inside you.

Only now did you understand what he meant, it wasn't a proposal to go to sleep.

He was going to rock into you.

"Mhmh, Leon..." You moan softly, your fingers curling into the pillow.

"Shh, I'll put you to sleep." He whispers in a little whimper, feeling overwhelmed by the way your pussy nestled his cock so well.

This was better than you imagined, him thrusting gently while holding you by the waist, moving in and out.

He whimpered so much, it was so good the way your spongy walls gripped him, pulled him in.

The poor thing was so needy that he couldn't stop touching you, kissing your neck, biting and licking the soft skin.

Just as he stroked your clit from time to time, only to feel your little hole clench around him.

"I'm close." You moaned a little louder, your nails sinking into the pillow.

He growled in your ear, squeezing your waist and thrusting in without warning. He knew he was close too, and surely he couldn't wait to come inside you, to fill you with his cum until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to fill you up, until my cum starts leaking out." He murmurs, rocking his hips at an abnormal speed. Moving back and forth without stopping.

"Mhmhmm, ah, ah..." You babble, not even making the effort to speak a single sentence.

"Getting fucking drunk on that cock, aren't you?" He groans, thrusting into your weak spot, making you see stars every time.

Enough for you to fall apart, calling his name again and again, your walls slapping against his cock, spilling everything you had to offer.

That was the last straw for him too, you could feel the first spurts inside you. And just as he imagined, it was a long load, he can see it running down your wet folds. He gives you a satisfied smile, seeing what he's wanted to see for ages.

You were breathing heavily, your lips parted, and your eyes closed. He was almost in the same state, except he was wide awake.

He kisses your cheek, pulling the covers over you both, not even bothering to clean up around here.

"Sleep well, sweetheart." He whispers, tucking you into the same big spoon position.

Giving you a tight hug and light kisses on the neck, and that's how it went until you both fell asleep.

Being honest? He couldn't wait for the next day, because he was going to do it all over again.

Oh, how he would.

[clawsdevour]

last customer

wc: 0.6k content warning: post-time skip, osamu x reader, fluff, not proofread

⠀ೀ * : ,,,

it's cold and frosty out as you made your way down the concrete sidewalk to the brightly lit restaurant. the snow's starting to pile up, each snowflake landing on your flushed cheeks before you're under the roof of the address on your phone.

stiff fingers gripped on the doorhandle as you pushed it open, the warmth of the restaurant immediately rushing towards you as you sighed out of relief as the bell rang at the top of the door.

the ringing caught the owner's attention from the kitchen. sticking his grey head of hair out from the kitchen doorframe, he looked at you with confusion before checking his watch.

"um.. hi!" immersing yourself in the heated restaurant as you stood by the door staring back at his figure.

"hi, i'm sorry we just closed.." his brown eyes peering back at you from his watch with concern as he noticed how cold it must be outside.

"oh- i'm sorry.. i thought i'd arrive before your shop would close," looking down at your shoes wehre your toes are absolutely frozen despite having fluffy socks on before turning your body towards the door that showed the chilling winter night through the glass.

right when you were about to head out as the bell rung due to the movement of the door just slightly moving, the owner calls back at you while you heard the restaurant's air vents turn on.

"wait, since you've come so far in this freezing weather i might as well whip something up!" his deep voice shouted from the kitchen, catching your attention.

you felt bad since he was almost done getting ready to close, but you couldn't turn down his offer. his face was as grey as his hair with a slightly worried expression plastered on his face.

"..okay, sure! i'd love that," your lips jolted into a big smile as the blush on your cold cheeks lit up.

turning your back away from him, his fingers got to work and started scooping up some fresh rice to wash.

his other hand gestured at you to have a seat right in front of him where you can watch him work his magic.

"soo.. what would you recommend chef?" putting your arms on the table and leaning in to examine his skills at work like a curious cat.

his brows just so slightly raise when he notices your gaze upon him. looking up from the rice pot he mumbles out a mmm.. to think, what would be nice and warm to suit this weather? he thought to himself thinking about what would be the best to offer.

"hmmm i'd say the salmon yaki onigiri. it's got a crispy fried outside with some delicious fresh salmon on the inside," his droopy eyes giving you a gentle smile as he works relentlessly at the rice.

pouring out the starchy water to refill the pot before he plugs the wire into the rice cooker, he's leaning on the counter to make some small talk.

"what brings you here so late? and in the freezing snow?" taking his hat off to comb his fingers through his hair.

"just felt like trying a new restaurant.. in the middle of winter," you can't stop holding eye contact with his deep brown eyes that drew you in.

pausing for a second as you two stared, you had to break it up, "..oh! i'm y/n by the way. nice to meet you..?"

"osamu miya, like atsumu miya's twin brother" nodding his head as he took a rag to wipe his wet hands with before walking into the fridge to grab fresh orange salmon out.

"you're gonna love this dish," placing the slab of fish onto the cutting board while taking out his knives to sharpen.

masterlist here

[forever-rogue]

Hiiiiiii so idk if you saw how Kourtney Kardashian revealed her pregnancy to Travis Barker but it SCREAMS Rockstar!Eddie to me…

Just imagine him jumping off the stage after a show all sweaty and shit, kissing you over and over again, just over the moon so happy… I- it’s doing things to me 🥵

AN | I have not seen it, but looked it up, and it’s totally rockstar!eddie! Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Rockstar!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"No way," you looked between the small stick in one hand and the box in the other. You weren't sure if you were more excited or nervous or downright terrified, "no way!"

You looked in the mirror and studied your reflection; you were wild-eyed and flushed, hair in a messy bun and still in pajamas. You'd basically woken up and run to the store as such and still hadn't made much progress. You were much too excited. 

Today marked the second period in a row that you'd missed. Combined with the way you'd started to feel lately, you couldn't help but wonder. And that led you to this moment - finding out that you were pregnant.

Your first thought was to call Eddie right away to tell him the good news. You hadn't been trying to get pregnant but you hadn't been trying to prevent it either. But - Eddie was still away, so close to being home from the tour Corroded Coffin was currently on. Tomorrow night was the hometown and last show of the tour. You'd see him soon.

And that gave you a wonderful little idea.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Nancy," you called her as soon as you'd gotten showered and dressed, still feeling like you were in a daydream, "I've got a big favor to ask!"

"Uh oh," you could hear the amusement in her voice, "what did you get up to this time, trouble?"

"I may or may not have gotten myself knocked up," you waited with baited breath for her to catch on. Trying to keep it casual and nonchalant was already proving to be a challenge. It took her a few moments before you heard her excited gasp.

"You're pregnant?!" She was practically squealing in delight as you nodded enthusiastically, barely remembering that she couldn't see, "oh my god, that's amazing! When did you find out?"

"Like an hour ago," you still had the test on the kitchen counter next to you, "you're the first to know."

"Yay," your best friend sounded like she was tearing up as well, "I'm so happy for you. Seriously, this is wonderful. Our babies will be able to grow up together!"

"And Steve and Eddie can be the dorkiest dads ever," you sighed softly, "I haven't told Eddie but since tomorrow's the last show of their tour, I figured I'd surprise him then. I have an idea-"

"I'm in!"

"I haven't even told you what the plan is yet!"

"I don't care," you loved her tenacity, "I'm in regardless!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Later that evening the two of you were camped in your living room, with big, colorful markers and poster boards. Your plan was to right some sort of announcement on them to Eddie, letting him know that you were pregnant. You played around with a couple of different ideas, but eventually settled on one. You'd be front and center at the show tomorrow and would make sure he saw your sign.

"Do you think he's even going to notice?" You looked at your handiwork and let out a long sigh, "or do you think he'll ignore it? Maybe he'll think it's just a random fan."

"Seriously?" Nancy scoffed playfully as she nudged your leg with hers. You offered her a sheepish grin in return, "he always looks for you. He's…such a sucker for you."

"Hopefully," you couldn't help the way that her comment made you feel. You knew he loved you, that much was always obvious, but knowing others saw it too was an entirely different type of sensation, "especially now that I'm carrying his kid."

"He's going to freak out," you raised your eyebrows in question and she shook her head, "freak out in a good way! He's going to he terrified, but he's going to be a great dad. And you'll be a great mom. Swear."

"I hope so…if not I've got months to agonize over it," you finished coloring in the big block lettering of your word and leaned against the couch, "was it both incredibly amazing and terrifying for you when you found out?"

"Duh," she teased softly, "its normal. No one's got it all figured, but that's okay. It's going to be amazing."

"What if I'm not ready?"

"It's a little too late for that, I think," she winked at you, and your entire face flushed. You'd always been all in for Eddie - this just made you even more sure of that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm having second thoughts," you looked over at Nancy who was standing to your right with a huge smile on her face. She understood your nerves - she'd felt the same way the first time she told Steve she was pregnant. You were clutching the poster in your hand so tightly that your knuckles were turning white, "maybe I shouldn't."

"You should and you will," she wiggled the poster in her hands and offered you what she hoped was an encouraging smile, "we're here, the posters are ready, and Eddie will be on stage any moment!"

"Okay," you felt sick to your stomach, but you were pretty sure it wasn't anything due to your pregnancy, "right."

Before you could argue with her any further, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The sudden shift in the excitement caused you to startle for a moment before nerves settled into your bones. You were in the front VIP area, close to the stage as you often were, which gave you a perfect view of the stage. 

You almost swooned when Eddie came onto the stage along with the rest of the band. The crowd was cheering their name and you couldn't help but join in. This was exactly where he was meant to be - he owned the stage with grace and ease. 

Eddie gave a little speech before the band rolled into their set. Any remaining nerves went away as you sang and bopped along to the music with Nancy. It was easy to lose yourself in the moment, but you were quickly pulled back into reality when you saw Eddie looking around the crowd. He was looking for you, just as it always was. 

You heard your heartbeat in your ears as everything around you seemed to disappear. You weren't in a sea of thousands anymore - it was just the two of you. His pretty face lit up with a saccharine and beaming smile as his eyes found yours. Your own smile in return was practically ethereal as you blew him a kiss. He winked before slipping back into rockstar mode and continued playing his heart you.

 You always wondered how he could even find you, considering the bright lights of the stage made it difficult to see much of the audience. He said it was because his heart always knew where to find you. He called him a dork; he called himself a hopeless romantic for you.

"Oh come on," Nancy practically squealed as she held onto your arm, "the two of you are disgustingly precious!"

"I know," you admitted softly, "I know."

As the rest of the show went on, you kept trying to find the perfect moment to hold up your poster. You decided to save it for the last song - what better way to end the show?

You shouted your little plan into Nancy's ear and, to no one's surprise, she totally supported the idea. Once they started playing the last song you threw up your posters and started calling Eddie's name loudly. The two of you were attracting attention from all around you. Part of you expected to find angry looking faces ready to tell you to keep it down but instead you found a lot of excited faces.

"Eddie!" You shouted his name at the top of your lungs, jumping up and down to capture his attention. That seemed to spark something in him and he turned towards you. It took him a few moments to lock eyes with you, but once he did you saw him look at the posters the two of you were holding up. 

His expression blanked for a moment before he seemed to realize what they said. In big, bright letters your sign said, Eddie, I'm pregnant! while Nancy's said Eddie, she's pregnant! 

“Hold on,” Eddie stopped playing, looking at you the entire time as he grabbed his mic, “pardon me for a moment.”

And with that, he practically ripped his guitar off and set it on its stand at the edge of the stage before jumping down into the audience and making his way over to you, pushing eagerly through the crowd. He stopped right in front of you, reading over your sign again before looking at you with a nervous expression. His heart was beating so wildly that he was surprised that it didn’t burst through his ribcage. 

“Baby,” his voice was almost trembling as you looked at him with teary eyes, “are you serious? We’re having a baby?”

“Yes,” and just like that, the tears were running down your cheek as you nodded at him, “I’m pregnant.”

“No fucking way,” he eagerly, but still tenderly, took your face in his hands before leaning in to kiss you. You could feel him smiling against your lips as he kissed you; the fact that you were in the middle of a giant crowd didn’t both either of you. He pulled back and gently brushed away your tears, “we’re having a baby?”

“We’re having a baby,” you confirmed as he looked at you incredulously. To him you were, and had always been, pure magic. You were the girl of his dreams and now you were having his baby? It seemed like a dream, “surprise!”

“Best surprise ever,” he promised as he kissed you again. He looked back at the stage and then at you, “let me, ugh, let me wrap things up real quick.”

“By all means,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek before nudging him back towards the stage, “I’ll be right here.”

He nodded before almost running back to the stage, leaping onto it and grabbing his beloved guitar again. He turned back to the rest of the band and they looked at him in understanding, already well aware of where this was going. 

“Ladies and gents,” he looked through the crowd that was eagerly watching him, “I think I’ve just gotten the best news ever from the best person ever. My girl - she’s pregnant!”

Your entire body warmed up as you shook your head at his antics. But you knew him and loved him, and the fact that he was immediately so excited made your heart feel happy and relieved. You could feel the crowd turn to you as they started to cheer. 

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and now she’s giving me the best thing ever,” he took a moment to breath, already feeling a rush of emotion bubble up, “baby, I love you so much. And, on that note, we’re gonna end this night on a song that I wrote for her when we first started dating. So if you know the words, sing along!”

He launched into your song, one of many, and a huge part of the crowd joined him. It was such an odd thing to have so many people singing one song in unity and to know that it was al for you. Eddie might have a been a lot of things, but he was the love of your life. That much you’d always known.

Sure, the idea of being pregnant and having a baby was terrifying, but with Eddie at your side, you were sure it would all be okay.

-

After the show, you made your way backstage, not even having to bother to flash your access pass as you looked for Eddie. You felt electric, but you couldn’t wait to have a moment alone with him.

As soon as you were in his proximity, he spotted you and made his way over to you. This time he was able to wrap his arms around you and pulled into his body, hugging you tightly.

“Eddie,” you laughed softly, feeling him pepper kisses all over the side of your head, “I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry,” his cheeks pinked as he looked you over, almost as if he was trying to see any visible sign of your pregnancy, “I’m just…wow. You’re pregnant and I’m just…wow.”

“I found out yesterday,” you reached into your pocket and handed him one of the several tests you’d taken, “and I wanted to surprise you.”

“Best surprise ever,” he looked at the small stick with a look of awe etched into his features, “and that little reveal? Baby, you’re a genius. This is…fuck, I’m so in love with you.”

“Are you…happy?’ you asked softly, still craving the reassurance despite his clear indication of happiness.

“So happy,” he brushed his knuckles along your cheek, sighing softly, “this is amazing, baby. There’s no one else I’d ever want to do with this. But, it’s about you too - are you happy?”

“Yes,” you promised, taking his hand and settling onto your belly, where soon you’d be able to see evidence of your child, “happier than ever. I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered so only you could hear it. You felt him gently rub your belly, “and you too, baby. Both of you - so much.”

[librababe99]

Vigilante's Lullaby |Part One|

cw: Red Hood, Gender Neutral Reader, Angst, Mentions of violence, blood, injury, medical procedure, hurt no comfort, dark romance, hurt no comfort word count: 1.9K summary: In the shadows of Gotham’s underworld, you run a clinic that caters to those no one else dares to help. One night, Red Hood stumbles in, bloodied and defiant, refusing assistance despite his wounds. As you force him to stay, a strange, electrifying tension fills the air.

A/N: Hello! Just finished up the final edits to the first part of this new series. For the sake of dramatics I really liked the idea of leaving Jason's identity anonymous and sticking with his alias. Also as of now I'm wanting this to be a four part series but of course that can change! If you'd like to be tagged in the next part just let know <3 As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(DC Masterlist) (Marvel Masterlist)

(Synopsis) (Part Two)

The clinic was a small, dimly lit space tucked away in the decaying heart of Gotham’s underbelly. The walls were cracked and worn, the faded paint peeling in corners no one bothered to care about anymore. Shadows lingered in every corner, as thick as the stench of sweat and antiseptic that clung to the air. It was late—well past the time most sane people would be out in Gotham. But sanity was a luxury in a city like this, and you’d long since learned to live without it.

You leaned over the trembling form of a thug, stitching up the gash in his side with quick, practiced movements. He wasn’t important—just some small-time crook who got into a fight he couldn’t win. It wasn’t your job to ask questions. You weren’t paid for that. People came to you because you never asked why, and you never judged. Criminal, vigilante, or something in between, it didn’t matter. In Gotham, everyone bled the same.

The thug winced, muttering a half-hearted complaint, and you hushed him quietly, focusing on the task at hand. It was routine—just another night in a city that never slept, where violence was a constant companion.

Then the door slammed open, hard enough to rattle the rusting hinges.

You looked up, instincts on edge, fingers stilling mid-stitch. A figure loomed in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the floor. The helmet gave him away immediately—Red Hood. His presence dominated the room, his chest heaving, blood dripping onto the worn floorboards.

"Out," his voice growled, distorted through the modulator in his helmet. It wasn’t directed at you.

The thug on the table scrambled up, clutching his side. He didn’t wait for a second warning. As soon as Red Hood stepped into the room, the thug fled into the night, disappearing into Gotham’s shadows.

The vigilante staggered forward, his movements heavy, labored. Blood soaked through his jacket, staining the dark fabric and leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. His breathing was harsh, his body barely holding itself together, but when you moved toward him, his gloved hand shot up.

“I don’t need your help,” he growled, even though his knees almost buckled from the effort of staying upright.

You stopped short, eyeing him carefully. His wounds were bad. Too bad. He wouldn’t last long in this state, not even in Gotham. But you’d seen his type before. The kind who thought they could muscle through the pain, through death itself, out of sheer willpower. Maybe he had cheated death once, but not tonight. Not like this.

“You’ll die if I don’t patch you up,” you said, voice calm but firm. You weren’t afraid of him. That was important. Red Hood’s entire persona thrived on fear. “Sit down. Now.”

His helmet turned slightly, as if sizing you up. There was tension in the way he held himself, every muscle coiled tight, ready for violence even though his body was betraying him. His fingers twitched like they were ready to reach for his gun. But you stood your ground.

“I’m not going to ask twice,” you added, eyes narrowing. “You won’t make it out of this room if you don’t let me help.”

For a long, painful moment, he didn’t move. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he let his hand drop to his side. A begrudging acceptance. He stepped forward and sank into the chair, the weight of his injuries catching up to him.

You didn’t hesitate. Moving quickly, you grabbed your supplies and knelt beside him, carefully peeling back his jacket to expose the wound. The gash across his side was deep, and there were other cuts and bruises littering his body, evidence of a fight he barely survived.

As you worked, the room fell into a tense quiet, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the mix of blood and sweat clinging to his skin. Your fingers brushed against his flesh, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. The air between you seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, thick with something unspoken.

He watched you from behind the mask, his eyes hidden but his presence palpable. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show any reaction to the violence he wore so plainly on his skin. You’d seen worse, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he unsettled you. Still, there was something in the way he sat so still now, the way his body surrendered to your touch, that made the space between you feel... electric.

“You don’t ask questions,” Red Hood said after a while, his voice low, almost conversational now. There was a hint of something behind his words, like he was testing you. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else,” you replied simply, not looking up from his wounds as you stitched them closed with quick precision.

He made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No. I guess you’re not.”

Your hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary as you finished up, the tips of your fingers brushing against the edge of his skin. His body tensed slightly, and you could feel the air shift between you. There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where Red Hood’s guard dropped. His gaze softened behind the mask, as if for just a second, he was letting you see past the armor. Past the walls he had built so high.

But then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Red Hood stood abruptly, wincing as he moved, pulling his jacket back into place. He didn’t say thank you—he wasn’t the type. He didn’t have to. The way his eyes lingered on you, just for a heartbeat longer than they should have, told you everything.

“Don’t expect me to come back,” he muttered as he made his way to the door.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

He disappeared into the night, and you stood in the quiet aftermath, staring at the blood he left behind on the floor. Something about that encounter stuck with you. It was more than just another wounded vigilante passing through your clinic. It felt like the start of something darker. Something deeper.

A week passed, and you tried not to think about him.

But Gotham had a way of bringing people back into your life whether you wanted them or not. The nights were long, the clinic busy as always, but a part of you found yourself glancing at the door more than you cared to admit. You told yourself it was just a matter of curiosity—nothing more.

Until he returned.

This time, Red Hood didn’t burst in with the same dramatic entrance. He slipped through the door quietly, his presence immediately recognizable despite the effort he seemed to make to go unnoticed. He was wounded again, though not as badly as before. His jacket was torn, blood staining his side, but his steps were more measured, less desperate.

You raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the light, crossing your arms over your chest. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His lips twisted into something like a smirk, though there was no humor behind it. “Didn’t have a choice.”

Without waiting for your response, he sat down in the chair again, wincing as he moved. You took a deep breath, grabbing your supplies once more. This time, there was less urgency, but the tension between you had only grown in his absence. As you worked, the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t the same. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

“You live like this every night?” you asked after a while, breaking the quiet. “Bleeding all over the city?”

He chuckled, though it was dark and hollow. “It’s Gotham. Bleeding’s part of the job description.”

You glanced up at him, instinctively drawn to where his eyes should be beneath the mask, though you still couldn’t see them. The white lenses covering his eyes remained in place, a barrier between the two of you, preventing you from truly seeing the man beneath. But you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he were studying you just as closely.

There was always something about that mask—how it made him unreadable, cold, distant. Yet, in moments like this, when the tension in the room grew thick, you could feel the weight of emotions hidden behind it. The silence stretched on for a beat too long, the sound of your steady breathing filling the space as you tried to ignore the electric pull between you.

“And what job is that, exactly?” you asked, your tone carefully measured. You couldn’t let your curiosity get the better of you, but the question slipped out before you could stop it.

He hesitated for a brief moment, his head tilting slightly as if considering his answer, though the visor obscured any hint of where his gaze fell. "Righting wrongs. Settling scores," he finally said, his voice low and cold. "Call it whatever you want."

The cold finality in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just talking about Gotham’s criminals. No, there was something more personal in his words. He was talking about himself—his own demons, his own darkness.You didn’t push further. It wasn’t your place, and you knew better than to pry into the shadows he carried. But it didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of it, the sheer force of the rage and pain he carried with him.

“I’ve seen plenty of people come through here with wounds like yours,” you said softly, focusing back on the gash you were stitching up, your hands steady despite the tension in the air. “They usually don’t last long. This city eats people alive.”

His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the intensity of his attention shift back to you. For a moment, the air felt heavier, thicker. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was low, rough. “I’m not most people.”

You couldn’t help the small, bitter smile that tugged at your lips. “No. I guess you’re not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt charged, like standing on the edge of something dangerous. There was always something about him that made you feel that way, as though you were staring into an abyss and contemplating whether to jump. Maybe you were a danger to each other, a collision waiting to happen.

When you finished patching him up, your fingers lingered, the soft brush of your skin against his as you pulled the gauze into place. This time, he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he remained still, the air between you crackling with something unspoken.You glanced up at him again, meeting the featureless gaze of his mask, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them on you, feel the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Something was happening between you two—something inevitable, dangerous, and completely out of your control.

Without a word, he stood, pulling his jacket back over his bandaged torso. The movement was sudden, almost abrupt, as if he needed to break the moment before it went any further. He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer any words of gratitude or reassurance.

But you knew he’d be back.

Even as he left, the heavy door of your clinic closing behind him, the presence of him lingered in the room—dark, dangerous, and unmistakably powerful. The pull between you both was undeniable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening between you was far from over.

And it was only a matter of time before that tension snapped.

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … LIE TO GIRLS ♡

track eleven of the short n’sweet series. pairing: drivinginstructor!pope x reader. based loosely on the song lie to girls by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

you were the one that told pope it was probably best you just stayed friends. kept things professional. he was your driving instructor after all — and you were actually trying to pass your test so you could gain all that freedom from your home you’d been desperate for. it was long overdue, years of putting it off leading to this set of lessons, and you’d spent it gaining a weird awkward situationship with your teacher. nice one.

you thought you were doing well today, you know — with the whole casual thing. you’d kept conversation polite, asked mainly driving related questions — you didn’t even take the opportunity at red lights to eye fuck him, though you were tempted. black sweatpants, really? he knew those were your weakness. well, you thought he knew — pope wasn’t that cruel to tease you.

it’s nearing the end of the lesson, when pope asks you to pull into the gas station so he can run inside and grab himself a coffee. something about how he “was up way too late last night. seriously irresponsible.” you didn’t mind, it felt… domestic. like you two were hanging out by choice for a few moments and not because you were paying him. he’d asked you if you wanted anything too and you nibbled your lip, heart skipping a beat at the casual way he asked. it was so… boyfriend, you know? you shake yourself out of it. you asked for it.

feeling a chill through the open window once he’s inside paying, you reach into the back — scrambling for what you knew would be your jacket, somewhere back there. you couldn’t remember where exactly you’d tossed it, always a little careless with it, but you had decided now you needed that comfort. your fingers grace a scrap of material, one hundred percent not your jacket — but you’re curious enough to scrunch your nose and lift it from your awkward craned position to see what it was.

a pair of panties dangle from your finger. a pair that were absolutely, unmistakably, not yours.

you gasp, tossing them back into the depths of where they came from and spinning round in your seat, deciding you didn’t care that much about the jacket anyways. plus, the chill you once felt had been replaced by a hot flush of swirling emotions, the sensation prickling your skin and welling up your eyes like it was trying to escape from the inside out. he was fucking another girl.

you may have been the one to friendzone him in order to concentrate on passing, sure. it was a decision you made on a whim when you couldn’t concentrate because all you could think about was getting dicked in the back seat. maybe you didn’t mean it — but you figured you had the space to be able to work that out, maybe renegotiate the terms. you didn’t realise he’d jump straight in the sack with the next student that got in the car, you thought you were special. you had a special thing going.

you jump out of your skin when he opens the passenger seat door once more, pausing with wide eyes when he saw your reaction.

“are you… good?” he lowers himself slowly onto the seat, eyeing you in near amusement and you clear your throat, shaking it off.

“huh? yeah! sorry, was just… thinking about my test.” you make up on the spot, readying yourself to pull out of the station. he buys it, visibly relaxing.

“you’ll do fine. i’m a great teacher.” he smiles, before taking a sip of his coffee. he’s joking with you, and it feels like sticking pins in your eyes to force a smile back at him.

you’re half way home, and the silence is comfortable. to him. to you, you’re itching to speak and soon you can’t hold back. you didn’t wanna come across too confrontational and make yourself look crazy, especially after you’d called things quits (if it hadn’t already been mentioned…) so you decided on some subtle prodding.

“you said you’re tired… what did you get up to last night?” you attempted nonchalance, only glancing at him once but overall keeping your eyes on the road.

“pull in a little to the right here,” he instructs before relaxing in his seat. “uh, usual stuff. messing around with my friends and staying out too late. you know how they are.” he answers and you hum. were you really?

“you ever go out with them in this car?” you glance at him again, and he’s already looking at you. it’s a regular gaze, a soft one, big brown eyes nearly distracting you from the traffic.

“this car? nooo, no no. not allowed. this is my company car and i’m technically only supposed to use it for teaching.” he shrugs. your stomach twists.

“got you.”

it’s silent until you pull into your driveway. this was usually the part where you’d sit and giggle at his silly jokes for a while, share a few kisses before you’d rip yourself away to go back into your house. instead you drum your fingers on the steering wheel.

“pope?” you sigh. he seems a little on edge now, picking up on your uncharacteristic quietness. maybe there was some hope in his eyes too, but you might’ve made it up.

“…y—yeah?”

“are you seeing anyone new?” you turn fully to him, eyes dancing between his wide ones. you try to remain neutral, unexpressive as you watch a range of emotions fly over his face. he blinks, eyes searching your face and he hesitates, which tells you all you need to know. much to your surprise, the next word that comes from his mouth is—

“no. no one.”

your heart sinks. pope was many things, but you didn’t take him for a liar. like a final spark on a dying campfire, something tiny and hopeful dwindles within you. a man would only lie and say no if he still had hopes of rekindling things with you. you take that chance, body doing the rest and lean forward. he’s tense, still, but closes his eyes peacefully when you press your lips ever so gently to his. when you pull away, you return him one last solemn look.

“keep it that way.” you nod, before climbing out the car and heading inside.

[achilles-rage]

thirteen crows: chapter six

summary: your bar regulars come visit you at your house, begging you to let them in. then, you're visited by the masked men again.

word count: 2.6k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: one again, you can choose who is who during the last part of the story, but i wrote it with the idea that buck is more eager to please, while eddie is sadistic hehe. and i'm so sorry, this was supposed to be longer (the smut was lol) but i sprained my wrist a couple years ago and it never fully healed, so typing is really painful sometimes, and lately it's been really bad. i'll try to make the next chapter longer if my wrist feels better though. enjoy<33

warnings: hints of smut, stalking, slight non-con (but reader likes it??? idk), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

It’s been almost a week since you watched Isaac die in the alleyway. You’ve called in sick to work the entire week; you can hardly even get out of bed. While you hope and pray that you aren’t in danger as long as you play along with this fucked up game, the people around you are dying now. 

You went to take the trash out the day after Isaac died, it was late at night, and you almost bumped into a man in the dark back entryway of your building. The next day, he was found dead in his car. Stabbed to death. And you recognized him immediately when you saw the news.

You hadn’t noticed when he turned, thinking for a moment about following you, but choosing against it. But they did. They had been parked outside of your house for most of the day, just making sure their sweet girl was okay, when they saw the man. They knew what they had to do; they couldn’t risk anything happening to you. 

In reality, the man had stopped and turned because he thought he forgot his wallet in his girlfriend’s apartment, but then realized it was in his pocket, and turned back around and left the building. They weren’t aware of that, though. Clearly.

They start to get worried for you when you still haven’t left your apartment a week later. They’re almost sure you’re running out of food by now, and all you do is move from your bed, to your couch, and back to bed. 

You’re ignoring their messages and calls, too. You didn’t even laugh when you listened to Buck’s voicemail about a fight almost breaking out at the Thirteen Crows on football night. You usually love to hear drama like that. 

That’s why, eight days after they killed Isaac, Eddie shows up to your house with a smile and a box of donuts. Something to cheer you up, he says.

“Eddie, you have to go.” He’s only just able to see your face; your body completely behind the door as you open your door just far enough for you to stick your head out. His smile falters; this donut shop is your favourite.

“I heard about Isaac, and Tara says you’ve called in to work every day this week. Figure you could use some company.” he tries to reason, fighting the urge to push the door open and bully his way in. He can’t, though. He knows that.

“Thank you, but you really have to go.” you tell him. You try to be stern, but your voice comes out just above a whisper, and Eddie picks up on the edge in your voice. 

You can’t see him being killed too. You’re not sure why these men have attached themselves to you, or how the people around you are managing to piss them off, but you really don’t want to test them. And Eddie has a son, for god’s sake, you can’t risk anything happening to either of them.

“Why? Is everything okay?” he asks, feigning concern as he looks at you with his big brown eyes. You sigh, tears forming in your eyes as you tear your gaze from his and tilt your face to the floor. He’s so kind, and you want nothing more than to have his large arms wrapped around you right now, letting him calm you down, but you know you can’t.

“I don’t want you to die.” is all you say before you close the door abruptly. He hears the lock click, and he listens hard to hear your movements behind the door. When he doesn’t, he pulls out his phone, seeing that you’re still standing with your back pressed to the door, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. 

He huffs as he opens the phone app and hits Buck’s contact. He needs him here now. Their poor thing; they’ve scared you too much, and now they have to do something to get you back. To make you believe they can protect you.

He walks down the hall, just enough that you won’t be able to hear him before he explains what’s just happened to Buck, although he’s sure Buck had already heard most of the conversation from the camera.

Not even ten minutes later, Buck is walking into your building with food from your favourite takeout place. They both walk back to your door together, waiting impatiently for you to let them in. 

When Buck sees your tired face, riddled with sorrow, it’s hard for him to fight the urge to barge into your apartment and wrap his arms around you, but he restrains himself. He knows you have to let them in willingly.

“Please.” is all you say when you look between them, and they give you sheepish smiles.

“You’re not gonna get rid of us, sweetheart. We know you need someone. Please let us in.” Buck says, and Eddie’s brows raise just slightly, proud of the sincerity in his voice.

You hesitate as you look between them, their eyes big and hopeful. You know you shouldn’t; you’re half sure that they’re already on the masked men’s hit list already just by being here. But you feel like you’re going fucking insane. You want nothing more than to be close to someone right now, so after a few moments, you sigh and open the door further. 

They’re quick to move past you and into your apartment before you change your mind. They make themselves right at home in your kitchen, getting the food they brought ready, while you sit back down on your couch, too exhausted to follow them.

They sit the food in front of you when they come back in, then sandwich you between them on the couch. Their bodies are pressed up beside yours, but you hardly care right now, you’re just glad that someone is here. Finally.

“Now, you’re gonna eat, and then you’re gonna tell us why you think we’ll die because we’re here.” Eddie tells you sternly, although there’s a hint of softness in his voice that you cling to. 

You look down at the food and sigh. You don’t remember the last time you’ve eaten, so you take the food that Eddie holds out for you, feeling a little awkward as they watch you eat.

Buck picks up on your expression and grabs the remote to your tv, turning it on and letting the noise drown out the silence of your apartment. With one quick look to Eddie, both of them turn to watch the tv while you finish eating, continuing to steal glances at you every now and then.

When you’re finally finished, Buck takes your empty plate from you and sets it on your coffee table, then both men angle their bodies to face you once again.

You look straight ahead of you as they wait for you to start speaking, and then you let out a sob, closing your eyes as you lurch forward, holding your head in your hands.

They’re both quick to comfort you. Buck puts an arm around your shoulders and shushes you quietly, while Eddie’s hand goes to your thigh, rubbing a thumb across the skin not covered by your sleep shorts.

After ten or so minutes, you finally inhale a shaky breath, whispering a quick “okay” as you straighten up.

“Everyone around me is dying.” you say, unsure of what else you even can say. They furrow their brows in feigned confusion, both keeping their hands on you as they urge you to continue speaking.

“I just- I don’t want anything to happen to you. You shouldn’t be here.” They shake their heads adamantly, and Eddie is the first to speak.

“Hey, nothing is gonna happen to us. We can take care of ourselves.” he says sternly, and you turn to look up at him, chewing on your lip nervously. 

The rest of the story is on the tip of your tongue; threatening to spill now that your friends, your very large, very handsome friends, are beside you. You don’t though. You know the masked men will find out somehow.

“That’s what Isaac said. And look at him now.” you speak in a quiet voice. Tears are forming in your eyes again as you think of the sight of him, bloody and gasping in the alleyway, and nothing for you to do for him.

“We’re not Isaac. Nothing is going to happen to you. That’s a promise.” Buck says, and you want to believe him so bad. Your mind is so jumbled that you don’t realize the “what the fuck?” look Eddie gives Buck. You know that they can’t really promise that, but you can’t help but believe Buck’s words. You’re sure it’s just because you’re desperate for his words to be true, but either way, you can’t help but let out a big breath, feeling your shoulders deflate slightly.

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.” Both men raise a brow at your words. They both feel you’re about to tell them about everything, and they’re not sure if that’s good or bad. 

“If people around you are dying, why aren’t you worried about yourself?” Eddie asks, a slight edge in his voice that flies right over your head. 

You shake your head as you think about everything that’s happened to you the past couple weeks. Why couldn’t they have just killed you; gotten it over with, you think.

“I don’t know. I just- I don’t want to lose anyone else.” You whisper the last sentence, crossing your arms over your torso in a desperate attempt to calm your racing heart. Both men smirk at each other for a split second before their eyes are back on you. Their good girl; they knew you’d listen to them.

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re gonna help you through this, alright?” Buck speaks, and you nod slowly. You look up at him with the smallest hint of a smile, and he lets out a breath, elated to finally see that pretty smile he’s been so desperate to see for the last eight days.

“Yeah, who’s gonna kill us? We’re firefighters, and we wouldn’t go down easy.” Eddie tries to joke, and your smile widens. Buck almost moans at the sound of your soft laugh, a grin breaking onto his face as he makes eye contact with Eddie over your head. They’ve won.

You finally go back to work for your next shift two days later, a small smile on your face as you greet Tara. She explains the new people your boss has hired as you begin to work, and you almost feel normal for an hour or two as she tells you that the new guy is an absolute idiot, and the girl is super nice. You’re excited to meet them, although you’re sure the man will make you want to punch him, but you hope that he’s at least nice. 

You’re extremely happy when your regulars walk into the bar. It means that they haven’t been brutally murdered by two masked men, and you feel yourself becoming a little less anxious. Maybe the masked men have found a new target, you think, because the killings haven’t stopped, but the man that the police had found yesterday wasn’t anyone you knew.

Both men walk you home at the end of the night, vowing that they’ll protect you and themselves the whole way, and you let them. You know that if the masked men want to kill them, they’ll kill them regardless of if you let them walk you home, so you quickly agree to them coming with you.

It’s still dark when you wake up from a deep sleep, a hand clasped over your mouth and the familiar feeling of a cold blade at your neck. You stare up at the masks with wide eyes, trying to blink away the darkness as they shush your soft whimpers in low tones. 

“Hey, sweet girl. You miss us?” one purrs, both of them tilting their heads to the side as they take in your fearful expression.

“It’s okay, honey. You’ve been so good for us; haven’t told a soul, have you?” the smaller one speaks, and you nod quickly. They hear your muffled “no, no” under the firm hand over your mouth, and chuckle darkly.

“And nothing’s going to happen to you, sweet girl. As long as you don’t say a word to anyone about us. You got that, baby?” the larger one says, and you nod quickly when the knife is removed from your neck. 

You try not to think about the pool between your legs as they stare down your body. You know you shouldn’t feel this way about these men; they’ve killed two people you knew, and countless others, but you can’t stop staring at their broad shoulders and muscular arms. 

With one swift motion, the smaller man hands the knife to the other man and then yanks your panties down your legs, the smirk evident in his voice when he speaks.

“You like being our little toy, don’t you, sweet girl? You’re fucking soaked.” You hesitate, and when the larger man takes his hand off your mouth and leans down to inhale the scent of your skin, you nod once.

“Yes. yes.” you whimper, closing your eyes and shivering as the smaller man’s glove-covered fingers ghost up your inner thigh.

“Then, you know the drill, baby.” is the last thing you hear before your eyes are covered by what you’re sure is the same blindfold they used last time. 

They do the exact same thing as the last time they broke into your apartment; one man playing with your tits while the other licks and nips at your dripping cunt. 

You realize almost immediately, though, that the way they touch you is extremely different. While the man whose mouth attached itself to your clit last time was desperate and eager, the other laps at your cunt in a way that’s almost sadistic. His teeth ghost over your clit before he bites lightly, and if it wasn’t for the knife firmly placed between the valley of your breasts, you’re sure you’d be screaming and writhing away from him.

Similarly, the man whose mouth and hand are attached to your sensitive breasts seems to be relishing in your pleasure. As you fight back whimpers and moans, all you can hear is the man’s voice continuously asking “you like that, sweet girl? You want more?” 

When they finally leave, you’re once again left in complete darkness. Your legs are weak, and you can still feel the cold remnants of spit around your nipples, which is now making you shiver as it dries in the cool air.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is how fucking good they just made you feel, and why they haven’t made you do anything for them. You want to believe their words; you want to believe that they won’t continue killing if you continue with their arrangement, so you find yourself doing so as your eyes flutter shut. 

You can’t help but think that this arrangement isn’t half bad. You feel extremely guilty as the miniscule thought trumps the stampede of fearful ones in your mind, but you can’t help it. If all they want is this, you sort of don’t mind giving it to them, even if it makes your heart race and your hands shake in fear.

next chapter

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[starlostseungmin]

stray kids ─── as one direction songs.

✰ pairing : non-idol!skz x afab!reader

✰ genre : fluff, angst, maybe suggestive?

✰ warnings : subtle mentions of sex and drugs, kissing, mentions of food and profanity. lmk if i missed smth.

✰ notes : uhm i really don't know what i wrote. this has been sitting on my drafts since november and thank god anon reminded me about it (i actually went on hiatus after minho's birthday last year so yeah) the songs i associated with skz members are just strongly my opinion mehehe i hope you guys like it, idk if you agree with me in regards with the songs but DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS after it! thank you so much <33

✰ tags : @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly

masterlist | taglist.

chan ─── perfect

honorable mention: little things

you already know how fucked up your life is but ever since he came, those days became different. it is always the small gestures that one fails to notice in the blink of an eye. you are just going to be surprised by the time it is done or how you managed to get out of a small inconvenience. he loves you so much that he would put you first before anything else. 

chan is different from everyone else. maybe because he is labeled to be kind and so above average of doing the bare minimum which people seek from their partners. he’s perfect but he doesn’t think of it the same way. 

you tried to convince him a hundred times but all you got in response is him being a blushing mess and his giggle that makes your heart warm every time you hear it. a smile would tug on your lips that would make him stare at you, he’d bounce back on the things you said to him and you think about what did you do in your past life to deserve someone as perfect as him. 

“baby, you’re perfect,” you said for the nth time, “no, i’m not, but i’m perfect for you,” he winked. “that was smooth, chan,”

lee know ─── night changes

he might be the type to not show his feelings immediately but he’s the one who subtly shows them. it started slowly, he reassured you that everything would fall into place once you both could figure out what was going on with this relationship. 

but as long as you’re together, the love you and him shared will never change. although the process of this love story has made things go in different directions, the thought of having to stick together is essential. 

your parents didn’t like him at first, they had someone in mind and that wasn’t him and yet, you didn’t care even if your first date was a disaster and the next one after that, but that didn’t stop you. it took a while for your parents to finally accept him after tons of convincing them that he’s a great guy, but it succeeded later on. 

you had a place on your own and welcomed his cats to live with you when some of them were wild, that’s what you think. minho was a mess when you met him, but thanks to you, it’s not that bad anymore. 

changbin ─── temporary fix

honorable mention: i want to write you a song

changbin is the type to offer himself as someone you can lean on but it’s not always because of this friendship you have, but as a lover who wanted to make you feel better and forget about shit. 

temporary fix is not always meant to be a cover-up of something you’d open up again to allow another train of bullshits in your life. it felt like he was being sent from the heavens to look out for you, an angel whose sole mission is to make you happy, the same feeling like something that keeps you high. 

there’s this thing on changbin’s vibe that you don’t want to share with anybody else and he makes you feel things when you’re with him. even though this relationship sounds like a fling and a guy who sneaks into your dorm late at night to make out with you, well, it used to be. but you know changbin is so much more than that after a while. 

the phrase, “you can call me when you need me, you know?” whenever he sleeps with you is now in the trashbin the moment you settle to be someone to each other.

hyunjin ─── last first kiss 

remember the time when he said that he chose to be the last love instead of the first? exactly. being the last person to love is basically spending the rest of your life with him, even if he’s not your first kiss, not your first love, not your first in everything, it’s fine as long as he’ll be the one you’ll remember as your eternal love. 

hyunjin being fitted into this song is like a message that he wanted to convey to his love, a sentiment that would indicate how much he’d spend time and effort to stay by your side until the end of time. indeed, a hopeless romantic man he is. 

last first kiss is the very first song that reminds you of him, it is part of those memories you made with him. it was that time when he decided to take this relationship to the next level, yes, he did mention that he wanted to be your last, and by what he meant, an everlasting love. 

“let me be your last,” and when you heard him say that, you knew he was the man who fits perfectly into your broken puzzle that would mend the wound forever.

han ─── rock me

honorable mention: midnight memories

rock me suits him as well as midnight memories. but midnight memories have their effects on han, giving him the vibes of being a musician specializing in the rock genre. and as someone who loves to listen to almost every genre in the world, you fell in love with him after watching him busking by the streets. 

you were amazed by how talented he is. his fingers strummed that guitar well, and his voice? like an angel. one could say that he is a free-spirited human being who does whatever he wants and writes songs about some things that piqued his interest. 

then there’s you, a broken melody who longed for him to come back, the same goes for him who let you go. both of you thought that you were too young to be in love and jisung was better off alone but his songs were dedicated to your break up. you rocked his world when you came and left broken notes when it ended.

but he always believed that what you had back then, was real and that you’d always remember the love you had. 

felix ─── why don’t we go there 

honorable mention: kiss you

felix is someone who gets hyped easily whenever you’re with him. his bright smile, his funny reactions, and the unidentified sounds that came out of his mouth made him a fun guy to be with. it started with a fling that turned out to be something you didn’t want to rush but it is slowly beginning to have a label. 

having a relationship with him offered different dynamics. it is the way he grabs your hand when you both start to get caught by the waves crashing by the shore or how he felt when you kissed him for the first time. he is someone who can get dragged with you to whatever your plan is, a great ball of sunshine to your rainy days, someone that you don’t want to be the one that got away. 

he does think the same, especially the fact that he treasures you so much and it became an opportunity to love you more when you spend that one night together somewhere, alone. it was an invitation actually and it made you realize a lot of things. 

it is the way he looked at those stars with those dazzling eyes of his. the constellation plastered on his cheeks glowed along with them, it is what they call freckles, you love them as much as how felix felt for you. having him as a getaway made you don’t want to come back, ever again.

seungmin ─── no control

night changes was the first choice but then no control became the one for him, no control, because he is, a menace. he believed that being in love was something that gullible people would do and get hurt, maybe a few of them proved it to be valid and worth it, yet he isn’t convinced because it is just a waste of time. 

and yet, you came out of nowhere. it is the way he looks at you with those dazzling puppy eyes, the way he obeys the things you wanted him to do, and it gets worse when you share intimate affections. from a gentle puppy to a wild wolf. there’s something about you that drives him crazy every time. 

nothing matters to him when you’re around and he never felt this way before. he’d kiss you out of nowhere when you reached home with your back against the wall as your hands played with his hair. he gets weak and powerless, but gets hyped and rough which you get caught off guard every time. 

and he is very loyal, he always makes sure that no other will ever meet his interest. you don’t want to share, anyway and you got him down bad.

jeongin ─── summer love

honorable mention: fool's gold.

loving jeongin is like a breath of fresh air, the freedom that he finally held in his hands, and the time he can make up for himself to be with you. it was a reckless summer that you spent in your grandma’s place, away from the bustling city and this boy showed up on your doorsteps. 

it didn’t take a while that you immediately had this puppy love type of interest in each other. you started sneaking out in the middle of the night when your grandma was in her deep sleep, swimming together by the river across the small town on a random afternoon, sharing a kiss under an oak tree that tasted like your grandma’s apple pie, it was great. you didn’t want it to end. 

and just like any other summer, it did. you didn’t know if you would still have this continuous conversation when the school year starts since jeongin is miles away from where you live. 

you saw him sitting on one of those branches of the oak tree where you kissed for the first time, and there you promised not to lose each other even if the summer ended. you couldn’t believe that what you did for less than two months was this serious. it was hard to say goodbye, yet you hoped nothing would change after the last summer’s sunset.

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[magpiepills]

Escritorio

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Javier Pena x f reader

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: after you make a serious mistake at work, Javi decides to help you make it up to the team.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, smoking Javi, fingering, oral, I can’t remember what else. PWP, you know the drill.

A word from the author: this is a repost! I can’t remember why I wrote this, and it’s not my best work, but I sure was horny over the idea of him smoking while he fingers reader.

It’s Saturday night, eleven PM. You're sitting and stewing in Steve’s desk chair, going over the disastrous day your team had just had. Steve had gone home hours ago, begging off with an excuse about his wife and kid but Javier had stayed to do paperwork and go over maps and statements, planning how to move forward from the complete intelligence disaster you caused. You sighed softly and slumped, tapping your pencil eraser against your lip, feeling it stick slightly to your fading chapstick. No amount of weak office coffee could make your day less of a chore.

As the newest member of the team, you were obligated to stay as long as the last person in the office did. It was some sort of hazing, apparently. Your senior co-worker, agent Javier Peña knew that, and he was happy to continue the tradition. He often worked late anyway since he had trouble sleeping. He figured he may as well accomplish something.

You had thought that the silence between you was comfortable, if not a bit tinged with annoyance on his part at having to scrap so much hard work. You didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with small talk and work was a sore subject, so you just tried to look busy. Now though, Javi looks across the desks at you and frowns, clicking his tongue.

“What’s the matter, baby? You sure had a lot to say earlier. Can’t run your mouth now? If you hadn't been so damn talkative with my CI, maybe they wouldn't have run off on us and maybe weeks of work wouldn't have been for nothing. Maybe you’d be home right now.”

You dropped your forehead into your palm, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew he was right. You’d gotten careless and tipped your hand, spooking a close associate of Escobar’s who’d been nearly ready to talk. You knew all that. Now you’re tired and cranky and this man is pushing your buttons.

“I’m sorry, Javi. I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I’m going to fix it.”

You’re getting aggravated now at having to apologize again for something you’ve already apologized to him and Steve and your boss for already. Multiple times you’d been contrite and you genuinely were sorry to have cost your team valuable time and intel. Javi just couldn’t let it go, though. He couldn’t let you move forward until he felt you’d learned your lesson. He felt that it was his job to make sure you felt enough shame, you guessed. Shame had come and gone, though and now you’re ready to snap. Moments passed and he didn’t say anything else, and the room was quiet once again and you were grateful when his eyes left you and went back to his work. You really didn’t want to argue with someone who had been on the job a lot longer than you. Someone you had to see day in and day out. Someone you might harbor just the tiniest crush on. Even If he pissed you off.

The room was warm and still, if not for the yellow haze and hum of the fluorescent lights you could have fallen asleep, instead you raised your head when you heard Javier’s chair groan and creak as he stood and came to lean against Steve’s desk. He gives you a look that borders on regret and drags you to your feet, pulling you close to him. You gasp at the sudden proximity. Your mind is racing and you can’t find the words or make your limbs move to protest.

All you manage is an exasperated “Javi? What are you d-” before his hands begin roaming your body and he lowers his voice as he rubs his nose against your temple. You can smell the cigarettes and mint of his breath as he speaks softly

“I spent a lot of nights in this office, working my ass off chasing down leads. Time I could have used a lot better. Now I think you owe me. I think you should make it worth it to me.”

Your chest is heaving and flushed at how close he is, how you can feel his mustache on your face and the heat of his hands makes you feel like you’re melting. You feel yourself clench involuntarily as your pussy throbs with need, but you’re incensed at his suggestion that you owe anything to him personally.

“I don’t owe you anything, Javi. I’ve been chewed out. Everyone is pissed at me. I’ve been adequately shamed, alright?”

It didn’t seem like he was listening to you at all, though, he’s got his own ideas of retribution.

Warm, soft kisses are being pressed along your neck, up your cheek and to the corner of your mouth. Wanting him is so easy, and for a moment you let yourself imagine something more. Something soft and domestic, something totally disconnected from your current reality, the reality that abruptly slams you back into the moment.

“Javi!” Your shout only comes out as a gasp as he moves you. He is gentle but firm as he turns you and presses his wide palm between your shoulder blades to bend you over his desk, making you jolt with a firm slap on the ass.

“You’ve done something wrong and you’ve got to be punished. You don’t get to come until you’re on my cock, and you don’t get my cock until you’ve learned your lesson. Do you understand?”

You’re loathe to give him the satisfaction, but your body is responding to your obnoxiously, astoundingly attractive asshole partner whether you like it or not. A pathetic moan escapes you as you squirm under the weight of his hand. If you’re being honest with yourself, you do like it. Maybe you’d have quit trying so hard at your job months ago if you knew that making his life harder would land you ass up on his desk with your panties soaked. Maybe the day could be salvaged after all.

While Javi has you bent over the desk, he’s just leaned back in his chair, keeping your legs spread with his knees, landing a few more heavy smacks to your ass over your skirt. He smooths his hands over the fabric after each swat, squeezing and soothing the sting. When he has had enough, he tugs your skirt up to your hips and slips his middle and index finger under the damp gusset of your underwear and pulls them aside, exposing your cunt. Javi takes his time lavishing attention on your pussy.

He spreads your slick all over your folds, increasing pressure when he slides his thumb over your clit. You writhe with pleasure, desperate for more of his touch, but determined not to beg. This earns you another firm, wet smack to your already reddened cheek.

“Stay still.” Javi’s voice is firm but passive. “You’ll take what I give you until you can behave.”

His hand returns to your pussy and he uses both thumbs to slide against your clit, rolling it between them, making you cry out, but you’re careful to stay still this time. Not letting you get too close, he abandons your clit and slips one thumb and then the other into your clenching hole. He thrusts shallow and slow, gently stretching you open, watching as you drip just for him. He keeps his pace and when you’re whimpering and clenching hard, he pulls his hands away.

“Stand up.”

You groaned at the loss, making him smirk. Always so cocky. If he was anyone else right now, you’d have smacked him and ran. But he’s not anyone, he’s Javi, so you stand and turn to face him, eager to find out what will happen next, but not wanting to show it.

“Take this off. Slowly.” He tugs at the sleeve of your emerald green chiffon blouse and doesn’t try to hide how his glassy eyes wander hungrily over your body as you obey.

You unbutton your blouse and let it fall behind you, then unzip your skirt, pushing it over your hips and stepping out of it with a click of your heels. You lift your foot to pull off one of the pumps- nothing special, modest height and black, a good office shoe, but Javier stopped you.

“Leave them on. I like them.”

His admission was endearing in a way. You stood before him, in your work heels, your basic black bra, and your ruined black panties that didn’t match the bra but you were glad that they were at least the same color. You cursed yourself for being in this position. Nearly naked at work with your coworker, letting him touch you, letting him have his way, doing what he told you, and then regretting that you didn’t wear a prettier lingerie set to work just in case your devastatingly beautiful coworker decided today was the day he would sweep you off your feet? Madness.

“Javi, you could have asked me to dinner. That’s what gentlemen usually do when they want to fuck someone.”

His breath warmed your neck before he kissed you there.

“Guess I’m not a gentleman.”

Javier lit a cigarette, and tilted his head as he took a long, contemplative drag. You waited for him to say anything, but he just looked you over.

“Didn’t say you could stop, cariño. The rest- off.”

It was becoming hard to differentiate between your feelings of annoyance, anger, and lust. You wanted to smack him, to scream at him, and to climb into his lap to fuck yourself on his cock until you were both spent and breathless. You could only imagine what it was like, because while you unclasped your bra and slipped your panties off, he was fully dressed in jeans and a soft white shirt unbuttoned down his chest and exposing only his strong neck and a bit of his impossibly broad and golden shoulders. Javier Pena was a Texan Adonis, with his wide shoulders, slim waist and hips, a head of thick, curly, dark hair, and a curved nose that drove you wild. You could easily imagine him cast in bronze or chiseled from marble, brooding for all eternity.

He ate lunch at his desk some days and you envied whatever fruit he mindlessly devoured, lips, tongue, and teeth sinking into it while the tip of his nose got sticky with sweet juice. He really pissed you off. You pissed yourself off when you realized that you were now standing naked between his spread knees and his desk waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

“Up on the desk for me, querida. Lean back.”

There was no point in fighting it now, you’re naked at work, you’ve had your co-workers hands on your pussy. One leg and then the other were lifted until both your knees were in the air. Javi held your legs open with one big hand on your thigh and the other, with a cigarette between two long fingers held the other gently at the knee. You knew in no time at all the slick that had been gathering would trickle down onto his desk.

No eye contact has been made, no agreements, no declarations of love or admiration, just a series of instructions that you followed without question. He was so leisurely in the way he gazes you you, his eyes roaming over your ankles, knees, thighs, hips, stomach, tits and arms. He tilted his head and released a cloud of smoke over you.

“Do it, Javi. Whatever you’re waiting for, I’m not going to beg you, so just do it. I want to get home.”

He scoffed at that, raised his thick eyebrows in amusement.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be so demanding. Maybe it’s time you learned some patience. It’ll do you good.”

Your head dropped back to the desk with a quiet thud, exasperated and nearly out of energy to pretend you hadn’t wanted to fuck Javier since the day you first saw him. You’d spotted him across from across the street in tight jeans and a tighter black shirt that hugged his biceps, bounding up the stairs outside the embassy two at a time in a macho display that made you roll your eyes and squeeze your thighs together simultaneously. There may as well be a flashing pink neon sign floating above his head that says SEX GOD.

When your resolve broke, you were rewarded with a hot mouth to your cunt. Slow, methodical licks that teased your clit, broad stripes that spread your slick and his saliva over your folds, open mouthed kisses that sucked your folds between his lips, tender kisses to your puffy labia, and finally, his lips covering your clit to suck it and circle it with his tongue.

Your hips jerked and your knees wanted to close around his head, but he kept you open with his strong hands. You felt the hand on your thigh squeeze your soft flesh before sliding down and resting right at the crease between your leg and your pussy for a moment before you felt him at your entrance. First one finger pushed inside, then another, and when combined with the constant movement over your clit, your vision blurred. You barreled toward your orgasm, hungry for relief, and in a flash it was snatched away. His fingers slipped from your tight cunt and came down to smack twice against your cheek.

By the time your eyes refocused, Javier was standing, leaning over you to crush his cigarette into the ashtray by your head. It was all you could do not to cry.

“What are you doing? Why’d you stop?” You asked weakly.

Javi shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re never going to learn, are you? You’re a stubborn girl, you know that?”

A tear leaked from the corner of your eye and disappeared into your hair.

What happened next was an affront to feminism and you’d deny it until the day you died.

“Please, Javi. I’m sorry. You’re right. I was reckless and impatient and I should have asked for your help. Javi, please!”

It was exactly what he was waiting for.

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

The condescension had disappeared from his voice and he sounded gentler now, like he was nearly as desperate as you were. It made it easier to beg.

“Fuck me Javi. Now. Please!”

You raised into your elbows and watched as he palmed his cock through his jeans, the thick roll of him unmistakable as it reached across his left hip.

“I think you’ve earned it. You want to come on my cock now? Think you can handle it?”

Thick fingers worked his belt open, followed by the button and zipper, and when his cock was freed, you couldn’t help the way our jaw dropped to your chest.

Javier Peña’s cock was glorious. Thick and long, tan, with a vein along one side that ended just below his smooth foreskin, pulled taut by his throbbing erection, an opalescent bead of precum spilled down over the head.

The sight of him stroking himself before you was at once heavenly and pornographic. It made you want to take up oils and pastels and fill canvases with devoted studies of his turgid member.

“Fuck, Javi. Let me have it, please. Need it.”

Your eyelids feel heavy, your mouth watering at the sight of him. He had reduced you to a simpering mess, and he loved it. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a teasing half smile at the sight of you, so needy for him.

Your folds were slick, swollen, and sensitive. You whined when he slid his heavy cock through them, rubbing over your clit.

“This what you need? Hm? Are you going to come like this, or are you ready to take me now?”

He was teasing, but his voice had a faint waver of desire, telling of his own need. Before you could answer, he was inside you, the thick tip of him stretching you, stilling there for a moment before he worked the rest of his length into the tight grasp of your cunt. He set a steady rhythm, rocking into you with firm strokes.

“Fuck- so fucking tight, taking me so well.”

Javi moved your ankles to his shoulders and kissed your ankle, it was the most tender he’s been since this little game of his started. The first crack. One rough hand found its way to your breast, squeezing your nipple between two fingers. The sensation of his calloused hand on your smooth skin pushed you closer to your release. You were teetering on the edge, waiting for him to either pull you back or let you go over. You didn’t care which anymore. Everything else was meaningless with Javier inside you.

You bucked your hips up, searching for friction against your clit, Javi’s hand left your tit, trailing it down your stomach, over your mound to rest his palm while his thumb traced circles around your bundle of nerves.

“You look so beautiful, all full of cock.”

Words failed you. You looked at him, eyes glazed and half lidded, only able to moan.

“I like you like this. You can’t be a smart ass. I should have fucked you months ago. Be good for both of us.”

His voice was becoming ragged, his own release begging to be found inside your walls. “Come on, cariño. Come on my cock. Let me feel you. I know you’re close. Come for me.”

His command was the last push you needed. Your orgasm washed over you, rippling out from your core, making you whimper for him. The rhythmic squeeze of your pussy, your blissed out face, your bouncing tits, everything he had been dreaming of since he had first seen you all worked together to make Javi come hard deep in your pussy, pulsing his spend against your cervix. He groaned and held your hips tight against him, utterly wrecked as he came down, eyes bleary and jaw slack.

He eased out of you with a groan, and watched as his cum slowly trickled down the curve of your ass. Neither of you spoke, you laid across his desk, among the crumpled papers and the spilled pencil cup, and he stood holding your legs, gently rubbing up and down your calf, catching your breath and looking at how you’d ruined each other.

When you had the wherewithal to get up and straighten yourself back up, Javi passed you his handkerchief. It would have been chivalrous if you weren’t wiping his cum from your thighs.

He watched you redress as he tucked himself back into his jeans, only bothering to fasten three buttons, then lit a cigarette, offering it to you first. You took it, avoiding his gaze, not knowing what to say to him now. You sat on the desk and inhaled the bitter smoke, then blew it away. You looked down at the glowing end of the cigarette, contemplating the almost certain end of your career when you felt a warm hand on your thigh.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home, it’s late.”

You nodded, and slung your purse over your shoulder, and as you walked out the door, Javi spoke again.

“Don’t worry about the CI. It’s not a big deal, happens to everybody. We’ll get the next one.”

[optimist-pine]

Granny

Summary: You and Daryl have a secret confusing love language of insults

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,236

Era: Seasons 1-5(ish), The quarry - Alexandria

It had started shortly after your first encounter with Mr. Dixon. Simply a passing (slightly pointed) comment - nothing more - as some of you gathered around the fire that night.

Dale stands near the flames, removing a whistling pot from the heat. "Anybody want a cup of tea? Kettle's hot."

"Why dun'cha ask granny over there?" Daryl suggests, nodding towards you with a snigger. Merle's not around tonight, and so it seems he's found a way to create a bit of entertainment.

Your head snaps up when you realize you're the butt of the joke, hands stilling as you set down your work. A crochet hook or knitting needles find their way into your hands as often as that damn crossbow ends up in his; usually when it's too late in the evening to be doing anything else. "You know what? I would love a cup of tea. Thank you, Dale." You reply, taking the steaming mug that's passed to you with a smile that melts into a pointed glare the second Daryl's eyes meet yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches mischievously. "Somebody get out tha' fancy china an' the biscuits an' we'll have ourselves a real tea party." He's prodding the coals with a stick, and in the darkness, the slope of his shoulders brings to mind the image of a caveman. The thought amuses you.

You nod your head, contemplating. "Hmm... I'd be down for that. In fact, I have a feeling we might even be in the presence of a tea party expert." You say knowingly. Sophia and Carol sit cuddled up to your right, and the little girl looks curiously up at you, cradling a well-loved teddy bear. You turn to the child, lowering your voice. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about tea parties, would you?"

She curls into herself a little, shyly. But at her mother's gentle urging, she nods her head, a tiny smile appearing on her face.

You clap your hands together. "It's settled then! Tomorrow we shall have a tea party." The last part is aimed at Daryl - you feel proud of yourself, but the confused look on his face makes you question why. It's like you've taken his accusation as a challenge to prove just how grandmotherly you can be, and funnily enough, he's probably right. You're actually looking forward to hanging out with Sophia tomorrow; she's a pretty cool kid.

Carol tuts softly. "After school." She adds.

"After school." You agree, shooting Sophia a conspiratorial wink.

Every time Daryl spots you working with your yarn he can't resist the urge to tease you about it. Maybe it's because you take every jest in good humor, or maybe it's because you always have a quick, witty comeback. He's never quite figured it out, but somehow it's become a staple of your interactions. Even though so much has changed, he's oddly glad that this hasn't.

One night, in the dead of winter, as the wind howls through gaps in the window frames you get an ornery glint in your eye. Daryl's already found your behavior suspicious, whatever current yarn project you've been committed to hasn't made a single appearance the entire evening. And the way you keep glancing at him almost nervously is... unsettling.

When he looks up again you're walking towards him, hands tucked behind your back, trying so hard to look casual that it doesn't take long before all eyes are on you. You stop in front of him and promptly shove a box in his face. No, not just a box. It's a present, wrapped perfectly in polka-dotted gift wrap with a glittery bow to top it all off.

He stares back at you, wondering what punchline he's missed.

You roll your eyes. "It's a gift, Daryl."

"Why?" He asks. He'd trust you with his life any day, but right now - with that box - he absolutely does not.

"Well, why don'tcha just open it and find out?" You taunt, shaking the present just a smidge.

He takes the box, feeling awkward and clumsy as he tears away the paper. Having never opened a present before - at least nothing like this that is - feelings of stupidity and excitement and pressure blend within him.

He dumps the object into his palm. It's cool and smooth to the touch; a black mug with white writing that says "World's Crankiest Grandpa".

You're trying so hard to withhold from laughing that your face is turning pink.

"Think ya could get yer money back on this one?" He asks, spinning the cup around to critique it.

You slap his arm lightly. "Ah, Dixon, you're no fun."

"She might'a hit the nail on the head there." Rick chuckles.

You sit back down, finally pulling out your yarn like all is now right in the world. "Ah, I found it a couple days ago. Couldn't resist. S'pecially not after the dream I had where you were yellin' at the walkers to 'git offa yer damn lawn'..." You shudder. "Took me a bit to get that one outta my head."

That earns quite a few laughs from the rest of the group. Once again, you've managed to lift the mood of those around you. It seems to be a habit of yours.

He turns the mug over and over again, running his thumb across the letters. He knows it's only a gag gift, but he's not blind to the effort that went into it. And it's not an exaggeration to say that this silly mug is by far the most thoughtful gift he's ever received.

He hangs onto that mug, using it proudly every day. Of course, it garners the occasional question from the new folks, but he doesn't mind. Soon enough he's got a matching handmade hat, scarf, and gloves as proof of your continuing love for the grandmotherly hobby.

When the prison falls he misses those gifts severely.

But then, Alexandria. The day he comes across you there on the porch in a creaky rocking chair, with your cup of steaming tea and a ball of yarn, the once-familiar urge to say something a little stupid and a lot annoying takes over.

He stoops down and leans in. "Where's yer glasses at, old lady?"

You wave your hand to shoo him away. "Ah, git yer muddy boots off'a my porch ya ol' geezer." You nag, the smile you're trying to hide peeking out like a sun ray from behind storm clouds. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, clomping down the steps. But it's not like he's trying to hide his own smile or anything... Not at all.

When he returns home that evening, there, sitting on the end of his bed, is a small box. It's perfectly wrapped in paper that's covered in birds and trees, encircled with a pristinely hand-tied bow. He can't deny the flutter of excitement as he plops down to unwrap it. It's like Deja Vu, the coffee mug tumbling into his palm. This time it's white with black lettering that reads "I don't always roll a joint, but when I do, it's my ankle".

With a snort he falls back onto the bed, letting old memories wash away the burdens of the day. However he can, whatever it takes, he'll hold onto the hope that you'll both end up old and gray and worn someday - together.

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 11

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do. 

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up? 

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop. 

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful. 

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above. 

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up. 

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured. 

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness. 

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus. 

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree. 

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment. 

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why. 

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves. 

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement. 

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath. 

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm. 

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself. 

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety. 

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her. 

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone. 

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp. 

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit. 

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push. 

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you. 

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together. 

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing. 

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling. 

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight. 

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face. 

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly. 

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest. 

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down. 

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

[mooshkat]

'I knew it, you're sick.' 'Go away'

Tommy wakes up to a pounding fist against his door. Each knock raps in time with the throbbing in his head and he groans, trying to bury his face further into the couch cushion to muffle it. It doesn't work, and also makes him feel even hotter than he already is.

A sinus infection with a side of the stomach bug was not how Tommy wanted to spend his weekend, but he figures it was time for his yearly dose of getting sick to hit him.

He pushes himself up and closes his eyes tightly against the vertigo that threatens to make him sick–again. He's hardly been able to keep anything down, even water, no matter how many crackers he eats and the stomach relief medication he's taken.

When he stumbles over to the front door and rips it open, ready to yell at whoever is on the other side bothering him so badly, he's shocked to find Ev–Buck on the other side. Buck armed with three large shopping bags that knock against Tommy's hip when he pushes his way inside.

"I knew it, you're sick," Buck says as he sets the bags down on Tommy's kitchen counter. He starts unpacking them and Tommy is still reeling from opening the door to see his ex-boyfriend. Who's inside his house now. "Lucy told me you didn't come into work and wanted me to check on you since you weren't answering any of her texts. Guess she thought I still had a key."

Tommy doesn't have the mental energy to deal with this right now. He groans and presses the heels of his hands tightly against his eyes, which does little to ease the pressure in his sinuses. "Go away. You can tell her I'm fine and alive and go back home, Buck. I don't need a babysitter."

"I don't know if you've looked in a mirror lately, but you look like shit, Thomas." He cringes against the bite in Buck's tone, even though he knows he deserves it. "Go get into an actual bed and I'll start cooking up something other than crackers dipped in Pepto Bismol."

"Not to insult your cooking skills or anything," Tommy says wearily, eyeing the growing collection of groceries that Buck is setting out. There's way too much for just one meal. "But when I'm sick like this, I can't really keep anything down. The only thing that ever helped was—"

"—was your grandma's chicken noodle soup recipe, I remember." Buck doesn't look at him. "You keep the recipe card on the fridge, and I might have taken a picture of it one night after–..." After a date, a hookup, simply hanging out. He could've taken the picture at any time over the last six months. "Anyways. I'm pretty sure I have everything to make a batch that'll last long enough for you to get better, so. Go get some rest, Tommy."

Jesus, even after Tommy hurt him by cutting things off the way he did, Buck is still too kind for his own good. He wants to grab him by the shoulders and tell him that he doesn't deserve this kindness, doesn't deserve to be something to worry about anymore. He wants to shake him until the words stick and he lets Tommy go.

Please, let him go and stop giving him hope because this means something, doesn't it? But his heart truly cannot take it any harder than it already has. He blinks tears out of his eyes and clears his throat.

"Okay, Evan. Thank you."