#i feel so exhausted from the back to back palpitations

[sesshy380]

Dear Anxiety,

Thank you for waking me from the rare occasion where despite me being aware it's a dream, I have absolute zero control over it and am stuck with the horrors. That was several hours ago. You don't have to stick around and hold my hand...or you know...sit on my chest. I swear I am completely fine now. I don't need back to back little panic attacks every time the song switches on the playlist, or when I complete a quest, or reblog something I like. So, uh, not to be rude...but there's the door. Please leave.

Sincerely,

-Me

[dulcet-aurora]

permanent . damian wayne x reader. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ when you press me to your heart, i'm in a world apart. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ what better an idea to immortalize your best friend in time.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. pining, pining, pining. did i mention pining? slightly ooc damian but like whatever i just want a yearning man. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 1.3k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii, @minorlyatfault. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. inspired by thinking of you by sister sledge! the writing is an actual excerpt from my diary about a man because if he won't yearn i obviously have to. ignore how shitty this is because it was 10pm and i miss the girl i used to be. enjoy!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒊f i were any other version of myself in this timestream i would say that i am exhausted of being in love. my thoughts are blurred by a fog where each particle of water is one tiny thing creating this sole, large, mystical being that cloud my senses and drive me half to insanity.

but i am a changed man and unlike the child formed of snapped bones and spilled blood that was deemed as useless as water, i have found myself thriving on the galleons of blood pumped daily by my palpitating heart for this girl. she is magic incarnate and i am under her spell. i cannot explain it and it is terrifying and awfully thrilling all at once because this is the first time i have not been able to draw a conclusion or a reasonable answer based on fact nor logic to my feelings. my feelings themselves have always been buried— crushed by burdens and grandfather's teachings that emotion was weakness, but for some reason she has latched them by a hook and drawn them up and claimed them as her own.

in my own way i fear her. she is the very opposite of every lesson i've been taught, the moral behind every beating i took. she took my heart of stone and cracked it in two and found the humanity within me, glowing like the contents of a geode and it shines just for her. i do not know how she managed it. i do not know how i let her manage to do it. i have never been vulnerable and never did i think i would ever be vulnerable and yet i stand here pouring out my feelings in ink like the blood i spilled as a child.

yes, it on paper but i would rather stain the carcass of a tree than the blank canvas which is her and risk leaving the mark of my impurity on something as pristine as her. i cannot bear damaging her because i felt too much.

— d.t.w.

damian sat on the floor at the foot of the piano bench, the tip of his pen hovering limply over the paper. his feelings stared back at him like a mutilated corpse, ugly and disgusting and something he couldn't believe he'd done in a moment of clouded judgement. the sound of the piano echoes through the empty ballroom of wayne manor. the space was empty and rarely used more than twice a month for when bruce held a gala. you sat at the beautiful grand piano, your fingers delicate on the keys as the instrument sang a solemn melody.

you pressed aimless keys as the moment of serenity faded and the melody fizzled out. "do you ever get frustrated with a piece of your art?" you sighed, leaning forward on the bench to peer at the sheet music of your newest piece that you'd scribbled out on a few sheets of loose-leaf paper. the penmanship was horrendous, chicken scratch only a musician could read in between wrinkles and creases from being folded time and time over to fit in your pocket.

damian snapped his journal shut. "exasperation in the creation of beauty is inevitable," he said. "you as a musician should already know this."

"you always make it look so effortless, though," you groaned, supporting your weight with your hands as you leaned back on the bench.

"do i?" he arched a dark eyebrow, his viridian eyes glinting with something between curiosity and amusement.

"yes," you sighed. "you can paint, you can sculpt, you can write the perfect essay. art comes naturally to you."

damian pondered this for a moment. "i come from a long line of individuals who took pride in the destruction in beautiful things," he said. "i suppose i did not want to be like them, when there are so many specks of the heavens in the world around us. i chose to trap them in time then to make them memories."

"you would be a lovely playwright," you declared after a beat. you cleared your throat, "i bethink thou art something of a twenty-first century shakespeare." you reached over the side of the piano bench and gripped the cover of his journal.

damian's heart stopped. he yanked the journal from your grasp so hard you pitched forward and had to steady yourself by gripping the piano. "methinks you jest." he snapped.

"methinks thou hadst a stick up thy ass."

"methinks thou shouldst shut thy trap." damian tilted his head back to look up at you.

you put a hand over your mouth and laughed, and damian's heart jackhammered against his ribs. that laugh, that feeling reminded him why he chose to paint your smile that he saw every time he closed his eyes, why he sculpted your jaw that he dreamed to hold with the tenderness he was never shown, and why he made you a permanent fixture in time with his words.

"play me that piece again," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent.

"you've heard it a thousand times," you complained, wringing your hands. "along with my tears and sobs and fussing."

"i enjoy it," damian said simply, rising from the floor and sitting beside you on the bench. your knees pressed against each other. damian wishes it was your lips.

"well, you have to," you pouted, "you're my best friend."

"i am not obligated to 'liking' anything, i enjoy what is enjoyable and your piece fits the criteria of pleasurable things," he said. "so play it again."

you groaned and before damian could even exhale to protest again you poised your hands over the piano and began to play.

magic flowed from your hands, infusing the keys with some sort of golden ichor with every press of your fingers. it was a piece in f minor, but transitioning to a sweeter major with a signal of a small breath from your lips. it was incomplete, damian could see the question marks replacing notes on the staff on the last page of music but, oh, was it beautiful. if your hands hadn't both been on the keys he would've laced your fingers together.

eventually the melody tapered off again and you sighed in defeat, slumping your elbows against the keys with an exasperated huff. "yeah, that's that," you sighed.

"it is a lovely composition," damian said earnestly.

you smiled faintly. "i had a great inspiration."

he tilted his head. "did you?"

you sighed, your gaze almost dreamy. "the best."

your words stuck with damian all day, even till the dead of night where he lay awake and his brain did its usual run through of the thought of you. he lay in his bed and you were tucked against his side, passed out after hours of trying to figure out the right notes. your sheet music lay on your stomach and your pen was clasped loosely between your fingers. damian sighed.

"foolish girl," he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. you sighed in your sleep and damian softened. he took the sheet music off your abdomen and plucked your pen from your limp hand. he turned around as gently as he could to set your sheet music on his nightside table. as he laid it down on the top he caught a glance of the title and his breath hitched.

damian's theme. a musical memoir to the boy i adore. written in a handwriting that was messy and barely legible and that could only be yours.

he stiffened. "i had a great inspiration. the best." you had said. his heart slammed against his ribs once more and he was sure his bones were painted red from how often that happened. he looked over at you, his sleepy musician, his modern day clara schumann, the reason he chose to create instead of destroy.

damian made art because it was permanent, and it was precious. he'd never felt precious or had anything remotely permanent in his life other than the ghosts from his past that followed him. but now he realized that he truly was treasured. and it wasn't so bad.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[xneens]

leaked nudes — two

pt. 1

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: you just wanted penelope’s feedback on your nudes. its hard for her to do so when you send them to your boss instead.

word count: 2k (another short one)

warnings: the word panties, stealing of shirts, reader checking out aaron’s ass, a mention of leonado dicaprio, mentions of suicidal thoughts

The next few days for him is torture.

Every time he looks at you, or even in your general vicinity, he’s reminded of the images he can never forget. Not that he’s been able to stop thinking about them, in the shower, in his bed, in his office, in the field—it was consuming him and he didn’t mind.

Aaron had resorted to wearing his darker suits, hoping they’d conceal his raging boner (an instance that only happened around you or when he thinks of you or when anyone even speaks your name). Unfortunately for exhausted cock, you noticed the change and complimented him on it, leaving him to lock himself in his hotel room and rub out a quick one.

After another unsuccessful day, Aaron sends the team back to the hotel, following them a few minutes afterward. He groans inwardly as he sees you coming out of the bathroom, knowing well enough he’d have to drive you to the hotel as the team had taken two of the SUVs back. He didn’t think he could stand another second alone with you without wanting to pin you against the wall and fuck you until the whole city knew his name.

You smiled at him as he opened the door for you, and he thinks he may develop heart palpitations with the number of times you make his heart stop—Aaron is certain one of these days his heart won’t continue and you may literally kill him with your smile.

Despite his cock stirring in his pants, the drive back to the hotel was lovely, though he can confidently say any time with you is divine. Though, he does rear-end the car in front of them when you unbutton your top, showing a white tank top under. Even worse when the seat belt tightens around you when he steps on the brake hard, causing it to accentuate your breasts, stuffed between them. He thinks he’s finally gone insane, being jealous over a seatbelt.

He opens the door for you once again, getting out of the car and the doors to the hotel. Aaron wonders if you can hear his heart beating wildly out of his chest when you link your arm through his, leaning slightly against him as you walk to the elevators.

Once you get to your room, you sigh loudly, taking off your tank top and throwing it on the unmade bed. You were feeling the effects of being unable to solve the case and being in Kansas City was like being stuck in an elevator running out of air.

After taking a shower, you realize your go bag was running out of clothes as you’ve been here for nearly a week. You were too tired to do laundry in the hotel’s laundry room and you knew Spencer was sleeping by now so you quickly wrapped a towel around your body and walked next door to Aaron’s room.

Knocking, you secured the towel around you, chuckling at the thought of flashing your boss. When he opens the door, he’s met with the sight of you in just the towel, nearly slamming the door close at the thought.

Smiling sheepishly at him, you said. “Hey, can I borrow another shirt? I don’t really want to wear another dirty one and I haven’t done laundry yet.”

It takes him a few seconds to answer, his eyes never leaving your face. Aaron nods, opening his door further. “Um, yeah, of course. Let me just see what I have.”

You step a foot inside his room as he gets a shirt from his duffel bag, checking out his ass as he had taken his blazer off, your view now unconstructed. You wanted nothing more than to have his belt wrapped around your hands instead of his pants.

Aaron gets a shirt from his bag, handing it to you. It’s blue and the material is rather thin from its usage. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah, thanks again, Hotch.” you flash him a grin, walking out of the room. “I promise not to steal this one like the others.”

He chuckles, waving it off. “You can steal as many of my shirts as you want.”

You laugh, opening your door. Truthfully, you liked his shirts better than any of yours. Most of them were faded but they still smelled like him and you often slept in one of them after stealing the first one. You preferred them to the clothing you’ve stolen from Spencer or Derek, though Emily’s hoodie was a game changer.

Thankfully, you didn't have to share rooms so you got dressed in Aaron’s large t-shirt and put on a pair of pink panties. Like the rest, the hem of the shirt fell down just below your ass, leaving you mostly covered.

Your phone buzzes as you get into bed, Penelope’s message causing you to chuckle.

Pen

I’ve been waiting not-so-patiently for these sexy pics.

Before joining the BAU, you had regularly sent nudes to the men on your roster, wanting nothing more than fun and compliments to boost your confidence. During a girl’s night, and after four shots of vodka, you admitted to Penelope you liked getting feedback on the pictures you took and in both your drunk stage, she had agreed to be one of your critics.

And while you slowly decreased your roster, Penelope was always the first person you sent them to, and she’d give you feedback based on how the picture was taken and what you were wearing. Multiple times she had asked where you’d gotten your lingerie.

So it wasn’t uncommon for you to send her nudes before you sent them to anyone. Not that you had anyone in mind to send this particular set of pictures to, but it was nice to get compliments from a friend after a long day. She was like your agent if you were famous, steering you in the right way.

Texting her you’d send them in a few minutes, you got ready to take several photos. Some included the bathroom mirror, some included you in Aaron’s shirt and two showed you completely naked. Inappropriate use of your boss’ t-shirt made the pictures hotter to you, though no one but you would know. You giggled at the thought of Aaron seeing you use his shirts in your nudes—that would be mortifying.

As if he could read your mind, your phone buzzed again, Aaron’s name popping up in the text notification. Clicking on the message, you saw he wanted to see pictures you had taken from the coroner of the most recent victim.

You’re about to send them to him when Penelope’s text pops up on the top of your screen, reminding you once again to send them. Grinning, you click on your naked images and send them before responding back to Aaron’s message about the dead body. As you click send, you put your phone on the bedside table and pick up the tv remote, putting on whatever the first show you came across.

Normally, Penelope would take about a minute to “study” the photos you’ve sent her but just as you turned the tv on, your phone buzzed, her text lighting up the screen. Frowning, you unlock your phone, confused by her text.

Pen

Ewww, why’d you send me the vic’s dead body???

Heart pounding, you tap on your messages with the blonde, heart dropping when you realize you sent her the pictures from the coroners instead of the promised nudes. You don’t bother to apologize to her when you see you’ve sent Aaron Hotchner six pictures.

And if you didn’t send Penelope your nudes …

Hands shaking you clicked on Aaron’s name, throwing your phone across the room after seeing a photo of your bare cunt in the message you sent him. It hits the wall, denting it slightly as you stare in its general direction, absolutely mortified.

What the actual fuck.

You rush towards your fallen phone, calling Penelope, face red and hands shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. Answer the phone.”

“Hey, when I mean send pictures–”

“I accidentally sent my nudes to Hotch.” you blurt out, plopping back on your bed.

“WHAT?”

Groaning, you banged your head on the mattress, wanting nothing more than to switch places with the corpse you took a picture of. “I meant to send them to you but I guess I switched you up by mistake—I don’t know, I’m really tired and I sent our boss pictures of my tits and pussy, Penelope!”

Silence meets your confession, and you only hear her breathing for a few seconds. “It’s … I don’t … What … I mean, it's not as bad as you’re thinking. Has he seen them yet?”

“How would I know?” you hissed. Pacing back and forth in your room, you bit your lip, worried. “Oh, my God. He’s so going to fire me, or worse: he’s going to want to talk to me about it instead of just ignoring it. OH, MY FUCK.”

Penelope chuckled quietly. “To be fair, they’re probably good pictures.”

“PENELOPE GARCIA.” you whisper-shouted, fidgeting with the hem of your—Aaron’s—shirt. Oh, how you wanted to crumble on your knees and die. “This isn’t like I accidentally sent them to Spence or Derek, I sent them to Aaron Hotchner. It’s like the worst-case scenario. I’d rather send my pussy to Rossi than Hotch.”

“Really? You’d rather send them to Rossi?” she questioned, amused and almost as mortified at the situation, though for different reasons.

“I’d rather send nudes to Rossi than Derek,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair. “At least with Rossi we can laugh it off but Derek would probably tease me about it until I do something more embarrassing. Oh, God, I’m so going to get fired. I might as well shoot my brains out before he tells me to come to his room to talk.”

“Or … you could go to his room and … you know,” Penelope replied, her tone flirty.

“Leonardo Dicaprio would date a woman over twenty-five years old before that happens, Pen.” you groaned, looking longly at the gun on your bedside table—not that you would actually consider it but, oh to be dead. “I’m actually going to die of embarrassment.”

Before she can reply, someone knocks on your door and you have a suspicion about who it is. You hurriedly say goodbye to the tech analysis, heart heavy as you walk to the door. You think about breaking the hotel window and jumping off from the fourth story but he knocks again, leaving you no choice but to open the door.

Aaron Hotchner stands on the other side, eyes crazed and shirt unbuttoned. You open your mouth to apologize, to make up an excuse, to do some damage control but it seems as if he has other ideas.

He takes a step forward, hands encasing your face as he kisses you. You freeze in shock, and he takes the opportunity to back you against the wall, a hand tilting your jaw and the other tangling in your hair. He bit your lip and you squeal quietly in surprise, his tongue slipping between your lips.

After a few seconds of trying to wrap your head around your boss kissing you, you kiss him back, closing your eyes as you enjoy his lips on yours. His hands drift down your back, squeezing your ass briefly before reaching the hem of your–his–shirt, pulling it up and exposing the pink panties you wore.

He pulls away, both of you breathing hard. Aaron glances down, smirking at the color of your thong before looking back at you, taking a step away and reluctantly taking his hands off of you. You don’t realize you’re whimpering, objecting.

“Do you want this?” he asks, eyes piercing and panting. He still wore his suit, but his shirt was half unbuttoned. You could see his chest peeking from them.

You nodded, taking a step closer to him, bringing you to his touch. “Yes.”

Aaron’s hands are immediately on you again, lips on yours as he whispered. “Good. Tonight, you’ll be filming my cock fucking your needy cunt instead of your fingers.”

a/n: i wanted to write smut but i gotta save my smut juices (ew) for bad ideas 2. also thank u to @callm3c0nfus3d and @gublersgibson for convincing me to do pt 2 :))))

[ruesol]

catalyst - chapter 8

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x reader)

tags and cw: mentions of blood and violence, shower sex

fanfic masterlist

With a one-track mind, Sukuna focuses on nothing but his training regime for his final fight.

After meeting Yaga that day, Sukuna discovered that his final opponent was the same man he had lost to months ago–Geto Suguru, a force to be reckoned with in the world of contact sports. Unlike Gojo, the man had received professional training to be a boxer since he turned seventeen. His determination was nothing short of Sukuna’s, so the match would be interesting to watch.

Of course, one of the most critical things Yaga mentioned in his training regime plan was that Sukuna was not to have any distractions till the day of the match, which included you.

It was frustrating, to say the least. You two had just gotten back together, only to be pulled apart again. However, it was for good reason. What’s the harm in paying a temporary price for a lifetime of bliss? So you moved out of his apartment and found another place courtesy of Uraume’s help. You decided to shadow Sukuna’s doctor in the three months he spent training to get some references and make do with your time productively. If you were going to apply for med school soon, you had to be prepared right away.

And before you knew it, the night before the match had arrived.

You didn’t want to feel nervous, considering that you had already watched some of Sukuna’s matches online, but something in the back of your mind kept the fear alive. Seeing him hurt, even with necessity of his career, was still painful, but all you could do was support him. At least, this was the last time it would happen.

With a sigh, you get your clothes ready for the next day. You had promised Yaga you wouldn’t meet Sukuna till the night of the match, and more preferably after he’s hopefully won it.

Sleep evaded you with every passing thought, goosebumps, heart palpitations, and cold sweats–you were experiencing everything the night before match day. You could only feel nauseous imagining what your state was going to be like the next day.

Your hand itches to text Sukuna, but you know better than to ruin his sleep for his fight.

That is until your phone begins to ring with his name flashing on the screen.

You pick it up without thinking twice. It’s been way too long since you’ve last talked to him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” There’s not a lick of exhaustion in his voice. He sounds rather rejuvenated for someone who was going to put an end to his ever-growing career the next day.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. It’s strange how Sukuna’s mere presence on the other side of the line rids you of your anxiety. He’s real, he’s safe.

“Honestly, no. I…I miss you. Very much. And I’m kind of standing outside your apartment right now,” he answers frankly.

You rush to your apartment window, and lo and behold, his truck is standing right outside with him leaning against the door, phone in one hand while the other is tucked beneath his elbow. Even though you live on the seventh floor, you feel like you can see the glint in his eyes when he spots you waving at him through your window.

“Want me to come down there?” you ask eagerly, wanting to be in your boyfriend’s embrace as quickly as possible.

“Nah, I’ll be right up. Give me a minute,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm before hanging up.

The time that passes as you wait for Sukuna couldn’t be any longer. You’re basically vibrating in your seat when you hear someone knock on your front door and rush to it.

Before Sukuna can say anything, you push yourself into his arms before pulling him into your apartment. You immediately notice just how much harder his muscles have gotten from training for the fight. His pecs are more prominent, and there’s a lot more bulk on his body overall. His tattoos only accentuate his new muscles, curving over the swollen, sinewy mass.

“Woah, easy there,” he grins as he strokes down your back, hand squeezing your waist before settling on its curve.

“I can’t help myself,” you whine into his chest. “It’s been three excruciating months without you.”

“Really? I can’t say the same for myself, though,” he teases.

“You’re the one who came here at eleven in the night, Sukuna Ryomen.”

He sighs. He can never win with you. He holds you tight, squeezing you with all the strength he has in one hand. You memorize what every inch of him feels like on your body–how his waist feels thick as your hands barely wrap around them, how his body basically encompasses yours with no effort and the way his sharp chin digs into your scalp.

“To be honest, I’m here to request something,” he murmurs into your hair, deeply inhaling your scalp before pulling away. Confused, you cock a brow when you notice his other hand is holding his boxing gloves.

“What? You wanna have a practice match?” you ask, scoffing at him.

Sukuna clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I’m here to get some good luck for tomorrow.”

Your eyes widen as your mind reaches what he could possibly be implying, but he chuckles before the words can escape your mouth. “Not like that. I want you to kiss my gloves for me,” he demands as he pushes the boxing gloves to your mouth.

“You came all the way here for me to kiss your gloves?” You ask, surprised.

“Yeah. Well, that and my lips–if you’re feeling generous.” a flirtatious smirk displays itself across his face, tattoos stretching upwards.

“It’s your lucky day because I am indeed feeling generous.” You take the gloves from his hold and kiss each of them as you peer up at him through your lashes. Sukuna’s facial expression is a dichotomy–a heady and heavy gaze trailing down your face and a lovesick smile growing on his lips.

“Maybe you could also get on your knees since you’re being so nice,” he teases as his hands stroke up your spine. You gasp and push his gloves back in his hand, and he chuckles as you push him towards the door.

“Sukuna Ryomen, you have a retirement match tomorrow. You need to rest.” You bashfully look away from the intense eye contact. For the first time in ages, his red eyes are burning with longing instead of fury. “And come here,” you lean up to him and leave a light peck on his lips. “I forgot to do that.”

Sukuna can only stare with a dark gaze. His hands pull you in for one last hug, rough and calloused hands situated on the small of your back. “Promise me that you’ll celebrate with me tomorrow,” he whispers before pulling away.

“Of course, I will,” you giggle. “Yuuji’s throwing you a retirement party after all.”

Sukuna’s tongue swipes the inside of his cheek before he kisses your forehead. “Yeah, that too,” he says as he walks away.

“Wait, what?” you ask, peering out your apartment’s door as your boyfriend walks to the elevator.

“Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep,” he says before the door of the elevator shuts and he disappears.

Only when you close your door and head to bed do you realize what he meant.

Oh.

—

You can feel the bass of the metal music playing on the loudspeakers in your chest, dull thumps and electric guitar riff vibrations strumming in your veins. You follow Yaga to the seat that’s directly by the rings—the VIP zone.

It’s your first time in a boxing arena, not that you’d ever been to any kind of sporting event before, especially with how busy you were with your studies.

To no surprise, there were mostly men around you. Some slightly inebriated, others purely jittering in their seats because of the anticipation of watching two monsters battle out their strengths in the ring. Sukuna was a lot more popular than you had expected, with many people cheering for him even before the match began.

“You should’ve seen the insanity before he took his hiatus. People used to camp outside the back entrance of the arena just to see him,” Uraume told you as they smirked at your amazed expression.

“He’s well-loved,” is all you say. His motive to become a boxer will never be drowned out by the screams and chants of his fans. The dehumanization and trauma wasn’t worth the fame.

You were happy that he was making a major decision for himself for the first time in a long while.

The lights around the audience soon dim down, only bright spotlights illuminating the stage. The music changes to a trap mix specifically curated for the behemoth that was about to enter the stage via the ramp.

The crowd goes silent as the large screen above the walkway begins highlighting some of Sukuna’s greatest fight moments and then it ultimately ends with a slow motion shot of his loss in his last match. But the crowd erupts in cheers when the smoke machines create a heavy fog around his entrance.

Your lover’s stalk is that of a warrior, his shoulders are broad as his silken red kimono faintly outlines his pecks. The camera pans around his face but he doesn’t pay it any heed, only looking around the arena, lifting his boxing gloves and kissing it right on the spot you did the night before.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him thinking about you even during such a tense moment. His eyes don’t search for you, but you know you’re the only one on his mind with the way his lips linger on the leather. You don’t expect your thighs to involuntarily squeeze to ease the ache between them when Sukuna shrugs off his robe, showing off his slick and muscled body.

“Petroleum jelly. So he doesn’t get cuts from punches,” the ever so observant Uraume says into your ear.

Geto’s entrance is nothing short of dramatic. In contrast to Sukuna’s rather simple yet bold tattoos, Geto sports complex dragons on his back that imitate yakuza tattoos. You notice a lone snake tattoo that slithers around his leg, reaching all the way to his mid thigh.

The man was beautiful, but despite his features, he looked like a deadly fighter.

Your heart beat matches the wavelength of the match’s intensity. Slow at first, but quickening with how fast and agile the attacks were getting. So far, Sukuna had been holding up well, dodging Geto, and conserving his energy to charge up a powerful punch to the opponent’s side.

Your blood roars in your ears as Sukuna suddenly takes a mean punch to his face, an angry red bruise slowly growing on his cheekbone as the two men skirt around each other, mentally examining their next moves.

“He’s doing…very well. Compared to last time, he has a lot more energy.” Uraume sounds very surprised. You don’t have a lot to compare him with, and watching boxing fights in person was way more different than simply watching compilations online, so you took Uraume’s word for it.

By the time the first interval rolls around, Sukuna is already spitting out a ton of blood after taking out his mouth guard. You wince as you notice that it resembles nothing of its former transparency, the object now completely covered in a viscous emulsion of saliva and blood.

You nearly jump out of your seat to go comfort him but Yaga nearly slams you back down as he grabs onto your forearm.

“He needs to focus right now,” the boxing coach instructs. Your eyebrows furrow at the command as you look over at your boyfriend who is already staring at you through half-lidded eyes, mouth ajar as he’s too tired to support his muscles.

“He looks like shit, I have to see him!” you beg, but Yaga only shakes his head and walks away. Yuuji, who had arrived a little later than you for the match, comforts you instead of walking over to his brother.

“You have to trust him. Sukuna’s heart is soft and he’ll stop the second you ask him to. Coach wants him to leave with dignity—something Sukuna had planned for.”

Yuuji’s words provide some sort of closure, but your heart still couldn’t take to ignore your lover so you send a discreet flying kiss to him. Sukuna sends a lazy smile your way and winks.

“Ugh, even now?” Yuuji playfully groans and you punch his bicep.

“So what?” you cheekily reply, still staring at Sukuna, who was now rolling out the tension in his shoulders, back muscles ripping with every movement. He fits a clean mouthguard onto his teeth, ready to take on his opponent with the strength given to him by his girlfriend’s support.

—

Sukuna would sometimes tell you about how he’d feel while fighting. Bruises and cuts were the least of his worries when it came to the sport because what really affected him was the post-match adrenaline.

Like a runner’s high, Sukuna expressed that his brain gets some kind of fucked up gratification every time he’s able to land a critical hit on his opponent. And by the time the match ends, he feels like a killing machine, ready to take on whatever victim lands his fancy next.

Which is why you felt like a fawn being watched by a wolf as you stared back at him in the ring. The referee holds his hand up high, yelling out that Sukuna Ryomen was the victor of the match. The two men’s sizes differ greatly, making Sukuna seem even more of a monster than he is—a tank of blood and muscle drawing in the eyes of every spectator in the room.

Geto’s existence is forgotten as soon as the medics lift him onto a stretcher and scurry out. Sukuna Ryomen had not spared his opponent of his wrath.

“What a comeback!” A fan in one of the VIP seats yells. Oh if he only knew.

The gaudy gold victory belt makes its appearance but Sukuna still does not look away from you as his fans scream for him. His gaze grows headier with every passing second, like he’s itching to push off the people around him and drag you back with him.

Uraume nudges you to let you know that it’s time to go backstage. “Let’s go.”

You gulp for what may be coming when you notice Sukuna’s gaze following you as you walk out the arena with his manager, ignoring the cameras that were being shoved in his face.

—

By the team Sukuna comes to his personal locker room, he looks even more exhausted than he did while fighting Geto. A look that differed from the hungry one he had earlier.

“Bro, you did great!” Yuuji is quick to punch Sukuna’s bicep, but the older brother is too tired to play into his antics.

“Thanks, Yu,” Sukuna mumbled as he took a swig of iced Gatorade.

Yaga and Uraume try to make conversation with the champion, but he raises his hand to stop them. “Can I get some time alone? I’m tired as fuck and just don’t wanna talk right now.”

Taken aback, you trail behind Sukuna’s coach, manager, and brother, but are stopped when he grabs your wrist.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“You’re being redundant. You just said you didn’t wanna have any kind of conversation,” you quip. Unlike you, Uraume, Yaga, and Yuuji take the hint, chuckling to themselves as they leave.

Sukuna runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek as a smile slowly grows on his face. “I thought you’d know by now that you’re an exception.”

“Right,” you scoff, looking away. You’re try to pull your hand out of his grasp but his grip is taut. He pulls you to him, your smaller body bumping into his larger one, and he hisses at the impact. The bruises are still fresh but they don’t stop him from pressing himself flat against you and devouring your mouth.

You gasp as the taste of lime Gatorade and blood invades your mouth, his tongue sloppily prodding through your lips. His hands immediately situate themselves on your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pushes you into the shower and traps you against the cold, tiled walls.

Your hands can’t really go anywhere except for around his shoulders, and even when you try to wrap them around him, your fingers barely meet, only your forefingers latching around the base of his neck.

“You’ve gotten so big.” You’re not sure if it’s a complaint or a compliment because, on the one hand, it’s almost mind-numbing to think about how he could just drag you around with a single arm, and on the other, you can barely hold on to him without feeling like you’re rubbing up against a behemoth.

With his eyes closed and mouth sloppily kissing yours, his hands lift from your ass and move around, trying to look for something.

“What are you—“

You interrupt yourself with a shriek when ice-cold water hits your skin, making your white t-shirt stick to your body, nipples hard and visible even through your bralette. Your skirt outlines your thighs and Sukuna flips you around so your ass is pressed to his covered hardness. He pushes your hair and flattens his tongue against the column of your neck to lick to the area below your ear.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he mumbles on your skin before sucking at the spot. Sukuna notices the way you shiver and he turns up the temperature—at this point you can’t tell if your skin is warming up at the feeling of Sukuna’s clothed cock between your ass cheeks or the hot water.

Sukuna slides his hands up your waist, under your wet t-shirt and lifts it over your head, throwing it outside the cubicle. The t-shirt lands with a wet splat to the ground, now looking like a tiny drenched rag. If you weren’t drunk off of Sukuna’s dry-humping, you’d be worrying about what you’d wear when you’d be leaving the locker room.

He nearly rips off of your bralette when your straps slip from his pruned fingers. He finally turns you around and you tug at the boxers he was wearing at his fight.

But he slaps your hand away. “You don’t get anything till I’ve checked on my girl.”

In a haze, you mumble out a breathless ‘huh’ till he shoved his hand into your tiny panties strokes two fingers from your slit to your swollen clit.

“She’s so wet, fuck,” he says before sloppily kissing down your neck. His canines dig into your collarbones and you whine, trying to push him off to give yourself a break, but his unparalleled strength keeps him in place.

“I just need to know if it’s the water or if you’re just excited to see me,” he rasps, squeezing your breast with his other mitt. He presses deep on your nipple, and the stinging pain elicits a yelp out of you which he kisses away with a suck on your bottom lip.

“Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me that this pretty pussy wanted to be touched by me.”

You breathing goes ragged at the lewd sounds his fingers are making. You can clearly tell he’s trying not to lose his mind and shove his cock into like a madman because of the way the nerves in his neck bulge out.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make me come—oh—I’ve wanted your fingers in my cunt for three months.”

He rubs a calloused finger over your sensitive pearl and you grind onto his hand for more, but he moves his hand from your breast and uses it to press your waist against the wall.

“My gorgeous girl, if it were up to me I’d have you coming on my fingers already, but I’m an asshole who wants to do nothing but drive my dick in your cute little hole,” he confesses, taking your stiffened peak in his mouth, teeth teasing you.

“Then do it,” you huff out, fingers daring to reach down to his cock. “Fuck me.”

Sukuna sucks a kiss onto your breast before pulling away, and holds your cheeks tight, making your lips, protrude out. “If you say that again then I won’t hold back,” he says as he looks into your eyes with a darkened, heady gaze—the same look he had when he had won.

The killing machine was back, only, the adrenaline wanted him to drill his cock into your pussy till you fell apart limp and needy in his arms.

“Then don’t. Fuck me till I can’t walk,” you whisper against his lips.

Sukuna’s frown deepens as he slowly lets go of your face. His hands rest themselves on your shoulders before he slowly drags them down your body till his fingers slot themselves on the elastic band of your panties.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles is too loud to the point where you don’t hear him rip your flimsy panties and throw them near your t-shirt.

You gulp for what’s to come.

“Remember: you asked for this,” he whispers dauntingly in your ear before nipping at your lobe. You shiver when you meet his gaze again because staring back at you is an apex predator, addicted to the scent of his prey.

With no warning, Sukuna lifts your knee and wraps your leg around his waist as he shrugs his boxers off and plunges his hard cock into your wet, warm heat. Your mouth parts in response as you try to take in him entirely. He stretches you good as his fingers go back to your clit, rubbing it as he rocks his hips against yours. The overstimulation is too much: the hot water, his veined cock enveloped by your velveteen walls, and his natural scent. You wrap your arms around him and pull his mouth close to yours, kissing him hard when he begins to pick up speed.

“Oh, fuck, it feels good to be home,” he sighs into your mouth. You’re too fucked out to reply anything snarky, his cock filling you to the hilt, so deep that it almost feels like the head of his cock is kissing your cervix. “You fit so well around me, baby.”

You can only reply to him in strangles moans.

You cry out your release when you reach the edge, hips moving away from the wall, and to his body, chasing the feeling of tightening around his dick.

You nearly black out as Sukuna begins to chase his high too, fingers still not leaving your sensitive clit. You try to move his hand away, but he doesn’t budge. “Come on, baby, you can give me one more.”

You cry as he bites down on your neck. You don’t have much of a say when your body convulses, giving into your lover’s (commanding) request.

Sukuna hips slow down, now only hitting single hard thrusts each time he gives you his release, hips stuttering with every pump. You take it like a champ, even when your legs have no strength to keep you up and the only thing stabilizing you is Sukuna’s weight pushing you against the wall.

You both come back from your sex-crazed high, eyes looking around the cubicle, chests rising and falling simultaneously. When your eyes find his, you shyly smile, moving his wet hair away from his eyes.

Sukuna only grabs onto your hands, leaving you to look at him inquisitively before he slots his lips against yours.

‘He’s smiling,’ you think as you kiss him back, mirroring his happiness.

When he pulls away, you peer over his broad shoulder, to see your clothes in tatters outside the shower cubicle.

“I can’t go out naked,” you nervously chuckle out. Sukuna, who is still half hard inside you, sips a hard kiss from you before pulling you into a hug. “You can wear mine. I brought extra clothes.”

“Wait you planned for this?” You try to pull away but he only wraps his arms around you tighter.

“Shush, I need a minute with you in silence.”

----

taglist: @7haze @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife @missthatgirl @iluv-ace @emoedgylord @miakxn @sunasgf1 @lolilewenk @clp-84 @sodapop182 @therealjustpeachesback @msanimeotaku181 @aerareads @rebels-rewrite @emochosoluvr @justlia110 @thejujvtsupost @lulunx

[jinusajas]

09/15/24; 02:30pm

vampire hunter d x human!fem.reader

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

it was such a mystery why this mysterious man chose you as his sole place of solace. your meeting with him was nothing short of fate, with the thought of it all remaining as a shining memory within the depths of your mind.

you were working a late shift at your local saloon, serving several cups of beer to the patrons all while ignoring the leering glances all the men were giving you.

you lost count of the sheer amount of times the drunkards had grasped at the ends of your skirt or wrapped an arm around your waist, their breath heavy with the lingering scent of alcohol that you had to bite back your words of protests. not wishing to cause a scene, you spend the next 6 hours biting back your words while forcing a smile.

later that night, you were free to return home, carrying with you a small pouch that contained the measly amount you had earned from working. feeling so exhausted, you remain completely unaware of how a man hidden in the shadows was stalking your every move.

upon reaching your quaint little home just near the outskirts of your town, you suddenly felt the hairs standing at the back of your neck. your reaction was a little too late when you see a man coming closer to you. his face was flushed red while his greasy hands fumbled with the waistband of his pants.

“you’re such a whore… prancing around the saloon like that, acting like you can’t even see me.”

a whimper escapes from you, and you attempt to run away from him, with your home settled just beyond the cobblestone walls. pushing your legs forward, heart threatening to choke you with its rapid palpitations with your calves burning, you reach out-

only to fall forward when the powerful stench of beer fills your nostrils, gagging you as tears fell from your eyes. your back lands against the cold, unforgiving ground, the drunkard already gripping at the lace fabric of your bodice, ready to tear the flimsy material off of you.

“p-please, don’t, i-i’ll give you all of my earnings! j-just- mph!”

you struggle and continued to gag, tasting the bitter alcohol from his lips, writhing beneath him as you struggled to kick him off of you. just when you felt his legs spreading yours apart, the man suddenly slumps forward-

bringing with him an overpowering scent of blood.

you felt sick to your stomach, realizing the drunkard was now lifeless as his blood slowly began to seep into your dress. something slender and bright catches your attention. your gaze follows it, realizing that it was a slender sword that was quickly being dislodged from the man’s back.

your savior was a tall, yet pale men dressed in all black. his stallion seemed to suit this man, letting out soft huffs as its hooves tamped down against the ground.

you look away from the horse and chose to focus on its master, your heart racing, meeting the dark eyes and pale face of that man. the wide brim of his traveler's hat obscures half of his face, yet he seemed intrigued by you, angling his chin ever so slightly so that he could get a better look at you.

you end up letting out a gasp upon seeing him. an impossibly pale yet sharp face looks down at you, his eyes reminding you of a pure, moonless night. rich, brown locks of hair was seen reaching down to the ends of his back, and you notice how his thin lips remained set in a straight line. he appeared nonchalant as his eyes continue to take you in.

“she’s a pretty young thing… but don’t you think you’re scarin’ her a bit, d?”

d? was that his name? and where was that gruff voice coming from?

the man, d, clenches his left hand shut, muffling that strange voice while continuing to look down at you.

“are you alright?”

his voice was soft, yet… achingly comforting to you. his beauty matched that of the night. you forgot all about the drunk man that was settled next to you-

but end up stiffening when the awful stench of urine fills at the air. you turn your face away, already feeling the contents within your stomach swirling around, threatening to escape from your throat when a hand scoops you into his arms.

you let out a gasp, allowing d’s scent to fill your senses (a great distraction from the scent of death the drunkard had exuded.) he smelled like fresh rain and wildflowers, a scent that you eagerly breathed in as you found yourself pressing the tip of your nose against the side of his neck.

d stiffens at your sudden touch, but maintains his calm demeanor, “where do you live?”

his question breaks you out of your reveries, making the heat dye your cheeks in response when you show him your cottage on top of the hill. “that cottage is my home.”

the man shows no visible signs of acknowledging your answer, yet gently coaxes his stallion toward the hill that lead up to your cottage. you remain safely tucked within the man’s arms, somehow wishing that this moment won’t ever end.

yet your homecoming seemed inevitable the moment the horse stops directly in front of your home. d was the first to get off, his boots landing against the ground while offering a hand out to you. you nod and place your hand in his, shivering at the cold sensation felt against your skin.

coming safely back down on the ground, you began to feel even more flustered upon realizing how much taller d was than you. he continues watching you, with your arms crossed over your chest as you reached into your pouch to pull out a single key. the moment you slot the key into your door, you hear d straddling his horse once more. not brave enough to face him, you call out to him,

“mister d?”

the sounds of hooves clopping against the ground stops momentarily, and you knew then that d had every intention to listen to what you had to say.

you face him once more, seeing d look at you from his periphery. “if you ever need a place to stay, please, come find me. it’s the least i can do for you since… since you saved me.”

d says nothing, yet spends several seconds looking back at you. he continues staring at you, as if wishing to memorize your every feature before finally turning away from you, his stallion already taking great strides down the hill.

that was how your first meeting with him went, and despite your kindness and how you truly wished to see him again, you didn’t think the man would take you up on such an offer-

yet, you were proven wrong several months later, when a storm had hit your town and you heard several faint knocks against your door. upon answering, you were shocked to see d standing before you, his left hand wrapped in a bandage as his stallion took refuge from the rain while remaining beneath the trees.

you purse your lips, remaining silent as you stepped aside to let him in. you were afraid to speak, truly fearing that if you said something, then it would make him change his mind and he would end up leaving you. as he steps into the house, the gentle drizzle of rain was all that could be heard. if you didn’t feel small during the time where you had first met him, then you certainly felt small now, watching as d towers over you while in the seemingly cramped space of your cottage.

he takes off his hat, his hair still dripping with the lingering raindrops. his eyes take in the sight of your quaint home, and he sees the table that holds a wooden bowl filled with stew along with a loaf of bread.

“ah, my apologies! are you hungry, sir?”

d shakes his head, “i’m fine, just a glass of water will suffice.”

you nod, feeling your heart begin to race as you grabbed a glass and filled it with water from your pitcher. you place the cup on the table, watching as d takes a seat before place two, burgundy capsules inside of it.

you sit across from him, going back to eating your dinner without tasting anything. d gently swirls the capsules within the water, not stopping until the water turns crimson red, carrying with it the lingering scent of iron.

your appetite was slowly diminishing, heart still pounding when you watch d drain the cup of the blood-like liquid dry. you continue looking at him, unable to tear your gaze away from him. d returns your gaze and softly asks, “does this bother you?”

a shiver runs down your spine, your mind screaming at you that d was no ordinary man-

yet you couldn’t bring yourself to reject this mysteriously elusive man.

so, you ignore the rationality of your mind and settle with following your heart, shaking your head while admitting to him, “it doesn’t bother me, not even in the slightest.”

a flash of something was seen across his dark eyes, and you saw it glimmer with an unknown emotion, one that you were too scared to truly identify. you watch as d stands from his seat, his strides being able to reach you within seconds.

he towers over you, and you felt his long, slender hands caressing at your cheek. you lean in closer to him, ignoring the lingering coldness felt against his skin.

“d…”

his name falls from your parted lips, filled with yearning as it was enough to make his tranquil façade slip. suddenly, d’s arms were felt wrapping around your form, bringing your body closer to his as his lips sought its sanctuary with yours.

soft moans came from you, your nipples going hard against the sheer material of your nightgown when d presses you even closer to him. sharp canines gently tease against your bottom lip, and you realized that such a trait was what gave his identity away-

“vampire…?” you breathlessly whisper against d’s lips, earning a subtle head shake from him.

“dhampir.” he gently corrects you before claiming your lips once more, already picking up your body as he lead you back inside the comfort of your room. not caring about the consequences, you shamelessly cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, feeling the cold leather of his pants surround your inner thighs, causing you to shiver in response.

you were breathless by the time d gently sets you back on top of the bed. his expression remains unreadable, yet the way his long fingertips gently traces across the expanse of your skin (the touch remaining oh so reverent) was more than enough proof of his desires for you.

he gently pushes aside the sheer material of your nightie, leaving you bare for his eyes. d seems captivated by the sight of your nakedness, his gaze darkening ever so slightly before traveling down your form. settling himself between your legs, you felt the way d’s cold breath breathe in the scent of your aching core, a soft groan escaping from his lips.

keeping your legs spread wide open, the dhampir places his thin lips against your sensitive flower, darting his tongue inside of you as he tastes your honeyed sweetness. your moans fill at the air, allowing your back to arch against your bed. pants and moans echo throughout the room, and just feeling d’s gentle ministrations against you makes you slowly lose your mind.

due to never experiencing such pleasures before, you felt something snap within your abdomen, filling you with the first pinpricks of pleasure. d drinks up all you had to offer with a gentle hum, using his tongue to trace at your outer lips before moving away from you.

you were in a daze now, becoming dimly aware of the shifting of belts and fabric. you watch as d’s pale body glows from beneath the dying candlelight, his dark hair cascading down his muscular back. your mouth turns dry, unable to believe that such a beautiful creature was going to be yours-

if only for tonight.

d rejoins you in bed, laying across your body as he wraps your legs around his waist. the tip of his hardened cock continues to collect at the evidence of your release, tracing around its borders as you let out a sigh in response. as if knowing that this would be your first (and last) time with a man, d takes a hold of your hand and gently enters your slick heat.

the sudden intrusion makes you wince, your breasts heaving as you struggled to take in the sheer size of him. as tears were felt dotting your vision, d focuses his attention on your chest, his cool lips already wrapping themselves around your hardened nipple. you let out a gasp at the sudden sensation, moaning while delving your fingers into his hair.

only when he was completely sheathed inside of you did he finally stop moving, busying himself with the taste of your skin, greedily sucking at your breast. not knowing how much time had passed, you figured d had the patience of a saint, not even daring to move as he allowed your body to get used to the sensation of his cock filling you up.

your legs felt like they were turning numb, and as you adjusted your legs, you felt a sudden jolt of pleasure coursing through you. your breathing becomes labored, nails already gripping at d’s biceps as you begged him to move.

he hums, somehow able to switch positions as he was left sitting on the bed, still remaining connected to you. from this position, you were able to control the pace, your head seeming to spin. a ghost of a smile was seen gracing d’s features, and you settle both hands against his broad chest before slowly moving your slick heat up and down his cock.

your movements were sloppy and uneven, serving as evidence of your inexperience. looking down to where your body was connected with his, you could see the spot of blood over his cock, making you tremble in response.

d hisses when you began to bounce against him at an even faster pace, with you biting down on your bottom lip so harshly that it was close to drawing blood. the pleasure you felt was so intense-

so all consuming that you lost all of your inhibitions.

“d…” you gasp, lips already seeking his as you kissed him deeply, the squelching sounds of your lovemaking already taking over your senses. his grunts were the final push that you needed to reach your completion, climaxing against him when you still your hips and swallowed the entirety of his cock.

you felt the clear liquids of your release travel down his shaft, your broken moans filling at the air when d’s cock was felt twitching deep inside of you, shooting his seed deep within your womb as you fell against him.

your mind becomes hazy, feeling d press a lingering kiss against the side of your neck before laying down. the rain had simmered down to a light drizzle, and you bask in the gentle sounds of its droplets, feelings your eyes grow heavier while still in d’s embrace. upon feeling his lips against your hair, you allowed your body to succumb to its exhaustion, keeping the memory of the pleasure d had given you as a means to lead you towards a peaceful slumber.

you lost track of time of how long you had been sleeping, never once rousing from your slumber until the sunlight was felt hitting at the back of your eyelids.

the warmth of the sunlight manages to awaken you from your slumber, and when you gently moved your hand across the bed, you felt a crushing disappointment at how d had left you once more. not wishing to open your eyes while bearing witness to the empty side of your bed, you allowed your daydreams to take over, willing the image of his beautiful body to remain within your mind’s eye-

yet when your fingertips felt the soft sensation of petals from beneath your hand, you opened your eyes with a gasp. with the morning light painting your room in pastel hues, you take in the sight of a lone, white lily settled on the pillow where d once lay.

your heart hammers within your chest as you slowly sit up in bed. with gentle movements, you gingerly held the lovely flower within your hand, using its petals to caress at your cheek as you imagined it was your beloved dhampir gently caressing you with the back of his hand…

and despite how d never once announced his departure or spoke a word to you-

you knew that he would return.

end notes: d is so my type, someone send h e l p 🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[sunflowersteves]

you’re an addiction || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!afab!reader

summary || Everyone always thought Miguel was quiet and calculating, but you know him so much more differently.

author's notes || im so slutty for this man it's insane and I needed him to be soft

warnings || fluff, kinda emotionally constipated miguel, SMUT, praise kink, soft!dom, cockwarming, vaginal sex, unprotected sex [18+ only]

masterlist

“Baby,” Miguel’s eyes flickered from the screen of the computer to the wooded desk. He was trying real hard to concentrate—eyebrows furrowed and large frame standing tall.

“You need to sit still.” He said it so soft. He meant it to sound a bit more demanding, but how could he? You were sitting so good for him. 

Miguel wasn’t known for being a talker. Not really.

At the HQ, he barely uttered a word unless it was necessary. He had grown to like the quiet, empty space of silence. It seemed calming to him. It harnessed a full collection of him and his thoughts as they unraveled.

Until you. 

You were the one exception to the rule of silent Miguel. You were the light that speckled onto his stubborn, grieving heart. You were the cause and reason for every single curl of his lips as he watched you perform a mundane task.

He just couldn’t help himself around you. You dug up underneath his heart and made him want to spill every detail of his thoughts to you. He could never say no to you, either. It felt impossible to him when you bash your eyelashes prettily, and his heart palpitates against his chest. He is absolutely done for the minute you whisper his name softly in his ear.

Like, now. Miguel was supposed to be working on important briefing materials for a new mission. He was gathering evidence and needed to present it to the team in a couple of days.

You padded across the living room floors and sauntered your way into Miguel’s study. It was late. Impossibly late. You had woken up to an empty bed. Your hand had patted the mattress to find your husband, but he was nowhere to be found. You could never sleep without him, and if he was being honest, neither could he. 

“Miggy?” You called out. Your eyes flitted over Miguel, his broad frame hunching over the hologram computer. A pout had sprouted onto your lips because you figured he was nowhere near done.

“Hmm?” He says. His head didn’t even move from the work in front of him.

He could hear you make your way over to him, though. His lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. 

Sometimes, he cherished nights like these. You would wake up in the middle of the night to find Miguel sitting in his study. You would wrap your arms around him, koala-like, and fall asleep on his lap. He would always smile as your mind dreamed of him—he knew from the small whispers of his name as sleep took over in full. 

“Can’t sleep without you.” You murmur.

He finally tears his eyes away to look at you. His heart thumped hard against his chest for what felt like the millionth time. Your pajamas hung loose onto your form as you rubbed one of your exhausted eyes.

He scooted the office chair back and tapped his thigh. “C’mere. I’ll be done soon, baby.”

You walked into his presence but didn’t sit just yet. “Promise?”

He breaks into a smile. “Promise.”

You climbed on top of his large thighs. You were straddling his waist and immediately enveloping him in a hug. Your cheeks were pressed up against his chest. If only you could see his smile now—practically beaming.

He scoots the chair back. He breathes in deeply to appreciate the feeling of your warmth radiating off onto him. You close your eyes, and he continues to do his work. His fingers pressed up against the holographic keyboard. He moved other components of the mission to the other—his eyes darting in concentration. 

You yawned against his chest and subconsciously pressed your cheek further into him. You thought about him.

You thought about the way his smile lights up when you walk into the room. You thought about the day he made pozole when you were sick. You thought about the way his body completely wrapped around yours with his broad frame. You thought about the way he held you in bed during the pretty, bright sunrise. You thought about how his hands groped the soft flesh of your thighs. You thought about the times he has left you dizzy from the kisses and bites to your neck. You thought about the way his cock left a burn from—

Now you got squirmy. So much so that, that was how he gave the initial scolding to keep you still. Even though it was soft, you knew when you needed to quit. Although, you couldn’t help it. Not when your mind eventually wandered off to the way his cock pounded into you this morning.

“I’m sorry, Miggy,” you lightly pouted. Your eyes were closed, and you were concentrating on Miguel’s heartbeat. You needed a distraction from thinking about how his cock always filled you up so fucking well.

His eyebrow lifted as he saw the split-second of mischief in your eyes before you closed them, but he still gave you the benefit of the doubt. “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. Don’t be sorry.” Your fingers tightened around his shoulder. “I just need you to stay still, okay?”

You nodded, but you could feel the wetness leak onto your panties. With how thin your shorts were, your slick would eventually leak onto his thigh. You squeezed your eyes even tighter, but your attempt in keeping calm had already failed. 

You bit your lip as you watched the way his arms flexed from having to move around the hologram. Your pussy was fucking throbbing at this point, thinking about MiguelMiguelMiguel—

Then, he abruptly stopped. Your head lifted up from his chest in confusion, but he never said a word. He just raised you with one hand, and the other pulled down his sweatpants.

His cock sprang free, and he could’ve sworn he saw your eyes become slightly larger. The way his cock practically pulsated in his grip, always left you speechless. There was pre-cum that spilled against his tip, and you could see the vein that ran across the side of his shaft. It made your mouth water to no fucking end.

He gently sat you back down onto his lap. Your hands immediately went to caress the girth of his cock, but he snatches your hands in his.

He clicks his tongue. “You wanna be a good girl?”

Your mouth falls open, but you nod. “I do.” He looks unconvinced. So, you whine. “Please.”

There it is. He can’t help but smirk. “Since you can’t sit still, I’ll give you my cock.” His eyes locked with yours, and you looked almost excited. “But no moving, okay? Gotta be good for me.”

You’d take him in any which way and in any form. You wanted to smile in delight, but you knew the raise of his eyebrow would be an indication not to challenge him. Instead, you enthusiastically nod.

Satisfied, Miguel maneuvers your pajama shorts and underwear to the side with one of his talons—the fabric ripping slightly from the pure sharpness. 

His mouth drops open at the way your pussy glistens for him. “Oh, poor baby.” His finger teases your opening, causing you to gasp. “You just needed my cock, didn’t you?”

You wanted to cry out. You nodded, the desperation to feel him inside of you was becoming unbearable. “I need you, Miguel.” Your heart beat so loud across your chest that it was even hard to hear yourself. Everything felt hot and heavy—the air feeling thick.

Ever so slowly, he starts to let you sink down into his cock. You both moan from the euphoric sensations of being one with one another. “Fuckin’ tight.” He whispers, closing his eyes. "Eres mia."

He can feel the way you restrict around him, and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into you. All he needs is five more minutes, and then he would be completely done with work. He could be all yours for the rest of the night.

You whimper, “f-fill me up so good, miggy.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah? Am fuckin’ made for you, querida.”

He lets out a groan as your walls clenched around him from the statement alone. You could feel your juices start to leak down onto his balls. Soon, it would be his thighs.

He stares at the hologram once more, attempting to continue his work. Your head leans back against his chest once again. This time, though, you were filled to the brim. His cock stretched you just enough to let you see stars.

He was big. The fat tip of his cock was hitting your cervix as you barely bottomed out. The thought was starting to make you accidentally roll your hips.

Miguel bites his tongue as a moan threatens to escape. He tries to keep his composure because he knows that if he gives you one look, he's done for. He’ll give you exactly what you want because Miguel O’Hara can’t say no to you. You have him wrapped around your pretty finger.

“Bein’ so good, baby. Just a little longer.” If you weren’t already cock drunk and fantasying about how his cock makes you feel, you would have noticed the slur in his words.

His voice was deep and relaxed—the gruffness scratched against his throat. His words seemed fluid and almost combined into one. All he could think about was how wet you were—some of the slick was starting to drop onto your conjoined thighs. He could feel just how desperate you were, and your soft whimpers weren't helping. It was starting to make his head feel fuzzy. 

You nodded against him, but you weren’t listening. “Yes, Miguel.” It was just a habit for you. You wanted to be his good girl, and you are. You really, really are.

Your body jolts as his hand smacks the desk in front of him. It turns off the hologram, and you’re left with your mouth opening in shock.

“Fuck this.” He yells impatiently. “I can fucking feel how wet you are, querida. It’s driving me—driving me fucking insane.” His eyes lowered to see the expression on your face. It almost made him whimper.

Your gaze was fucked. You looked completely fucked out from the haze in your eyes and the way your lip wobbled. You looked like an absolute mess, and it was tearing Miguel up.

He could feel the wanton need to bury his cock even further inside of you—which wasn’t even possible at this point. An aching need to take care of you took over his thoughts and pushed against his chest. He needed you.

“Miguel.” You whimpered. It was as if that was the only thing your brain could come up with—him. You needed him just as much as he needed you.

He coos, “I’ve got you, baby. Fuck work. Those pieces of shit can wait.” His hands move to your waist and squeeze. “You’ve been such a good girl, baby. S-so fucking good for me.”

You yell out his name when he thrusts up into you. You could feel the way his cock pierced through every single part of you. “Miguel—f-fuck—”

His hands tightened around your waist before helping you grind against him. You could barely move, not with your mind reeling from the pleasures that send tingles down your spine.

"So fuckin' good for me, baby. You did so well." Miguel grits his teeth at the way his cock twitched inside of you, in and out of your wet pussy. "Jus' can't get enough of this pussy." 

You whined and whimpered—just as he continued to have you grind and thrust against him. “Please, Miguel. Please—” You were already so close. The tortuous waiting game that he played as his cock stretched you thin was starting to take its toll.

He could feel the way your walls spasmed against him—the way you tightened even more. He moaned against you. “Y-you can let go, pretty girl. You’ve been so fuckin good—”

One of his hands leaves your waist. His thumb pressed up against your swollen clit and swirled around your sticky wetness—the substance had pooled around the two of you so much that it made such a mess.

“F-fuck. Let go, baby. Give it to me. Fuckin’ give it to me.”

You scream out his name as his cock pounds into you again and again. Your cunt impossibly tightens around him, and your orgasm comes quickly as gush all over his aching cock.

The sweet sounds you made had sent him over the edge. He lets everything go right behind you and spills his thick, hot cum deep inside. “F-fuck, querida—fuck.” He wants to say your name over and over until it’s the only thing that can form on his tongue.

You collapsed against him with deep, tired breaths. Your eyelids wanted to slip closed and let the soft pillows of sleep take you whole.

Miguel smiles down at you and presses a kiss to your hair line then another to your cheek.

“Looks like it’s time for bed, hmm?” His finger swipes gently against your cheek. “Let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

You sighed against him, completely and utterly content. A wide smile was on your face. “Okay, Miggy.”

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty One - A Sense of Struggle

Part Twenty

———

Overuse was not something the companies and governments of the world initially expected, then again the development of a neural interface had been unexpected but welcome.

It had been alarming, when pilots started to mention the irritation around their new implants, which back at the beginning of the program were big and bulky, not easy to hide. Then a list of side effects started to accumulate.

Headaches, migraines, dizziness, vision issues, sensitivity to light and noise, vision loss, loss of hearing, brain damage, fatigue, insomnia, nightmares, short-term memory issues, confusion, brain fog, nausea, vomiting, lack of appetite, inflammation, rash, joint pain, loss of sensation in limbs, muscle degradation, muscle tears, muscle atrophy, loss of bone density, nerve damage, irritation, mood changes, changes in behavior, depression, anxiety, heart palpitations, iron deficiency, tremors, leaking around implants, rejection of implants, fever, increased risk of blood poisoning, sepsis, hallucinations, seizures, paralysis, organ failure, heart attack, stroke, and death.

Now, the sample size was considerably small, being that it consisted of only those found compatible and made into pilots, but it persisted. Not everyone experienced every side-effect but the warning label existed for a reason.

Seven pilots have died from overuse and its side effects.

—

The shuttle was bumpier than normal leaving the atmosphere and Hound leaned back in his seat the best he could, with his visual feed turned down to near darkness. He was the first one shipping back out on a mission and he was exhausted, but he spent two days after the blow up fight not attached to his suit. That would probably explain why Mirage was sticking to him like glue now, missing for a few days and still having bad reactions to sound and lights probably were entirely normal for Cybertronian’s, “Are you feeling okay?” Mirage’s hand was hovering over Hound’s shoulder, almost nervous to touch him.

Nodding a bit, Hound’s visor brightens slightly, “Yeah, I took something for the headache before we left Iacon.” And he had more in the cockpit with him. Mirage nodded a bit and rested his hand on Hound’s shoulder, “I hope you start to feel better soon Hound, it’s unfortunate that your helm-ache has lasted this long. Are you sure you don’t want to see Knockout?” Sighing, Hound shook his head and adjusted on his seat, “It’s nothing he’d be able to help with, not without frying my system.” Scratching lightly at his implants, his helmet tipped forward slightly. It pulled tightly at the skin on his head and neck. Wincing slightly, he rubs at the area, Mirage looked more worried, “I swear to you Mirage, I will be alright with time.” Shifting again in his seat he leans back and slightly into Mirage’s touch, sighing and darkening his visor.

Mirage stared and smiled softly, the level of trust was sometimes hard to understand or see. But in the quiet moments like this, where Hound was able to relax without having to fill the air with constant noise like many other soldiers or others of Hound’s own unit, it was easy. He shifted a bit and leaned his head lightly against Hound’s, smiling across the way to Skywarp, who was gaping at him. Then scowled when the seeker made a rather crude gesture.

Hound had his visual feed turned off, eyes closed, and external microphone off for the moment. Jazz was scowling at him through the camera, but he had his visor turned off so all he could do was hear him, “You shouldn’t have gone out this soon Hound, you still look like the other side of death.” Humming a bit, he scratches lightly at his jaw where the skin was red and inflamed, “If we are going to keep our cover we have to maintain life as it is. Not all of us are going to be in deep space with just Prowl when you pass out from overuse.” Sighing slowly, he turns his visor back on and squints lightly at Jazz, “Besides, I’ve dealt with overuse before. The best way to handle it is to get it over with.” Jazz scoffs and Hound rolled his eyes some.

“Oh yeah, getting it over with and having a heart attack pair very well together.” Shaking his head, Jazz rubs a hand over his face, sighing, “Take care of yourself Hound, alright? I don’t think Breakdown or Sunstreaker would ever forgive you.” Smiling a bit, Hound tilted his head slightly, the suit bumping lighting against Mirage, “Not Sideswipe?” Rolling his eyes, Jazz tries not to smile, “The kid will come around. Just don’t die.” Hound hummed and cut the feed, turning the visor off again, shifting again and leaning his helmeted head back up against the piloting seat.

To the appearance of everyone else, Hound was deep in recharge already and Mirage was completely content with that. He knew the mech wasn’t asleep, the subtle shifts were a dead giveaway but that was fine. Hound hadn’t shoved him away yet and it was as if he could almost feel the mech's closely held field when this close. Smiling a bit, Mirage kept his cheek on the side of Hound’s helm, which was now just about resting on his shoulder. He knew people were taking image captures and sending them around but for the moment, he didn’t care and eventually when he did, well, he was sure he could weasel a favor out of Prowl.

Thundercracker smacks Skywarp upside the head for good measure as he goes to make another crude hand gesture.

—

“I can’t believe him.” Sideswipe was pacing, scowling at the gin still which was still just dripping away, “Reaching overuse and now separating us.” He turns to watch Sunstreaker get into his assistance suit, they would be leaving the next day but Sunny was always particular about his routine when he had the time, “You can hardly call what we’re doing being separated. You and I are just under different commanders on the same battlefield, what, they said 95% of the time? Hound and Breakdown will still be together and Jazz is going back to what he’s been doing for five years.” Sunstreaker shrugs lightly, pulling at his suit a bit and scowling at the chipping paint, “Did you throw this?” Sideswipe turns away and goes back to pacing.

When he turned back Sunstreaker was still glaring and he sighs, “It’s the overuse.” “Oh don’t use it as an excuse!” Sunny turns away and goes to where he kept his paint, “I can’t believe that this thing gets scratched by you and not some alien with tentacles.” Sideswipe tries not to smile, moving over slowly, “Sunny, aren’t you a little mad about this? Hound is separating us.” Groaning, Sunstreaker turns and points at him, “Because otherwise we’ll be dead in a year and you know that.” Taking a breath, he grabs his paints and brushes before walking over to leave the suit against the wall.

Sighing deeply, Sunstreaker drags a hand over his face as he removes the suit, “We fought one of these things at a time, solo, back home. Now we're on a battlefield with dozens and pressed so close together we all keep looking over our shoulders to keep an eye on each other.” Sideswipe scowls, “Yeah, but so what.” Sunstreaker shoots him a scathing look, “I know you aren’t really putting the pieces together, but one of us would be looking at the other and do something stupid to protect them.” Sideswipe shrugs and Sunstreaker throws his arms in the air, “Simon, we’re dying out there and you don’t even realize it!” Sunstreaker was face to turn, face flushed with anger.

He nearly kicks his open paint can but stops himself, taking a breath, “One of us was going to die to protect the others. Whether it was Breakdown with his overheated canon, you trying to kill the literal assassin for the Autobots, Hound having a fucking heart attack from overuse to protect us, or me using my suit till my implants reach stage three rejection.” He picks up one of the paint brushes and twirls it lightly in his hand.

Sideswipe was staring, breathing deep before walking over and resting a hand on Sunny’s shoulder, “Are you facing rejection?” His hand lightly brushed over the implants at his shoulder then up his neck to the back of his head, Sunstreaker almost flinched away, “Not yet, but they haven’t been this sensitive since the compatibility testing.” Dripping his arm around Sunny’s shoulders, Sides drapes himself on his brother, closing his eyes, “I’m sorry.” Sighing, Sunny pats his brother's arm, “I know.” They stood there staring down at the paint can and assistance suit, Sideswipes hand coming up to rest protectively over the implants on the back of his brother's head.

—

The shuttle landed roughly and Hound shot up, wincing slightly, stretching out the best he could, “God, could that landing have been any rougher?” Mirage chuckled, “Welcome to New-Kaon, I don’t think you’re going to like it very much.” Pausing, Hound looked to Mirage and tilted his head slightly, “I’ve been to Kaon before,’ but Mirage was already shaking his head, “No, not Kaon on Cybertron, New Kaon is a colony of the cons’.” Nodding slowly, Hound wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, clearing his throat a bit, “Right then.” The back hatch opened with a hiss and bright sunlight came streaming through along with a burst of sand.

Noise filtered through in abundance and the hatch opened up to a busy space port, filled with mecha of dozens of shapes and sizes. Hound gapped and slowly stood as Megatron went past, he almost took a step back before the bigger mech rested a hand on his shoulder, “Come Hound, I will show you New Kaon while the shuttle refuels and we wait for intel.” Mirage stood but Hound nodded slowly, not entirely sure how to politely decline a tour, Megatron grinned, “You may very well come to love New Kaon, Jazz seemed to find it strikingly familiar.” They stepped off the transport and familiar would certainly be one way of putting it.

If Iacon Headquarters looked like Fort Liberty, this place looked like Fort Irwin where he’d trained back in his army days. It took his breath away and Megatron was smiling, “The sand is irritating but you grow used to it.” Shaking his head a bit, Hound scratches his jaw lightly, “I was from a place with a lot of sand, you get more than used to it, you adjust to it being everywhere. Sir.” They spared each other a look before Megatron folded his hands behind his back and started to walk through the port, nodding to nearby mechs who stopped to either stare or salute.

”New Kaon was my stronghold during the last war, a great deal of energon was hidden on this planet back at the beginning of the war and there are some naturally occurring energy sources here. Wind and sun being the easiest to harness of course, we would store what we could on our old warships.” He gestures in the direction of multiple large hangers, “We’re currently salvaging what we can for shuttle craft and re-building efforts.” Hound nodded but paused, “Rebuilding? Here or?” Megatron chuckled lightly, shaking his head, “You’ve seen the rebuilt parts of Cybertron, Iacon and Kaon, but there is still a great deal to repair from our mistakes.” Nodding, Hound couldn’t help but sigh, “I understand. My own home has been rebuilt from multiple wars in the last hundred years or so. Cold War conflicts, Vietnam, Korea, uh, the world wars of course and local conflicts.” Megatron stopped dead in his tracks as Hound kept walking.

“None of those worlds really translate well besides World Wars and the Cold War? I don’t quite understand.” Hound glanced around and waited for Megatron to catch up, “Well, uh, Vietnam and Korea are countries, both are located on the same continent and generally are in Asia. Which also doesn’t translate to much.” Megatron moved over slowly before they resumed their leisurely pace, “Countries? Plural?” “Of course.” Nodding a bit, Hound sighed, this was something he could handle, “There are nearly two hundred countries on my planet. Very different from your one government for the entire world.” Megatron hummed deeply, “So, when you’ve mentioned the odd names of where you are from,” Nodding a bit, Hound glances around, “Jazz, myself, and the twins are from the same country. Breakdown is from Ukraine, which is across an ocean from where the rest of us are from.” They kept walking even as Megatron’s mind worked.

His voice was nearly quiet, clearing his throat a bit, “How many governments control your world Hound?” Hound paused and tilted his head slightly, before shaking it, “There are one hundred and ninety-three member states apart of the UN, the United Nations, plus the potential for two observer states supposedly in the next few years.” He scratched at his jaw, frowning slightly when he felt the skin break and blood slide down his jaw and neck, Hound barely bit back a swear, “One hundred and ninety-three member states. Of an entity called the United Nations.” Nodding some, Hound uses the back of his hand to wipe at the blood a bit, frowning.

“Uh, yes sir. It’s a general governing body for the world to hopefully follow, make international laws, etc. I’m not very versed in it, politics were not my strong suit before our war sir.” Megatron nodded but cleared his throat again, “Then what were you versed in, Hound?” He had to pause before speaking, “Organic nature.” He almost smiled, “Our planet isn’t made of metal like Cybertron, at least not entirely, so when there was free time before the war I was interested in organic life.” They fell silent as they walked up the street, mecha simply going about their day around them.

Coming up on one very large building, Megatron hummed, “I apologize Hound, I will continue the tour once I have checked on something inside. Do you mind waiting?” Shaking his head, Hound tried not to hold a hand to his bleeding face, “Of course not, Sir. There was a cafe a little down the street, do you mind if I go sit there?” Waving a hand, Megatron smiled fondly, “You do not have to ask permission to sit Hound, I understand your kind needs more rest than my own. I will come retrieve you when I am done.” “Thank you sir.” Nodding his head slightly, Megatron entered the warehouse and Hound turned away, heading for the cafe.

He honestly just needed a place to sit, but Hound would not just sit on the ground and slump over while doing this. Hound was still bleeding after all. Being able to take a seat and disable the mobility of the assistance suit, he went digging around for the first aid kit. His jaw wasn’t the only thing bleeding anymore, “Fucking, damnit.” Grabbing the first aid kit, he pulls out gauze and cotton balls, along with several mecha themed bandages. Not many people were looking his way, he could tell that with keeping the visual feed on low but there were a few just watching him. It took longer than he’d hoped to get patched up, The entire back of his head was now covered in an overly large compression bandage to cover the worst of it from his implants without disrupting the connection and the lower part of his face was covered and clean.

Two nearly identical mecha had spent this whole time watching him, but Hound knew them and had seen them around before. When he got back into his piloting seat and reactivated the assistance suit, the twins were gone, likely reporting to Soundwave or Megatron on his condition already. Rumble and Frenzy seemed like a handful from a distance, he didn’t want to get any closer than that.

Taking a slow and deep breath, Hound looked at his hands briefly and had to pause, for a moment he swore his mechas hands were covered in blood and not his own flesh ones, “Hound, would you like to resume the tour?” Looking up, he stands and subconsciously wipes his hands on his legs, “Of course Sir, where to next?” Megatron smiled and gestures, “You might find our fighting pits entertaining. Our best warriors train there for Quintesson attacks, to ensure New Kaon’s safety.” Smiling a bit, Hound nods and follows, “It sounds interesting.” The city was almost peaceful other than for the sounds of conflict in the distance, in the direction they walked, one could almost forget that there was a war or had been a war before that one in moments like this.

His bandages were already soaked through with blood and discharge, unlikely to stop soon, not losing enough to kill him but certainly more than any human would like.

———

A/N

Alright, so this is where my posts start to get delayed. I take the LSAT this month and probably won’t have a ton of time to write. We are projected to get hit with a pretty bad snow storm this next week so we’ll see if we even have power, but idk yet.

Thank you everyone for showing me so much love on this story, I’ve been enjoying it so much.

Tags!

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And once again, I want to thank the amazing @keferon for this amazing AU, it’s such a blast seeing everyone just dog pile onto it.

[bullet-prooflove]

It's me! Hi! 😉

From Midnights prompt list

24)  In the kitchen humming for Terry and Georgia (and if possible baby Sebastian) please 😊

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @mia1653 @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when you realise the baby is missing. There’s an empty space with a towel wrapped around you, your hair tousled and damp as your heart palpitates in your chest.

Sebastian is two months old and can barely raise his head, there is no way he escaped on his own accord. Immediately your brain goes to John Kreese, but you remind yourself he’s dead, that he can’t hurt the two of you anymore.

It’s when you hear Terry’s voice coming from the kitchen that you start to calm. You follow the gentle sound of his humming, not caring that you’re dripping water all over the floor in your haste.

You pause when you reach the doorway, lingering as the relief fills your body at the sight of Sebastian cradled in his arms, half asleep.

“I know your little tummy hurts.” He murmurs, his lips brushing over the baby’s forehead as he sways gently from side to side. “But you’re being a terror for mommy.”

You hate to admit it but he’s right. You suspect it’s the reason that Terry’s home from work early. Colic has been driven you to tears more than once since you had Sebastian and the fact you can’t sooth your son devastates you.

“He hates me.” You’d told Terry last night, after he’d put Sebastian down for the night. “He won’t sleep, he cries all the time. Nothing I do is working. I feel like I’m failing him.”

You’d fallen apart then and Terry had kissed away your tears as he cradled you close, whispering the sweet reassurances into your hair.

“You meant it.” You say softly and Terry turns to face you, his palm resting on Sebastian’s back. “When you said you’d be around to help more. I thought…”

You trail off because you’ve been in a bit of a fog since you had the baby, exhausted, unable to ask for help. You’d seen it as a weakness because mothering, it seems easy for everyone else but not for you. You worry all the time if you’re doing the right thing for Sebastian.

“You thought I was placating you?” He questions as he kisses Sebastian’s tiny fingertips and you nod your head, unable to speak.

“Georgia.” He says softly. “Parenting it’s hard, it’s probably going to be the hardest thing we’re ever going to do. I would never leave you to struggle with it on your own. I’m a fool for not realising how much of a tiny tyrant he was being, for not seeing you needed help.”

“It’s not your fault.” You say quietly as you grip the towel tighter around your body. “I thought it would come naturally to me but I’m finding it hard to connect because he doesn’t want me…”

“He does want you.” Terry reassures you as Sebastian grumbles. “Right now he’s showing preference because I put him to bed at night after work, if we start doing that together he’ll start associating it with the both of us and that preference will slip.”

“Do you really think that’s it?” You ask him, your fingertips caressing the baby’s featherlike dark hair.

“I do.” He tells you with so much surety that it relaxes something deep down inside of you. “I know he’s exhausting you so let me take over for a while, give you a few hours to yourself. Take a nap or a walk on the beach, spend a little time in the studio, just do something for yourself for a while. I’ve got him.”

“You’re sure?” You ask him and Terry gives you a stern look.

“Georgia.” He says, tilting his head towards the closed art studio door. “Go have yourself a little fun.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[suguru-getos]

fractures // geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 1

warnings: abusive!suguru, mentions of cuts, mentions of physical abuse (choking, beating up, chaining), not for the faint-hearted. not beta'd. dead dove do not eat. summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through.

it has been in total of three days since you have been caged in the geto estate, at first, your anxiety and palpitations could not let you sleep, now? you're too exhausted to have those in the first place. it was simple, your parents were millionaires and owed geto some money, they decided not to go ahead with the deal and in turn, Miguel brought you here. in the confined walls of the estate where they crush you chokingly.

it's 3 am, your eyes wide awake in the bed that you're confined to, leg chained to the bedpost and the metallic bite of the chain brushing against your skin, bruisingly. your ankle is tied from the bedpost, you could walk around only to a certain extent. why? because you tried to escape and almost succeeded. now even when you try to sleep, it serves as a reminder of how you are a prisoner here. you hate this, all of this because the cult leader named geto thinks you're useless and a monkey. you don't even have an idea what that means...

---

"they have a daughter." miguel hums at suguru, crossing his arms and manspreading, sitting with geto in his office. the feline eyed man raised a brow, "is that so?" "Interesting..." he hums again, feet tapping on the floor. "Miguel, how does she look like?" his voice laced with curiosity echoed in the room which had the two of them contemplating future plans. "wait, i have a picture.."

and there you were, papped and captured from your morning errand, holding your coffee in your hand and wearing a white tank top, and some parachute pants. you were beautiful, suguru could almost call you perfect. if only... you were not a pathetic monkey. he hates them, and they have no place in his world, they will never be a part of his world...

"i just want to go home- i don't have any idea what you're talking about." another flashback rang through your mind. your first day here, comprising you begging and whimpering against the ropes of the chair you were tied to. "of course you don't, your parents do. your opinions are worthless in this anyway." geto looks at you with disgust, his eyes carry a strange emotion... he just, hated you for existing. nothing else. mere existence...

"fuckers like you who have no morals whatsoever have no other choice but to kidnap huh? fucking asshole!" you snarled, screaming out in frustration. you had no idea how your life could change so easily. a large hand wrapped around your throat the next instant, choking the life out of you with no relent. you struggled, eyes widening and feet kicking with wheezing gasps. "you see?" geto hums, leaning in against your ear and gravely whispering, "this is how easy it is for me to kill you, you're nothing. just a worthless piece of shit born to create curses in this world."

you couldn't do anything, your hands were tied up, you could only see the life you had, flash in front of your eyes before you passed out. suguru has no idea of his strength with a feeble human yet. he leans back, noticing the prominent bruising on your neck once your head leaned back, limp and lifeless. he yanked his hand away, putting some sanitizer on it. "pathetic." he hums, gritting his teeth. you were so weak... so fucking weak and still all you had to do was use that pathetic mouth didn't you?

geto left you there for the night, a very minuscule part of him feeling upset over the way he treated you, he would call himself an asshole for it if it was a sorcerer, but you weren't one. who cares if you're not a sorcerer anyways...

the next day, your eyes blinked awake, a hiss escaping you when you noticed you were still tied up, some of the blood circulation stopped because of the ropes tying your body to the chair. you wanted to scream, but your voice box hurts after yesterday. a grim reminder of what your kidnapper was truly capable of. you sniffled weakly, senses in fight or flight.

before your pitiful breakdown could even commence, manami opened the door, watching you with the same disgust her 'geto sama' carries... what is wrong with these people? truly? why do they look at you like you mean nothing. like you have done the greatest sin of the earth just by being born? "good morning, here's the thing. geto sama has informed your parents that you're under our custody, if they agree to give the money then you're safe to go, or we kill you." she shrugs. killing... is it that normal of a thing to say?

your eyes widened at the sheer panic of it, manami noticing the palpable fear in them and laughing, walking closer to you and untying you roughly; ignoring the scratches the rough rope surface would gift your skin. "take a shower." she yanked you by your hair, throwing you on the floor.

a loud whimper escapes you when your ribs collide with the solid marble, your body was still recovering from being tied up. what is wrong with these people? you're sure you have some visceral damage at this, your internal organs hurt with that throw, blinding pain in your sensitive scalp because of the hold in your hair. suck it up... you need to suck it up. "shouldn't you- treat me like a human at least? if my parents come back for me?" you grunt, using the aid of your palms to get up, a little dizzy.

manami cocks a hip out, "geto sama was right, you have a smart mouth for a monkey." she scoffs, walking outside with a hold on your nape. you stumble on the floor, how is this woman so strong? you couldn't understand why... you couldn't budge in her grip on you.

everything is hazy after, except you were force-fed hot soup for telling geto to kill himself during dinner, and not fed at all the next day, getting captured as well for running away and now a chain on your ankle.

you close your eyes, hugging yourself tightly. you need to be your own comfort. you have to be your own comfort. but its hard... the way they look at you, the way they treat you, everything is making you wish you were better off dead. why are your parents taking so long in the first place? what's wrong with them really?

your body is exhausted, unable to keep up with the constant stress. you do end up getting dazed to sleep. although its filled with nightmares. you're woken up to an echo of a voice.

"good morning, i'm sure these don't feel good." geto hums, and you jolt awake, leaning instinctively against the headboard. eyes glossed, fear dancing through your nerves. you don't respond. why is he here? "i didn't think you were that dumb to try to run yesterday." he clicks his tongue, looking at you. gosh you still have the popped lip from when manami hit you after getting caught. some of it is in your nose too. geto sighs, its the way you behave that he gets conflicted. he has always been an underdog supporter, now a bunch of powerful sorcerers were torturing a frail human just because of money...

maybe he should do you a favor and kill you instead. he could just tell your parents that they delayed in sending the sum of money and take the money anyway.He wants to stay true to his word but also wants to return you to them. another part of him... which he hates the most, almost wants to hug you and apologize. That part is the reason you're being treated this way.

"you're not answering me." he raises a brow, watching you shiver with fear and flinch at the tone of his voice. "I'm sorry, won't run again." you managed to say meekly; within three days of you being here, you look like a completely different person. your neck is bruised, your face is bruised, your hair is a mess, you are chained to a room. it is drastic for you, geto knows that. "hm, you know the consequences aren't too great, i would just listen to me if i were you." he adds on, watching your shoulders slump in defeat. my god were you beautiful, you were perfect in his eyes, someone he should have taken on dates if his life was normal. thanks to your disgusting kind, his life isn't normal.

"manami will come to you with breakfast." he stands up with that, and your heart races. you hate that woman and the way she treats you. you wouldn't say geto is any better but at least he isn't downright awful... so far. you nodded, getting up to go and shower at least. the clank of chains in your ankle echoes in the room, and it makes geto stand still for a moment. the flash of his little girls caged haunts in his eyes. isn't he doing something similar to you.

"y/n." he says your name, watching your eyes slowly dart towards him. "if you behave for a few days, the chain will be gone."

you don't respond to that, walking away. suguru bites his lip, he hates this feeling he's getting. a frog in his fucking throat and it's just been four days of you being here. he shouldn't deter from his thoughts like this anyway. you're a monkey, a useless monkey who should be killed as soon as possible.

manami comes in with breakfast and you could only manage a few bites despite not being able to eat properly. manami was not that mean today, all she said that she expected you dead but you're not yet. she says this everyday, nothing ordinary.

meanwhile, your parents have decided to actually manage the sum of money, but it will take time. they inform geto of the same. your mom pathetically sobbing for her little baby girl. "don't worry, she will be alive and kicking, i will keep my word. you have 10 days." suguru cuts the phone call after.

you... would be elated to hear this news wouldn't you? you should be! and so he walks towards your room, where you were laying on the mattress, leg bruised and bleeding. his eyes widen a little. what did you fucking do?

you had a big and a deep gash on your ankle, from the looks of it, you were trying to get free from the chains. what did you even use for this? his eyes land to the sharp enough culinary knife on your bedside table. you were crazy, any other monkey girl would simply behave and let time decide her freedom. why did you want to be so miserable?

"y/n." he mumbles your name again, and your eyes land on him, "geto" you respond, you didn't even carry any malice when you said your name. he walks towards you, getting the first aid from your cupboard and tending to your leg. "if you want an easy enough death, just ask me." he's sure you'd have another panic attack at this statement. you've been having one every day for the past four days after all.

"hm, gimme n' easy death then" you hummed, emotionless as ever. "cus i think m' parents don't give a shit anyway." a stray tear escapes through your eyes, followed by a soft hiccup of a choked sniffle. geto stays quiet at that. yesterday night, he had a dream of you smiling. or what he envisioned your smile would look like... it would surely make you look more beautiful than you already are. he's so sure of it.

"it's not like that, they did contact me and soon you'll be free." he smiled, the close-eyed feline curve that charms everyone fails to work on you. "i see." you hum, and geto trifled with the metallic cuffs on your ankle, gently putting them away. he can't really let you be this miserable. it was pathetic, it was making him pathetic.

"sorcerers exist to protect the weak." his own voice echoes which he preached satoru with. a soft sigh escaping him. he hates you. he hates what you do to him and he hates how you're having this effect on him without even trying. "yeah, a few more days of me tolerating a hooker-looking pest like you." he grits his teeth, getting up. you blinked, unsure what the sudden change in his demeanor signified. all you could do was brace. brace for another attack.

suguru watches you do so, and that sends a shiver down his spine. what's happening to him? he kills monkeys without remorse! maybe he should kill you, fuck your parents, fuck their money. fuck you.

"since you really like using the knife how about i teach you how to use it hm?" you blinked when he spits those words out, feet stomping and holding the knife up. before you could even lean away he has your wrist in his hold, hot tears streaming down your face with the way your heart thumped loud from your mouth. "please please- no no- what're you-" the pointed tip of the knife glides down your skin, and despite your gutteral, blood-curdling screams and pleas, geto only lets go of your hand when he's written the word 'MONKEY' in your arm. throwing the knife away and watching you bleed.

"i hate you, stupid monkeys." he walks away with that, while you succumb to the ache and pass out. it hurts, you could feel the blood trickling down the mattress before your body lulls you to sleep.

meanwhile, suguru shuts himself in his room, the daunting sound of the door shutting down loud and him covering his ears with tears streaming down his face. what's he even doing? why did he have to do that? oh he knows why. he wanted to prove a point that he doesn't feel anything when he hurts a monkey. that he relishes in it... but that didn't happen.

didn't happen at all...

just nine more days with you until suguru geto gets rid of you and proceeds with his mission to kill all non-sorcerers.

[grahstumhurts]

𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙚

A/N - RAHHH OMFG IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED WITH THIS FIC, EEK IM SO PROUD OF MY SELF. Content warnings - Mentions of alcohol, Cursing Car girl! Lara Raj x Fem Reader PT 1 of 2

Suggestive

I hop out of Megan's car, seeing all the pretty guys and girls gathered around watching people doing donuts and other drift tricks. 

“Do you know if Lara's here yet or no?” I yell at Megan over the exhaustion.

She shrugs and shakes her head no, “not sure” she gives me a questioning look “Why? You gonna give her a kiss?” she chuckles. I sigh and lean against her vintage Nissan S12. “watch it will you?” she slaps my shoulders “i just got a new paint job, im not letting your stupid ass ruin it” I snicker under my breath.

“Don't worry, Meiyok” I push her back, I look past Megan and see her. Lara, with her signature moon boots and leather biker jacket combo making her look devilishly good especially under the moon light and smoke from the tires. She's leaning against some random girl's hellcat, from what I can tell, Lara’s flirting with her. I observe from afar, I wish that could be me flirting back instead of cowering behind the blob of people occupying the space between us. There's a slight palpitation in my chest when she locks eyes with me through the crowd of car nerds looking under the hoods of peoples souped up cars, as if she could feel the jealous gaze on her skin. I stumble off through the crowd of baggy pants,tank tops, silver chains, and Type shi’, Finding some mystery drinks sitting on a foldable table. I sniff the cups, nose scrunched in disgust at the cheap smell of alcohol and down it in one go, Hoping to take the edge off. Lara finds her way past the frat boys,socal asians, and other car-meet goers. 

“Hey” she grins “Haven't seen you at one of these for a while, where’d a pretty thing like you go?” Though as much as i wanna give into her, and so does my body with the way my knees buckle at the nickname, I don't feel like being a victim of her games tonight. She trapped me between the table and her gaze, nowhere left to run except into her arms or over the table of booze. 

“Hellcats? That's your type now? Never thought you would be that desperate considering the fact you have lots of other great options out there.” I smirk into my second almost empty cup of liquid courage, leaving the first cup on the pavement. 

“And where are these other options, honey?” She chuckles, “I mean basically everyone here is a copy of each other”

“I'm hurt you think i'm just like everyone else” I playfully grab my heart. Megan looks over ,gives me a look and mouths what looks like “it's not worth it.” or maybe a “go for it.” I'm not sure. Lara looks back at Megan and gives her a wave before turning back to me. 

“How’ve you been? You seem pretty busy with megan. Are you guys going out or something?” She slyly says with a tint of a jealous vibe in her voice. She grips her drink at her own mention of Megan. Maybe I'm hallucinating. 

“No no, Megans always gonna be a friend to me.” I shrug it off “Why? Are you interested in her?” I inquired about her previous words. “You never struck me as the type to be into her, but no judgement.” I mumble 

“Something like that baby. Don't worry about that, Hm?” she grabs my chin to make me look her in her eyes. The slight sting of her cold rings against my warm face, Her caramel burgundy Iris’ meets mine as she strokes my cheek. 

“Lara,” I pause, debating if this was the right time for me to pour my heart and soul to a girl who most likely doesn't reciprocate it. 

“Yeah?” she tilts her head teasingly “spit it out, Honey. I don't have all night.” Her hand leaves my face as she touches her hair. I glance behind her looking at Megan, then look back at her. Was this worth the embarrassment? 

“Nevermind it's not important” I pressed my lips together into a line, the uncomfortable amount of people crowding around now overwhelming my senses.“I gotta go lara,” I pushed past her lightly, our shoulders brushing.

“Wait” She grabs my wrist, “Don't go just yet, please?” She looks at me longingly, I give her an apologetic look.

“Sorry, ill text you later” Is all i can muster out without giving into her.

I walk over to Megan who's casually chatting to Sophia, A mutual friend of Lara and Megans, “Are you ready to go or are you gonna chat with soph for a bit longer?” I question her and I lean beside Megan's car to stabilise my weak knees.

“I was about to head out with Dani, I’ll see you guys around?” Sophia gives the two of us a nod and heads off to her car. 

“How's Lara? You finally figured her out or no?” Megan begins her interrogation. “It's so painfully obvious that you both like each other, it pains my soul that you still haven't pulled up your britches m’lady and asked her out.” Megan sighs, resting her cheek on my shoulder as we people watch.

“You make it sound so easy, when it's literally lara. Like she's so awesome and cool with her fashion. I don't know if I wanna be her or if I wanna aggressively make out with her or something.” I sigh, resting my hands in my hair. 

“Look, I'm gonna get sophia to set you up on a blind date.” She suddenly stands up and grabs my face “I'm sick and tired of you complaining that you don't have the balls to ask Lara out, So, to get over her, you're gonna go on this date and forget about Lara.” Megan proclaims loudly, making people nearby turn heads. 

I sigh, “okay” i say defeatedly “I’ll do it under one condition,” “And that is…?” she drags out the “s” 

“I get to borrow your bike” I look at her with the brightest puppy eyes I could muster up with the energy i had left. 

“No, Y/N. That is my baby you know that” “Then i'm not going on this date” She considers it, I cross my fingers “Please megan, i promise i won't crash it”

“Fine, but if there is a single scratch on that bike, You're paying for it” Megan threatens me, Knowing the amount of money in my spendings account can't afford to pay for a pizza, let alone a sport bike repair. Megan's phone vibrates on the hood of the car, “perfect timing, sophia already found a date for you” She jumps excitedly “Do I get to know anything about her?” I try to take a glance at her phone screen.

“Ah ah ah” she shakes her finger in my face taunting me “it's a blind date for a reason, Are you free sunday?”

“I think so” I check my calendar, “I should probably go shopping right?” 

“Yeah i think you only own like two dress shirts” Megan giggles, “Sophia is gonna book a moderately nice dinner spot for the two of you.”

 While yes I'm ready to move on from these unrequited feelings for Lara, there's a part of me that wants to hold onto her and not let go. I tried to busy myself with hanging out with Megan and picking up clothes for the date on sunday. 

“I never thought i would actually shop till i dropped, Meiyok.” I groan as I flop onto her bed, She cackles.

“Well I never thought you would actually willingly go shopping with me, so might as well take advantage of this moment.” She pushes me over and sits beside me. “You might wanna get dressed for your date, My bike keys are on my desk.” She drags me up by my arms.

“I don't know what to wear.” I sigh looking at the bags of clothes “there's too many options” I groan, already feeling the decision fatigue settling in. 

“I gotta go, dude. I don't know what to tell you but you gotta figure it out.” She sighs before leaving the apartment. I groan before getting up and begin by taking a shower.

Next thing I know is that I am panicking, rushing out of Megan's apartment, fumbling her Yamaha bike keys as I rush to put on my helmet. I race down the streets of L.A to the restaurant, The nerves start to get to me as the realisation that i'm going on a date starts to set in as i walk into the restaurant. The Hostess asks me for my reservation and then proceeds to walk me to the table. My jaw becomes slack as I sit across from Lara, wearing a dark tank top and what seems like a leather skirt and leather jacket combo. damn it Megan. She looks absolutely divine, something that I would see in a dream but this is real life. 

“Hey” she giggles “Tricked into a blind date, huh?”

“Yeah,” I nervously laughed as I adjusted in my seat, “I didn't think I would be in this position today but here we are.”

“And why is that? Are you hoping for someone else?” She looks mildly hurt at my words which makes me wanna melt into a puddle of goop and cry. 

“Something like that i guess, i planned on going on this date to get over my feelings for you.” My voice decrescendos over the course of my sentence, gradually getting quieter. “I mean i didn't think you would be into me, considering that you are, well, Lara Raj.” I feel my cheeks grow a deep raspberry colour, I fidget with my rings as I let my words resonate.

“Oh” She pauses, I glance up from my hands. “To be honest, every time you talked to Megan, I only wished it could be me that you would talk to like that. Before you told me you were only friends” She chuckles and strokes her forehead. We connect eyes, exchanging looks of embarrassment. 

“Oh” It clicks in my mind that she has feelings for me too. “So I was being stupid this whole time. I thought you were just, i dunno” I shrug “I guess playing with my feelings? Which now feels pretty stupid considering the fact that you basically call me every pet name under the sun.” I internally slap myself upside the head, knowing that Megan would do the same. “Oh my god i feel like an idiot” I groan.

“Jesus i thought i wasn't obvious enough,” She runs a hand through her hair “I was just flirting with those girls to get your attention, hoping that maybe you would work up the courage to ask me out.” She pauses for a small chuckle “But I mean I guess our own friends were just so tired of our bullshit that they had to do it themselves.”

-

The rest of the date actually went as well as one could hope, we shared some funny moments about our friends, talked about our interests, and actually got to know each other. I walk her to her car, Her BMW E39.

“Wanna take a spin?” She asks expectantly “i'm a great driver don't worry.”

“When you say you are a good driver, it makes me think you're not a good driver” I imagine being in a confined space with her, and only her. It makes my body feel hot and my palms sweaty. “I do have Megan’s bike, But if you let me drive it to her apartment, can we go for a ride afterwards?” I offered an alternative, hoping she didn't have somewhere to be after this. 

“I'm down, send me her address and i'll race you there.” She kisses my cheek “I'll see you there, Hun” I stand stunned at the feeling of her lips on my face. It makes me wonder what it would feel like for her lips to be else whe– “You gonna get on your bike or not?” She laughs under her breath at my reaction

“Oh r-right” I open my phone and send her to Megan's apartment “I’ll meet you there” I pull on my helmet and ride out of the restaurant parking lot.

-

I race to the garage of Megan's apartment complex and hastily park the bike, Like Lara would for some reason change her mind and drive off. I slip the keys into my pocket and run out to the entrance of the complex where she's waiting. Leaning against the hood, fiddling with the keys as she waits. “Ready to go?” She opens the passenger door to her car as I get closer to her. I nod and slip into the seat. She closes the door and giddily runs over to the driver side door. 

“Are you that excited to drive me around?” I tease as she closes her door.

“I'm very excited to drive a pretty thing like you around.” She emphasises the very in her sentence with a tone that makes inappropriate thoughts pop into my head. I clear my throat to mask my now very hot face. I buckle my seatbelt, So does she, (SAFETY FIRST, FREAKYNESS LATER) and we set off down the roads of L.A. Laughing and chatting like before, As she stops at an empty grocery store parking lot and we step out of her car. She pulls out blankets from the trunk, lays one out on the hood and sits on top of it. “Come sit” She pats the spot next to her. I cuddle up next to her, our shoulders and thighs touching, she then rolls out the second blanket over our laps. I rest my head on her shoulder, our pinkies touching, I hesitate to ask to hold her hand in mine, But i don't need to. She interlocks our fingers, her thumb the upside of my palm.

“Thank you for tonight, Lara.” I say softly, “I haven't been on a date this good in a while” I chuckle at my past misfortunes with dating.

“No need to thank me, Y/n” I look up at her “I’ve dreamt about a date with you for a very long time, i think this was way better than anything that my brain came up with.” She laughs to herself. When our eyes regain eye contact is when I realise how close our faces had become, I notice every ring in her iris, her moles, her smile lines, and everything about her is just perfect to me. She glances down at my lips before leaning in closer, “Is it okay if I kiss you?” She tucks my hair behind my ear.

“Mhm” is all that can come out of my mouth before we collide. The whole world fades into the background and all I can focus on is her, the way her hand is holding my face, The way she smells like coconut and vanilla, the way she tastes like chapstick and the fading flavour of the coca cola she had during dinner. My hand slips to her waist, trying to hold her closer,for longer, in a need to keep this kiss everlasting. We break to nourish our lungs of needed oxygen, before greedily connecting our lips again. Her hands roam my body freely, grasping for anything to hold onto. “W-wait” I speak against her lips, she backs up. “Lets get inside the car, i dont really want people to see us making out” I hop off the hood and help her roll up the blankets before getting into the car. I climb over the middle console onto her lap, “you don't know how badly i want you, Lara” I moan as i kiss her jawline, making my way down her neck, then her collarbone.

“Then show me, Hun” she says slyly.

A/n PART TWO IS OUT

Thanks to @haoruei for proof reading this lol 🙏

[yuzukult]

crush 04 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 04 pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 5.9k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: lmfao idk when the last chapter was or if you've long forgotten me but i have arrived... i'm praying that this is good enough :(

The air is cold.

The stiffness of your cheeks and the tinge of pink on Seokmin’s nose speaks volumes, the thin cardigan you decided to run out with wasn’t much help to combat the briskness. You’d been so quick to grab him out of the restaurant that you didn’t get a chance to snag your coat—why the hell did he just show up here? It’s almost like he’s asking for a fight. 

You huff. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw your location,” he says calmly, almost like it’s a normal thing to do. He shows his phone to you, the screen bright and displaying the maps feature with a little icon of a picture of you by the restaurant, the blue dot beside it being his own. “I figured I was in the area, so I decided to stop by and surprise you and your friends. You know, as… boyfriends do.”

You grit your teeth. Seokmin is far from being your boyfriend, especially with the acts he’s been performing lately—so pulling out this ‘boyfriend’ card just because he sees the back of Wonwoo’s head feels low. The location you shared with him was for the time you were stranded on the side of the road, the car battery completely depleted. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off, but nonetheless, it wasn’t something for him to take advantage of. “I thought we weren’t dating.”

Seokmin clicks his tongue. Eyes skimming the area, he shoves his phone back into the front pocket of his jacket. If he truly was your ‘boyfriend,’ he should’ve offered you his coat by now. (Well, he also never said he was a good one either).

“We aren’t, but in the future we will. We agreed,” Seokmin’s gaze is on you now—those irises that used to sparkle underneath any light, including the stars in the sky, are suddenly dull. “I just don’t get it. I thought you said you’d wait for me. Why am I finding you with him?” 

Him. There he goes again, the bitterness he has for Wonwoo is practically seeping out of his skin. The pronouns used to identify him even got a taste of the hatred. 

“He’s a friend,” you state, arms crossed over your chest. It’s freezing out here. “I’m allowed to hang out with friends. Plus—does it really matter if I date around? You’re doing it.”

Seokmin scoffs. In disbelief, too! He contradicts himself more frequently than not now, especially with Wonwoo in the picture. “You’re kidding, right? I told you why I’m like this.”

You sigh. Truthfully, it’s becoming emotionally exhausting when it comes to Seokmin; your heart doesn’t seem to palpitate as it used to when he looks at you, instead you feel it racing from all the anger pent up. You still long for him from the distance, wishing it was you who made him laugh and smile in that way that makes his eyes twinkle as you feign ignorance to his irresistible charms, but the reality sinks in and the clouds cast their shadows when it smacks you in the face that Seokmin isn’t doing that for you. He’s doing those things for another girl, someone who he hadn’t promised his end game to, and it leaves you wondering if he actually means when he says you’re the one he’ll finally come home to.

“I just…” There’s a part of you that wants to end all of this, end all the suffering he’s caused you and the feeling of suffocation in your chest. It’s like he’s got your heart chained and locked, himself being the only person with the key, and you’re stuck in this position until he tells you to go. “I don’t think it’s fair for you to tell me how to live my life while you get to freely live yours.”

“You could’ve had anyone else,” he retorts with a soft whisper this time. “Why’d it have to be him?”

“He’s nice to me,��� you shrug your shoulders. “And… right now, maybe I just need someone like that to heal me.” You don’t really know what you mean by heal, but something in you felt like… that was the right word to describe Wonwoo. He’s caring, sweet, and he tends to you when you’re having a rough day—no words exchanged, just quick glances and he just knows.

“Heal you?” Seokmin’s voice raises this time around, his brows furrowing in frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re joking, right? A guy like him? He’s an asshole—he keeps secrets and hides shit from people. People he’s close to, people who he claimed to be his family. And he goes behind my back and steals my girl? Do you see how he is?”

He—what? You’re the one confused now. “What are you even talking about?”

Visibly, his vexation lowers along with his stance. “Nothing, just—I don’t trust that guy. I need you to wait for me, just a while longer—”

And before you could ask, ‘how long?’ with smoke whistling out of your ears, a pretty gal with bleach blonde hair and lashes that touch the clouds in the sky eagerly grabs onto Seokmin’s arm.

“Minnie, our table is ready! Oh—” her face brightens at the sight of you. “Hi! Are you Minnie’s fan? I’m Kaykay!” she extends her arm eagerly as you shake her hand gently with an awkward smile. “Well, we have to get going, do you guys want a picture together?”

Your jaw twitches.

There’s something worse about being identified as ‘the girl who Seokmin keeps on the backburner,’ and you’ve never run into it until today. A fan. You’ve been demoted to a fan. You’ve chased him around for so long, in hopes he’d throw away his current lifestyle for you, despite what he says about how he’s so grateful that you’re waiting for him.

All to only be downplayed and lowered to the level of a fan.

“Actually, it’s okay,” you wave her off politely and glance over at Seokmin before slowly making your exit. “He gave me his autograph earlier, but I appreciate it.”

Truthfully, Seokmin knows he fucked up. 

He knew from the moment your lips curled into that warm smile, an effortless laugh erupting from your chest, and when you dip your chin bashfully at a compliment thrown your way without him being the one responsible for it. He messed up big time. And if he’s too late, he’ll never forgive himself for it.

The best solution is to give you up—and in reality, if this was another person, he’d straight up tell them that they missed their chance and it’s time to move on. Yet, he looks himself in the mirror every time and the words never come out. He can’t do it. He can’t let you go. In the forefront of his mind, he’s fully aware of how selfish he’s being for asking you to wait for him without a timeline. 

But he can’t help himself.

He wants you. 

It can’t be anyone else but you.

In all honesty, he ponders if this exact scenario played out with a different love interest would have him this angry. Would he be equally as fueled? Or was there something more because of his own personal history with Wonwoo? Either way, that didn’t help, and putting you in the middle of it was doing more harm than good.

The history that the two of them have is one that’s been inscribed in his brain—he remembers it as if it was yesterday when a group of intimidating men enter the garage that both of them worked at. The leader snickered at the sight of Seokmin, spitting the toothpick that hung on the side of his mouth with a smirk dressed upon his face. “Is this the fresh meat?” he asked, dark eyes observing Seokmin’s face as he grabbed his jaw between his fingers. 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said coolly, wiping his hand off a rag before tossing it onto his tool cart. “He’s still fresh, so don’t scare him.”

Seokmin relives the feeling of fear—his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and his hands began to perspire. “I’m the boss ‘round here,” he spat. Hair slicked back, doused in so much gel that the lights reflected on the strands. Clean shave, smelled like expensive cologne (although he definitely squirted half the bottle), he wore a tank top that displayed the plethora of tattoos that decorated his skin. “That’s all you need to know. I’m the boss.”

Wonwoo lied to Seokmin; he told him that he’d take care of him, help him earn some money and make an honest living.

Working for a guy who has done more illegal things that Seokmin is aware of doesn’t sound like making an ‘honest living’. 

He felt embarrassed, finding himself in a position where he could’ve been just any old regular mechanic but instead as a front of a fucking drug lord’s secret business. When the nights came around, the sun disappearing along the horizon, he smelled the stench of cigars and weed permeating through the cracks of the walls and doors. The hollering of gamblers were faint underneath the concrete floors, but the evident line of expensive vehicles that hid behind the building were enough to give it away. Any idiot would know what was happening there.

But the city was so corrupt; a newly graduated high school student who severely needed a job had to settle for a shady ass job couldn’t even go to the cops about it. He recalled frantically waving his arms to express his story at the local police station, only for them to scoff and turn the other way.

It earned him slashed tires the next day. A threat. A warning. Lee Seokmin would then go as Dokyeom at the shop, just in case they wanted to go any further.

Seokmin spent years trying to cut ties with them. 

“Hey baby,” her soft voice spoke, reaching out from under the covers to lay her hand on his chest. “What’s on your mind?”

And here he is again.

In the sheets with someone else.

She interrupts his thoughts and she only stirs them more. He can’t remember her name, only that when she says it and calls you a fan, the expression on your face made it clear that you didn’t want to stick around any longer. Seokmin hates how he pains you every time he does stupid shit like this, but some masochistic part of him can’t seem to stop. He needs to stop, especially with Wonwoo at arms length to you, ready to catch you when you fall.

“Nothing,” he replies curtly. She’s not you. He wishes he could tell you all the things that happened, all the things that run through his head, and how much he wants to break out of this cycle but even you, the girl who has his heart, can’t even take him out of his own despair. 

Just your luck.

Dodging potholes should be something you’re familiar with considering how frequently you drive in and out of the city, but it’s evident that it’s still a skill you need to improve on.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. The gash on the side of the tire is so big that you felt the hissing of the air blowing into your face. “You can’t even patch this.”

You’re supposed to meet up with Wonwoo in fifteen minutes. The traffic had gotten heavier, and Google Maps suggested taking the local route but of course it had to be the street with the most unpatched potholes you’ve ever seen. Where the fuck were your tax dollars going into?

You sigh in distress. Running your fingers through your hair, you puff out another heavy breath. Maybe you should do what you learned—yeah, after all, Wonwoo taught you for a reason, right?

Just then, your phone dings twice.

(2) New Messages.

One from Wonwoo, and one from Seokmin.

Both said the same thing, coincidentally, reading: “where are you?”

It’s easier to copy and paste the text in return, letting them both know where you were and had a flat. 

As you pop open the trunk, you roll up your sleeves. Thankfully, Wonwoo’s first date idea is more useful than you thought. Although, there’s a part of you that ponders if Seokmin would ever come. He promised, you think to yourself, because the charming words he spewed always meant that he would be your Knight in Shining Armor in any time of need. 

Would he come?

You sort of wish that he did, just to feed that little glimmer of hope still in your heart but a huge part of you knew he wouldn’t. He’s different now, not the same Lee Seokmin you once knew. So why are you wondering if he’d be here?

There’s a latch inside the trunk, and just when you’re about to flip it open to grab the tools and your spare tire, someone’s lights shine from behind.

Is… Is this your Knight in Shining Armor?

Turning around, the headlights are blinding, and it makes you squint in the direction. The door opens, and a figure comes out—brown hair, built frame, and driving a sedan, you wonder if it’s really Seokmin that comes to your rescue.

With the slam of the door and the figure coming in closer, that’s when you feel your stomach churn and your heart drop.

“Hey, pretty,” he says, voice deep and smooth as honey. “I saw your text. I was on the way, and I spotted your car on the side and recognized you. I guess you could say it’s fate.” That cheeky smile already has you swooning.

It’s… Wonwoo.

“How’d you even know it was me?” You laugh, arms crossed over your chest. “What if you were wrong and it wasn’t?”

“Then I’d have to let you know that I ended up having to help someone with a flat,” Wonwoo grins, tapping your shoulder to move you aside. “But I knew I wasn’t wrong. How could I forget the silhouette and the car of a girl I’m crushing on?”

And with that, Wonwoo makes you forget.

There’s something about Wonwoo walking out of the fog (in this case, blurry and bright headlights) that makes you feel like he’s bringing you with him because at the end of the day, he’s here and not Seokmin. 

Should you set strikes for him? Things that Seokmin does that has you reconsidering even waiting for him anymore, and if it was worth your time being put on the backburner for a man you didn’t even know anymore. Did his dreams and goals even align with yours? Did he still want to settle down and have a family? Did he still want you to meet his mom?

Did he love you or did he like the idea of you?

“I can help, you know.”

“Yeah, but I only really taught you so you’d know. Not so that you can do it yourself. Now hold my tools and don’t stand too close to the lanes, gotta make sure you’re all in one piece so I don’t have to eat alone tonight,” he winks playfully.

Maybe… Maybe being with him wouldn’t be so bad.

“Ma’am, are you sure?”

You blink blankly at the boy who stands behind the counter.

Recently, you’ve come to terms that your Toyota had little life in it left and with your current promotion salary, maybe it’s time to turn in the fella in exchange for something new and durable. 

And maybe slightly flashy.

The dark grey Lexus IS 350 F-Sport is a complete 180 from your aged Toyota; an affordable, casual, everyday car that took the cheapest gas option and for the most part, fuel efficient to a luxury vehicle of the same parent company. Sleek interior, leather beige seats, tinted back window—there’s even a functional Apple CarPlay! The Toyota’s radio didn’t even work, and the air conditioner was a gamble to get running. But the new car had heated and cooled seats, an entire class upgrade.

Wonwoo had the car sitting idle in the yard of his auto shop. It was barely used, to the point where the temporary tag taped to the rear window was still there, crisp and clean just like it was just bought off the lot.

Because it was.

“Look, I’m so over this car,” you remember hearing while eavesdropping from inside the auto shop. “Plus, I’m selling it to you for cheap. Get rid of that Honda Fit and take this instead. Boss would kill me if I couldn’t convince you to take it.”

Wonwoo raised a brow suspiciously to the man with long luscious blonde hair that stopped at his shoulders. “I drive a Prius,” he clarified and the other male just rolled his eyes. “You’re charging me $2k for a brand new car, Jeonghan. I’m not doing that. And I’m not paying what the market price is for this car.”

Weird. At the time, you pondered why this guy Jeonghan was working so hard to convince Wonwoo to buy the car, but with each attempt, Wonwoo kept rejecting him.

That is, until Jeonghan saw you peering out of the garage opening.

“Is she your girlfriend?” he asked in a teasing tone, nudging Wonwoo jokingly before waving in your direction. “You might as well buy this off of me so you can show it off to her—but also get Boss off my back.”

Who the hell is this Boss they’re talking about?

But before your thoughts could go on any further, Wonwoo was shoving Jeonghan away with a head nod in annoyance. “OK, OK, fine fine I’ll buy it off of you, maybe you can get off my back.”

Little did you know, he only really agreed to buy the car because of you.

Not in the way Jeonghan had suggested but rather for you to buy off of him because he had reached the point where he felt like the Toyota wasn’t sustainable enough anymore. “You’re gonna end up spending more on this car than if you just bought this car off of me,” he warned. “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor ‘cause the longer this stays on this lot undriven, it’s gonna fucking mess with the battery and engine.”

So, you finally agreed after some more convincing. He suggested you to get new tires, mostly because they were low-profile tires (and, you quote “Even though it’s gonna look funny, at least you won’t get a flat tire every time you a hit a pothole.”)

Which brings you here—standing in front of Wonwoo’s new hire. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“These tires aren’t what is spec’d when you buy ‘em off the dealership lot,” he says, watching you warily. “I’un know about selling you these. I mean, they already installed them and all, but… I’unno how it went through.”

“It’s fine,” you clarify again, resting your arm on the counter. Slightly frustrated, you close your eyes momentarily before taking in a deep breath. You’ve been at this for ten minutes now and he still keeps coming back with the same responses. The tires are on the car now! “Let me pay for it. I got exactly what I requested—let me be the one to face the consequences if it gets fucked up.”

“I get that,” the new hire doesn’t let up. “But if my boss finds out that I went against my judgment and something does happen, then that’s my fault.”

“Your boss was the one who recommended this to me in the first place!” you exclaim, but he stays stoic. “Listen, I just want my car, go home, and—”

“Jonathan, what’s going on here?” Wonwoo comes out from the back; in his navy overalls with his name tag that reads WONWOO in blue stitching to match, he’s wiping his hands off on a used rag with oil and dirt stains all over. He looks over at you with furrowed brows in confusion, tossing the material over his shoulder. He’s… kinda cute like this. “I thought you said you gotta go.”

“I did,” you emphasize, eyes darting lasers at the new hire. “Something came up.”

Wonwoo pats the new hire to move over and he takes over the computer. 

Then, that’s when it happens.

“What’s wrong, love? Let me clear this up so you can get going. Can’t have you miss your client presentation, can we?”

All the anger dissipates immediately. 

The storm above your head clears, and your gaze is glued onto Wonwoo.

Did… did he just call you ‘love?’

And why did you like it so much?

“I-I-um,” he’s got you stuttering over your own fucking words. Shaking your head from the thoughts, you regain yourself again. “Jonathan said the tires I wanted installed weren’t the styles you get at the dealership. He said he didn’t trust it.”

In the midst of it all, Wonwoo reaches for a lollipop from the candy bowl, unravels it and pops it in his mouth. The stick hangs out from the corner of his lips, sucking and shifting as it makes clacking sounds against his teeth. “Oh, alright,” he begins, turning to look at Jonathan. “Is that so?”

Jonathan gulps with a slow nod.

“Good job, kid,” Wonwoo grins, turning back to the computer. “I want you to be honest if you don’t think something is recommended or preferred. But for this situation, I made the call so we’ll just let this one slide, yeah?”

The new hire’s face heats up. 

And somehow from the exchange, he makes your heart tighten too.

“Alright, pretty,” Wonwoo hands your keys over to you. “Your car is out front. Let me know how it goes, yeah?”

You tilt your head. “But—I didn’t even pay yet.”

“On me,” he’s got that slick smirk on his face again. “I just want you to be safe.”

“You’re gonna go bankrupt if you keep having to pay for me. Let me pay—”

“For you, I’ll go bankrupt. Now, head off to your presentation and give me a call after.”

Uneasy, you check the analog clock over their heads that ticks obnoxiously loud. It’s so close to 10, and your presentation starts at 12, a solid 1.5 hours away. If you head out now, you’ll still make it.

“Fine, fine, only ‘cause if I stick around any longer, I’m gonna be late,” you narrow your eyes at Wonwoo. “I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” Wonwoo counters, hands in the pockets of his overalls. He knows how flirtatious he is, he does it on purpose but you brush him off to prioritize getting to your meeting on time.

And faintly in the back as you push the front doors of the auto shop, you hear the new hire ask Wonwoo if you were his girlfriend.

Oddly enough, you… sort of wish you were.

“Can I show you how cars are more than just a means of transportation? Or just a fast toy you can play with on a racetrack?”

He looks so sweet when he asks; the fronts of his brows curl up in question, in hopes that you’d agree to his proposition. 

“Mm,” you hum, fiddling with the pen in your hand. It’s mostly teasing when you hesitate, only because an eager, anxious Wonwoo is adorable. He wants to show you his perspective of things, how he portrays beauty, and the excitement that rushes through his veins when he convinces you to give him a chance to share is wholesome. “Sure. Where are you taking me?”

When Seokmin introduces you to cars, they’re fast and flashy. The need for speed is a priority and so is how exorbitant they are. Whenever you’d ask, the value he discloses had an obligatory minimum of six zeros behind the first digit. “They’re sexy,” he describes them, their aesthetics and price a main concern. “Who wouldn’t want a car that drives like the ones on the track?”

Although when it’s Wonwoo, the discernible way he illustrates his cars verbally is different. He doesn’t brag about the acceleration or shares the name of the brands—he talks about the drive, how he loves how the wind blows through his hair and it hits his fingers when his arm hangs out the car. Cold starts in the winter, there’s something familiar about the loud roar of the engine; it brings him back to the old days where his dad would toss him the keys to warm up the car when it snows. A silver 1993 Ford F-250 with an open truck bed for him to hop in on summer days, sleepovers on cooler nights, and a place to sit underneath the stars to draw out his dreams that once felt unattainable. He romanticizes moments with cars while Seokmin showcases adoration for the vehicle itself. 

“My favorite thing about old cars,” he begins, unlocking the doors to a champagne beige 2003 Honda Accord before slipping into the driver’s seat. “Is the wind-up windows. They don’t make those anymore, and this car unfortunately doesn’t have one, but I love them.”

“What do you love so much about it?” You ask, following in suit in the passenger seat. “It’s so inconvenient. You’d pull up at the last second at the drive thru, try rolling down your windows while the worker asks for your order but you’ve barely made it halfway down.”

“Because the lack of tech makes time slow.”

Wonwoo makes this point detectable when he’s going through a drive thru, and you could hear the workers snicker through the speaker. He takes longer than usually anyone would these days just to get the window down, but the expression on his face shows enjoyment instead of frustration.

Then with a turn of his head, your heart nearly stops at the sight of his charming smile and sweet voice. “What do you wanna eat?”

There’s something so familiar about sitting in the parking lot of a burger joint; food sitting on the dashboard, windows down and the sun roof pushed open, the sun sets in the horizon in blends of different hues or oranges, pinks, yellows, and blues. The colors remind you of an old summer love, one that’s so in-the-moment, you get lost in someone else even if it’s for the season and you’d have to part ways after August. The shared ice cream cones, hands linked on the boardwalk by the beach, and never forget the romantic Pier rides and attractions, where you’d hold their arm in fear and they’d squeeze you for reassurance.

Wonwoo makes you feel… homey.

“I know we’re not dating, but this is my favorite kind of date,” he admits cheekily, warmth rushing to his cheeks. “No crazy distractions. No drama. Just… me and you. And of course, the High School Musical 2 soundtrack,” Wonwoo smacks the player a couple times. It’s been stuck in there since the last owner. “I don’t have the heart to actually uninstall this because this CD is a banger.”

You snort. “Is this your favorite?”

“Mm, only ‘cause it’s the origin of Fabulous. Otherwise, if we’re talking about the whole soundtrack, I’d say HSM3 is my top.” 

Wonwoo makes you laugh—genuinely laugh. He says what’s in his heart and in his mind, regardless of how he’s depicted. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you felt as light as this and you wonder if this is how people come out of meditation like.

Cars used to be just a means of transportation to get from point A to point B to you. Either that, or an ostentatious hunk of metal that Seokmin loves to flaunt.

Wonwoo… gives you the perspective of cars in a different light these days.

Another day, another car.

This time, it’s a white 2009 Volkswagen Beetle.

When Wonwoo lets you sit in the driver’s seat, the smoothness of the leather underneath your fingertips is a reminder of what he says about cars. It’s the experience, the feelings that you get during those fleeting moments in your life and how they're so easily forgotten with the daily work grind taking up most of your thoughts. 

With an early 2010s Spotify playlist blasting through the speakers, the vibration brings you back to a different place. Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men on a CD was in the background, your irises melted into a boy’s who sat in the front seat of his car, palms cupping your jaw as he leaned in, nose bumping into yours amateurly. Your hands were sweaty, breath stolen from your lungs because of all the nerves, and keeping your gaze locked with his was harder than it seemed. He was your first love—now your first kiss. 

The fog of your childhood memories dissipates; that boy you fell for in high school with his long dark skater hair and cheeky braces smile is replaced with the view of a boy from today. Eyes that curl into the shape of moon crescents, voice sweeter and thicker than honey, he goes, “how do you feel?”

Happy.

Nostalgic.

You sort of want to kiss him.

There’s this sudden shift in the air when Wonwoo is around; the weight on your shoulders abruptly lifts, allowing you to stretch and move freely. You never once noticed how prettily the sun peers through the sheer white curtains of your apartment on those Saturday mornings where you get to sleep in for a couple more hours after slamming the snooze button once more. His presence at your front door, a bag of groceries in hand as he offered to cook breakfast—everything about him gives you a new outlook on life.

As he sits beside you, in a car that Seokmin would never let you behind the wheel of, Wonwoo watches you eagerly with no hint of fear that you’d hurt the most valuable thing to him… you want to kiss him.

“Can I…” you hesitate, but he’s patient nonetheless. 

Wonwoo furrows his brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He blinks blankly. “You… You wanna kiss me?”

Quickly, reality sinks in. What’s wrong with you? Why would you ask him that, especially sitting in the driver’s seat of his car like that flag girl would’ve wanted, asking him to make out with you like some horny teenager?

Before you could apologize, Wonwoo places his hand underneath your jaw gently, pulling you in close. “I thought you’d never ask,” he whispers against your skin, eyes hooded as he leans in more. 

His lips are soft, pillowy, and they’re minty from the Altoids he had earlier; his touches are delicate, gingerly moving down toward your neck to bring you in, head tilting to the side to avoid bumping noses. Wonwoo even smells good. Being this close gave you a whiff of his cologne; notes of peach, blood orange, subtle hints of rum and patchouli leaves, you think it’s the Witch’s brew for a love potion, falling victim under his spell.

Drawing back just barely, your bated breaths ghosts over each other’s faces. Forehead pressed against yours, his hand reaches to push back a couple strands of your hair behind your ear. 

“I know what you think this means,” Wonwoo says softly, almost like he’s sharing a secret but the words that spill are nothing but obvious to everyone. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to jump all in this with me. If you decide after this that you don’t want to be with me, I’m okay with that too. Just… take your time, okay? We’ll go at your own pace.”

But I’m scared, is what you want to admit but it never comes out. The silence fills the air, the whooshing of cars driving over the wet asphalt being the only noise, it’s strangely soothing despite the current event. Wonwoo makes your heart stutter, and it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this nervous around someone. Not even Seokmin.

He pecks your lips cautiously, thumb rubbing against the softness of your cheeks. “I want you to resolve your relationship with Dokyeom.”

That’s when you retreat.

“What?” you furrow your brows frustratedly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wonwoo sighs, leaning back in his seat before pushing his hair back. “Whether or not we pursue this thing between us, I think you need to figure out your situation with Kyeom.”

“I just asked to kiss you,” you retort. “That’s a clear indication that I like you. Why did you have to bring Seokmin into this?”

“Because I don’t just like you, I love you.”

You freeze.

This drive was supposed to be just a mini trip—a time to get away from the city, enjoy the fresh breeze by the shore, and try out driving his Volkswagen for the first time. The stickiness of the air accumulates a layer on your skin, tacky and sweaty, oftentimes causing discomfort but nothing about now feels uncomfortable.

Did… Did Wonwoo just tell you that he loves you?

Maybe it’s an oversight, you think, because he spills it so naturally. Sometimes people accidentally say things outside of what they mean in the spur of a moment, especially this moment, because you found yourself asking him for a kiss just seconds before. 

“I mean it,” he adds. When he turns to look at you, his irises are like pools of warm hot chocolate, bringing the same satisfaction as holding a cup of it by a lit fireplace on a cool day. “I love you. And I know you’re barely just figuring things out, but I think for you to fully move on, you gotta talk to Kyeom.”

“This is sudden,” you pause, fiddling with your fingers. “Why are you saying this now? I barely confessed, we even kissed, and—”

“Why couldn’t you tell me you liked me?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Why,” he reiterates, gaze never leaving yours. “Why couldn’t you tell me how you feel? Why do you feel like… you have to apologize for wanting to kiss me? Even though I’ve clearly stated my feelings?”

Rolling your lips, you turn to look at the horizon.

“You’re holding back because of Kyeom. If—If I’ve been overstepping boundaries, you would’ve told me by now. That's the kind of person you are. You wouldn’t lead me on, kissing me, coming by my shop, and taking all my advances if you didn’t feel some type of way. But you’re holding yourself back.”

“Seokmin doesn’t control my life. He doesn’t need to know anything about us. He doesn’t deserve that.”

That’s when Wonwoo reaches to hold your hand. 

“And you’re right, he doesn’t. But… you’re letting him… own your feelings. Own your love. You’ve been sitting here with me, and your heart is with him. I’ll take whatever—I’ll give you all the kisses you ask for, I’ll take you on all these drives, you can be behind the wheel of every car I own, but I can’t… I can’t have you because you’re still with Kyeom.”

“So… what now?”

“This kiss was a reality check for me,” he discloses, tapping his feet against the mat on the floor. “Not that I want to push you away, but… to make things clear between us. I love you, and I’m not gonna pressure you to date me. But if you’re gonna kiss me like this, like you’re in love with me too, I need to establish my own boundaries. I’m your friend, but if you want anything more, I need you to fix this thing with Dokyeom.”

And somehow, it always goes back to Seokmin.

[pchysnz]

BANANA MILK. kim woonhak

PROLOGUE

There were three things Seo Yubin hated more than gum under desks:

1. Late assignments,

2. Loud hallway loiterers, and

3. Kim Woonhak.

Well. Not hate, per se. More like a deep, exhausted tolerance. The kind of tolerance you give your overly affectionate golden retriever who keeps digging up the yard. Sure, he's kind of cute. But also-why is he like this?

Yubin sat at the front of Class 2-3, posture straight, highlighters lined in a rainbow formation, the Class President sash on her desk like a badge of honor. She was reviewing the list of students who had yet to turn in their club activity forms when a familiar voice cut through the classroom like a fire drill.

"Yubin-ah! You forgot to list my hidden talent!"

She didn't look up. "If it's your ability to inhale banana milk in under ten seconds, I think the school already knows."

"Ah! She does notice me," Woonhak grinned, plopping into the seat beside hers with the grace of a tumbleweed in a windstorm. He was holding, of course, a banana milk. Yubin didn't need to look to know-she could smell it.

"I also juggle," he added proudly.

"Your GPA and attendance record?"

A loud wheeze came from a few desks over. Jaehyun had choked on his gum. Riwoo slapped him on the back while trying to suppress laughter.

"Class president's got claws," Sungho murmured in amusement."

She always does," Taesan said with a grin, arms folded behind his head. "You just don't see them 'cause you're too busy flirting."

"I am not flirting!" Woonhak said, scandalized. "I'm establishing a solid rapport with my future wife-uh, classmate. Classmate."

Yubin raised a brow. "Are you having a stroke?"

"No, but I am feeling faint. Might be from all the unrequited love in the air."

Leehan, from the back, muttered, "He's been reading poetry again, hasn't he?"

-

Kim Woonhak had a secret. A deeply guarded, monumentally life-changing, heart-palpitating secret.

He have a crush on Seo Yubin.

And not just any crush. This wasn't your average "she's cute when she's angry" type of infatuation. No, no. This was a "she once handed me a pencil and I haven't known peace since" kind of crush.

"Bro," Jaehyun whispered as they watched Yubin rearrange the class suggestion box for the third time that week, "just tell her."

"Tell her what? 'Hi, I dreamt you lectured me for not recycling and I woke up smiling'?"

"...Okay, don't tell her."

-

Yubin, meanwhile, was convinced that Kim Woonhak had made it his life's mission to test the limits of her patience.

He disrupted announcements. He doodled hearts in the margins of his homework-not for her, obviously (...maybe)-and he once tried to convince the whole class that Wednesday should be officially declared Banana Milk Appreciation Day.

"He's harmless," her best friend had once said.

Yubin wasn't so sure. Harmless things didn't make your heart skip when they grinned at you from across the room. Harmless things didn't call you "President-nim" in a tone that sounded dangerously close to flirting.

Still, someone had to keep Woonhak in check. And it sure wasn't going to be any of his sidekick crew, who enabled him like it was a full-time job.

-

The bell rang for lunch, and as expected, Woonhak materialized beside Yubin like a particularly cheerful ghost.

"President-nim," he said, bowing dramatically, "would you grant me the honor of your company at the lunch table today?"

Yubin didn't even flinch. "Denied. The last time I sat with you, Jaehyun spilled kimchi on my math notes."

"Accidents make memories!"

"So does failing math."

"She's good," Riwoo whispered.

"She's too good for him," Leehan said, sipping his juice.

"Which is exactly why he's obsessed," Sungho added knowingly.

-

Despite herself, Yubin did sit at their table for exactly six minutes and thirty-nine seconds. Long enough for Woonhak to offer her banana milk (which she declined), for Jaehyun to knock over a side dish (again), and for Riwoo to quietly pass her a folded note.

She opened it under the table.

"He's going to confess by the end of the semester. We're betting snacks on it. Don't tell him."- Jaehyun, Taesan, Riwoo, Sungho, and Leehan (Team Chaos)

She blinked.Then glanced up-straight into Woonhak's eyes, who was already watching her with a goofy, open smile. He looked away immediately when caught, scratching the back of his neck and pretending to be extremely interested in his rice.

Yubin stared at her tray, cheeks warming.

"Ugh," she muttered to herself. "He's not that cute."

Pause.

...Right?

masterlist

[eshieslovemaze]

what we left behind... | jungkook

summary: nothing lasts forever. everything comes to an end. so does your relationship with him.

pairing: jungkook × reader

genre: angst, hurt-no-comfort

word count: 2.2k+

warnings/includes: arguments, a relationship falling apart, eventual breakup, crying, mentions of depression

❤️‍🩹🍂

jungkook and you have been each other's everything for years. your relationship began to bloom in the late years of high school, and blossomed into something truly beautiful by your mid-twenties. your love story was one that your friends both appreciated and envied — two souls who found their way to one another through events aligned by the universe. but life has a way of changing things, and somewhere along the path, you started to drift apart.

it started subtly. you would come home late from your work, too exhausted with your new responsibilities as a high ranked professional to spend your time together. jungkook, overwhelmed with his own workload, would bury himself in his tasks to avoid the palpitating tension at home that only seemed to grow. conversations that used to flow effortlessly between you two became stilted, awkward, and i dare say, suffocating. the little things you once loved and adored about each other became sources of irritation and arguments.

one night, the tension finally boiled over. you fought about something very trivial —who forgot to buy milk, or who left the lights on, and it had escalated into something much darker and irreversible.

"jungkook, why do you always do this? you just shut down, and i feel like i'm talking to a wall! it's like you don't even want to talk with me anymore!" you snapped, your voice shaking with frustration, mind weighed down and haywire from the turn of events between you two.

jungkook's jaw clenched as he tried to keep his temper in check. "and you think i enjoy this? i can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation that didn’t end in a fight!"

"maybe if you actually listened—" you start, but he doesn't let you finish.

"i do listen! but all i hear is how i'm never good enough for you anymore," his voice rose, sharp and cold like a dagger.

you froze, the weight of his words seeping in like water through a sponge. the anger that had fueled you suddenly turned into something else — pain, guilt, and a deep sadness that you didn’t know how to express. "jungkook, you know... that’s not what i mean. i just—"

"just what, y/n? just wish you were with someone else? someone who didn’t disappoint you all the time? someone who isn't me?" his words seemed to bring out every negative emotion within you, his own chest heaved with each laboured breath, struggling to keep his temper in check.

"that’s not fair!" you cried out, your voice breaking. tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, telling yourself it's not the time, refusing to let them fall. "i never said that, i would never say that!"

"you didn’t have to," jungkook's voice was cold, distant. the warmth that once filled his eyes when he looked at you was all gone, replaced by a dull resignation, something that you tried to ignore to not break down. "maybe… maybe we’re just fooling ourselves, thinking we can keep doing this, when we both know we can't." he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "what are you saying? y-you don't mean it, right?" your nostrils flared, eyes blazing with a mixture of rage, guilt, and most importantly, hurt.

jungkook looked away, unable to meet your gaze. "i don’t know what i’m saying. i just— i don’t know how to fix, or do this," he points his index to you and then himself, "anymore."

the room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your unspoken words pressing down. you felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. "maybe we just need some time, some space," you whispered, though you weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

"yeah," jungkook simply replied, his voice devoid of any emotion as he looked away from your eyes. "maybe."

you didn’t speak again that night, both retreating into your own corners of the house like strangers living under the same roof. as the days turned into weeks, the once-familiar spaces felt increasingly empty. awkwardly polite exchanges, forced smiles, and a palpable tension hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the distance that had grown between you in an unalterable way.

then came the afternoon that would be the turning point of everything. you had suggested that you both go to the café where you had your first date, desparately hoping that a walk down memory lane would rekindle the spark you two have misplaced, and take things back to where they were. jungkook agreed, though he wasn’t really sure if he believed it would help.

the café was just as you remembered from your high school days —warm, cozy, with the same old jukebox in the corner playing soft tunes. you sat at your usual table, the one by the window, but the atmosphere was different now. the once comforting familiarity of the place only highlighted how much had changed between the two of you, igniting the tension instead of bringing back the lost warmth.

both of you forced a small talk, urging yourselves to pretend things were just fine when in all reality, they weren't. The tautness between you was palpable and growing, the uncomfortable silence between your words louder than ever.

you finally broke, your voice trembling as you spoke, "jungkook… do you remember how we used to dream about the future? about us together forever? how we talked about travelling, starting a family, growing old together?" you gulped, supressing the trembling emotions in your throat.

jungkook nodded, his throat tightening, "of course, i do. i remember."

"what happened to us?" your voice finally cracked, your eyes searching his for answers that neither of you had. "when did we stop being… us? when did things change from what they were?"

he looked at you, his own heart aching at the sight of your pain. "i don’t know, really," he admitted, his eyes dimming. "i don’t know when we lost each other. to the point that we let the rough patches take control of everything to the point of no return."

your eyes brimmed with tears, and this time, you couldn’t find it in you to hold them back. "i don’t want to lose you, jungkook. i love you. that... that never changed."

"i love you too, y/n. i know it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, choked with bitter feelings from the situation you both are in. "but maybe… maybe love isn’t enough for us anymore. neither of us are happy..." he weakly trails off.

you felt your heart shatter to dust at his words. you wanted to argue, to deny, to fight for the both of you. but deep down, you knew he was right. you both had been trying to hold on to something that was already gone, lost forever.

you finished your beverages in silence, buying time as both your minds wheeled to weigh the situation. when the twilight pink of the sky darkens with clouds, mirroring your thoughts, you two decide to leave. you two walk to the car, the rain that had started moments ago now falling steadily around you.

you drove back to your shared apartment in silence, neither of you knowing what to say. as you two entered the confinements of your shared home — if it even was a home anymore, you spoke up after finding your voice. "what now, jungkook?"

jungkook glanced at you for a moment before looking away, his chest tight with heavy, bitter feelings. "it's time. we will keep hurting ourselves if this goes on. we need to break up."

you looked up at him, your eyes full of pain, sadness, and regret, "i'll always love you, kook."

"and i'll always love you too, y/n," he replied, his eyes softening with melancholy as he gulped. "but… it’s time to let go."

you nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you closed your eyes. you couldn't stop yourself as you leaned in and gave him a final, lingering kiss — a goodbye wrapped in the echo of what you both left behind. he pulled you close, deepening the kiss as you both tasted the saltiness of your tears through the kiss.

as you parted, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a final farewell. your heart ached with every item he placed into his suitcase, each one a piece of your shared life. the rain outside fell in sync with your tears, and you could only stand there, rooted to the spot. he gave you one last, lingering look before walking out the door, out of the world that you both dreamt of growing old in together, leaving it behind forever.

in the next few months, you went through the pits of regret and depression, wheeling your mind to replay every event during your togetherness and calculate what went wrong, when it went all downhill. you cried for days, mourning for what you two left behind. you made yourself a workaholic to stop yourself from spiralling, cooping yourself at your workplace till odd hours to avoid the memories that would rush back when you would step in your once shared home.

but you knew you couldn't grieve forever; you had to move on. slowly, you began having proper meals and taking care of yourself, gradually starting to change the decor of the apartment — as if to bury all the memories. with a heavy heart, you took down all the frames with pictures of two of you, safely placing them in a box and tucking it away in a corner under the bed. it was hard to let go of all those years of memories, but you did it for your own sake, knowing it would have been worse if you two stayed together. when the one-year mark of the break up hit, you believed that you had moved on, no longer caught up in the past. yes, you felt nostalgic at times, but you finally moved on.

you walked into the upscale downtown gallery, eyes sweeping across the room filled with art lovers and collectors. you weren’t here for the art, though; you had arrived tonight to support a friend who was showcasing her paintings for the first time. as you navigated through the crowd while admiring the art pieces on display, your steps faltered, your breath catching in your throat.

there, across the room, was jungkook.

he looked different — slightly older, more polished in a tailored suit, his hair a little longer than you had remembered, his jawline looking slightly angular. your eyes then fell to the woman beside him, laughing at something he said, her hand resting easily on his arm. she looked stunning, so much that a pang of envy shot through you; for now occupying the place you once had.

your heart tightened at the sight. it had been a year since that rainy night, a year since you had gone your separate ways, but seeing him now stirred that all-too-familiar ache in your chest. he looked happy — content in a way you hadn’t seen far too long.

for a moment, you considered turning around, slipping out before he could notice you. but before you could decide, jungkook's eyes caught yours across the room.

at that moment, everything else faded away. the crowd, the noise, the art — all of it blurred into the background as your eyes locked. but the once fiery connection between you was all gone, leaving only a cold, distant recognition in its place.

jungkook's smile slowly dropped, his expression unreadable. you felt a wave of emotions crash over you — nostalgia, regret, a tinge of longing — but most of all, you felt the cold sting of reality. you were no longer the jungkook and you who had shared dreams and whispered secrets in the dark; now you were just two people who had once been in love, but not anymore.

the woman beside jungkook nudged him, drawing his attention back to her. he offered her a small smile and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. a pang of jealousy flared up inside you, but you quickly pushed it down, reminding yourself that you were no longer a part of each other’s lives.

taking a deep breath, you turned away, forcing yourself to walk in the opposite direction. you mingled with the other guests, engaging in polite conversations, but your mind was miles away. the image of jungkook lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t stop replaying the way he had looked at you — like a stranger from a vague memory.

the evening passed in a blur, and as you left the gallery, you couldn’t resist glancing over your shoulder one last time. jungkook was still there, smiling with the woman who now held his attention, his form turned away from you — both literally and figuratively.

as you stepped out into the cool night air, you realized that the chapter of your life with jungkook had truly closed. you had become what you never thought you could — strangers passing by in the night, each on separate paths, separate lives.

with each step away, you finally allowed yourself to let go of the last remnants of what you left behind, embracing the unknown future ahead, no longer haunted by the ghost of your past love.

— copyright: © @eshieslovemaze 0924.

[epiphanyepica]

Thoughts on Prince's Gambit, Chapter 14

Hot diggity dog damn. That is all. Proceed.

...

Oh god, did they get back in time to stop Touars from starting a war?

Damen recollecting the beginning of his own slavery when watching the prisoners struggle 😭. It's different now, though.

Laurent loves you now. Or he's starting to.

Ooooh, Damen and Laurent slept so close to each other 🤭 and yet, somehow, Damen stopped himself from cuddling him in his sleep.

"Thank you, Laurent," is not something I ever thought Damen would think. But here we AREEEE.

LMFAO. Thirty to one, at least, LOLOL. I mean… no, that didn't even remotely happen. It was thirty to one threatening Laurent and Damen, but not so much what Laurent’s men were saying.

Let the boys have their tales.

Awe, Paschal thinks it's good that Damen's sticking around to help Laurent 🥺. He's going to support them getting romantically involved, isn't he? For real, for real.

Oh, is Damen skipping the campfire to go to Laurent's tent?

Oh no, the messenger has probably gotten to Ravenel already. Hopefully not, though. I'd like to see the Regent’s ass be knocked down a peg.

Damen appreciating how Laurent is actually a really meticulous and excellent planner. Oh, they'd be such a power couple. Brains and brawn.

Damen thinking about how Laurent and this journey he allowed Damen to be a part of is elegant and artistic in how well it's being handled, oh my.

He's definitely falling in love with Laurent’s diabolical mind.

NOOO, don't think about leaving Vere. NOT YET. GET LAURENT TO SAY HE LOVES YOU FIRST. SAY IT BACK.

Damen almost sounds like he's already starting to miss his insane shenanigans with Laurent 🥺. Oh, he's falling so hard.

Damen has gotten so close to Laurent that he can tell when Laurent needs to rest even though Laurent hides his exhaustion well, oh 🥺.

Oh my god, Damen just immediately going to help Laurent with unfastening his jacket. They're in such a beautiful rhythm with each other now. They're so used to each other.

Damen notices so much about Laurent, oh my god. He just knows that Laurent rolls his shoulder after long days in the saddle. He pays so much attention to him 😌.

DAMEN JUST SQUEEZED LAURENT'S SHOULDER INSTINCTUALLY. HOW IS THAT AN INSTINCT? ARE YOU IN LOVE, YOU DUMB BITCH?

Laurent being shocked into stillness by Damen trying to squeeze his shoulder and Damen just freezes. Oh my god. IT'S HAPPENING. I don't know what it is exactly, but I know it's happening.

Damen forcing himself to be casual about this knowing he just went to tenderly squeeze Laurent's shoulder like a fucking lover would. LOL.

You're not convincing anybody, buddy.

DAMEN’S GETTING PALPITATIONS AT THIS CLOSENESS. I KNOW THAT'S RIGHT.

Why do you want to discourage Laurent from turning away or dislodging your hand, Damen? HMMM?

I smell gay fish in the water.

Damen trying to play this whole thing off as something he meant to do and that it was meant to be casual and that he didn't just monumentally screw up because of his own complex feelings, LOL.

OH. LAURENT SAYING, “this is a little more intimate than ice” OH MY GOD. ONLY A LITTLE???

Damen thinking about how he doesn't think of himself as someone with suicidal impulses, and yet he continues kneading Laurent's shoulders.

Lies. You want to die. Or you want to be kissed, and you're just willing to risk it for the biscuit.

I'm curious if Laurent will either snap at him or just, somehow, relax into the pressure without meaning to when Damen gets the right spot.

OH MY GODDDD. DAMEN GOT THE RIGHT SPOT AND LAURENT JUST KIND OF GAVE IN A LITTLE.

I CALLED IT.

Okay, let's be real here, if this was literally anyone else giving Laurent this massage, no matter how good, they'd be getting their ass BEAT, not getting a subtle and mild surrender.

Damen having to force himself to keep this massage nice and practical and not at all deviating into what could only be interpreted as sensual. OOOOOHHHHH.

You're fighting a hard battle there, Damianos.

Oh, Laurent's loving this massage and he's working hard not to let that show.

Damen thinking about how he once touched Laurent before and I'm just seeing that the differences between then and now is that Damen's being extra respectful of Laurent's boundaries about his body.

Damen just gazing at Laurent's body while he massages him. Oh, he's trying so hard to be respectful/cautious, but he can't help but look at things like his nape or his ears and hair 🥺🤭.

DAMN IT, DAMEN. WAY TO RUIN A GOOD MOMENT BY OPENING YOUR BIG MOUTH 😡. And not in the fun way.

The moment easing back to normalcy now that Laurent's gotten some distance, awe. He just needs to go at his pace.

Laurent promising to never tie Damen to the back of a horse. This is, somehow, super romantic to me. LMFAO.

Damen just casually forgetting that he is STILL, IN FACT, technically Laurent's slave. Oh my god. They've been playing house for so long that it started to slip his mind 😭.

Oh my god, Laurent just dropping the “if you were a pet, I'd have given you enough for you to buy yourself out many times by now.” Because that's how helpful Damen has been.

Oh, yes, Damen, I'm sure the only reason you're still sticking around is the border dispute and it has nothing at all to do with the fact that you're falling in love with Laurent.

Laurent assuming that Damen went after that clansman because Damen doesn't like being bound or powerless, but it was really that Damen didn't want him touching Laurent.

Oh. They're both fucking idiots.

How can Laurent, someone so smart and diabolical, NOT see that Damen actually cares about him?

DAMEN JUST TOUCHED LAURENT'S JAW BECAUSE HE WANTED TO TELL HIM THAT HE FOUGHT THAT GUY FOR LAURENT AND HE DIDN'T MEANNN TO DO EITHER ONE, OH MY GODDDD.

LAURENT’S BIG OL’ BLUE EYES WITH HUGE DILATED PUPILS. OH, HE'S INTERESTED.

Damen knows he's done fucked up because he's trying to pull back now. NOOOO. It was just getting good 😭.

“I'm sorry. I know better than that,” oh, Damen. He's so in love with Laurent and so mindful of Laurent's boundaries. He can casually forget he's Laurent's slave because he's respectful of Laurent more because he wants to be rather than out of self-preservation.

DAMEN TRYING TO RUN AWAY BECAUSE HE KNOWS HIS FEELINGS ARE MORE COMPLICATED THAN HE REALIZED.

“Wait,” Laurent says.

WAIT??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WAIT? LAURENT? WHAT DO YOU NEED TO SAY???

AND DAMEN JUST DOES. He turns around and gives Laurent another minute despite being flustered himself 🤭.

Laurent's got SOMETHING TO SAYYYYY.

Oh, Laurent's definitely feeling something for Damen with that indecipherable look in his eyes.

OH. MY. GOD.

“What Govart said about my brother and I… it wasn't true,” LAUREEEENENNRTNTNNTNRNNTNTNNTNNTNTN.

WHY, PRAY TELL, DO YOU THINK DAMEN NEEDS TO KNOW THIS? WHY DO YOU WANT HIM TO KNOW THIS????????

#that’s super gay.

Damen just casually dropping the, “I didn't think you and your brother had an incestuous relationship, Laurie 🤨.”

I'm sorry, TAINT? What do you mean by taint, Laurent? What taint does your family have???

Is this him being repressed about his potential homosexuality or the fact that his uncle is a pedophile?

DAMEN REMINDS LAURENT OF AUGUSTE???? AND AUGUSTE WAS THE BEST MAN LAURENT EVER KNEW???

OH MY GOD, LAURENT FEELS BAD FOR BEING A SADIST TO DAMEN IN ARLES? AND HE WON'T TREAT DAMEN LIKE THAT AGAIN???

Why were you angry, Laurent? Angry because Prince Damianos killed your brother?

😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱.

Laurent just said he'll free Damen once the border skirmish is done. Oh my god. I love this blond bitch.

No wonder he's my best friend’s favorite character, LOL.

“Whatever is to fall out between us can do so then.”

Oh, so that's going to be when either Laurent tries to murder his ass when he learns he's actually Prince Damianos or when they finally fuck each other. Good to know.

That strange pressure in your chest is called LOVE, Damianos. You're falling in love with him!!!!!

Oh my god. I'm literally in shock. I cannot believe that just happened.

Also, I just have to say it:

The ship is SHIPPPING.

WE'RE SETTING SAIL, BITCHES.

AHOY, ME MATEYS.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Hmmmm... oooo... imagine if you did one of the darker songs for the Yandere Infection AU! (I have no clue which songs on your playlist/s are dark or edgy or angst-filled, but I'll randomly pick... 15, 23, and 76! (If none of those works, you can pick a song/number too, and try that!)

Sinister being a yandere, d*rn... oh no... imagine if he's also yandere for Scott and Jean as well as Remy... Remy, watch out, you have extra siblings now...

--

this is a little wild. so tw: for touching (nonsexually) without consent and drugging without consent.

this was 15!

didnt really have a chance for jean and scott but I do like that Idea.

Remy gasps and coughs, curling tighter on himself. He feels so lost. So alone. So many clamoring for his attention, and yet none acting as truly themselves. It makes their attentions ring ever so slightly hallow. He had thrown himself into fitful research to solve the issue of this disease. 

This disease that made people want to bundle him away, snatched up like one of the babes stolen by fae in that old world or the creatures of the swamp his father had raised him to respect and fear in equal measure. 

Another mucus-filled cough racks through his chest, stirring up the gunk that coats his throat. He had caught a cold while hunting down a lead one of his connections had pointed out to him. He wipes his nose and miserably sighs to himself as he pulls another medical text closer to him. He accidentally sparks the book and yanks the charge back in. His powers had gotten more and more out of control as exhaustion took hold and anxiety ate at him. He wipes at his eyes and wetly coughs again.

He has a horridly limited knowledge of medical science. Not nearly enough to try and cure this disease. 

It is a really odd disease. Making people obsessive. About him. And ringing their eyes with gold and staining the tips of their hair with pink and red. He has no idea what caused it and only knows that it started with Wolverine. 

The book slowly slips out of his fingers as his eyes grow heavy. He slowly fades into sleep, despite his fear that he will be dragged awake by either infected X-Men or Acolytes. Or god forbid the Brotherhood, who as far as he currently knows had no infected members. 

Sleep snatches him with its gnarled hands and captures him, yanking him down into dangerous territory. 

When Remy wakes, he is not met with the scratchy blanket of the hotel. His fingers flex against the sheets, his mind slow and trying to puzzle it out. Where… where is he? 

Oh no, where is he?! 

He had woken far too many times in places he had not fallen asleep and horror makes his heart palpitate wildly. His eyes are too heavy to open and he whimpers as he struggles. The view that greets his eyes worries him more, as he does not recognize it. Most of the time when the acolytes or X-men dragged him off in his sleep, he would recognize it upon waking. But not this place.

The room is… clean. Sterile. Like a hospital. It even has the beeping machinery and IVs. IV’s attached to him. The blankets are soft. A false attempt at soothing. He feels something around his wrist and sees that he is attached to the bed frame. Binding him. 

The heart monitor is going nuts. 

“Ah. You are awake.”

His eyes snap to the voice and he flinches away from red eyes ringed in gold. He vaguely recognizes the man from a mission for the Guild… Essex. Dr. Essex. 

“Wha-”

He coughs bitterly as his lungs rebel at trying to speak through his encrusted throat.

“Shhh.”

Essex moves to his side and does something to one of the IV bags. Cold enters Remy’s veins and his eyes quickly grow heavy. He tries to fight it and struggles weakly. He shudders as a cold hand touches his face. It is titled side to side, the drugs in his system stealing away all of his fight. He flinches slightly away but the hand’s grip is tight enough to keep him from getting away. 

A whimper slips loose.

“Oh child, what have you done to yourself? Quite the shame. There were so many willing to look after you, to keep you safe for me, and yet you ran yourself ragged…”

The man’s words are spoken softly and Remy desperately wants to pull away from this odd oozing feeling leaking off the man. His empathic abilities are picking up something, but it is unrecognizable. Like happiness, but darker. Like rage, but brighter. Harsh like flames, and cold like the ocean. Deep like the night and burning like the sun. He shakily tries to pull up his shiels and finds that he cannot. 

He cannot create a barrier between him and this… this monster whose emotions are so unwieldy and unfamiliar. His gut twists as the man eases him back onto the bed. Hands pull up the blanket and then return to his face. Petting. Touching. Smoothing away hair. Tucking beneath his chin and moving his head this way or that. The touches are sure, strong, and firm. An echo of care. But not a kind of care that he wants anything to do with. He whimpers, voice no longer working. 

“You have her chin. Her nose. Her hair.”

As each bit is mentioned, it is touched. He hazily blinks at the man, finding his grip on wakefulness, shakily fading. 

The hands shift to petting his hair in rhythmic motions.

“Its alright. You are here now. Nothing will harm you again. Close your eyes. rest”

Something is wrong about those words. But it slips away like molasses on a summer afternoon. He fades into sleep and closes his eyes. 

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Well now the only thing I'm thinking about is John helping Santino breathe through his panic over having heart palpitations bc of coffee

John, calm down your coffee addicted husband 😭

Yayayayay!! Answering my own prompt haha. I really enjoyed writing this one.

🖤💙 Too Much Coffee 💙🖤

Image sources: Coffee cup | Santino

TW: exhaustion, heart attack scare, panic attack, gunfight

John watched his husband pour out the last of the coffee machine’s contents and curse. “Already out. Why didn’t you make more?”

“You don’t need more. That’s the third cup this morning, and you were drinking coffee all night too. You’ll make yourself sick.”

He just downed it in two gulps and shook his head, pacing in front of the sink. “I have to stay awake today. These damn jackals are planning an ambush, I know it.”

Then you should have slept last night… But it was useless to say that, and he knew it. He’d tried everything to get Santino to go to bed, but he had just stayed up, pacing, writing emails only to delete each one and settle on a different strategy, then change his mind again a few minutes later. First thing in the morning, one of those emails had finally gone out, requesting a meeting with the head of a girati* that stood a chance of sending the entire New York tristate region into rebellion. They agreed to meet on supposedly neutral territory that afternoon to discuss a truce, but John had to admit it looked more like an ambush than not.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine, I – “ And then he stopped. John watched in horror as his eyes widened in response to a visible wave of fear. He didn’t move for a second, and then put a hand over his chest.

“Santino? You okay?” If this was a panic attack, it was a pretty bad one.

“My heart. I can feel it, it’s like it’s…expanding too much, I don’t know how to explain it. I think – I think I’m having a heart attack…” Saying that seemed to make it worse. A shudder went through him, setting off wild trembling.

“You’re not.” That…might or might not be true, but John said it with as much confidence as possible. The worst thing Santino could do if he was really having a heart attack was to panic further. He wondered if he could sneak a text calling for a doctor without Santino noticing. “You drank too much coffee, love. Let’s sit you down.” John put an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the stool next to the kitchen island. The text went out in the roughly fifteen seconds when Santino’s back was turned.

“No, no no no, I don’t need to sit down, I need to get moving. Prepare for the afternoon – brief the guards, prepare weapons, I need to - ” John had to hold him in place by the shoulders.

“Shhhh. It’s okay. We’ll take care of it soon. Just breathe slowly.”

It was the kind of gesture of strength that always made Santino surrender. He gave up and slumped into John’s grip. He was shaking a lot but at least his muscles were more relaxed now. John pulled him into a hug, their chests pressed together, letting his breathing guide Santino’s. He could feel his lover’s heartbeat. He would know that beat anywhere, from so many nights lying one on top of the other, and so many moments of fear that they rode out together. The rhythm was definitely strange at the moment, and very fast. John rubbed his back and felt it start to slow.

Santino sighed against him. “How can I be this tired and this full of adrenaline at the same time?”

“Coffee, mio caro. You drank too much,” he said again. “Don’t move, I’m going to get you some water.”

“I don’t want anything. I feel sick.” With some of the adrenaline spent, he just sat there with arms and legs dangling down, looking like he might pass out at any second. John hurried back with a glass of water.

“It’ll help.” It did seem to. In another minute, Santino was resting against his shoulder, exhausted but calm.

It was then, unfortunately, that medical help arrived. Santino’s on-call medic burst into the room, looking very worried, and insisted on taking his pulse despite Santino’s protests that he was fine now. To John’s relief, it was just the caffeine causing heart palpitations…and to John’s dismay, Santino was cleared to continue with the rendezvous that afternoon. But he was asked to take it as easy as possible.

Santino grinned, looking very smug about it. “You see, I knew I was fine. What I need to do is get back to work. Have everything in order and prepared.”

John just stared at him for a long moment, considering. “Yeah. Especially you.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“The best thing you can do to be ready is go to bed for an hour. I’ll handle the other preparations.”

He refused, of course. And it was impossible to change his mind. But by the time they settled into the backseat of the car, armed to the teeth, his resistance had run out. As they approached the rendezvous point, Santino’s head lay in his husband’s lap, full of dreams, with John petting his hair. It was for that reason that the first bullet, aimed directly at his headrest, missed him.

Santino jumped awake at the sound of the shattering windshield but John held him down, out of the way of gunfire. “Stay low.” He twisted around behind them to return fire out the back window.

“Cazzo! What’s happening?”

“It’s okay baby.” John leaned down and kissed the top of his head, still holding him down and out of the way. “Ambush. But we’ll be out soon.”

The sounds of battle faded away in the distance while the other cars in the entourage took the brunt of the heat, blocking off the road to let the boss’s vehicle escape. Santino glanced up at the bullet hole in the headrest and reached for John’s hand involuntarily. His nerves were already a mess again. “I would have died…”

“Yeah. Good thing you finally took a nap.”

*Girati means a group of Camorra members who turn against their leader, according to a very helpful glossary provided to me by @evrensadwrn