#if he could get this wrong than what else?

[societyfolklore]

Just Competitive  

Title: Just Competitive  

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  Sam’s new gf keeps waking you up

Word Count: 2.5k  

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Established relationship Light possessiveness / dominance, Noise kink elements, Bucky gets competitive, fingering, unprotected sex

A/N:  Ok so the other night I woke up at 2:30am and this is what happens when you ask the group chat what to do. @azriona This was your idea! (also sorry for everyone else who got edged in the chat)

Bucky rolled over, eyes still heavy with sleep, only to find you already wide awake- eyes on the ceiling, brows pinched in irritation.

“What’s wrong- ”

He didn’t even finish the sentence before he heard it.

Moaning. Loud, exaggerated, and frankly theatrical moaning. The kind that bounced off the thin apartment walls with no shame.

From the other side of the wall, Sam’s room.

Sam’s new girlfriend.

Bucky blinked at the ceiling, then turned toward the wall with a mix of annoyance and reluctant admiration. “Jesus,” he muttered. “She’s still going?”

You groaned, rubbing your face. “Twenty-five minutes. She’s been going off like a broken wind-up toy for twenty-five minutes, Bucky.” It was all too much right now.  “It's 3 a.m.,” you whined, dragging a pillow over your face. “Why does everyone have to be loud now?”

Bucky chuckled, soft and gravelly, then pulled you into his chest, spooning you close. One arm wrapped around your waist, petting gently over your stomach.

“We knew it was gonna be an adjustment moving in with Sam,” he said, trying to soothe you.

You nuzzled in, only to freeze when the sound of the headboard started thumping against the wall.

Again.

“Oh come on,” you hissed. “What’s she trying to prove? She always gets like this when she knows I’m home.” A beat. “Tell me I don’t sound like that.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He just started kissing the side of your neck, slow and deliberate, his hand sneaking a little lower under the sheets.

“No, doll,” he murmured against your skin. “You sound so much better.” Another kiss, hotter now. “Prettier. Real.” His hand gripped your thigh and pulled it over his hip.

You squirmed, suddenly more awake, heat creeping up your cheeks.

He smirked. “Wanna put on a show of our own?”

You were about to swat him away, really, you were, but Bucky’s fingers were already sliding lower, finding that soft, puffy spot between your thighs, circling your clit with lazy precision. It wasn’t fair how practiced he was at this. How well he knew your body.

Your breath hitched, hips twitching back into him before you could stop yourself.

He snorted softly into your hair. “That’s it, sweetheart. Knew you’d warm up to the idea.”

You tried to sound annoyed. “I’m not trying to compete with her- ”

But your words dissolved into a soft gasp as one thick finger slipped inside you. The stretch made your back arch into him, thighs instinctively squeezing together around his hand.

“Oh, come on, beautiful,” Bucky drawled with a grin you could hear in his voice, “we can get you to do better than that.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the blanket, already flushed with heat, trying not to give him the satisfaction. But then his thumb started stroking again, gentle, taunting circles on your clit, and your body betrayed you with a whimper.

“That’s better,” he cooed, finger curling just right. “Thought you said you don’t sound like her.” Another stroke. “But this? Baby, this is music.”

“Bucky- ” you tried to whisper a warning, but it broke apart halfway through, breath catching in your throat as he added a second finger, his arm tightening around your waist to hold you still while he played your body like a favorite song.

“Y’know,” he murmured into your neck, lips brushing your skin, “if she wants to perform, she should hear what a real show sounds like.”

His fingers plunged deeper, curling just so. You moaned, louder this time and Bucky groaned behind you, rutting his cock against your ass through his boxers, hard and throbbing.

“Fuck, that’s it. There’s my girl.”

He bit softly at your shoulder, then licked the spot to soothe it. “Think I could make you cry for me before she hits round four?”

You turned your head slightly, breathless and hot all over. “You’re awful.”

He grinned, kissing your cheek. “M’just competitive.”

“I think someone’s holding back…” Bucky murmured, voice all sweet mockery, hips grinding slow and deliberate into your ass while his fingers pumped inside you, unhurried but ruthless.

You whimpered, clutching the sheet with one hand and his metal wrist with the other, thighs trembling as he twisted just right, making your muscles clamp tight around his fingers.

“Ohh,” he laughed softly, low and warm in your neck. “There it is. That little clench- mm, yeah, you’re gettin’ close, huh?”

His thumb rolled over your clit in a tighter circle and your whole body jerked, a desperate moan catching in your throat.

You squeezed his wrist hard, but it wasn’t enough.

“Bucky- Buck, wait- no- ”

He knew what that meant. Knew you didn’t really want him to stop. That you were right on the edge. Which is exactly why he did.

He pulled his fingers out slow, wet and glistening, and you made a pitiful noise of protest that only made him smile wider.

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, already rolling you onto your back like you weighed nothing. “Don’t look at me like that.” He slotted himself between your thighs, pushing his boxers off. “You know I’m just tryin’ to help you live up to your potential.”

You glared up at him, flushed and needy, hips trying to chase his even before he lined himself up. But he didn’t push in right away. No, Bucky had to tease.

He ran his cock through your slick folds, tip dragging lazily up and down, tapping against your clit until your whole body twitched.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, voice suddenly tight. “You’re already soaked. It didn’t take much- never does with you.”

He held your hips still, teasing the head of his cock along your slick folds again before finally giving in, slow, steady, thick. The tip nudged at your entrance before gliding up and down to smear your wetness, until your hips arched up in silent plea.

Then, finally, he pressed in just the tip, thick, hot, stretching you just enough to make your breath leave your chest in a broken gasp.

You arched, clutching his bicep. “auhh- ”

Bucky grinned.

“Better.”

He pushed in another inch, then another, groaning at how tight you were around him, your body pulling him deeper with every inch.

“You gonna give me those pretty sounds now, doll?” he whispered, rolling his hips just so. “Or do I gotta work for ‘em?”

You didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Because that was when the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of Sam’s headboard started agai Harder this time. His girl’s voice climbed an octave, all high-pitched gasps and theatrical moaning, just shy of pornographic.

And then- fuck- you heard Sam.

A low groan, unmistakable.

You buried your face in Bucky’s shoulder with a miserable whine.

You were screwed now.

Even in the near-darkness of the room, you could feel Bucky’s expression change, could sense his tongue poke into his cheek, his jaw flexing as he stared at the wall like he was personally offended.

“Oh, hell no,” he growled, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, burying his cock deep, all the way in, dragging a sudden, guttural cry out of you before you could stop it.

“Bucky- !”

“That’s better,” he grunted, hand sliding under your thigh, hitching your leg up so he could angle himself deeper. “You let them have their noise. You’re gonna sing for me now.”

He started to move, slow but powerful thrusts that punched little gasps from your throat with every roll of his hips. You clung to his shoulders, eyes wide, trying to hold back, but it was useless. Every thrust forced a sound from you, each one a little louder than the last, your body unraveling beneath his.

You were already soaked, already there, and the feeling of him dragging along every nerve-ending inside you made you tremble. He was so deep, so heavy inside you, his hips grinding with purpose, like he was sculpting those sounds out of you.

“Not gonna let ‘em win, baby,” he whispered, breath hot against your lips. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name. Let her try to moan louder than you- I dare her.”

His metal hand gripped the headboard behind you for leverage, and you swore it was about to start banging against the wall too. The creak of the bed and slap of skin echoed through the room.

“Bucky, fuck- ”

“There we go,” he praised, fucking into you harder, rougher now, each thrust rocking you up the bed. “That’s my girl. Soundin’ so pretty for me.”

You moaned helplessly, arching into him, fingers digging into his skin, and he was relentless, devoted to making you cry out louder than whatever was happening on the other side of that wall.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he groaned, dragging his cock out slowly before slamming it back in, harder than before. “That’s it, let them know how good we fit. Let them know who’s makin’ you feel like this.”

You tried to answer, tried to form anything like a thought but it all shattered as he slammed into you again, grinding deep, and your breath hitched into a needy, helpless cry.

Your fingers clutched the pillow beside your head. Your legs trembled. You could barely keep your eyes open.

“Bucky- ”

He growled low, loving the way you moaned, loving the way your body trembled under his. Every sound you made spurred him on, every breathless whimper, every little hitch of your hips. He was drinking you in like he’d starved for it, worshipping every flutter and squeeze you gave him.

The girl next door let out another dramatic scream, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall, but all you could focus on was the way Bucky filled you, every inch of him, thick and hot and perfect inside you. The pressure of his cock dragged against that spot that made your spine bow, your thighs clenching around his hips instinctively.

Bucky grinned into your neck, not slowing. He fucked you through it- deliberate and deep, his hand sliding between you to circle your clit just to hear you sob again. The world was narrowed down to just the heat of your bodies and the slick slide of him inside you.

Nothing else mattered. Not the noise. Not the neighbors. Just the man above you, within you, around you, driving you out of your mind.

“That’s it, baby,” he panted, mouth against your throat. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you. Let her hear you.”

You did.

You couldn’t not.

He was grinding into your spot now with every thrust, dragging his cock against it until your toes curled and your nails scraped his back. Your moans started coming louder, broken, desperate, real. It wasn’t a performance. It was a surrender.

“Ohh, fuck, you feel good,” you sobbed, voice high and shaky.

Bucky’s head dropped, his breath stuttering. “God, you sound so good.”

His voice cracked slightly as he rutted into you, deeper and harder, his grip tightening on your hip. "Fuck, baby... you’re squeezin’ me so tight- keep that up and I’m not gonna last."

His mouth found yours, messy, hungry, claiming you completely as his hips snapped faster, harder, losing the rhythm as he chased both of your releases like he needed them to win. Like it was a goddamn competition now.

And maybe it was.

His chest was heaving, breath ragged, as he braced himself above you, each thrust more urgent, more desperate than the last. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, swallowing each other's whimpers and gasps as he fucked you through the mounting tension building between you.

You cried out into his mouth when he hit just right, your back arching off the mattress, thighs shaking around his waist. Your whole body tensed, every muscle winding tight like a wire ready to snap.

“There. There- fuck, baby, I’ve got you- let go,” he rasped, holding you tight, grinding deeper, determined to take you with him.

And then you broke.

Your orgasm ripped through you with devastating force, your mouth falling open as a high, raw moan spilled out, his name dragged from your throat again and again. Your walls fluttered around him, soaking him as your thighs quivered, toes curling tight.

Bucky wasn’t far behind.

“Shit- fuck,” he gasped, hips stuttering as your body milked him. “Gonna fill you up, baby- fuck- take it- ”

With a shuddering groan, he buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled, filling you with hot pulses. His muscles tensed, arms locked tight around you, and he stayed there, shaking against your chest while your bodies trembled together.

The bedframe finally banged once- twice- against the wall, a perfect echo of your cries, before stillness settled over you both. Bucky sagged against you, chest heaving, lips brushing your jaw as he caught his breath, his body pressed so close it felt like you were still one- joined and molten and weightless in the aftermath.

Both of you were drenched in sweat, your skin sticking where it touched, the heat of your bodies radiating between tangled limbs. Your heart pounded against his chest, and his matched it beat for beat, steady and grounding as your fingers lazily traced the back of his neck.

You clung to him, dazed and utterly spent, your body still humming with the ghost of your climax, little shudders twitching through your thighs. You let your cheek rest against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut, the silence around you ringing like an echo chamber of the storm you'd just ridden together.

You were both loud, breathless, fucked-out messes in the dark- hair mussed, voices hoarse, sheets soaked beneath you.

And you didn’t care.

You didn’t care if they heard.

Hell, you hoped they did. Let Sam and his girlfriend have their act.

You had something better. Something real.

Bucky was still inside you, his cock softening but not leaving you, like even his body refused to let go. He nuzzled your cheek, one arm wrapping more tightly around your back, the other brushing his fingers gently through your hair. A tender kiss pressed against your temple as the muffled sounds from next door finally gave way to silence.

“Think we won that one,” he murmured, smug and sleepy.

You let out a breathless laugh, still shaking a little. “Think we both lost our minds.”

His arms tightened around you, possessive and soft all at once. “Worth it.”

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting his in the dark. “Think we woke Alpine?”

He snorted, mouth curving into a tired grin. “Probably." 

You both chuckled quietly, your legs still wrapped around his hips, unwilling to break the closeness.

And then, in the stillness that followed, came the faintest sound, soft little wails starting up from the hallway. Mournful, high-pitched, and thoroughly dramatic.

“Speak of the devil...” you murmured against his shoulder.

Bucky huffed a laugh, burying his face in your hair. “Alpine’s filing a noise complaint.”

Neither of you said anything else after that. You didn’t need to. Not until you both heard the telltale noise of the little queen scratching at the door. 

[unkn0wng1rly]

ryomen sukuna

cw: bf!kuna x gf!reader, slice of life idk, random ahh story, grump sukuna

“hey ‘kuna,”

you were laying on his bed, watching your boyfriend get ready to go hangout with his friends.

he hardly wanted to but they threatened to pull up to his house and bring the party there which sounded like an early death sentence.

sukuna grunted, acknowledging you and waiting for you to ask whatever it was you wanted of him as he buttoned up his jeans.

“can i come with you? to suguru’s basement? i wanna get to know your friends more.”

“hell no.” he’s so quick with the response your shocked he even heard what you said, you scoff indignantly as you sit up on the bed, his back still to you.

“b—but why?” you spluttered.

he turned around, a snarl on his lips though it wasn’t all malicious, it was just a facial expression that came natural to him.

“fuck you mean why? dont you remember what happened the last time you met them? hell. no.” he reiterated, looking down at you as you pouted your lips.

he immediately turned his head, your pouting was dangerous. you were dangerous.

all you had to do was give him a look and suddenly he was doing whatever you wanted. it was like he didn’t understand the concept of denying you what you wanted.

“are you really gonna leave you’re girlfriend here all alone while you go out with your friends?” you whine gently like a pup, wearing nothing but his shirt and shorts.

“yep, would actually rather leave you in the pacific ocean than let you hang out with those dicks.” it was clear to you that he didn’t want you around them, but you were stubborn.

you huffed and ignored him as he got ready to head out, sitting on your phone.

by the time he’d finished, he noticed how eerily silent it was yet still stood by the door of the bedroom, watching you.

“i’m going now.”

“kay.” you respond flatly, not even looking up.

it wasn’t even your response that made him frown, it was something else.

sukuna had gotten very used to you giving him a kiss before he left, no matter where he was going or whether it was his nth time stepping out.

you’d always give him a kiss before he left.

and he’d grown accustomed to it, so he was waiting for you to get up and kiss him so he could go about his day but you remained still.

“hurry up woman.” he barked impatiently, but you still made no movements, only frustrating him even more.

you were scrolling on tiktok, pretending to be indulged by the content yet you didn’t have a scooby what was even before you.

sukuna sighed, hands on his hips as he looked up to the ceiling like some higher being was going to assist him as he gritted his teeth.

when he saw you truly were stubborn in your protest, he tutted and shook his head slightly.

“get changed quickly, something that would cover you head to toe preferably.”

you perked up like a rabbit, eyes widening first before you wear that silly grin, he knew what was coming and he tried to avoid it by exiting the room.

didn’t matter though, you jumped off the bed and ran up behind him, climbing onto his back as you hug him, his hands coming to grip legs to save you from falling.

“fuck is wrong with you—”

“thank you baby! i love you,” you kiss his cheek and his neck, laughing as he groans and tried to push you off half heartedly.

his face is heating up by the second and he’s scrunching his nose a little to try and hide the smile growing.

he shrugs you off, dumping you on the couch as he storms over to the door, grabbing his car key, muttering under his breath about he’s waiting.

you giggle excitedly and scramble back to his bedroom, into the closet which had a whole side dedicated to your stuff whenever you stayed over which was majority of the time.

humming, you tried to find an outfit nice enough so his friends wouldn’t think you’re some scruff.

after finally finding something, you put it on and let your hair out, not bothering with makeup as you rush to the car which was on and rumbling low—piercing the silent sunset.

you close the door and put your bag down, all smiles as you turn to look at sukuna who was surveying you from head to toe.

it wasn’t that bad really, you wore low rise jeans so you could show off your new belly piercing jewellery and a backless top with intricate lace designs.

“couldn’t find a potato sack no?” he asked, already pulling out the driveway with one hand on the wheel, turning his head to make sure no other cars were coming.

you scoff, but you’re not angry, too happy that he let you come to be annoyed at his comment. “i look hot, you love it.”

he didn’t say anything in response to that, only because it was true. you looked amazing, you always did and he did love it.

changing gear, he was ready to begin the journey to suguru’s when he paused and turned to you.

“brat, you forgot something.”

your eyebrows furrowed and you looked down your side, into your bag to see what you could of possibly left. “huh..?” you mutter under your breath, rummaging through the contents.

sukuna’s fingers clasp around your chin, jerking your head towards him softly, looking down at your soft lips which were pulled into a frown of confusion.

it took you a few moments to realise what he wanted and when you did, you laughed, finding it cute that he still wanted a kiss from you. “oh right, c’mere my big baby.”

he growled a little like a feral cat at the nickname, but you leaned in and pressed your lips against him.

and suddenly— all his annoyance was forgotten, he felt lighter, less pissed off at everything. you were so soft against his hard lines, you made him feel like it was worth it in the end.

sukuna moved to kiss you back but you pulled away, a cocky smirk on your mouth as you pointed to the road ahead of you.

“not too much baby, we have somewhere to be and you know how you get, but after i’m all yours.”

[fiendsgf]

Soulbound

V. Siren's Song

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: You didn’t mean to be seen. But Rafayel was already waiting. A quiet beach, a slip of truth, a hand that shouldn’t have felt familiar. Back in the N109 zone, Sylus doesn't push–but he waits. You tell yourself nothing changed. But the air feels different. Like something important has already begun to unravel.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(ish), shady raf, it’s a lot going on tbh

1 2 3 4

Dinner had come and gone, but the heaviness in your chest hadn’t. You’d smile when Luke cracked jokes. Tried to laugh when Kieran handed you a drink with an exaggerated wink. But your mind wasn’t in the safehouse anymore.

When the dishes were cleared and the rooms grew quiet, you slipped out. No one stopped you.

You made your way down the slope barefoot, the wind cool on your skin. The sea stretched wide and quiet, its breath steady against the sand. You walked until the water kissed your toes and the dunes were a blur behind you, then sank into the damp shoreline, pulling your knees to your chest.

The silence felt good.

You stared out at the horizon, letting the tide lap closer. Letting the thoughts come.

Then–

“Cutie, you always sneak off this quietly, or am I just lucky tonight?”

You’re kidding.

You flinched, startled. Turned.

Rafayel stood a few steps away, barefoot, boots dangling from one hand. His coat hung open, and the sea breeze played at his hair. The moonlight caught on the pale skin of his collarbone and the gleam in his watercolor eyes.

He gave you a crooked little smile.

“I’ve been accused of showing up uninvited,” he said. “But I prefer to think of it as good timing.”

Just pretend everything is okay.

He won’t know.

You huffed softly, looking back toward the water. “How did you know I was here?”

“I was wandering,” he said, coming closer. “You happened to be where I ended up.”

Without asking, he lowered himself onto the sand beside you, elbows resting on his knees. Not too close – but closer than anyone else had dared to get lately.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment. “You seemed kind of… far away earlier.”

Don’t panic.

You didn’t answer right away. The tide crept closer, dark and slow.

He looked sideways at you, his voice softer this time. “You don’t have to talk about it. Just felt like something was weighing on you.”

Something about the way he said it – not prying, not performative – cracked something open in your chest.

You wish you could tell him.

You sighed, eyes on the ocean. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

A pause. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to fight the instinct to stay silent.

“I just feel… out of place,” you said finally. “Like an imposter, I guess.”

Very subtle.

What are you doing?

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded slowly, like he was waiting for more.

“It’s like…” You exhaled. “I don’t know… sometimes it feels like,” You paused. “I’m not where I’m meant to be.”

He let the quiet sit for a moment before answering. “Yeah,” he said. “I know that one.”

You blinked. “You do?”

He shrugged, almost to himself. “Sure. Doesn’t matter where you go or how long you’re there. Sometimes it feels like there’s another place, calling your name. But you can’t hear it clearly anymore.”

You didn’t respond right away. His voice had changed, still calm, but no longer playful. Like something had shifted just under the surface.

Of course he understands. He’s not supposed to be here either. Not on land.

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to take someone’s place. I didn’t even ask to be—” You stopped. Realized too late how close you’d come to saying the wrong thing.

He looked at you, still and steady. “Someone’s place?”

You didn’t move.

“I meant…” you scrambled, “...sometimes it feels like someone deserves my place more than I do. Imposter syndrome, I guess.”

He didn’t press. Just studied you for another moment, then looked back out toward the sea.

“You know,” he said after a while, “some people spend their whole lives trying to make sense of where they landed. Trying to make it feel right.” He shifted, leaned back on his hands, letting his legs stretch out in front of him. “Maybe you don’t need to understand everything yet. Maybe it’s enough to just be. It’ll make sense eventually.”

You glanced at him – the cut of his jaw, the light in his eyes, the ease with which he sat in his own body.

You two are talking about entirely different things. He doesn’t even know who he’s really talking to.

But you feel seen.

“You make that sound easy,” you said quietly.

He smiled faintly, still not looking at you. “It’s not.”

The waves pulled closer again. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You weren’t sure what was happening, only that it felt strange and quiet and important. And that there was something about Rafayel that made your skin feel warm in places you hadn’t felt human in for days.

He didn’t ask anything else. Just sat beside you like he’d been there before. Like he’d known this exact kind of silence.

And for now, that was enough.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. The moon rose higher, dragging the tide with it. At some point, your hand had dipped to your side, fingers trailing faint lines in the sand. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten.

Then, Warmth.

Rafayel’s hand brushed lightly against yours, just enough to nudge away a bit of wind-scattered grit from your knuckles. His touch was casual, unhurried. But precise. Like he’d been waiting for the exact moment you wouldn’t flinch.

“Sand’s got a mind of its own,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You glanced at him.

He didn’t meet your gaze. Just let his fingers linger a second longer than necessary before pulling back.

Your heart stuttered.

It wasn’t the touch. It was the way he made you feel like he already knew what you were feeling, before you’d even figured it out yourself.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate it.

You stood a few minutes later, brushing the back of your legs off. Rafayel rose with you without a word. The air between you felt... heavier. Not in a bad way. Just full – like something unspoken had passed between you and was now hanging in the salt-heavy air.

“Don’t disappear cutie,” he said, voice quieter now, but still with that amused edge. “Or at least leave a trail.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out soft.

“Alright.”

He gave you a lazy two-finger wave, then turned back toward the dunes, disappearing into the shadows like he’d always belonged to them.

You didn’t follow right away.

You stood there in the dark, waves lapping at your ankles, your heart still tangled in the warmth of a hand that shouldn’t have felt like home.

The walk back from the beach felt heavier than before, even though the night air was cool and the stars were scattered like secrets overhead. The sand under your shoes shifted with each step, but your mind was miles away, twisting and turning on itself, unable to settle.

You shouldn’t have let yourself stay out that late. You shouldn’t have let Rafayel get that close. You shouldn’t have let yourself pretend, even for a moment, that you were someone else. 

The truth gnawed at you–sharp and relentless–that she was out there somewhere, and you were an impostor tangled in her life, her people, her world. The thought made your throat tighten and your chest ache. You wanted to run back, to undo what had already happened, but there was no rewind.

Back at the house, the quiet felt different now. Thicker. You slipped inside, careful not to wake anyone. The creak of the floorboards underfoot was the only sound accompanying your restless steps up to your room.

You collapsed onto the bed, the weight of your own thoughts pinning you down harder than the mattress ever could. You clenched your fists at your sides, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Why did I let it happen?Why do I feel like I’m betraying her – or worse, myself?

What else could I have even done?

A part of you longed for something steadier, something honest. Sylus.

You wanted to see him, to tell him everything. The fears, the guilt, the confusion tangled in your chest. Maybe with Sylus, it would be easier to breathe.

But for now, you lay there, caught between the truth you carried and the secret you couldn’t share.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator hisses open, and the cool, familiar air of the base spills out into the corridor. You’re carrying your shoes in one hand, the faint scent of salt water still clinging to your clothes. The silence is comfortable–but only just.

Luke is the first to break it.

“If I find a single grain of sand in my bed, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

You glance back at him, lifting a brow. “We all shared the same beach.”

“I didn’t roll in it like a happy seal.”

Kieran grunts behind him, shifting his duffel over his shoulder. “We get it. You’re delicate.”

Their voices fade into the upper level as they split off toward their rooms, and you linger in the hall for a breath longer than you need to.

You’re not ready to be alone with your thoughts.

Not yet.

Your gaze flicks toward Sylus’s quarters. 

You pad toward his door and hesitate.

Then you knock softly.

A beat.

“Who is it?” His voice is low, muffled through the panel.

You crack the door open and step into the dim light.

“Can I talk to you?”

Sylus turns slightly from where he’s standing at the edge of his desk, arms crossed. His eyes narrow, just barely. “What’s wrong?”

You shift your weight, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about Whitesand.”

He motions for you to come in. You cross the room and sit on the couch, fingers lacing tightly in your lap.

“I ran into someone,” you begin, heart already beating too fast. “Rafayel.”

Sylus’s brow lifts, but he doesn’t speak. Just waits.

“I wasn’t looking for him. I was panicking when I found out where we were going, told myself I wouldn’t see him.” You take a shaky breath. “He bumped into me in some shop.”

You glance up at Sylus, then quickly away.

“He called me ‘Miss Bodyguard’ and I realized he thought I was her. I just played along and tried to stay calm.” You swallow. “But then he grabbed my phone. Sent himself a message before I could even say anything.”

Sylus’s jaw tightens just slightly.

“Then he just left.” You exhale hard, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Later that night, I was sitting on the beach. Alone. And he found me again. Like he knew I’d be there.”

Sylus finally speaks. “What did he say?”

You hesitate. “He said I looked like I was far away. That I seemed off.”

“And?”

“I don’t know why I did it, but… I told him he was right.” You laugh once, bitter and breathless. “Not the whole truth, obviously. Just enough that he thought I was her, having a rough week.”

Sylus is quiet, eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say quickly. “I was just…so tired. I feel so guilty. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

“Did you tell him anything else?”

You shake your head. “No. But he got my number. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes something is wrong. What if he already knows I’m not her? What if I made things worse?”

He moves closer, sits next to you. “Take a breath.”

You do. Barely.

“I can’t stop thinking about how easy it was for him to look at me and assume I was her,” you whisper. “And I just… let him. I played along. It wasn’t even deliberate, but it happened. And now I feel like I betrayed her.”

Sylus’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t betray anyone.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re not impersonating her.” He pauses. “At least, not with bad intentions. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

You bite your lip, trying not to let it wobble.

“I should’ve said something. I should’ve shut it down.”

“But you didn’t. And you can’t undo that. So let’s just figure out what’s next.”

His voice is calm, even. But you can sense something under the surface. Tension, a flicker of emotion he’s swallowing down.

You search his face. “You seem… tense. More than usual.”

He leans back slightly, folding his arms.

“I went on a mission with her.”

You go still.

“It was fine,” he adds quickly. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. But something felt off. She was quiet. Followed every order to the letter.”

Your brows furrow. “What felt off?”

He takes a deep breath, eyes unfocused. “Our resonance. It was weak.”

There’s a weight behind his words that makes your chest ache.

“Maybe she’s dealing with something,” you offer. “It might not mean anything.”

He nods, but there’s doubt in his eyes.

You move before thinking, heart fluttering as you reach out and place a hand over his.

“You’re right.”

His fingers curl gently around yours.

“It just…reminded me of where we started.” He sighs. “How she saw me.”

You frown. “You’re a good man Sylus. She knows that. She’ll see it.”

He huffs, a small sound of amusement and disbelief.

He squeezes your hand slightly. “...Thank you.”

The corners of your mouth tug a bit.

“Course,”

And for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just the quiet hum of the base and the heat of his palm against yours.

A part of you wishes that he was reaching for you the same way he reaches for her.

But you don’t have the right.

The comfort lingers longer than you expect.

And when he lets go, it’s with the softest kind of reluctance.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Your hand still buzzes with the lingering touch as you lay in bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

You want to run.

From Sylus. From this world. From the way everything keeps getting more complicated.

But where would you even go?

You really thought you could handle it. That staying close to Sylus wouldn’t affect you. That you could exist near him without feeling anything.

And for a while, you believed it.

When fear and confusion still ruled your every thought – waking up in a foreign world, overstepping and ruining the story, accidentally wearing her face and name.

But time passed. You settled in. Fell deeper into Sylus’s world. Saw the man beyond the screen.

And what kind of fool would believe they’d never feel something?

He’s gentle. Kind. Far more human than anyone gives him credit for.

You tried to get away. Thought the ocean would clear your head, center you again.

Instead, it handed you a new problem.

Him.

You looked at Rafayel. Talked to him. Let him believe you were her.

Everything you promised yourself you’d never do.

And now? Now you can’t stop wondering what’ll happen if–when–he finds out. Will he hate you? Call you unwell? Think you’re some delusional girl chasing a fantasy? 

Will he think you wanted this?

You think about your world again. How quiet it was. How safe. How ordinary.

You weren’t thriving, but at least things made sense there.

Here? You’re starting to feel like you’ve long overstayed your welcome.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You wake with a dull ache behind your eyes, like your thoughts were fighting through the night.

You roll over and grab your phone, expecting some nonsense from Luke and Kieran.

But it’s not them.

Maybe: Rafayel

hey cutieeee

dun tell me you forgot to call again :(

im working on a new painting, need inspo

come take a walk w me?

Fuck.

Fuck.

It’s fine. Just tell him you’re busy.

Or ignore him.

Yeah. Ignore the man with abandonment issues. Great plan.

You sigh and type quickly:

Hey. Sorry, a bit busy today. Association is swamped. Maybe another time?

You watch the typing dots form.

booooo

ill just come to u then

see u at work cutie

Well. That was the worst possible response you could have hoped for.

No need! My captain actually just said she’s letting me off early today! I’ll come to you.

yay

meet me at [location sent]

You groan, tossing the blanket off. You drag yourself out of bed, half-limping toward the hallway. You don’t even look in the mirror.

You make a beeline to Sylus’s study.

“Sylus, help me.”

He glances up from the tablet in his hand, one brow slightly raised. A corner of his mouth twitches.

“What happened? Did Mephisto steal your earrings again?”

You shoot him a flat look.

“No. This is serious,” you huff, stepping inside. “Rafayel texted me. Asked to meet. I panicked. I said yes.”

You drop your face into your hands.

Sylus leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “So much for laying low.”

You glare at him through your fingers.

“He said he’d go to the association! What was I supposed to do? He gave me no room to back out. I didn’t want to agree, but–”

You cut yourself off with a groan.

Sylus doesn’t laugh. But there’s something fond in the way he looks at you.

“I know you’ve been careful. Trying not to stir things up,” he says. “But… maybe this isn’t the worst thing.”

Your hands fall to your sides.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe if you meet him, it’ll be enough. Might buy us time to figure out the rest.”

“Or it might make things worse.”

Sylus shrugs gently. “Possibly. But I trust you’ll handle it.”

You hesitate.

“…You really think I can?”

His gaze holds yours for a beat too long.

“I do. And I don’t think you have much of a choice, either.”

You sigh.

You steel your nerves and brace yourself like a prisoner awaiting their verdict.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You walk through the park Rafayel said he’d be waiting in. You try not to look nervous as you search for his figure between the willow trees.

“y/n!”

You spin around.

“There she is,” he says. “Cutie, I was starting to think you bailed on me again.”

You give him a half-hearted glare, hands clasped behind your back. “I should have.”

“Too late now. You’re stuck with me.” He closes the distance, hand outstretched to you. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

The streets are warm, the late sun setting everything in gold. You fall into step beside him, letting the quiet stretch. Rafayel doesn’t fill it with needless chatter, just swings his hands loosely at his sides, occasionally nudging you gently with his elbow when the silence gets too heavy.

It’s weirdly… relaxing.

You’re still on edge, every cell humming with what you know – what he might know – but he doesn’t press. Doesn’t interrogate. Just walks.

He leads you toward a small gallery nestled into the side of a stone building. There’s no sign, just a copper door and a quiet hum of music bleeding from within.

Inside, it’s cooler, dimmer. The scent of varnish and citrus cleaner lingers in the air. Paintings line the walls – coastal landscapes, abstract shapes, portraits that seem to watch you as you pass.

One catches your eye.

It’s a person, maybe a woman, but blurred, almost dissolving into her surroundings. Something about the way her shoulders tilt, the way her eyes are fixed just slightly left of the viewer. She looks… lost.

You stop walking.

“She looks like she doesn’t know where she is,” you murmur. “Like she stepped through the wrong door.”

Rafayel stops beside you. His voice is softer now.

“Maybe she stepped through the right one,” he says. “She just hasn’t realized it yet.”

The words settle in your chest like an echo.

You glance at him.

He’s already watching you – not intensely, not like he’s waiting for a reaction. Just watching. Calm. Present.

The moment stretches.

Then he breaks it.

“Come on,” he says, slipping his hand into his pocket. “I wanna show you something.”

You end up at the beach.

The sun’s long gone, and the sand is cool beneath your shoes. Rafayel kicks his off immediately, padding barefoot toward the waterline like he’s done it a hundred times. You follow, slower.

It’s quieter here than the gallery. Just the waves and the occasional cry of a distant seabird. You can hear your pulse in your ears.

You try to keep your guard up. Try not to let your steps betray the way your thoughts are racing.

“I knew,” Rafayel says suddenly, voice low, just above the hush of the tide.

You freeze.

You blink. “Knew what?”

He glances at you, half-smiling. “That you weren’t her. From the start.”

Your breath catches. You stop walking.

His tone is too casual – like he’s talking about the weather. That only makes it worse.

“Then… why did you invite me out?” you ask, voice wary. “If you already knew?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe curiosity. Maybe instinct. You looked like someone who needed a night off.”

You stare at him. “How could you tell?”

“There’s something about the way you looked at me,” he says, raising a brow. “Not like a stranger. But not like her, either.”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy trying to figure out if this is a setup – a test – a trap.

He turns his gaze to the sea, hands slipping into his pockets. “I told myself maybe she had a twin. Or I’d hit my head. But when I called your name earlier, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. That’s when I knew.”

You look down. The sand shifts beneath your feet.

“I’m not–” you begin, then falter. “I’m not trying to fool anyone. I didn’t ask for this.”

“I figured,” he says gently. “Still. I had to know who you were.”

You glance at him, wary. “Why?”

“No reason that matters,” he says. “Just wanted to understand. For myself.”

A pause.

“Where did you come from?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You didn’t want this conversation. Not like this.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you admit, voice low. “It feels impossible.”

“Try me,” he says, softer now.

You hesitate. Then you exhale, slowly.

“I’m from a different world,” you say. “A different reality.”

He doesn’t react.

After a beat, he says, “Really?”

You nod.

“Guess that explains the way you looked at everything,” he says, like you just confessed to being from out of town. “You’ve been walking around like nothing quite belongs to you.”

You blink at him. “That’s it? No freak out?”

“I mean,” he gestures to the waves, “weirder things have happened. Probably.”

That earns the smallest smile from you.

He looks at you again, head tilted. “But you knew who I was. Back at the shop.”

You sigh. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You hesitate. Then: “In my world… you were part of a video game.”

He blinks, then grins. “That’s a new one.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous. When I first ended up here, I thought maybe I’d been dropped inside it. But this place – it doesn’t feel like a game. It feels real.”

“Maybe it was a window,” you add. “Or a trick. Or I’ve just completely lost it.”

He hums, thoughtful. “You don’t sound crazy.”

“You sure? Because I definitely feel it.”

He glances over at you, amused. “Cutie, I talk to the ocean and name my pigments after sea creatures. If you’re losing it, at least you’re in good company.”

You laugh – small and breathy – but it’s real.

“I could’ve just ignored it,” Rafayel says. “Pretended I didn’t notice. But you looked like you could use someone who didn’t ask you to explain yourself. Someone who didn’t expect answers.”

You swallow. “Why would you want to help me?”

He shrugs. “Because you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one people get when they’ve been carrying a planet on their back.”

His words hang in the space between you, unspoken weight meeting quiet understanding.

A breeze brushes past, lifting your hair. You hear the soft retreat of waves against the shore.

Rafayel reaches his hand out to you.

“Come paint with me.”

His studio smells like salt and turpentine and rain-dried wood. The ceilings stretch high above you, and the walls are crowded with half-finished canvases. Strange, lovely things, some turned away like secrets.

Rafayel moves through the space like it was built around him.

He sets two stools before a blank canvas and hands you a brush.

“No rules,” he says easily. “Just paint whatever’s stuck in your head.”

You hesitate. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know what’s in there anymore.”

He grins. “Perfect. Start with that.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The brush feels awkward in your hand, and the colors run too fast, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel hums something tuneless and soft, flicking pigment across his own canvas in sweeping arcs of color.

Eventually, he breaks the quiet. “So… you said you knew me from a game?”

You glance over at him.

“What was I like in it?” he asks, voice light but curious.

You try not to smile. “Honestly? You weren’t that different from how you are now.”

He hums like he’s pleasantly surprised. “What kind of game are we talking about?”

Your face warms. “…A dating game.”

Rafayel laughs, leaning back with exaggerated delight. “A dating game? Cutie, you’ve been holding out on me.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make it weird! It’s not like I chose it just for that. You were just–part of it.”

“Part of it,” he echoes. “So I wasn’t your favorite?”

You groan, trying to dodge the question. “You were the favorite. The face of the game, actually.”

He smiles, a little smug, and turns back to his painting. “Mm. Glad to hear I had good taste in timelines.”

“You knew about her too, was she in the game?’

You nod to yourself. “Yeah, we create her. Play the story as her.”

He hums. “I see. Same name, same face, makes sense now.”

You huff. “Does it?”

He chuckles. “I’m trying to be understanding here, cutie,”

You laugh despite yourself. For a while, you both return to your work, the silence between you easy now.

Then, more softly, he asks, “So. How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks. Maybe longer. It’s hard to tell.”

He nods like that makes perfect sense. “You remind me of myself,” he says. “When I first left home. Everything felt too loud and too far away.”

You nod. “It’s been… strange.”

He leans his elbow against the edge of the canvas, watching you from the side. “Where’ve you been staying?”

You hesitate. “I… ended up in the N109 zone.”

His head turns fast. “Seriously?”

You can’t help the laugh that slips out. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly get a choice. One of the love interests lives there.”

Rafayel blinks once, slowly. “One of the–wait.”

You nod. “Sylus. He’s the one who found me.”

There’s a flicker – a shift behind his eyes. His fingers pause mid-stroke on the canvas.

“Ah.” His voice is still smooth, but quieter. “So you’ve been with Sylus.”

“I sort of talked my way out of being seen as a threat. I’ve been staying at Onychinus since.”

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, then smiles again, easy. “Cutie,” he murmurs, “you might be the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

You grin, a little bashfully. “It’s not that crazy.”

“If we made a movie out of it, no one would believe it.”

You pause, your brush lingering at the edge of the canvas. “Do you think I’m… awful? For not saying anything? For pretending to be someone I’m not?”

Rafayel sets his brush down.

“I think,” he says, “you did what you had to. No one drops into another world with a guidebook.”

You glance at him, surprised by how gentle his voice is.

He leans back on his stool and gives you a quiet smile. “Besides… I was pretending, too.”

You blink. “What?”

“I acted like I didn’t know. But I saw it in your eyes. You weren’t confused, you were trying to protect yourself.” He shrugs. “I get that.”

A pause.

He adds, “And now that I do know a little more… well, you’re still here. That has to mean something.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. But your chest feels lighter than it has in days.

You look back at your painting – the chaos of it, the strange colors, the way nothing really fits – and for once, that doesn’t feel so terrible.

The paintbrush starts to drag in your hand. You don’t notice until your strokes turn uneven.

You blink, realizing how heavy your limbs feel. “I should probably go,” you murmur, setting the brush down. “It’s late, and Sylus is probably wondering where I am.”

You don’t catch the shift in Rafayel’s posture.

He leans back slightly, elbows on his knees. “Back to the N109 zone at this hour?” His voice is casual, but his knuckles flex once, slow and deliberate. “You’d only be halfway there by sunrise.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, though you’re not sure you believe it yourself.

“You just got comfortable,” he says, glancing toward the wide windows, the ocean glowing faintly beneath a fractured moon. “No one’s going to mind if you take one night off from survival mode.”

You hesitate.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you offer, though your body’s already aching at the thought of making that long trip back.

“You won’t,” Rafayel replies gently. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed, clean sheets and everything, promise.”

You glance at him.

He lifts a hand, mock solemn. “Swear on my best brush.”

A beat.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Good.” He stands, stretching. “Bathroom’s down the hall. The door with the chipped koi on it.”

You nod and step away to wash the paint off your hands.

When you’re out of sight, Rafayel runs a hand through his hair and exhales, slower than necessary.

The studio feels different now. Like something in the air shifted.

He moves quietly, dimming the lights, rinsing off brushes, setting canvases to dry. It’s muscle memory by now, the motions smooth, effortless. But his thoughts aren’t as still.

You said Sylus was probably waiting for you.

Of course you’d say that. And of course he is.

His fingers press briefly against the edge of the worktable, a knuckle whitening before he lets go.

He casts a glance toward the hallway where you disappeared, then to the couch.

You’d been exhausted – trying so hard not to show it. The weariness in your voice, the weight in your shoulders… he’d seen it. Felt it, like something echoing in his own chest.

Offering you a place to rest had been instinct. But there’s more to it than that. And he knows it.

Still, he doesn’t say it out loud. Not even to himself.

This isn’t the time.

Not yet.

For now, he leans back against the counter and closes his eyes, letting the ocean breeze slip in through the cracked windows. It smells like salt and clean air and the faintest trace of the citrus soap you used.

He stays there a long while.

Just listening to the waves.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The study is too quiet.

Sylus leans back in his chair, arms folded, eyes unfocused as the soft hum of the base’s systems fills the silence. The time glows steadily on the screen in front of him.

You’ve been gone for a while.

He told himself not to hover. You weren’t stepping into danger – just meeting someone. Someone familiar. 

Still… his fingers tap restlessly against the desk.

No message yet.

He eyes the comms panel. Mephisto’s idle. He could send him, just a quick check-in.

But he doesn’t move.

Rafayel wouldn’t hurt you. He knows that.

Probably.

He grabs his phone, thumbs hovering for a second before typing:

Everything alright?

The reply comes fast.

he knows.

His jaw tightens. He barely has time to process it before the next message follows:

but it’s okay. i think. turns out you’re not the only understanding man around here?

i’ll be back in the morning

Sylus stares at the screen.

His first reaction is relief, the kind that hits too hard, like a wire pulled too tight finally snapping loose.

You’re safe.

You’re not panicking. You’re joking.

It should be enough.

He sets the phone down but doesn’t look away from it. There’s a strange pressure behind his ribs. Something unsettled. Restless.

He tells himself it’s concern. Simple as that.

You’re not exactly predictable. And Rafayel… well, Sylus doesn’t know what he wants.

He told you to go.

He said it might buy time.

But now that you have – now that Rafayel knows – he can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s shifted. That something slipped out of his reach before he realized he’d even been holding it.

His fingers curl slightly against the armrest.

He’s just concerned. Maybe you’re too trusting.

He just wants to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.

He exhales quietly, then picks the phone back up.

Be safe.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning creeps in quietly, slow sunlight filters through the linen curtains, casting soft golden bars across the paint stained floorboards. It smells faintly of ocean air and drying pigment.

You wake curled beneath unfamiliar sheets, the bed bigger than it looked the night before. It’s too quiet. Peaceful in a way that makes you hesitate before moving.

You sit up slowly, the comforter sliding off your shoulder, and pad into the studio barefoot.

Rafayel is already awake. He’s perched on a stool by the open balcony, sipping something from a chipped mug, one leg folded beneath him. His hair is slightly tousled. The wind lifts it from his face.

He glances over when he hears you. “Morning, cutie.”

Your voice is hoarse. “Didn’t mean to sleep in.”

“You needed it.” He nods toward the hallway. “There’s coffee, if you trust my taste.”

You find the cup waiting in the kitchen, not perfect, but warm, and kind. You sip it quietly beside him.

After a moment, he speaks again, gaze still on the ocean.

“If you ever need to get away again… you know where I am.” He taps a loose rhythm against the railing with one finger. “The door’s always open. Doesn’t have to be a crisis.”

You glance at him.

He meets your eyes briefly. No pressure. No insinuation. Just… calm.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That means a lot.”

“Good.” He gives a crooked smile. “Now go before the vampires start wondering where their sunshine went.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The N109 zone feels darker than usual when you step back into it – all the steel and shadow, the buzz of faint neon against the gloom. Your body still carries a lingering warmth from the coast, a calm you’re not used to.

You make your way inside the base. The twins are arguing over a drone part in the hallway. Kieran offers you a lazy wave, Luke flashes a grin.

You don’t see Sylus right away, but when you step into the common room, he’s there – arms crossed, standing by a massive digital map spread across the wall. He turns when he hears you.

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his eyes skim over you like he’s scanning for bruises.

“You’re back,” he says simply.

“Didn’t mean to stay out so long,” you offer. “We ended up painting. I lost track of time.”

A pause.

Sylus nods, slow. “You seem… relaxed.”

You blink. “Yeah…” you trail off. “It was nice, I was so worried going into it, but it went better than I expected, I guess.”

Another pause. His gaze sharpens just slightly.

“He seemed trustworthy?”

You catch it – the way his voice dips half a degree, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “Honestly, it was nothing dramatic. He was just nice.”

He looks at you a second longer than necessary.

Then: “Good.”

You move past him, toward the hallway. “I’m gonna drop my bag off and go change,”

He doesn’t stop you. But you feel his attention linger like a pulse at your back until you’re gone.

Your room is just as you left it – dim, cold, a little impersonal. But after the surreal calm of Rafayel’s studio, it’s grounding.

You drop your bag on the side table and sink onto the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly. For the first time in days, your pulse isn’t clawing at your throat.

It went better than it should have.

So much better.

You had imagined every worst-case scenario: confrontation, exposure, betrayal. But instead, Rafayel had just… listened. No tense interrogation. No fear. Just that easy warmth of his, disarming without even trying.

You shake your head slightly.

Strange, how simple it felt to be around him.

Not safe, exactly – you know better than to believe that already – but seen. Like you didn’t have to fight for every piece of yourself to be understood.

You stretch your legs out and lean back, glancing toward the small window. The skyline of N109 looms jagged against the artificial dark.

But in your chest, there’s still a faint echo of wind and sea air.

Maybe it makes sense. You’ve always sought the ocean when things get heavy. The salt, the endless blue, the quiet rhythms, they’ve always steadied you.

Of course you felt calmer there.

You hum softly to yourself, some tune that's lived in your mind longer than you can remember – airy and strange, like a half-forgotten lullaby.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside your door.

Sylus hadn’t meant to stop.

He was just passing by. 

But the sound catches him. That humming, faint and familiar, threading through the air like a memory.

And just like that, something in him breaks open.

The hallway dissolves.

He’s somewhere else – somewhen else.

A chapel. Shadowed and quiet, filled with the scent of stone and herbs.

He’s on the floor, barely conscious, blood drying along his ribs. The pain sharp, but distant.

That tune – that same tune – floats to him through the haze. Hummed softly, steadier than his heartbeat. A balm against the ache.

And then another detail,

The smell. Something sharp and herbal, like salve pressed into a wound with trembling hands.

His chest tightens.

He’s not alone.

There’s someone there.

He feels them – kneeling beside him, smoothing his hair back. He can’t see their face. But they’re humming. And they’re warm.

Sylus exhales sharply, blinking hard.

His hand is braced against the wall, jaw tense. The humming has stopped.

Reality seeps back in.

He stays there for a moment, heart beating fast.

It was clearer this time. More vivid than any fragment before. Not just a dream. Not some trick of memory.

But even now, he pushes it down.

Is she remembering?

Why do these memories keep coming back to him?

Why now?

He leans against the wall outside your door, still caught in that strange whirl of memory and tension, when suddenly a pair of energetic footsteps come barreling down the hall.

“Boss! You gotta see this!” Luke’s voice echoes, a little too loud and urgent.

Kieran follows right behind, grinning widely. “No, seriously, you have to check it out.”

Sylus exhales sharply, pushing off the wall and straightening up as the twins approach.

“What is it this time? The vending machine finally decided to eat your money?” he asks dryly.

Luke chuckles. “Better. Some dumb kid in N109 tried to rob a corner shop with a plastic knife.”

Kieran snorts. “The shopkeeper chased him down with a broom. Epic defeat.”

Sylus can’t help the small smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That’s… hardly critical.”

Luke grins. “Can we go check it out?”

Sylus shakes his head. “Not necessary. Let them learn their lessons.”

Kieran elbow-jabs Luke. “Come on, boss, you love the chaos.”

“Love it or not,” Sylus says, voice low but steady, “I’d rather not deal with it right now.”

Luke and Kieran exchange a quick look, sensing his mood, and then fall back into their usual banter as they walk off.

Sylus watches them go, then lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He leans back against the wall, the sound of their laughter fading behind him, and quietly runs a hand over his face. 

If she does remember…

If that’s true… it changes everything.

He turns away from the door and disappears down the hallway, footsteps quiet in the dim light.

a/n: godddd this chapter was hard to write omg. i hope u guys like it… <3 everyone is avoidant… who knows wtf raf is up to… at least the twins are having fun. i have so much planned for this story, i have to think like 40 steps ahead for every line i write lmao. everyone pray i stay hyperfixated on this before i fumble🙏🏻

🏷️: @paper--angel @leftpoetrymoon @istolepeanuts @rjreins @freeprincesslove @3fg7 @mariahuchiha90 @beaconsxd @poptrim @hon3yydew @pinkpastelbabygirl @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @yannew @peachystea @cms399 @marinenox @cottagedumpling @nightmarewasteland @mitskunicheesecake @katyeongs @shadowypeachsweets @saybeyonce @napforalifetime @bubera974 @moonlight-inthe-sea @xvilluis @potania @demon-master-zero @antonneva @fairestofnrc @orianakira

[crybabycabin]

blood ledger (one) | b.b.

series summary: 1940s Brooklyn. You owe the Barnes crime family money you don’t have. When their enforcer comes to collect, he offers an alternative form of payment that has nothing to do with cash.

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader word count: 5.4k warnings: mob/mafia AU, 1940s setting, power imbalance, debt collection, coercion, dubious consent (kissing), threats of violence, period-typical misogyny, crude language, parental death (mentioned), grief, financial hardship, (it's all in good fun i swear), (like he's just an asshole because he's horny and thinks you're pretty) a/n: just a heads up that bucky kind of starts out as a coercive dick in this story (hence all those pesky dubcon warnings) but i promise he'll mellow out as the fic progress (in a sexy 'i'll kill anyone who looks at you wrong' kind of way) and he'll prob get worse before he gets better so uhhhhh trust the process? if i missed any warnings, pls lmk !! 🤍 series masterlist

The knock came at quarter past eight, three measured raps that made your spine lock tight as a closing fist.

You'd been expecting it for days now—watching the calendar bleed red X's toward this moment, each sunset another coin dropped into death's collection plate. Your father's debts didn't die with him. The Barnes family made sure everyone in Brooklyn understood that much.

Your fingers stilled on the dishrag, soap bubbles trembling against your wrists. Through the kitchen window, October rain slicked the fire escapes black, turning the whole neighborhood into something out of a fever dream. You could run. The thought flickered and died before it could catch flame. Where would you go? Who in this city would shelter someone marked by the Barnes name?

Three more knocks. Harder this time.

Your pulse kicked against your throat as you dried your hands, each movement deliberate, buying seconds you couldn't afford. The condolence cards still littered the kitchen table—With deepest sympathy and May he rest in peace—their pastel flowers mocking in the lamplight. Two weeks since they'd lowered him into Greenwood soil. Two weeks of waiting for this exact sound.

You smoothed your housedress with trembling hands, caught sight of yourself in the dark window—pale face, shadows under your eyes, hair escaping from pins that never quite held. You looked exactly like what you were: a girl in over her head, drowning in grief and debt.

The lock turned like a death rattle under your palm.

James Barnes filled your doorway like smoke fills a room—inevitable, suffocating, impossible to contain. You'd heard about him, of course. Everyone had. The Barnes family's primary enforcer was the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about in whispers, though those same mothers probably dreamed about him when the lights went out.

He was... not what you'd expected.

Tall and broad-shouldered in a charcoal suit that cost more than your father owed, rain darkening the fabric across his shoulders. His hair was slicked back from a face that belonged in those moving pictures your friends giggled over—sharp jaw, full mouth, eyes the color of a winter sky before snow. The kind of face that made smart girls stupid.

And God help you, you could feel your intelligence draining away as he stood there, studying you like a cat with a cornered mouse.

"Well, well." His voice rolled out like expensive bourbon, Brooklyn accent thick enough to cut. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, dangerous and knowing. "Ain't you just the sweetest little thing I've seen all week."

The words hit like a slap disguised as a caress. Heat crawled up your neck, part embarrassment, part something else entirely. Your hand tightened on the doorknob until your knuckles went white. "Mr. Barnes—"

"Bucky." He corrected, already pushing past you into the apartment like he had every right. The smell of him—rain and expensive tobacco, something darker underneath—invaded your lungs. "My father’s Mr. Barnes. I'm just Bucky, dollface."

He turned in your small foyer, giving you his back as he surveyed your apartment. The broad lines of his shoulders, the confident set of his stance—everything about him screamed danger. When he faced you again, his smile had sharpened into something predatory.

"You gonna close that door, sweetheart? Or you hoping the neighbors get a show?"

You pushed the door shut, the click of the lock loud as a gunshot in the tense silence. When you turned back, he'd moved closer—close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

"I don't have it." The words tumbled out too fast, fear making you graceless. "The money. I don't have it yet, but I'm working on—"

"Sure you are." He reached out, fingers catching your chin. The touch was light but inescapable, forcing you to hold his gaze. "Working real hard in that factory, bringing home, what? Twelve dollars a week? Fifteen if you pull doubles?" His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, and your breath caught. "At that rate, you'll have me paid off in... let's see... about five years. Not counting interest."

Your stomach dropped through the floor. "I can—there must be some arrangement—"

"Oh, there's gonna be an arrangement, sweetheart." His hand slid from your chin to your throat, palm resting against your racing pulse. "Just maybe not the kind you're thinking. See, I got a look at you through that window while I was waiting. Watched you doing dishes like a good little housewife. And I got to thinking—waste of a perfectly good dame, letting you work your fingers to the bone in some factory."

"Please." The word came out breathless, his proximity affecting you in ways that made shame curl hot in your belly. "I'll do anything—"

"Anything?" His eyes flashed with interest, and you realized your mistake immediately. "Now that's dangerous talk, baby. Girl like you shouldn't make promises she ain't prepared to keep."

You tried to step back, but he followed, crowding you against the wall. This close, you could see the rain droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, could count the faint freckles across his nose. Could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace.

"You're shaking," he observed, voice dropping to a rumble. "Do I scare you, pretty girl?"

"Yes." The honesty escaped before you could stop it.

"Good." His free hand came up to brace against the wall beside your head, caging you in. "You should be scared. But see, I'm looking at you, and I'm not seeing scared. I'm seeing something else." His thumb stroked along your throat, feeling your pulse jump. "I'm seeing curious. Interested. Like maybe part of you wonders what it would be like to stop being such a good girl all the time."

The heat in your face could have lit the whole building. "That's not—I'm not—"

"You know what I think?" He leaned closer, until his breath fanned across your cheek. "I think you've been cooped up in this apartment, playing nurse to your old man, working yourself to death, never having any fun. When's the last time a fella took you dancing? Bought you a nice dinner? Made you feel like a woman instead of a workhorse?"

"That's none of your business—"

"Everything about you is my business now." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. "Your daddy made sure of that when he put his name on my books. But I'm willing to be... flexible about collection methods."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled back enough to study your face, and his expression shifted to something calculating. "How about we discuss this civilized-like? You got coffee in this joint?"

The whiplash of his mood change left you dizzy. "I—yes?"

"Good." He stepped back, giving you room to breathe at last. "Make us some coffee, and we'll hash this out like adults. Unless you'd rather I just take what I can carry and call it square? Though looking around..." He glanced at your shabby furniture, the worn rug, the water stain on the ceiling. "Doesn't look like that'd cover even the interest."

You pushed off from the wall on unsteady legs, grateful for the excuse to put distance between you. "Coffee. Right. I can—yes."

He followed you into the kitchen, and somehow the small space shrank even further with him in it. You were hyper aware of him as you moved—the weight of his gaze, the sound of his breathing, the way he dominated the room without even trying.

"Sit," you managed, gesturing at the kitchen table. Annoyed at your own automatic hospitality. "Please."

"Such nice manners." But he sat, pulling out a chair and settling into it like a king on a throne. His eyes tracked your movements as you lit the stove. "Your mother teach you those?"

"Yes." The word came out clipped as you measured coffee grounds with shaking hands.

"She teach you anything else?" The question was loaded with suggestion. "How to take care of a man? Make him comfortable? Keep him happy?"

You fumbled the coffee pot, nearly dropping it. "She taught me to be respectable."

"Respectable." He drew the word out like it tasted funny. "That's real nice, dollface. Real nice and real boring."

The chair creaked as he shifted, and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. He caught you looking and winked, the gesture somehow more threatening than flirtatious.

"See something you like?"

You turned back to the stove quickly, face burning. "The coffee will be ready in a minute."

"Take your time. I'm enjoying the view."

You could feel his eyes on you as you worked, cataloging every movement. It made you self-conscious in a way that was entirely new—aware of how your dress pulled across your hips when you reached for cups, how the kitchen light probably showed the outline of your slip through the thin fabric.

"You know," he said conversationally, "most people in your position would be trying to butter me up right about now. Batting their lashes, showing a little leg, trying to work an angle. But not you."

"Would it help?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, curious and appalled.

His laugh was dark, appreciative. "Might. Depends on how good you are at it. You even know how to flirt, baby? Or did your respectable mama skip that lesson?"

"I know how to be honest."

"Honest." He sounded amused now. "All right, let's have some honesty then. Turn around. Let me get a good look at what we're working with."

Your hands stilled on the percolator. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Turn around. Slow-like."

"I'm not a piece of meat at the butcher's—"

"No, you're collateral on a debt." All humor fled his voice. "And I'm trying to figure out what that collateral's worth. So be a good girl and turn around before I lose my patience."

The threat in his tone was unmistakable. You set the percolator on the stove with careful movements, then slowly turned to face him.

He'd stubbed out his cigarette and was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes moved over you with clinical precision, taking in everything from your scuffed shoes to your mended collar.

"Come here."

Your feet felt like lead. "The coffee—"

"Will keep." He crooked a finger at you. "I said come here."

You moved forward on unsteady legs until you stood before him. This close, you had to look down to meet his eyes, and the position made you feel strangely powerful for a moment. Until he spoke again.

"Turn." He made a spinning motion with his finger. "Let's see the whole package."

Humiliation burned through you, but what choice did you have? You turned in a slow circle, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling his gaze like hands on your body.

"Stop."

You froze, back to him now.

"You got a nice figure under all that fabric." His voice had roughened. "Real nice. Too bad you hide it under these nun clothes."

"They're work clothes—"

"They're a crime, is what they are." You heard the chair scrape and then he was behind you, not touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. "A body like yours should be draped in silk. Shown off in pretty dresses that hug these curves."

His hands hovered near your waist, not quite making contact. "Yeah, I could work with this. Put you in something nice, teach you how to walk in heels, how to smile pretty for the right people..."

"I don't understand." Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy.

"Sure you do." His breath stirred the hair at your nape. "Your daddy owes me a grand. You got maybe fifty bucks worth of stuff in this whole joint. That leaves us with a sizeable gap. But you?" His hands finally settled on your waist, light but possessive. "You could be worth something. If you're smart about it."

You jerked away from his touch, spinning to face him. "I'm not—I won't—"

"Won't what?" He moved back to lean against the counter, casual as could be. "Won't let me help you? Won't take the deal that keeps you out of the gutter? What exactly won't you do, princess?"

"I won't be your whore." The word tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Who said anything about whoring?" He looked genuinely amused. "If I wanted a whore, I know where to find them. Hell, for a grand I could have a whole stable. What I need is something different."

The percolator started to bubble. You turned to tend to it, needing the familiar action to steady yourself. "Then what do you need?"

"A girl on my arm. Someone respectable. Clean. The kind of dame you bring home to meet the family, not the kind you bang in the back of a Studebaker."

Your hands shook as you poured coffee. "I don't—why would you need that?"

"Because even bad men got mothers." He accepted the cup you offered, fingers brushing yours in the exchange. "And mine's been breaking my balls about settling down. Finding a nice girl, giving her grandkids, the whole nine yards."

"So find one."

"I did." His eyes locked on yours over the rim of his cup. "She's standing right in front of me, looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth."

"I'm not nice." The protest sounded weak even to your ears. "And I'm certainly not your girl."

"Not yet." He set down the coffee, leaning forward. "But you could be. For a price."

You sank into the chair across from him, suddenly exhausted. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Simple. You be my steady girl. Come to family dinners, work events, anywhere I need a pretty face and good manners. In exchange, I knock a hundred bucks off your debt for every major shindig. Fifty for smaller stuff."

Your mind raced, doing the math. "That would take—"

"Few months, tops. I got a busy social calendar." He pulled out another cigarette but didn't light it, just rolled it between his fingers. "Unless you'd prefer to pay it off the traditional way? Though at twelve bucks a week..."

"Why me?" The question burst out before you could stop it. "You could have any girl in Brooklyn. Pretty ones. Experienced ones. Ones who actually know how to—to be what you need."

"Those girls got histories. Reputations. They know the score and they want things—marriage, money, status." He finally lit the cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. "You? You're clean. Untouched. Got that wide-eyed innocent thing that'll make my mother cream her panties."

The crude comparison made you flinch. "Do you have to be so vulgar?"

"Does it bother you?" He leaned forward, predatory interest sparking in his eyes. "Good girls like you probably never heard a man talk about real things. About what we want. What we think about when we see a dame like you all buttoned up and proper."

"Stop."

"You know what I thought when I saw you through that window?" He continued as if you hadn't spoken. "Thought about how easy it'd be to mess you up. Wrinkle that pressed dress. Pull those pins from your hair. Make you look like you'd been properly fucked instead of washing dishes like somebody's spinster aunt."

Heat flooded your face and pooled low in your belly. "You're disgusting."

"I'm honest." He flicked ash into one of the sympathy cards, watching your face as he defiled it. "And if you're honest with yourself, you'd admit you've wondered. What it would be like. What I could teach you."

"I haven't—"

"Liar." The word was soft, almost affectionate. "Bet you've been locked up in this apartment so long you're climbing the walls. Bet you lie in that narrow bed at night, touching yourself, wondering when you're gonna get to live a little."

Blood roared in your ears. "How dare you—"

"Tell you what." He stood abruptly, and you shrank back in your chair. "I'm gonna make this real simple. You got three choices. One: you find a way to pay me cash. Full amount, by end of the week."

"You know I can't—"

"Two: I take what I can get and put the word out that you're in the market for alternative employment. Plenty of houses downtown need fresh faces. Young, pretty, desperate—you'd do real well."

Nausea rolled through your stomach. "Please—"

"Or three." He moved around the table toward you. "You take my deal. Be my girl when I need you. Play the part, look pretty, keep your mouth shut when it matters and open when I tell you to."

You stood on shaking legs, backing away. "I need time to think—"

"No." He caught your wrist, not hard but firm. "You need to decide. Right now. Because I got other stops to make tonight, and I ain't coming back here without an answer."

"You can't just—"

"I can. I am." He pulled you closer, until barely a breath separated you. "But here's something to sweeten the pot. You say yes, and I'll throw in a kiss. Just one. So you know what you're signing up for."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "That's supposed to convince me?"

"Yeah." His free hand came up to cup your jaw. "Because you've been wondering since I walked in what it would be like. And baby?" His thumb stroked across your cheekbone. "I'm really fucking good at it."

Something unfamiliar and ugly stirred in your stomach. "You're unbelievably arrogant."

"I'm right." He tilted your face up. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna be smart? Or you gonna let pride cost you everything?"

You stared up at him, this beautiful, terrible man who held your future in his callused hands. Thought of your father's debts, of rent coming due, of the factory girls with their hollow eyes and rattling coughs. Thought of your empty bed and empty future and empty stomach when the money ran out.

"Sundays," you heard yourself say, voice wavering. "I get Sundays. To visit my parents' graves."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or respect. "Done."

"And I want... boundaries. You can't just—just take whatever you want."

"Be specific."

Your face burned, heat flooding your cheeks. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth. "No... expectations. Beyond what we agree to. I won't share your bed. Won't be your—your kept woman."

"Kept woman." He seemed to taste the words. "That's real delicate, dollface. But let's be clear about something." His grip on your wrist tightened slightly. "You'll be living in my house. Wearing clothes I buy. Eating food I provide. If that ain't kept, I don't know what is."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" He released your wrist only to settle both hands on your waist, holding you in place. "But fine. I won't drag you to my bed. Won't force nothing you don't want. But baby?" His voice dropped to a growl. "You're gonna want it. Gonna beg for it before this is over."

"Never."

"We'll see." His hands flexed on your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs through the fabric. "So is that a yes? You'll be my girl?"

The word stuck in your throat. Girl. Such a simple word for such a complex trap. But what choice did you have?

"Yes."

Triumph flashed across his face, sharp and predatory. "Good choice, honey. Now come here and seal the deal."

"You said a kiss. Just one."

"That's right." He backed you against the kitchen counter, caging you in with his body. "Just one. Better make it count."

Your hands came up to his chest automatically, whether to push him away or pull him closer, you couldn't tell. The expensive fabric of his suit was soft under your palms, the body beneath it hard as granite.

"I haven't—" The admission stumbled out. "I don't know how—"

"I know." His hand slid into your hair, pins scattering to the floor with tiny metallic sounds. "That's what makes this so fucking sweet. Now shut up and let me teach you something."

You had just enough time to suck in a breath before his mouth covered yours.

The first contact sent lightning racing down your spine. His lips were softer than they had any right to be, warm and sure as they pressed against yours. You made a sound—a squeak of pure shock that would have mortified you if you could think—and your entire body went rigid.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips. "Relax, baby. I ain't gonna bite. Not this time."

Then he was kissing you again, slow and patient, like he had all night to take you apart. His hand in your hair tilted your head for a better angle while the other splayed across your lower back, holding you steady. The counter edge dug into your spine but you barely noticed, too overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth moving against yours.

You'd been kissed before—brief, dry pecks that left no impression. This was something else entirely. This was... consumption. He kissed like he was trying to brand himself onto your soul, like he wanted to ruin you for anyone else who might try.

Your hands fisted in his shirt as the shock began to wear off, replaced by something hotter, hungrier. Your body softened against his without your permission, melting into his heat like wax near a flame. He made a sound of approval that rumbled through his chest and into yours.

"That's it," he murmured, breaking away to trail his lips along your jaw. "Good girl. Such a good girl, opening up for me."

"I'm not—" But your protest died as he found a spot just below your ear that made your knees buckle.

"Yeah, you are." His teeth scraped against your pulse point, light enough not to mark but sharp enough to make you gasp. "So sweet. So fucking innocent. Makes me want to wreck you."

His mouth returned to yours before you could respond, and this time there was nothing patient about it. He kissed you like he was starving and you were a feast, like he wanted to crawl inside you and live there. When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you understood what he wanted without being told.

The first slide of his tongue against yours pulled a sound from your throat you'd never made before—desperate, needy, completely involuntary. Your whole body shuddered, a tremor that started at the base of your spine and rolled outward like an earthquake.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth, and the profanity should have appalled you. Instead, it made heat pool between your thighs in a way that had you pressing them together. "Christ, you're shaking for me. You that worked up from just a kiss?"

You tried to answer, but he was already kissing you again, deeper this time. His tongue stroked against yours with devastating skill, teaching you a rhythm that made your head spin. You tried to follow his lead, to give back what you were getting, and when your tongue tentatively met his, he growled like a man possessed.

His hand tightened in your hair, holding you still as he plundered your mouth. The other hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise through the fabric. You should have protested the possessive handling. Instead, you arched into him, seeking more contact, more pressure, more everything.

Time lost meaning. The world narrowed to his mouth on yours, his hands holding you in place, the solid weight of him pressing you into the counter. Your lungs burned for air but you couldn't bear to break away, too drunk on the taste of him—coffee and cigarettes and something darker, essentially male.

He bit your bottom lip, a sharp nip that made you gasp, then soothed it with his tongue. The alternating pain and pleasure short-circuited something in your brain. Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, messing his perfect style, pulling him closer.

"Jesus," he panted against your mouth. "Look at you. Coming apart for me already. I barely touched you and you're about to combust."

"Shut up," you managed, and pulled his head back down.

He laughed into the kiss, dark and delighted. "There she is. There's that fire I knew was hiding under all that propriety."

His hips pressed forward, pinning you more firmly against the counter, and you felt—oh God. The hard length of him pressed against your belly, obvious even through layers of fabric. The evidence of his arousal should have terrified you. Instead, it made you feel powerful. You did that. You, with your inexperience and nun clothes and good girl manners.

He must have felt your realization because he ground against you deliberately, making sure you felt every inch. "Yeah, baby. That's what you do to me. Got me hard as a fucking rock just from kissing you."

The crude words made your face flame, but lower, between your legs, something clenched with want. You pressed your thighs together harder, trying to ease the ache building there.

"You feel it too, don't you?" His mouth moved to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. "That need. That empty feeling that wants filling. Bet if I put my hand under that ugly dress, I'd find you soaking wet for me."

You shuddered. "Don't—"

"Don't what? Don't tell the truth? Don't make you face what your body already knows?" He bit down where your neck met your shoulder, hard enough to mark, and your vision whited out. "You can lie to yourself all you want, dollface. But your body's honest. It knows who it belongs to now."

His mouth returned to yours, swallowing any protest you might have made. This kiss was filthier, deeper, his tongue fucking into your mouth in a rhythm that made your hips move involuntarily. You were making sounds—desperate, needy little whimpers that would have mortified you if you could think. But thinking was impossible with his hands on you, his mouth devouring yours, his body caging you in like you were something precious he refused to let escape.

You didn't know how long he kissed you. Minutes? Hours? Days? Time meant nothing in the face of such overwhelming sensation. You were drowning in him, in the taste and smell and feel of him, and the terrifying part was that you didn't want to surface for air.

When he finally pulled back, you both were breathing like you'd run a marathon. His perfectly styled hair was completely wrecked, sticking up where your fingers had gripped. His lips were swollen, slick with your shared saliva. And his eyes—God, his eyes were nearly black with want, only a thin ring of blue remaining.

You probably looked worse. You could feel how swollen your lips were, how flushed your face must be. Your hair had come completely undone, falling around your shoulders in waves. And between your legs... you squeezed your thighs together, mortified by the wetness you could feel there.

"Look at you," he said, voice rough as gravel. "Thoroughly kissed. Marked up. Looking like somebody's been taking real good care of you."

His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you couldn't help the way your tongue flicked out to taste it. His eyes flared with heat.

"Fuck." The word came out strangled, and something shifted in his expression—a flicker of vulnerability that disappeared so fast you might have imagined it. His jaw clenched. "Christ, no wonder your old man kept you locked up. One kiss and you're ready to spread your legs for the first man who shows you a good time."

The cruel words hit like cold water, shocking after the heat of his kiss. You flinched, and his smile turned mean.

"What? Thought this was some fairy tale? Thought I'd kiss you and fall in love?" He laughed, but it sounded forced. "You really are green, aren't you? This is business, dollface. Nothing more."

"I know what this is," you managed, though your voice shook.

"Do you?" He pulled out a wad of cash, thick enough to make your eyes widen, and tossed it carelessly on the table. It landed next to your father's sympathy cards, the bills fanning out like an insult. "Buy yourself something that doesn't look like it came from a church rummage sale. Something that shows you got tits. Maybe some lipstick that won't come off so easy."

Your face burned with humiliation. "I don't need your money—"

"Yeah, you do." He was already at the door, not looking at you. "Eight o'clock tomorrow. Don't be late. And dollface?" He glanced back, but his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "Try not to read too much into this. You're a debt and a convenience. That's all."

The door closed behind him with a soft click. Your knees immediately gave out, and you slid down the counter to sit on the floor, fingers pressed to lips that still tingled from his kiss.

What had you done? What had you agreed to? And why did his cruel dismissal hurt more than it should?

You could still taste him. Still feel the phantom pressure of his hands, his mouth, his body holding you in place. Your skin felt too tight, like you might burst out of it at any moment. And between your legs...

You pressed your thighs together harder, but it only made the ache worse. He'd kissed you like he was drowning, held you like you were precious, then tossed money at you like you were exactly what he'd implied—a piece of goods to be purchased and dressed up.

But you'd felt the way his hands shook, just slightly, when he pulled away. Heard the rough catch in his voice before he covered it with cruelty. He could pretend all he wanted that you were just business, but his body had told a different story.

You sat on your kitchen floor until your breathing returned to normal, staring at the money scattered across your table. More cash than you'd seen in months, thrown at you like scraps to a dog. Part of you wanted to burn it. The practical part knew you'd spend it on exactly what he demanded—a dress that would make you look like you belonged in his world, even if you never would.

You'd agreed to be Bucky Barnes'... what? Pretend sweetheart? Fake companion? The terminology from your mother's generation felt antiquated, but his “girl" seemed too modern, too casual for whatever this arrangement was.

One thing was certain—you were in deep trouble. Because despite his cruel words, despite the dismissive way he'd thrown money at you like you were nothing, you were going to dream about him. About the way he'd kissed you like he wanted to consume you whole. About the hardness pressed against your belly and the way he'd groaned into your mouth like you were unraveling him.

About the split second before his mask slipped back into place, when he'd looked at you like you'd shaken something loose in him he hadn't expected.

The coffee had gone cold on the table. The sympathy cards lay scattered, defiled with ash and now mocked by dirty money. Tomorrow you'd walk into the Barnes family home on the arm of their enforcer. Tomorrow you'd start playing a role that might destroy everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Tonight, you climbed to your feet on shaky legs and gathered the bills with trembling fingers. You'd buy the dress. Play the part. Be his empty-headed arm candy who didn't know she was being used.

But you knew the truth, even if he didn't want to admit it. That kiss had shaken him just as much as it had destroyed you. And maybe, just maybe, that gave you more power than either of you realized.

You touched your swollen lips one more time, remembering not just the heat of his mouth, but the way he'd said "fuck" like the word had been punched out of him. Like you'd affected him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

Eight o'clock tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to play a part you'd never auditioned for. How to be the kind of girl who belonged on Bucky Barnes' arm. How to survive in his world without losing yourself completely.

But as you got ready for bed, the money tucked away in your kitchen drawer, you wondered if the real danger wasn't in losing yourself.

It was in finding out that maybe, underneath all his cruelty and dismissal, James Barnes was just as lost as you were.

feedback is always appreciated ♡

[gotaksboyfie]

haiihii ! i love your hc and oneshots a lot like..i feed and breathe off of them! i hope youre finals went well and congratulations if they did ! (i knew you had it in the bag) 🫡🫡

could i maybe request boyfriend and nsfw hc for suho since i dont think you've done that and i love him sm 💔(not more than gotak my favourite forever)

–🥩

ahn suho bf + nsfw hc's

general

gif creds: @seolinguk

» love at first sight trope personified. the second he lays eyes on you, he just knows you're the one. silently pines until the Right Moment and sweeps you off your feet

» love language is physical touch for sure. he's so cuddly. at home, he refuses to detach himself from your back. his hands are wrapped around your waist, and you two have to do a weird waddle to go anywhere until you decide to lay/sit down

» tones it down a little in public, but doesn't hide his affection for you. it doesn't come from a sense of possessiveness, but just the need to be close to you constantly

» buys you a matching pillow to nap on. if he switches it out for his so you can smell him whenever you use it, that's a secret between him and no one (sieun knows, but that's because suho blabbers about everything he does to you)

» likes it when you come over during his shifts. you come because he gets so smiley, even if it's a little hard to study with the smell of bbq everywhere. it helps get the random girls hitting on him away, and just having you there is a bonus to suho

» spoon feeds you every bite. you just have to sit there because there's an automatic feeder in front of you. he barely even waits for you to be done chewing before he's shoving in another leaf wrap

» never ever get hurt in his presence or else he's gonna go full helicopter boyfriend on you. you're never leaving his side for the next week and he'll be your personal boyguard

» teaches you how to defend yourself against others just in case too. you learn his flashy mma moves along with the easier ones. most of the time, sparring ends with you falling flat on your ass unless he takes mercy on you

» honestly acts more like a mother hen than a boyfriend. he fusses over you and scolds you constantly over your health, leaving you there like a kicked puppy because you didn't ask for a health lesson about junk food and it's negative effects :( you just want to snack in peace. of course he'll follow it up with lots and lots of kisses, telling you how he's just looking out for you

» very nervous about introducing you to his grandma. the two most important people in his life meeting—what if something goes wrong? he knows he's being irrational, but he just wants everything to go smoothly. but turns out he was just worrying for nothing, since you and his grandma got along very well bonding over suho

» absolute loverboy. he's head over heels for you. overall one of the best boyfriends in the cast honestly

nsfw

» gentle and sweet at first, but loses control fast. he can't hold back against you, leading to him thrusting into you sharply after just a couple minutes

» on the skinnier side, maybe a little bigger than 6in

» a body worshipper. he loves each and every part of you. if suho even catches wind of you not liking something about yourself, he will make you believe that you are perfect in every aspect by showering you in praise and kisses

» not a fan of degregation, but if you like it he's down. prefers to tell you how good you're being, how tight you feel, and how beautiful you look underneath him

» takes the lead . if you're not already a pillow princess, you might as well start being one with suho around. you don't have to lift a single finger, he'll take care of you regardless

» puts your pleasure above his (unless you really pissed him off). he gets off just looking at you alone, so he focuses more on you. for every orgasm he has, you'll have double by the end of it

» not super kinky but is open to it. he doesn't really care about it because he thinks that the experience is already the best it can possibly be as long as it's with you

» likes watching his cum leak out of you, but is also scared of pregnancy so he opts for a condom most of the time

fin

a/n i'm SO sorry this took forever 😭😭

[writteninthebinds]

Tommy and Joel Miller nsfw.

Pt. 2 of “You think they’d make me choose?”

The ride back to Jackson is uneventful, although quiet. Dina throws you a few silent looks. You both shrug your shoulders as if to say what’s their deal?

Luckily, forever the extrovert and queen of I’ll talk myself out of this, Dina does. She talks and talks and ask questions the whole ride back. The weed is a sweet kindling for her attitude, her energy.

She ask Joel about the latest things he’s been building for himself, his woodworking. She gets Tommy talking about his rifle too and the last time he got to go practice long range.

Dina doesn’t miss a beat. She never acknowledges the difference in tension, the thickness in the air. You can feel their eyes on you, peering back ever so often, lingering.

You tell yourself it’s just because you’re being a little more quiet than normal. You know them, how they worry and pick up on any little thing.

Deep down you know you’re wrong.

It’s not until later, until you get back to Jackson, with the horses put away and fed, sun setting fast behind the mountains. It’s not until you’re finally back in your house, standing in front of your fridge, that there’s a soft knock at the back door.

A peek through the curtain shows Joel. He gives the smallest hint of a smile, nods.

You pull the door open with a sigh, the words already tumbling out of your mouth as you start to explain, “Listen, Joel..I know, I know how you feel about the weed..”

Your sentence trails off into the frigid air of the night when you notice it’s not just Joel, but Tommy too.

He stands a little farther back, leaning against one of the pillars of your porch, shoulders dusted lightly with fresh snow. Tommy’s got this look on his face that you can’t read.

Your body language drops, face pulling back. A scoff shoves past your lips as you say, “Oh come on, I’m not in that much trouble, am I? Over a little weed?”

“Ain’t here about the weed.”

His response is immediate, kicks your words in the heels with how fast and sure it comes.

Joel’s voice is unnervingly warm despite the cold. There’s no clattering of teeth or stutter to his breath. It’s just smooth, like velvet, like syrup. Something about it heats your belly from the inside out.

You stand there frozen for a moment. The looks on their faces, the lack of words, it scares you a little.

They notice. They always notice.

Joel hums, drawing your attention back to him from where your eyes had drifted to Tommy.

He gives you a blinding smile. It’s brief, but one that could melt the panties off of a nun.

“We just wanna talk, ‘s all.”

You blink. Swallow.

But before you can say anything else, Joel’s coming in. The steps he takes are dominating. He walks you backwards into your own house without a hand on you.

“Joel.”

You breathe his name more than speak it.

He doesn’t stop.

The fuzzy socks on your feet slide easily against the hardwood floors of your kitchen. Joel’s boots echo loudly, thumping against the wood.

The Miller brothers are not small men. Joel towers over you, shoulders broad enough to cast shadows over your entire frame.

The sound of more steps follow you both inside. Tommy’s.

A soft thud, a click. The door shuts.

Locks.

There’s a thundering in your ears, bending sound and muffling everything. It takes you a minute to realize it’s your heartbeat.

Joel crowds you until your lower back collides with the kitchen island. He cages you in, smelling like winter and smoke and the bay hale from the barn. Cold fingers clasp your jaw, puckering your lips. He gets close. He gets in your face.

“Tell me you meant it,” Joel rasp.

The words sound like they’re being scrapped from his throat. Raw and ragged. He breathes heavily through his nose.

There’s something raging in his eyes. It’s not arrogance or cockiness lacing Joel’s words. He’s not angry. No.

He’s desperate.

He looks like he’s barely holding back.

You try to shake your head, jaw still held tight. Your lips open and close in confusion. Eyebrows drawn, your gaze flickers to Tommy.

He steps closer, slower than Joel had. Who doesn’t budge by the way. No. He stays crowded in, all while Tommy joins.

Your heartbeat jump starts, back fires like a shit box car behind your breastbone.

With gentle fingers, Tommy pushes a few stray hairs from your eyes. His southern accent digs deep, rich and decadent when he finally, finally, speaks.

“All you had to do was ask, sweet girl…If you wanted us both. All you had to do was ask.”

It clicks then.

Panic floods your veins like ice water, but then Tommy’s mouth is on yours.

It’s a whirlwind, a heady combination for one hell of a high. The feeling of Joel’s grip stays on your face, his body heat bleeding into you, but it’s the warmth of Tommy’s mouth that meets yours.

You open up for him immediately, lips parting. Kissing Tommy feels as easy as breathing. Like crisp mountain air, a gentle creek, lazy Sundays. He smells like cinnamon, tastes like whiskey, like they had a drink before they came here.

The kiss is languid. You know it’s barely a fraction of what Tommy’s feeling, but you don’t have time to ask for more, or time to even open your eyes before Joel’s twisting your head, and slotting his own mouth over yours next.

This kiss is different. Joel’s different. He’s more..intense.

It’s still slow but it’s deeper, like he’s trying to swallow you whole, breathe you in. He tastes like whiskey too, and something else, something spiced.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your head spins, heart slamming against your ribcage with the same rhythm that your pussy throbs.

Bare legs stretched wide and draped over the outside of Joel’s thick thighs. Your back sits flushed with his chest. You’ve never felt anything like this. The way he holds you. It’s not rough. Hands built from years of hard work, a lifetime of violence, they caress you, sweep along your ribs and belly with a soft reverence.

And Tommy..

Tommy’s facial hair scrapes against your bare pussy. He drags the flat of his tongue from your hole to your clit, again and again, like he’s trying to lick right through you.

A moan slips from your throat, head falling back against Joel’s shoulder. He lets out a little teasing laugh, nose brushing the delicate line of your jaw.

Joel purrs, “You like his mouth, pretty girl?”

Tommy Miller is on his knees, eating your pussy like he’s starving for it, like you’re something to worship, all while you sit in his brother’s lap.

Wild black curls fall loose from his ponytail. His own eyes are blown wide, something dark swirled within. He hums straight into your sopping wet cunt.

Your nails dig into Joel’s arm where he holds you steady. You whimper, “Oh fuck. Joel..”

He coos at you, Joel, a little mockingly as he whispers, “I know, baby. I know. Who do you think taught him how to eat pussy like that?”

Joel pinches one of your nipples before he ask softly, “You want more?”

Like a cue, Tommy’s tongue isn’t the only thing touching your pussy anymore. He pulls back, bringing his fingers up and splitting them into a V, spreading you open.

You squirm, and whine a little when Tommy just holds you there and stares.

There’s a heavy beat of silence, a pause.

And then Tommy spits audibly.

Right onto your pussy.

It’s nasty, dirty. It makes your cheeks flush and burn. It even drags a moan from Joel, and it’s like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Fuck..let me feel her,” Joel grunts.

His hand is sliding down before the words finish leaving his mouth. He was never asking.

Calloused fingertips slip over your clit just as two thick ones push inside. They both curse beneath their breath and yours is stolen from you.

A beautiful stretch that rearranges your mind, your priorities. One that leaves you wondering why you don’t spend all your time like this. Hell, quit your damn job just to stay stuffed full of these beautiful, beautiful men.

There’s a chuckle that rises from beneath you, warm breath that ghost over the wet skin of your inner thigh. Tommy presses a kiss there, eyes playful and sparkling up at you when you manage to unroll your own.

Tommy’s voice is teasing, “If that’s the way you react to just two of my fingers, sweetheart..”

A bone deep shiver runs through you. A blissful little smirk blooms on your face.

You already sound wrecked, voice shaky when you ask, “What? You don’t think I can take cock?”

Simultaneous moans bounce off the cabinets of your kitchen, making you giggle. Joel gives your pussy a light slap, mouth right by your ear when he promises, “You’ll take them either way..won’t ya, baby? You’ll give us whatever we want?”

Tommy curses, feeling you clench around his fingers. You turn your head as much as the position allows, nose bumping somewhere near Joel’s beard before he leans forward. Slick mouths brushing, tongues swirling. You whimper for him.

Your eyes are glazed when you pull back, when you answer boldly, and honestly.

“…Give you whatever, let you both take whatever you want. Just use me,” you breathe.

That shifts something. All the oxygen gets sucked from the room. You feel it crackle and split the air. Tommy and Joel go tense, and then they melt, groaning like you’ve promised them both heaven and hell.

Joel’s hands are already gliding back up your body, wide and firm, finding the heated skin of your exposed chest, your hard nipples. He sounds different now.

“Make her cum,” he demands.

And you feel bold, a little head-rushed and giddy. So with your fingers still buried in Tommy’s hair, you tug hard.

“Yeah, make me cum,” you tease.

Tommy’s eyes snap like a whip with how fast they fly to yours. A shocked bark of a laugh burst from his mouth. You watch in real time as Tommy’s demeanor changes. Like a door opening or a thin curtain being drawn back, the warm light of your kitchen reveals something dark there. Your blood chills.

Joel chuckles behind you, spilling words of warning into your ear.

“Oh, you shouldn’t na done tha’ sweet girl.”

Still locked in the strangest, horniest, staring contest with Tommy, you ask quickly, “Why?”

Joel’s chest rumbles with more amusement.

“Cause he’s gonna wreck that pretty cunt now. Just remember you asked for it.”

And that’s the last thing that’s said before Tommy curls his fingers, with just a little cruelty. He digs into that spongey spot inside you, pulls at it, like he’s gonna pull his fingers out but he doesn’t. The motion tries to jerk you down Joel’s body with the force of it, but he holds tight.

Your pussy screams, squelches and drips, and talks to Tommy in the filthiest manner. He pivots. Pulls away from the spot that’s bound to bring you release, and he buries his fingers as far as they’ll go. He adds another, making your guts jump.

Three deep and dragging deliciously against your inner walls, the heat of his mouth returns as well.

“T-Tommy,” you gasp. Your nails scratch his scalp. He growls into your pussy.

It’s contradictory. Fingers ruthless, rough and speeding up, versus the steady suction on your clit.

It bows your back, heats your belly but cools your skin. Tommy suckles on your clit in sweet steady pulses, like it’s candy coated and like he’s got no where else to be.

You feel it, hear it too. It’s shameful. The noises he’s pulling from your mouth and your cunt. The soft but persistent torture to your nipples from Joel only douses everything in gasoline, building onto that fire in your belly.

It’s hot and sharp. This isn’t an orgasm you’re giving anymore, but one that Tommy’s hell bent on taking. His knees ache from the floor but it’s distant, numb, like he can’t really feel it. All he knows is the taste of you, and your orgasm that’s just out of reach. It’s close enough to nip with his teeth.

He pulls back suddenly and quick, delivering a single loud, hard and echoing slap to your clit. It sings, and he soothes it almost immediately with his tongue.

The sparks light up behind your eyelids and hipbones. Tommy’s fingers catch one last time, shoving hard and grinding against that ridge.

Like glass, you shatter. Thighs shaking, lungs tightening with the pleasure. You cum hard and messy on Tommy Miller’s tongue. He drinks all of it.

You come back to reality with the soothing motion of Joel’s palms running up and down your ribs. His beard tickling your shoulder.

There’s a smile on his face even though you can’t see it. He’s slowing everything down. He hums, “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

Your eyes crack open, limbs heavy and fuzzy.

Tommy’s finally slipped from his knees to sitting on the floor completely, leaning back against the kitchen island. He hadn’t stopped, shoving you further and further into your orgasm when it hit, and he played with your pussy, cleaned you up until you were shaking and jerking in Joel’s lap.

He looks wrecked, almost high. For the first time, you see the hard line of his cock still trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. You can feel Joel’s pressing into the small of your back.

You heave a breath, a cracked hum slipping from your chest as you turn your head to Joel. You bury your face into the space beneath his jaw, nuzzling him like a needy kitten. The words finally come.

“More..can we..?”

He answers with a tightening squeeze of his arms, “Yeah? You sure, baby?”

You nod quickly but soft, almost shy. Joel chuckles at your sweet sated behavior. He delivers two firm pats to your hip before ordering you, “You can have more, sweetheart. Thank Tommy first.”

And just like that, you’re slipping from Joel’s lap. Tommy practically has to catch you as you drop to meet him on the floor. Your legs are still trembling.

Tommy’s got this starry look on his face now, like he loves seeing you like this, post orgasm, all cuddly, a little silly. The crinkles by his eyes are prominent as he smiles.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers back.

You kiss him this time. Quick, before he can take charge. His beard is still soaked with your juices, slicking your own face when you crash your mouths together. You moan at the taste of yourself. Tommy groans at your desperateness, at the way you chase the taste of your pussy on his tongue, like it turns you on.

He has to grip your jaw, rip you away when his lungs burn too deeply. You fight him, trying to pull him back.

“Easy..easy, sweet girl. You can have all you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises against your lips.

And then you’re being lifted. Joel’s arms slip beneath your knees and your back, carrying your naked body towards the hall that leads to your bedroom.

This ended up being way longer than I thought it’d be. I tagged a few people who wanted part 2. Might eventually make an actual tag list. Let me know if you’d like to be on it! Thank you guys. 🫶🏼

Pt. 3 of what goes down in the bedroom??? 😏

[mottysith]

Hi! I was wondering if you could make a part 2 of the Itrapped x GN!Reader x Chance, I'd really like to know how they'd react to seeing each other in the forsakened realm

Pairing: Chance x Reader x Itrapped Love triangle

Warnings: Angst, violence.

I hope you liked this! I wrote this with love... maybe.

When Chance at first noticed your presence they couldn't believe their eyes, out of everyone in this world you had to be forsakened? He would be very, very tense around you, making everyone notice that something happened between you two.

Your relationship with Chance would be awkwards at first, with Chance most of the time avoiding you like a champ. Maybe they will try to help you by stunning the killer, but thats it.

But don't get me wrong, Chance doesn't want you dying or suffering. Yet for his own sake just avoid Chance just as they avoid you. After all is better and way easier that way instead of trying to solve all the unresolved tension between you two.

The slight glances he gives you everytime they encounter you around the cabin, not hate or anything like that but a nostalgic fondness of your friendship. Or how you gulp everytime Chance strays too close to you.

The other survivors would really try to get you two together, not in a romantic way, but for you two to finally bond considering the unnecesary tension you and Chance cause around the cabin everytime you two cross paths.

If you ask for forgiveness Chance would actually forgive you and move on from that, since they know you weren't exactly on your right state of mind but drugged by Itrapped. Yet they won't tell you that, is better to just ignore that little fact and fault you more than blaming Itrapped for his actions, because deep down even if the gambler doesn't want to admit it, they still miss and love Itrapped deeply.

It is possible for you two to become friends again, but sadly it wouldn't end very well, because it would ignite feelings once more on your heart once more, faling over heels for the gambler once more. Even if you don't want it this time.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

When Itrapped first saw you as a little suvivor in one of his rounds, he couldn't believe his eyes, he was even more than excited, he was fascinated. How smart of the spectre, Itrapped mentally thanked him.

Your relationship with Itrapped is totally horrible, a constant game of cat and mouse, except the mouse is given in an almost silver plate to the cat.

The spectre really seemed to have Itrapped's back, by giving you habilities that are useful with everyone else except him. Making you useless everytime you are against him.

Itrapped toys with you a lot, mostly killing your oh so lovely Chance right in front of you in rounds, festing on your horrified face when your silly crush was totally murdered by him. It feels like he is in power.

Itrapped mostly leaves you for LMS just to have some more few seconds around you, yet don't think he will let you alive for much. Itrapped loves to take his time murdering you, hearing your skin tear as blood slowly start to coat both your clothing, or the sound of your bones breaking being louder than your cries.

It is just so whismisical to him to do that to you, finally having you finally in his grasp like he do desired before. His love was never totally pure or truth, in fact it was only obsession. Of Itrapped truly loved he would never do that to you, and he fully knows that. Itrapped is aware that his love for you is obsession.

Though don't let him kill you easily, or he might get bored of you and stop putting you as a priority on his kill list. a win for you I suppose.

Don't try to plead with him, is useless. Itrapped knows way to well what he is doing. Your best strategy is to just run away from him, just like you did outside of this forsakened realm.

Itrapped accidentally forces you to team up with Chance for survival, due to Itrapped mostly leaving you two for last, to have the thrill of the chase.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Everytime you three encounter each other during rounds is traumatically horrible, with there being a lot of untold history between you three, history that ends being better being untold.

The unresolved feeling revolve in the air, making it real uncomfortable and awkward between you and Chance, and a feast for the betrayer.

The other survivors outside the love triangle know that something is up, yet they are unwilling to do something about Itrapped, only concentrating on you and Chance.

And considering how tense you or Chance get when asked about it, the other survivors prefer to not indulge too much into it.

Yeah... it's better if you just go no contact with both of them and go to therapy. Though in this realm that is sadly not possible.

Notes: I did this at my school break so I hope you liked this!

[dragonmasterhiccup]

"It was important. I would have been stuck in that cell for a month, with a painful tail if you hadn't talked to my dad." Gently squeezing her hand, his eyes showed his gratitude, "Thank you, Astrid."

While Astrid spoke with her parents, Hiccup knew he shouldn't linger in the healers hut.

Strapping his prosthetic back to his stump, it was still a little sore, but he'd just be careful until he could give it a proper rest.

Axel's addressing of the merman caused him to look up at the older man, the news coming as a surprise. He paused, locking eyes with Astrid, before being able to speak. Turning back to Axel, he gave a shocked nod. "...Yeah! It, it must be! Listen, I'll meet you all back at the house, I need to discuss a few things with my dad..."

Giving Astrid a peck on the cheek, he thanked her parents and Gothi before rushing out the door.

🐟

It took longer than he planned, but he made it to where his father was.

Along the way, Berkians clapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him on getting his legs. Some didn't acknowledge him, which he honestly preferred. Others simply did a double take, but that was very few.

Stoick turned at the sound of footsteps, his eyes darting to his sons human form before meeting his eyes. "Hiccup! I heard the lass will be just fine. Good on you, getting her back in time."

"Yeah, well... couldn't have done it without that current you gave us," he then nodded to the blacksmith, "Hey, Gobber. Looks like you and dad got caught up, yeah?"

Stoick motioned for Hiccup join them. "Come, we need to talk."

"We do," Hiccup agreed, settling in beside his father. "But, you first." If his father was going to allow him to marry Astrid, he should know whether he can ask Stoick to be a part of the necessary negotiations Axel described based on what the merking said.

Stoick sighed. "We spoke of this a little in the ocean, but I was wrong, about many things. I want to make things right. Whether you live on land or in the sea, you're still my son."

Testing the waters, Hiccup replied, "Does this mean you view humans differently than before?"

The king nodded.

Going further, he asked, "If I wanted to...marry a particular human... would you... would you still support me in that?"

Stoick's eyes sparkled as he began to chuckle, "You better be talking about that blonde lass you shared your breath with! I wouldn't approve of any other for you, save for her!"

"Really?"

"Of course!"

Running a hand through his hair, Hiccup didn't have the words, "Dad, I...thanks! I mean, it's clearly her, there's never been anyone else! It's just...the Vikings have these traditions..."

"Keep going."

🐟

They talked for a while, and by the time they were through, the sun dipped low on the horizon.

Stoick confirmed that the merfolk simply had to be present at the ceremony, and the marriage would count for their law as well. He agreed to take part in the negotiations, so long as Axel could meet him at the dock. He wasn't ready to walk on land just yet.

"That dowry of hers," Stoick said, "that will be your responsibility. I'll have someone deliver those pearls to you in two days, and any other belongings you would like to have on land with you. But son, I'd like to talk with her again." He had a few more questions for Astrid. "See if she's well enough to come here tomorrow. If not, I will wait until she is ready."

They said their goodbyes, Stoick awkwardly embracing his son before diving back in the water.

🐟

Hiccup returned to the Hoffersons after nightfall, asking to speak with Axel in private.

Once they were away from the others, he caught his future father in law up on all his dad agreed to, ending with meeting him at the dock to speak negotiations when the time came.

"I want to ask Astrid once she recovers. I have a bit of a plan..." He was going to take her to the beach where they met at sunset, and ask her then.

"Hey--thank you," he told Axel, "For, for letting me stay here, giving me a chance to get to know Astrid. Meeting her...it changed my life!"

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[harunovella]

I love you / I'm sorry

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ you should've known better than to go head first into a battle against wanderers after having a heated argument with your boyfriend... you should've listened to him, maybe you wouldn't be on the brink of death, beginning to see caleb one last time... | caleb x mc!reader

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ cw: blood/violence, mentioned argument, angst with a happy ending, overprotective caleb, caleb goes absolutely ape shit on the man who tries to kill you/like completely psycho and we're so here for that!, apologies, making out, no prep p in v, literal idiots in love! also... it's the future so wounds totally heal insanely fast, right? don't question it

The world around you was spinning. There was a dull ache throbbing at the back of your head, a migraine pounding through your skull. Your body was on fire, limbs heavy and unmoving. A burning sensation shot through your chest, a hiss leaving your parted lips, panting and gasping for air like a fish out of water. Debris coating the ground surrounding you, the environment in utter chaos. 

You were alone, weren’t you? Fighting off Wanderers with no back up. You’d die like this if you didn’t try to make a move—and quick . The last time you checked, before you were flung into a crumbling wall, there had been several more Wanderers you hadn’t executed. 

Fuck, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut when the searing pain in your chest came in waves. It was becoming hard to breathe. You were hurting, it was unbearable. 

There was a loud ringing in your ears, a groan rumbling in your throat as you fought to at least curl your fingers, to assure yourself you weren’t paralyzed. That you could still move some parts of your body—something, anything to let you know you weren’t truly done for. 

That was until you started violently coughing—the faint faith you had in yourself to make it out alive was growing terrifyingly slim. 

The flames burned bright and smoke filled your lungs. Your chest ached from the rough jostling of your coughing. Your blurred vision shifted from the distant figures, down to the metal pipe sticking out of your chest. A deeper panic filled your veins, eyes wide at the realization that your injury was much worse than you had believed it to be. A violent cough left you, your arm weakly shifting as your hand pressed against your mouth. Your body trembled, your muscles were beyond exhausted from all the physical exertion. A sudden wetness coated the skin exposed from your fingerless gloves. 

Blood. So much blood. Your blood. 

This wouldn’t have happened if you had listened to him . 

“I can protect myself, Caleb! I don’t need you as my shadow! ” You had shouted, blood boiling in your veins. When would he understand that you were a grown woman—an adult—a Hunter . You were trained for this, to fight and protect the people ( including yourself). “I am sick and tired of you hovering over me and treating me like a damn kid! Back off! Give me space! ”

You had argued with him, your voice much louder than his had been, but there was a fire in those violet hues of his. You didn’t care at that moment, didn’t want to hear his side—didn’t want to hear any of it. It had been a constant with him every time you were sent on a mission. If he hadn’t learned it from you, it was in some mysterious way he’d never let you know about. Caleb always managed to get what he wanted especially when it came to you.  

Sure, he was difficult when you were sent out to handle Wanderers. But when you were assigned alone on a mission? Caleb was insanely insufferable. Each and every time he had a gut feeling something was going to go wrong and you didn’t listen, you were stubborn, you were tired . You refused to hear it, you had enough. 

However, this time around? Your emotions were a mess. A part of you wanted to stay, wanted to give the mission to someone else—or at least seek help if you couldn’t take Caleb with you. But a bigger part of you felt as if it was Caleb in your mind making you think that way. It was absurd, you assumed it was the many times he had reacted in such a way that you felt subtle guilt. That you shouldn’t want to be a superhero who could do it all. 

It was why you stormed out, shoved him with a burst of your Evol the moment he caught your hand—and his reaction was something akin to a slap on the face. There was a moment of regret when you saw that look in his eyes, but you turned away with all your anger and didn’t look back. 

Now you were on that said mission, hunched with tears slipping down your cheeks that you couldn’t control, hating how everything turned out. Disappointed in yourself for being so hardheaded, for not trusting the one person who only ever wanted and did what was best for you. You wished he was there with you, you wished he’d say I told you so and take you away from it all… even if you knew he never would. As much as Caleb can be a lot to handle, he always had the best intentions for you—he was always there for you when you needed him most. 

He could���ve been if you hadn’t overreacted the way you had. 

A sudden rumbling in the earth had you whimpering, the jolt causing the wound to throb even further. You squeezed your eyes shut, fearing it was the Wanderers growing closer, that they’d be the ones to end you if your injury hadn’t. 

“Tsk, look at you,” a voice spoke up, your eyes falling open. You nearly forgot there was another problem in the mix. Another human who wanted you dead. A wicked grin was displayed on his lips as he lifted his foot and pressed it against your chest, pushing you further into the rod as a painful scream left your clenched teeth, blood not only seeping from the wound, but your mouth, too. “Foolish girl…” the faceless man shook his head and clicked his tongue. You were in such a poor state you couldn’t even make out the man’s identity. The adrenaline rush you had prior was enough to push you through. Your blinding rage had done its job, preventing you from seeing the real threat. “You made this too easy. I truly thought it was going to be much harder to take you down, but seeing as your mind isn’t all here and you’re clearly worked up about something… you saved me some time.”

“Fuck… you…” you seethed, but he only snickered at your enthusiasm. 

“Right, well, it looks like I’m not the one on my death bed,” he sighed as you glared at him. “You truly would’ve been so much help but you’re too big of a threat to us all.” Pushing his foot against you once again, you cried out, using what little strength you had left to clasp onto his ankle and try to push him away. 

“S— Stop!” You sobbed, feeling his foot fall from you before he shifted himself. A familiar sound of uncertainty filled the air as he pulled out his handgun, removing the safety and aiming it.

“I could let you have a slow death, but I’m feeling a bit generous. If it isn’t the Wanderers, or your wound, I’d happily take you out,” he nodded as your eyes widened, the weapon pointed directly at your forehead, the cold metal kissing your skin in warning. “Why don’t you say hello to the devil for me, Little Miss Hunter?”

Suddenly, the world was moving painfully slow. It was equally as comforting as it was worrisome. You wondered if it was the universe being kind, or cruel, to let you enjoy your last few seconds of life. To think about all that you had achieved and experienced in this lifetime. From what you were grateful for… to your regrets. 

To think about all you had lost and gained back, only to have your final moments with the one man you loved filled with animosity. 

Caleb… you closed your eyes, wishing you had one more moment with him. One more chance to apologize and to be held in his arms, to feel the safety of his embrace…

And yet, when the trigger was pulled, death never came. 

Your eyes fell open with the sudden change in pressure, the sight of your threat holding his gun in an unnatural angle had you gasping in disbelief. Horror etched across his face as his wrist was completely twisted, hand facing the opposite direction in a way it shouldn’t have. 

An immediate sensation tingled throughout your body that you recognized. Gravity . It was all consuming. Deep and heavy and unforgiving. 

“How about you greet him yourself?” That hauntingly familiar voice spoke up. You knew it all too well. It was bone chilling. It was beautiful . A small whimper of relief left you the moment Caleb stepped into your line of vision. 

His fists were tight and the air was filled with the older man’s screams of pain. His legs were caving in, his body being crushed in until all his limbs fell limp. It was then you realized: all the Wanderers had been obliterated. 

When did that happen? 

Your faltering focus settled back on Caleb, the pure rage in his eyes as he grabbed the man by the collar, “I should fucking kill you,” he seethed, “pull you apart, tear you into pieces, limb by limb.” His chest heaved as his fury burned through every cell of his being, deep in his soul. “A slow, painful death, one in which you’d be begging for the devil to crawl out of hell and take you away from my hands.” Tightening his grip on the man’s collar, Caleb’s voice lowered into an almost growl. “You laid your filthy hands on her. Tell me, what exactly did you do? What did you do to her so I can make sure you feel it— tenfold .”

“Wha—?!” The man choked out, words cut off by Caleb’s hand wrapping around his throat, squeezing . 

“Don’t be a fucking coward now,” he hissed, eyes burning bright with flames from hell. “You were about to kill a woman. My woman,” a twisted grin grew on his lips. “And now? Now you’re pathetically weeping, begging for your life. Why’s that?”

“Let— Let me— go!” 

Tilting his head, Caleb tightened his grip, watching as the man’s face flushed red. “Are you refusing to comply? I’d happily pull out your teeth and nails, one by one, cut out your tongue and force feed it to you.”

“You— You psycho!” The man panicked as you watched with a hint of horror. Not once had you seen this side of your other half. A darkness that surrounded his usually bright soul, one you never knew he could possess. “You—“

“Oh,” Caleb laughed, “you don’t know half of what I can become when it comes to vile men like you who almost kill my girl.”

“You— Crazy—!” He cried out, twitching in a way he hoped would free him from the threat before him. 

“I should’ve kept those abominations alive and fed your limbs to them, make you watch as you die a slow death,” Caleb bared his teeth like a ravenous wolf that was about to slaughter its prey. 

Your savior’s words were distant to you now, your focus so fuzzy you hardly picked up on what he was saying. The man who nearly killed you shifted his eyes to you, then back to Caleb before struggling to speak, words that would never reach your ears. All you kept thinking about was staying alive, that you had to push, keep your conscious no matter what. You needed to see this through. Needed to utter two or three more words to Caleb if this were your end. Your eyes were so heavy, slept alluded to you… but you had to press on. Just a little more. 

“She— must not know— just how fucked up— you really are—!”

Smiling once more, Caleb chuckled, “oh, she’s well aware of the lengths I’d go to keep her safe.”

“Your protection— borderlines obsession— and possessive—“ 

He heard that line before. 

Before the man could finish, Caleb dropped the man’s limp body and used his Evol to snatch the gun that nearly killed you. Without any hesitation, no mercy given, Caleb pulled the trigger several times in his chest. Shoving the barrel into his mouth, Caleb leaned and whispered, “say hello to the devil for me.” Firing the last round, he watched with a tight jaw as the man fell completely still.  He didn’t flinch, not as blood splattered onto him, staining his skin and clothing. He felt nothing. No remorse, no regrets. 

He had it coming and Caleb happily filled his prophecy. 

Taking in several deep breaths, he stood up and tossed the heated gun before turning towards you. His wrath morphed into fear at the sight of your blood on your chin and chest. Coating your fingertips. Rushing towards you and falling to his knees, he cupped your face, “stay with me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes were so heavy, it took so much out of you to keep your focus on him, blurring vision making it difficult to see. “Cal—“

“Shh, don’t speak, don’t move. I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” he softly spoke, wiping your tears as he looked at you with a pained expression—as if he felt your suffering. 

“I’m— I’m sorry,” you frowned, eyes fighting to stay open, blood drying on your chin. 

Shaking his head, he kissed your forehead, “stop, I said don’t speak.” Seeing you pout, he huffed, “let’s get you out of here.” Moving his hands to your biceps as he eyed the rod in your chest, he took in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.” Pulling you off of it, your screams of agony rang in his ears as he bit his tongue. He was quick to use his Evol to put pressure against the gaping wound as he lifted your now unconscious body in his arms. 

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You woke up with an ache in your chest, your body flinching in fear. Had you not escaped? Were you still pressed against that crumbling wall? Was the metal rod still pierced through your chest? 

Were you about to die?

You feared you never truly escaped—that Caleb never came to your rescue. That it was all your imagination. 

You took in deep breaths, eyes fluttering open as you took in your environment. There was no rubble, no fires nor any smoke in the air. No Wanderers. No man holding a gun to your head. Just you… and the pristine, white walls… of a hospital room. Swallowing, you cringed at the dryness of your throat. You tried to speak, but your voice was almost nonexistent. You tried to move, but it felt like there was a heavy weight pinning you down. 

Stretching your fingers, your eyebrows furrowed at the realization that there was pressure against your hand. Looking over, a small gasp left you as your heart skipped a beat. Caleb was fast asleep, his hand clinging onto yours, even while unconscious—his head was resting on his folded arm, body hunched over and resting against the cot you lied on. You wondered how long it had been since you were hospitalized… How long he had stayed there, by your side?

A sudden flashback of your argument had you flinching, your free hand moving to rub against your forehead. 

There was a sudden movement beside you. “You’re awake,” Caleb gasped before he immediately stood up, suddenly feeling a head rush at the movement, wincing at the sensation. 

Gulping, you opened your mouth to speak, but only coughed. 

“Right,” reaching for a cup of water—one he had poured prior to falling asleep for himself—he pressed it to your lips and helped you as you chugged away. 

He still was holding onto your hand, as if afraid to let go. Afraid that you might slip away. “ Thank you ,” you whispered as he nodded, settling the empty cup down. 

“You were out for a couple of days… I stayed by your side the whole time. I was afraid—“ gulping, he cleared his throat as he looked away from your tired eyes. “Dr. Zayne took charge of everything… He wanted to make sure you were okay and came out of this good as new.”

It wasn’t until then that you got a good look at Caleb. Dark circles decorated his eyes, his hair was in disarray—pointed in multiple directions as if he hadn’t run a comb through it. You wondered if he had eaten or showered during the time you were unconscious. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he weakly smiled. “That rod just barely missed your heart… You could’ve—“ cutting himself off again as he looked down for a moment, your eyes shifted elsewhere, feeling them sting with fresh tears. It was then you noticed his clothing was sticking out of the hazardous bin, blood staining the material. He had killed that man because he almost killed you . 

He came for you. He saved you. After all that was said and done… he still kept his word. 

Tears began to pour down your cheeks as your bottom lip quivered. Caleb’s eyes shot up at the feeling of your trembling, gasping, “are you in pain? Let me get a nurse—“

Tugging on his hand and bringing him down to your level, stopping him from leaving, Caleb stumbled forward and caught himself. His body crowded your space, his free hand catching him before he could collapse against you. Heavy breaths left his parted lips as he looked down at you, noses touching. 

Freeing your hand from his, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Caleb’s eyes widened, heart racing as your own pair fell closed. You were weakly clinging onto him, crying into the kiss as he tasted your tears. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry— I’m so sorry,” you whimpered against his lips. 

“No, baby, stop—“

“I should’ve never snapped at you! I should’ve never… I should’ve never used my Evol against you the way I did. I’m so sorry, Caleb,” you cried. 

“Pips, please… I’m not mad at you,” Caleb sat beside you and cupped your face, feeling you lean into his touch as his thumbs wiped away your tears. 

“But—“

“I can be… overbearing,” Caleb sighed, “and too hovering, I know it. I can’t help it. You mean so damn much to me. You don’t understand, I'd do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe,” he confessed as he looked you deeply in the eyes, caressing your cheek before continuing. “I know you’ve grown up, I know you’re not that little pipsqueak anymore… I know you’re a Hunter, that you can fight and protect yourself, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. That doesn’t change the way I feel when it comes to your safety and wellbeing. It doesn’t change the need to be by your side—“

“I should’ve listened,” you whispered, “I wouldn’t be here if—“

“ Stop ,” Caleb shakes his head, hands lowering from your cheeks to your jaw, “no matter how mad you are, I will always find you and I will always be there for you,” he then softly spoke your name.  “And I will always save you even when you think you don’t need me to.”

“Caleb…” trying to stop the increase in tears that seemed to have no end, the man before you gave you a soft smile

“I can’t lose you… not now, not ever,” wiping your tears, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours. 

“I’m—“ 

“That’s enough, my love,” lifting his head to eye you, he kissed underneath both of your eyes, “you’re so pretty, even when you cry.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, your cheeks began to heat up, not only by the compliment, but by the way he looked at you. As if it was just you… You and only you. No one else in this world could ever have his attention, his love… his heart. It would always be you. 

Leaning in and pressing a kiss on the tip of your nose, he then nuzzled his own into your cheek, “so beautiful…”

“ Caleb… ” you nearly whispered, but his lips found yours and stole your breath. What started off sweet morphed into that of desperation and need. So full of passion and unconditional love. 

Until you heard the door opening. 

“Oh, sorry!” The nurse exclaimed as you had pushed Caleb away, nearly knocking him off of the bed. She chuckled as she watched you wipe your mouth and look away with a deep blush on your cheeks. “It’s good to see you’re awake. I just want to do some checkups to make sure everything is good and that way we can discharge you sooner.”

Nodding, you felt a pair of eyes on you, looking over to see Caleb had been gazing at you the entire time. You shook your head and turned your attention back to the nurse, shivering at the sensation he had been giving you without even touching you. 

He was so shameless. 

You loved that about him. 

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“Alright, let’s take it easy,” Caleb said as you entered your home. A gentle, yet protective hand had rested on your lower back since you arrived at your apartment building. He stayed close to you the entire time, from the moment you were discharged, up until you curled up on your couch. You were exhausted, even after all the resting you had done. 

Caleb momentarily left you with a kiss on your forehead before he made his way to your kitchen. You hadn’t had a proper meal in a while and he wanted to cook up something without you asking. 

The guilt still ate at you, but you were too drained to even utter yet another series of apologies. It would be useless, anyways. Caleb would silence you before you even let out a single syllable. 

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, not expecting to actually fall asleep. It wasn’t until the image of a man pulling the trigger of a gun aimed at your head had you jolting awake—followed by a soft call of your name. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, but Caleb gave you a look that demanded you speak the truth. “I just… I saw that man actually pulling the trigger.”

Letting out a deep breath through his nose, he shook his head, “he’s gone and you’re safe, that’s all the matters now.” Cupping your face and caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb, you nodded, leaning into his touch. The furrow of his brow softened before he leaned in and left a kiss on your other cheek. “Let’s get your mind off of things, I made you your favorites.” Taking your hand in his, Caleb helped you to your feet before guiding you to your dinner table. He pulled out a seat, a small thank you just about leaving your lips until he took the seat instead. Narrowing your eyes, Caleb looked up at you with a faint grin. “C’mon,” he patted his thigh, your eyebrows lifting at his suggestion. “I don’t want you to move your arm too much.”

Sighing with a soft chuckle, you nodded before taking your spot on his lap. “You gonna spoon feed me?” You asked as you watched him serve a plate to share with you.

“Duh ,” he winked with a grin as you couldn’t help but reciprocate with a smile of your own. Securing you against him as an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close, Caleb was true to your word. He fed you more bites than he took, and before you could even suggest for him to eat more, he gave you an offended look—as if questioning putting you over himself was offensive.

With stomachs full, satisfied with your first meal in days, Caleb left you back on the couch once more as he cleaned up. He made sure you didn’t move a muscle, not when he was able to handle simple chores to avoid messing with your healing wound. You patiently watched him clean up the kitchen and dinner table with a longing gaze. It always made your heart flutter watching him be so domestic, you weren’t sure as to why. How thorough he was, how he never complained when doing things that society normally labeled as a woman’s job. He just loved making your life easier, especially if it meant letting you sit to a side and relax.

Once he was done, and the kitchen was spotless, Caleb made his way back to you and lifted you in his arms, settling a kiss at the top of your head and mentioning sharing a bath. You simply nodded as you leaned into him, breathing in his scent as he brought you into your bathroom. Settling you on your vanity, Caleb maneuvered around your bathroom, setting up a nice, warm bath for the two of you as he shared small talk with you. He spoke about little things, interactions with coworkers, animal encounters while out for a morning run, recipes he studied to try out for future dinners… You listened intently as you watched him with a heavy heart. You bit back the sour taste of regret in your mouth as it resurfaced, shaking the thoughts away before you could even let them be written across your face. 

Instead, you let him undress you, stripping the both of you down to your bare bodies. Caleb was gentle when it came to you, not wanting to shift you around too much when it came to removing your clothes. 

The bath didn’t last too long, it was Caleb’s only intention to make sure you were clean and felt at ease, even if moments in the tub tended to lead to more… However, at the moment, he couldn’t even consider being intimate when he was far too worried about your healing wound. He helped clean you up and wash your hair, letting you relax in the warm water to ease your tense muscles before stepping out. Drying you up and dressing you, then himself, he made sure to blowdry your hair. You shared your nightly routine at a slower pace this time before making it to bed. 

Cuddled up against him under your bedsheets, Caleb ran his lengthy fingers through your hair. He left small kisses at the top of your head, discreetly sniffing a few times when he thought you couldn’t hear him (you definitely had).

Watching one of your shared favorite shows, your eyes lingered to your rack of clothes, Caleb’s mixed in the midst. You thought about the clothes he had to toss out that were covered in the man’s blood. “Caleb…” You spoke up, earning a hum from him. You turned your head towards him, shifting yourself enough to kiss his cheek, then neck. 

“Whao, what’re you doing, pips?” He asked as you continued to leave a trail of gentle kisses down his neck and onto his exposed chest. His skin flourished with heat, a bright shade of red appearing from your ministrations. “Please… be careful, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Shaking your head, you carefully sat up and cupped his face, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips. “You saved my life.”

“You know I always will,” Caleb breathed. 

“You killed that man,” you whispered. “You killed those Wanderers. Nothing was left alive…” 

Eyeing you, studying the look of desire on your face, Caleb swallowed. His heart started to race. He knew that expression too well. “They were a threat…” he responded in a low voice, one that had you shivering. “I did what had to be done.”

Humming, your fingertips traced his jawline. “You could’ve turned that man in, but you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” he shook his head. “I couldn’t… He almost killed you.”

Gazing down at him from the violet hues in his eyes, to the subtle freckles on his skin, you caressed his cheek, “I know… Thank you.” Leaning in, you kissed him again, lips soft against his own. “My hero.”

“Sweet— Sweetheart,” Caleb choked out as you straddled his hips. “You… We should get some rest.”

“I slept enough,” you whispered, palms pressed to his chest as you gazed down at him “Let me show you how sorry I am—”

“Please, stop apologizing, I told you that I understood and I will never hold it against you,” he said with furrowed brows, hands gripping your waist as you shook your head.

“Then let me show you how grateful I am that you saved my life.” Leaning in to kiss him, Caleb’s fingertips dug into your skin. What started off sweet turned into something passionate. Your tongue pushed past the seam of his lips to find his own. A low groan rumbled in Caleb’s chest as you explored his mouth. Your hand moved up into his hair, combing through it before gently tugging as he bucked his hips up into you. A small chuckle left you as your lips couldn’t seem to pull away from his own, kissing him until your mouths were numb and swollen.

Pulling away, a string of spit connected the two of you, snapping moments later. The both of you were breathless, panting as you ogled one another. “Are you sure about this?” Caleb breathed. “I just—”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him. “I want this… I want you… so bad.” The breathy sound of your voice was enough to make Caleb choke on a whine. You giggled at the muffled sound. “Silly boy,” you shook your head as he frowned. He looked cute, the way his cheeks stained red, how his bottom lip jutted out. You couldn’t help but lean in and suck on it for a moment, nibbling on the plumpness of it before pulling away. 

Caleb watched with hooded eyes as you reached for the hem of your— his —shirt and pulled it off of you. You let out a small whimper from the sudden jolt of pain, but lifted a hand to stop your lover from shifting to help you. “Babe—”

“Like I said, I’m fine,” you nodded before dropping the shirt to the side, exposing your bare breasts to him. “I just need to feel you, Caleb. All of you,” you breathed as he gulped.

“You have me, sweetheart…” he responded, moving his hands down to your bare thighs, giving them a small squeeze. “Mind, body, and soul. You have all of me. I’m all yours.”

Smiling down at him, you reached up to brush your thumb across his bottom lip, leaning in to kiss him again. A shiver ran down your spine as you bare chest pressed against his, perked nipples rubbing against him and earning a moan from you. Grinding yourself against him, with only your panties and his underwear in the way, you let out a small whine when you felt his semi-hard length against your throbbing clit. “Need you…” you whimpered. “Need you so bad…” 

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” he chanted into the kiss, hands gliding across your skin, caressing your ass before digging his fingertips into your flesh. “All yours, I belong to you…”

You rubbed yourself against him again and again, parted lips pressed against his as you breathed into one another. Small whimpers and cries of pleasure filled the air as the two of you got off to the simple movements of your hips. Caleb’s own twitched, constantly thrusting up to meet yours with every circle of your own. He swore he could come just like that—he had several times before, anyway. He wasn’t new to creaming his underwear, not when it came to being in a relationship with you—his dream woman. From your little touches, to your stolen kisses, it was enough for him to get off on. Hell, there’d been several instances where he reached his peak without even trying. All he had to do was watch you, the way your eyes rolled back when your orgasm came crashing down. He was done for each and every time. He ate your pussy? He’s humping against the bed, the taste of your release, and the sound of your cries had him coming. He made out with you in his personal aircraft? His pants had a dark stain on his crotch.  You were completely naked after showering, in the midst of getting dressed? He didn’t even have to lift a finger to feel his underwear grow wet. 

It was embarrassing how easy he got off when it came to you. He was ashamed, he talked a lot of smack and gave off such an in control vibe that all of that was null and void when you were in his line of vision. You, however, absolutely loved how Caleb became putty in your hands. It was the best way to shut him up when he thought he was in charge. 

But now? Now it wasn’t about putting him in place or teasing him just because you enjoyed seeing him fall apart from how horny he was. It was about him knowing just how much you loved and appreciated him for the man he is. 

“Caleb,” you moaned into the kiss. “Need you, please… ” kissing the corner of his lips as his chest heaved, Caleb lazily nodded. 

“Okay, okay, for you… for you,” he breathed, reaching down to shove his boxers down just enough to free himself. Lifting your hips, he tugged your panties to a side before aligning himself with you. 

Inch by inch, Caleb helped you lower yourself onto him. No prep, you were already soaking wet. One of your hands clung onto his, fingers interlaced as you panted against one another. “God,” you breathed as your hips met his, Caleb’s cock now fully sheathed in you. Your shared breathing was heavy, your eyes squeezed shut as you adjusted to his size. No matter how many times you two shared moments like these, it almost always felt like the first time. 

“Please— Please move,” he begged, swallowing hard as his free hand squeezed your hip. “Please, please —“

“You’re so… needy,” you huffed as you lifted your hips, then lowered them, rocking against him at a steady rate. Your chest was still pressed against his, unable to pull away. You needed to feel him against you—all over you. Every inch of him touching every inch of you. 

His arm moved to wrap around your waist, securing you against him as he met your thrusts with his own. Your bed began to creak, shifting with your shared weight and movements. His grip on your hand was tight. His eyes rolled back as he bit his bottom lip in absolute ecstasy. Your mouth smothered his face with kisses, nipping at the skin underneath his ear and leaving bite marks in your wake. 

Caleb’s feet pressed against your mattress, fucking into you as you moaned and cried out his name. “So good t’ me,” he breathed. “My best girl…”

“Caleb ,” you moaned, feeling his hand slip from yours as he reached for your hips, clinging onto you and guiding you to fuck yourself on his length. “Caleb!”

“So close— So close,” he whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as his eyebrows scrunched up. “Baby… I’m so close— I’m— Please, let me come inside, let me come inside… tell me you’d let me.”

“Anything… Anything for you,” you whispered, face nuzzled into the space between his neck and shoulder. “Use me… This is my gift to you… for being my hero.”

“Fuck ,” Caleb whined. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” Throwing his head back and biting down, exposing his neck to you, you squealed as he slammed his hips up into you, keeping you against him as he came, filling you to the brim with his release. You watched as his face flourished with heat, his lips parted as he let out breathy whimpers and moans from reaching his high. You kissed the column of his neck with a smile, nipping along the way and leaving your mark behind. His hips rocked once more to stuff you deep with his seed as you chased your own high. “Come for me, baby… Please… Do that f’ me…”

“So close,” you breathed, feeling his arms protectively wrap around you, turning you over and lifting himself enough to not crush you under his weight—still mindful of your healing wound. “Caleb!” You cried out as he rammed into you, not only fucking his come back in you, but reaching between you body and toying with your pearl. 

“Come— Come for me, I know you can, you’re so close,” he panted as he watched the way your face contorted. How your back arched as you clung onto his forearms. Your legs wrapped around his slim waist as you cried out in relief, coming and screaming his name. “That’s it… That's my good girl. such a good girl… My perfect girl…” Brushing your hair from your face as sweat coated your skin, Caleb leaned in and kissed your forehead, nose and chin, then your lips. Sweet and everlasting as he cupped your face. “So proud of you… Dunno what I’d do without you. You’re my everything. Everything and more,” he mumbled against your skin, nuzzling your nose with his. 

Cupping his cheeks, you gazed up at him. “I love you so much,” you whispered, trying to catch your breath. “So much… My hero, my saving grace. My Caleb.”

Grinning, his body nearly collapsed against your own, keeping himself buried within you as he held himself up by his forearms. With his forehead pressed against yours, he longingly and lovingly looked deeply into your eyes. “I love more than you could ever fathom, my beloved. No matter what happens to us or the universe, my heart belongs to you for all eternity.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ I fell down the rabbit hole of writing lads especially after the latest wedding event... I have a few drafted but this one shot was to test the waters :x also I'm obsessed with caleb, I didn't think I would be, I'm such a (and still am!) a sylus girlie but here we are!!!

[shake-back]

Domestic life ♥

Pairings: Gojo, Toji, Sukuna

A/N: Pt. 2 coming tomorrow! but I gtg stretch and I overdid Sukuna's part lol

♥(¯`◕‿◕´¯) ♫ ♪ ♫ ~~ ♫ ♪ ♫ (¯`◕‿◕´¯)♥

I love imagining domestic life with the jjk characters. Like just imagine the most monotonous tasks with them they're definitely making it 1000x better.

You're definitely gonna have to tell Gojo to take out the trash that man will do anything to avoid what he considers 'hard manual labor'

"But babyyyy why can't we just get the automatic trash thingy from Amazon? It's only like 360 dollars?" He insists for the nth time. And while you agree that it would be easier, "We need to set standards for our kids to follow. It's not gonna be that easy in the world." You say as you fold your arms putting your foot down on the matter.

"But-"

"Listen here mf if you don't do it, no sex for a week"

"Omggg where did all the trash go?"

I think Toji would love going grocery shopping and I have no idea why. I can just see him wandering the isles aimlessly, you guys bonding over razors or bugspray that actually works, and being annoyed when the Walmart line stretches to the back of the store.

"This shit don't make no sense. Every damn time we come in here, all the lines long." You start, only having a few things in the shopping cart. "I know ma, and you see how they only have 3 people working?" He says, agreeing and simultaneously instigating the situation. You shake your head. "This the shit I be talking about."

Just as you say that, the both of you see one of the self checkout lanes shut down, and another one goes down with it.

"Hell no. Let's go don't nobody have time for this foolishness." You say, leaving the shopping cart at the front of the clothes section as y'all walk out. Toji just smiles and puts a hand around you.

"Yes ma'am."

For Sukuna, going out to eat with your kids is actually a highlight of the month, rather than a boring everyday task. Sukuna's definitely the type of husband to tell you that they made the food wrong, and back you up on complaining to the entire restaurant instead of being embarrassed.

The waiter comes to the table, and starts to pass out the food. "Okay! So we have here the rib-eye steak, burger & fries, and a kids chicken tender meal. Enjoy and let me know if theirs anything else I can do for you!" The waiter says and excuses herself from the table.

"I like her, she was really nice." You say before digging into your burger. Sukuna just grunts and starts to cut into his steak. As your putting ketchup on your baby boy's plate, Sukuna starts.

"Woman, my steak is medium rare."

Your head whips back at the speed of light, giving your child whiplash. You look and sure enough, his steak is medium rare. Sukuna gets rare every time he gets steak. You took a picture just in case.

"Hold on baby, wait until the waitress comes back." You say, impatiently. He gives a smug smirk, crosses his arms, and leans back in his chair, knowing that some shit was about to go down. The waitress comes back after some time, the same cheery attitude.

"Hey! Is the food alright?"

"Absolutely not. My husband asked for rare and it's clearly medium rare. It's really medium well with how brown it is." You start, thoroughly displeased. She frowns. "Oh no! I'm sorry about that, let me grab that plate and tell the kitchen." She takes the plate and hurries away. Sukuna still grinning from ear to ear, he loves when you get mad. Seeing your frown and your furrows turn him on.

He stares at you, burning a hole into your head. You turn to look at him, still bothered.

"When we get home, i'm fucking yo shit up."

Before you could even respond, the waitress comes back with a steak that looks very similar to the other one. She sets it down.

"I hope this one is-" "Hold on you wait right there, Sukuna give me your fork & knife."

Sukuna obliges, all while your son is sitting there, food finished, wondering when y'all are going home.

You cut the steak, and it's even browner than last time.

"Bring me the cook. Now." You say, throwing the utensils down in disgust.

"But ma- I-, yes ma'am"

She starts to say something else, but reconsidered because of the look on your face. She comes back with the cook.

"What is this? Rare steak does NOT have this much browning, there's no way you can mess it up this bad TWICE." You say, still trying to be respectful. Sukuna gives the

and the chef says, "Ma'am i've been a chef for 25 years and this is how i've always made my steak. Nobody has ever complained.

All respect goes out the window.

"Fuck you and your 25 years of damn cooking 'cause this is some bullshit ain no damn way. Give me the manager I want a full refund. Bet y'all don't ever have to worry about me coming here again."

"Same here." Sukuna says, escalating the situation.

"Me too!" Your son says.

♥(¯`◕‿◕´¯) ♫ ♪ ♫ ~~ ♫ ♪ ♫ (¯`◕‿◕´¯)♥

[writinginatree]

More Blood Than the Tears We've Shed

Relationship(s): Bodhi Durran & Riorson!reader, Xaden Riorson & sister!reader

Summary: After watching your father die and being separated from your brother Xaden, you don't know how to cope and try to get rid of the relic now marking your arm, as if that could erase everything it represents. Though Bodhi can't save you from falling into that bottomless pit of despair, he does his best to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending. Suicidal ideation, trauma, loss of a parent, grief, feeling hopeless and helpless, forcible separation of siblings, lots of crying, panic attacks, graphic descriptions of self-harm, blood, homesickness, Iron Flame spoilers.

Written for @empyreanevents's Tyrrendor Week Day 5: Marked. Title is lyrics from Alright by Hollywood Undead.

AO3

In the first rays of morning sun, you stare at the unadorned wall of your new quarters, and wish for death.

Though the bed looks comfortable enough, you'd elected to curl up on the worn hardwood floor instead, in a sort of alcove created by the head of the bed, a chest of drawers, and the wall. Indulging in the simple comfort of a mattress and soft blankets is unimaginable, when everything is so terribly wrong. The only shred of comfort you allow yourself is that of this niche you're hiding in; such tight spaces have always made you feel safe, though today, it does little to make you feel better. Far away from what remains of your family, safety is as foreign to you as this place where you've been taken.

Over and over, your dad's last moments replay before your inner eye, blurring together with everything that had led up to his death until it's all a jumbled mess churning through your mind.

How you'd learned there were real monsters out there. The uncertainty of knowing something big was happening, but being too young to be told any details. The fear when Dad told you Navarre was launching an attack on Aretia; Xaden's anger at being sent out of the city with you, doomed to babysit instead of fighting at your father's side like he wanted to. The horrible realization that the battle was lost, soldiers taking you all to Calldyr as captives. The endless questions you couldn't answer, about what exactly your father and his officers had been intending, who their allies were, what else they'd had planned. All those cuts on your brother's back with which he took responsibility for the rest of you. And, flashing through your thoughts more than everything else, that courtyard, Dad and the other adults lined up like criminals — traitors. General Melgren's monstrous black dragon. Fire. Pain racing up your arm, leaving that strange, shimmering mark on your skin.

It had hurt so badly you'd dropped that damn runestone, the one you'd been told to always carry with you because it would protect you, though no one had bothered to explain what exactly that protection would look like. No one had explained much of anything at all during those last chaotic weeks, too busy bringing about their own doom to bother with all your anxious questions. And now, there's nobody left to answer them.

When that pain had shot up your arm, right at the same moment the flames shot from that monsters maw to engulf your father, your first, nonsensical thought had been that you had somehow caught fire, too. The useless runestone had clattered to the floor, the sound lost beneath your cry of pain. Countless similar cries sounded all around you from the other children whose parents were being killed alongside your father.

You'd looked down at your arm, but there had been no burns on it — only those abhorrent swirls and slashes, reaching all the way from your wrist up your arm and to your shoulder. Every bit of skin you could see with the short-sleeved shirt you wore was covered in them. The matching mark branded into your brother's skin went all the way to his jaw. You'd been too shaken to ask if your own spread just as far.

In the commotion caused by the appearance of those strange marks, you had then forgotten all about the stone you'd dropped.

You suppose it doesn't matter. Though homesick and in the worst mental anguish you've ever experienced, you're not actively in danger. You don't think the stupid thing worked, anyway. What use are those runes on it if they can't protect you from having to watch your father die, from your home getting extinguished, from being taken away from your brother and cousin? However the stone had been meant to work, it had done you no good.

Maybe its purpose had been only to keep you alive and nothing more; in that case, it would have fulfilled its purpose.

But gods, you wish that wasn't the case. You wish you were dead, wish Navarrian leadership had simply turned you into ashes along with your father. At least then you wouldn't have to live with the memory of his death forever ingrained in your mind, wouldn't be cowering on the floor in a stranger's house.

The smell of smoke from the execution still clings to your hair and clothes. You don't want to wash it off; not when it's all that remains of your dad.

He didn't even get any last rites — they just executed him, and that was that. You weren't given any chance to burn his belongings, either. Aretia may be destroyed, but you don't think the flames got past the thick stone walls of Riorson House. You wonder if any surviving citizens will dare to enter the soot-stained fortress to offer your dad's things to Malek, so that his soul might find peace in the afterlife — if there is such a thing.

You're not sure if you want there to be, if you want your dad to be whole somewhere in Malek's realm, forced to watch his children mourn him. It brings you a certain comfort to imagine him watching over you, to believe that you'll be reunited when you die too, but even if he really is watching over you — he couldn't protect you from the consequences of his actions in life, so how could he possibly help you in death?

No, nobody can, or will, help you now. You're on your own, cut off from anyone who cares about you, left at the mercy of your father's enemies. You will never get to go home.

The worst part is that they separated you from Xaden. You don't know where he was taken, since you were sent away first. You don't even know where you are, don't know if any of the other kids the rebellion's leaders left behind are here with you, since you'd been too busy begging and pleading for permission to stay with your brother to pay attention to anyone else.

It makes no difference. Xaden certainly isn't here, the only person who might have been able to make you feel remotely safe in spite of everything. You doubt you'll be allowed to visit or receive visits from him, either.

Even in the fog of your despair, you understand why. They want you all isolated, maybe in part as punishment for the crimes your parents had committed, but mostly so you can't follow in their footsteps and conspire, so you can't plan revenge. A hysteric laugh interrupts your sobs at the thought. As if there is anything a bunch of kids could do against Navarre's military might.

Yesterday had proven just how utterly helpless you are. You'd known it all along, even before they dragged you away like a piece of luggage — a loud piece of luggage, thrashing and screaming at the top of your lungs, but a piece of luggage nonetheless.

All throughout your capture, you had kept your composure, even during the execution, but at the announcement that they would now split the hundred seven of you up to be fostered with various loyal nobles, you started to tremble. Your nails dug into your brother's hand with how tightly you clung to him, yet he didn't complain, didn't so much as grimace. Compared to the cuts on his back, that pain was probably nothing. And maybe he, too, had been scared to let go. Maybe he silently started praying at the same moment you did, praying that Navarre would not be so cruel as to take you away from him.

If the gods existed at all, they ignored you in that moment, as they had in the days and weeks before, when you'd begged them to let your father's cause succeed, to let him win the Battle of Aretia, to let him live.

By the time your name was called, you were already in tears.

Not even Xaden was able to calm you; realizing what was about to happen, he had whispered to you to be brave, that you had to stay calm and go where they told you to, and you had tried — you'd tried, but when the moment came that you were to say goodbye, you just couldn't. The fear and helpless rage drowned out any logical thoughts, until the only thing you knew was that after everything you had already endured, you could not bear to be separated from your brother on top of it all.

But you were helpless against all those adults — nobles and riders and infantry, all of them loyal to Navarre, every one of them filled with hatred for your father, and, by extension, you. There was nothing you could do when their patience snapped, and someone barked an order to get that fucking brat into the carriage before I slit her sorry throat!

Resistance was futile as a black-clad soldier gripped your hands so tightly you cried out in pain, squeezing until you were sure she would pulverize your bones. Still you clung to your brother, but the soldier forced your fingers open one by one, merciless and much too strong for you. You could only scream and cry as she wrenched your arms behind your back and hauled you away to the carriage waiting to take you only-Malek-knew where.

One last, tear-blurred look at Xaden was all you got as the door was slammed shut, his face so full of grief and guilt over not being able to spare you from this that you cried even harder. You cried so hard the world turned fuzzy from lack of oxygen, so hard you had no strength left in you to even attempt fighting the guards in the carriage, who pressed you into the hard wooden seat to stop you from throwing yourself at the carriage's door.

You suppose you should be glad you hadn't been killed for your attempted resistance, that Xaden hadn't been killed for it. Part of you wishes they had killed you, though. It would have been less cruel than to leave you here all alone, surrounded by strangers — enemies.

Not that you've seen much of anyone in wherever the hell you are so far. By the time you arrived, you'd had no fight left in you. You didn't know whether the journey had lasted days or mere hours, but the sun burned down on you with the intensity of afternoon as you'd stepped from the carriage. Tuning out the voices of the soldiers who brought you, of whoever this place belongs to, of their servants, you had allowed yourself to be led into the room that was to be yours without really looking at anyone or anything.

The room in question is plain but tidy, with a big window overlooking what seems to be a vegetable garden — not at all the dark cell you'd half expected.

It makes no difference. There might be no bars in front of the window, but you're a prisoner all the same. The only reason they didn't lock the door behind you is that they know you have nowhere to run.

The rest of the day had dragged on forever, no time seeming to pass at all as you sat in that sunny room and cried, and cried, and cried. Once, a woman appeared in the door, asking you to dinner. You'd hurled the pillow at her — the only throwable object in reach. She'd left without a word, a pitying look on her face, and nobody had come to bother you again after that.

It's the best you can hope for, you suppose — to be left alone. If whoever has been made your legal guardian hates your father enough, they could well decide to make you suffer for his actions.

But no one had come to gloat over your misery, or to beat or insult you, and finally, night had fallen. It had been a relief to know that horrible day was finally over, even though you had little hope that the next would be any better. Somehow, the darkness made all the grief and despair coursing through you slightly more bearable.

Still, you spent the whole night curled up on the floor in that little alcove, crying until your tears ran dry for a time, only to start again.

In the first morning light, your tears have momentarily subsided once again. Leaning against the wall at your back, you try to simply breathe and not think of anything.

It never works for long.

The skin under your eyes and nose is raw from all the crying, and your throat burns. You don't remember when you last drank any water. There's a pitcher on the table by the window, but you lack the energy to get up and pour yourself a glass of water.

What's the point, anyway? Any water you give your body will just end up turned into more tears.

Wiping at your puffy eyes, your gaze catches on that horrible mark creeping up your arm. Somehow, you'd managed to push it to the back of your mind in the dark, more focused on the loss of your father and the hopeless situation as a whole, but now—

A shudder runs through your body, lifting the hairs on your arms. You curl in on yourself, staring and staring and staring at that shimmering black pattern. Staring, until terror and revulsion drown out any other feeling. Your breaths grow ragged — panicked. Panic at that mark, not of ink or scar tissue or anything else you could explain, permanent and terrible. Wrong. That's the only word you have to describe it. It feels wrong — alien. A violation, etched into your skin without warning or consent.

You have no idea how it got there, what it is, exactly, whether it does anything other than brand you as a traitor's child. If it is perhaps a way for Navarre to monitor you, to track your location should you ever try to escape them. The soldiers had seemed just as surprised as you when those markings appeared, but that isn't saying much.

Even if they weren't the ones who caused them — though who else could it have been? — they will find ways to use them against you. Even in the case that the patterns are purely decorative, that doesn't make them harmless or useless. An identifier, that's what they will be; a brand to let everyone know you are not to be trusted. Word will spread, and soon everyone in the whole kingdom will know what those marks signify, that everyone who carries them watched at least one of their parents executed as a traitor.

Your nails bite into your skin, clawing at that brand until blood wells up. Tears drip on your arm. One lands on one of the scratches you made, turning a watery pink as it runs down your wrist and drips to the floor. The mark remains, mocking you with the knowledge that it can't be washed away.

Again, your nails drag across those shimmering black lines. Sobs catch in your throat as you fight for breath.

You don't want this; don't want to have this abhorrent thing on your arm, don't want to be apart from your family, don't want to live with the memory of your father burning to death.

You still don't know how far those lines reach, and suddenly, that unknowingness is unbearable. You rip at your shirt, arms shaking so bad you barely manage to get it over your head. But you get it off, baring your shoulders for inspection. No good. Even tucking in your chin as much as you can, the mark spreads farther than you can see. Your shoulder is just as covered in those horrible swirls and slashes as the rest of your arm.

You feel along the side of your neck, but there's no telling where it ends. Running a shaking hand over the lines on your arm, you feel nothing, no bumps or ridges to indicate where the mark is without seeing it. The skin is as smooth as ever, as though the mark is part of you, not a brand or scar, but a mere discoloration of skin.

You need to get rid of it — somehow. There has to be something you can do about it. Anything. If you can't scrub it away, can't scratch it off, then— then you'll just have to cut it away. Cut out every piece of skin stained with those lines, until only you remain.

You nod to yourself, calming a little as you resolve to do whatever it takes to remove that mark from your skin.

Two fingers slip into your boot to pull out the small pocket knife you keep there. Those fools never searched you for hidden weapons — though, really, this knife is so small it would hardly be considered a weapon. The blade is less than the length of your thumb, meant only for cutting twine or snacks during long days playing outside.

Your dad had given it to you for your tenth birthday. It feels like that was a whole lifetime ago. A different world, where there had been no rebellions and venin, no evil kings and conspiracies.

In yesterday's panic, you'd forgotten you even had the knife, which was probably for the better. The tiny thing would have done no good against those soldiers. Had you tried to put it to use against them, you would have only made them angry, would have achieved nothing but to have it taken from you.

You clench the knife in your fist, hesitating for a moment as you think of your dad, how horrified he would be if he knew what you're about to do. But he's dead, so he can't stop you. And you can't stand the sight of that mark for even a moment longer.

With trembling fingers, you unfold the blade.

A steadying breath, then you set the knife against your skin, gripping it close to the blade. Just a small cut to start with, right at the edge of the first black swirl on top of your wrist.

Blood trickles down your hand, warm and somehow comforting.

Now for the harder part. Angling the blade so it almost lies flat against your wrist, you slip the edge into the cut, trying to wedge it between your skin and the flesh beneath. With your thumb a little in front of the blade, providing leverage, you drag it forward.

Almost immediately, you have to pause to muffle a scream of pain into your upper arm.

When you look, you see that it's working — a tiny corner of black-stained skin is separated from the flesh beneath, lifted by your blade. You can do this. It's going to hurt like hell, but as long as you don't pass out, you can do it. You can get rid of that brand.

With renewed vigor, you grit your teeth against the pain and keep going.

Just like peeling an apple, you tell yourself. Only you've never been very good at that, usually bugging Xaden into doing it for you, and your skin is already slick with blood, making it harder to control the direction of the blade.

It's not like you want to take away all of your skin — just the parts of it covered by the mark. Once you get to your shoulder, you're going to have to find a mirror. You don't particularly care how the result looks, well aware that this will turn your skin into a patchwork of scar tissue. You don't give a fuck if you cut too deep and accidentally slit your own throat, either. As long as you just get that thing off your skin first, you won't mind bleeding out. You just need to see what you're doing so you actually get all of it.

Slowly, painfully, the blade moves forward.

You tug harder, and it glides farther than expected, severing the piece of skin you'd been working on and sinking into your thumb. You barely feel that cut, head swimming with a mix of nausea and elation over your small success.

Letting the thumbnail-sized scrap of skin drop to the floor, you squeeze your eyes shut and fight the urge to throw up.

You tell yourself you can do this, repeat the thought until you believe it. You can remove that mark. Nothing else matters, not the pain, not the disgust that constricts your throat. Even if you can control nothing else in your life anymore, you can control what your skin looks like.

You continue, but the progress is slow, the task much more tedious than you expected. Frequently, you have to pause, close to passing out or hurling up your guts.

It had seemed so easy in your imagination — painful, but quick, efficient. As the idea took shape, you'd seen the tainted skin peel away before your inner eye as easily as that of the carrots the cook at home used to peel for you to snack on. Maybe it's because you're using the wrong tools. If you'd taken the time to find the kitchen and steal a paring knife or vegetable peeler, this might have been easier, but you didn't think that far — hardly thought at all, driven only by the need to free yourself from the shimmering smears branded into your skin.

Regardless, you keep trying, removing piece by tiny piece of skin, your only indication of the passing time the brightening sunlight that announces the start of another hot summer day.

Someone slams to their knees before you, causing you to flinch so badly the knife slips, leaving a long gash diagonally along the side of your wrist. You barely feel it, frozen in place as your eyes lock with those of the person in front of you and your heart starts to race.

Can it be? Can he really be here?

"Bodhi?"

It's the first word you've spoken since you'd been taken from Xaden, and comes out accordingly hoarse.

Gods, you hope you're not just imagining him. If the pain of what you're trying to do has driven you mad and you're hallucinating—

But no, if it were a hallucination, surely you would be seeing your father. This must be real.

But how? How can Bodhi be here? He had already been led away when it was your turn to be carted off to gods-know-where. Wouldn't they have put you in the same carriage if you were headed for the same place? Or had he been in that carriage with you? In your despair, you had payed your surroundings no heed, and somehow you doubt the soldiers would have allowed him to comfort you. He could have well been sitting in the opposite corner, crying too quietly for you to hear over your own gasping sobs.

Bodhi doesn't seem inclined to answer, his horrified gaze snagging on the blood that drips from your arm and the knife in your other hand. The leg of your pants is soaked with blood, droplets of it scattered on the floor around you like tiny red flowers.

Breaths quickening with rising panic, Bodhi snatches your shirt from the floor and ties it around your arm to staunch the bleeding. Then both his hands close around your own, not crushing or trying to pry your fingers from the knife when you don't let go, but simply holding. Keeping that tiny, bloodstained blade angled away from you.

You let him, mumbling, "I thought they took you somewhere else."

You didn't think you had any tears left in you, but as it sinks in that you aren't as alone as you'd thought, a fresh wave of them rises to your eyes.

"No. I'm here." His eyes are also swimming with tears, so full of love and worry it cracks your heart. "I'm with you, honey. They just wouldn't let me see you any sooner. Said we should adjust to the new environment separately, or something like that. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you didn't know we're here together."

"Not your fault," you sniffle. "I was—"

Shame floods you as the rest of the sentence forms in your mind: —too focused on wanting to stay with Xaden to pay any attention to you. Bodhi loves you just as much as your brother does, is just as fiercely protective of you, always cares about what you have to say and never makes you feel left out for being younger, and yet, you hadn't spared a single thought to where he might have been taken.

"Too freaked out to note who went where?" Bodhi offers gently.

You nod, since it's true enough and sounds better than what you might have said.

"Is that why you—" He nods toward your arm, unable to find the right words to describe what you did. "Because you thought there was nobody here who cares?"

"Nh-nh."

Bodhi looks like he wants to ask more, find out what had been your reason, but seems to decide it can wait.

Taking a deep breath to gather himself, he shakes his head. "Okay. We can talk about it later. First we need to patch you up."

You frown. You aren't finished with removing the mark from your arm. Not even close to it. What you managed to cut away is only a tiny fraction of the whole thing. But Bodhi isn't going to let you continue, you know that. You're not sure you want to continue — not with him watching.

"Can I leave you alone while I go look for first-aid supplies?"

Apparently, your answering nod isn't very convincing, because Bodhi glances at the knife in your hand, still caught between his own. "I'm gonna need you to give me that."

"No."

Dad gave you that knife; it's the only thing you have left from him here. You're not giving it to anyone, not even your cousin.

"Please, baby. It's for your own good," Bodhi pleads. "I promise you'll get it back when I can be sure you won't use it to hurt yourself again."

So never, you think. Even if Bodhi can somehow make you come to terms with having that mark on your arm, the temptation to continue cutting it out will always remain.

But what choice do you have? You can't sit like this forever, and he's right about your wounds needing to be cleaned and bandaged. You don't want to die of an infection; not if Bodhi would have to watch. And even if you don't relent, he could easily take the knife from you by force if he thought it necessary.

Reluctantly, you open your hand, and let him take the knife.

He uses the hem of his shirt to wipe the blood from the blade, probably knowing you'll never forgive him if he lets it rust, and pockets it. "You stay right here until I'm back, okay?"

You nod, too exhausted to tell him you couldn't get up if you wanted to.

When Bodhi returns some minutes later, he has a bowl of water in one hand and a bundled up towel in the other. As he sets the latter down on the bed, you see that it contains multiple rolls of gauze bandages, as well as a small bottle of what you assume to be some sort of antiseptic and a few washcloths.

"Could you come out of that corner?"

You would rather not, but there isn't enough space down here for both of you. He can reach you kneeling outside the alcove, but it'll be much easier to treat your wounds if you come out. Avoiding straining your injured arm, you rise on your knees and squeeze through the gap between bed and chest of drawers, slumping back to the floor with your back against the side of the bed.

Bodhi sits down in front of you, setting the bowl of water at his side. As he dips a washcloth into it, you loosen the bloodsoaked shirt still wrapped around your arm.

Bodhi carefully wipes away the blood smeared all over your arm. At the closer look this allows him at the wounds, his face turns so pallid you think he's going to faint. Thankfully, he doesn't, though the effort it takes him to keep his composure is obvious.

His hand shakes as he dips the used rag into the water, turning it red.

"What exactly were you trying to do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper and thick with unshed tears.

Maybe you should lie — maybe he only asked because he hoped you would lie. You can't, though. There isn't a single excuse you can think of, no matter how flimsy.

Your silence seems to be answer enough, because the sorrow in his eyes doubles. The wounds make it pretty obvious, you suppose — the tiny bits of skin hanging half cut off, the raw flesh bared in the places you'd already succeed, and above all, the bloody shreds of skin on the floor where he found you, those black markings on them gleaming faintly in the morning sun.

"Why? Why would you do something like that to yourself?"

"That— that mark. I just— I can't stand it. I look at it and it, it's just wrong."

You can't explain it very well, but surely he'll understand, at least to some degree. Maybe he can't relate to the urge to claw your skin off that the mere sight of that brand ignites in you, but he, too, must feel tainted by it.

He nods slowly, but the devastation in his eyes only grows.

"Skinning yourself isn't a solution," he says softly.

"It's the only way to get rid of it."

"But is getting rid of it worth all that pain? Would it really be better to be covered in scars instead of that mark?" At your silence, he adds, "We all have it. Maybe we can learn to think of it as something that connects us, instead of something horrible."

"Everyone who sees it will know I got it because my dad led a rebellion. It might as well be spelling out Traitor."

Bodhi nods, running a gentle hand over your hair. "Yes. You can't control what other people will think. But you can control how you think about it."

You shrug, not sure you'll ever feel in control of anything ever again, but unwilling to argue the matter right now.

The bottle of antiseptic Bodhi brought looks like it has been gathering dust in the back of a medicine cabinet for at least a decade, and he grimaces as he opens it. "Fuck, I really hope this stuff is still good. It's all I could find without asking someone."

You appreciate that he didn't tell anyone what you did, didn't ask them to get a healer for you. He must have been tempted, if the worry in his eyes in any indication. But it seems he understands that having to interact with strangers in this state would only wreck you further. And who knows what might become of you if they decide you're a danger to yourself — they might lock you in isolation, put you into one of those jackets with the sleeves tied behind the back. If it ever came to that, you really would try to kill yourself.

"I'll survive it," you mutter, holding out your arm in silent request to get on with it.

Once all the wounds are thoroughly disinfected, Bodhi bandages first your thumb and then your arm, wrapping the latter all the way to the elbow. You only managed to skin a fraction of your arm near the wrist, all the patches where you removed the stained skin combined amounting to less than the size of your palm, but the scratches you made before taking the blade to your skin are scattered all over your whole arm. Maybe it's also so you won't have to see the mark, won't be tempted to continue what you started. The t-shirt Bodhi dressed you in — taken from his own pack of what few belongings he'd been able to take when leaving Aretia — is so big on you the sleeves reach to your elbows, hiding the rest of the mark not covered by bandages.

Bodhi presses a kiss on top of the bandage for good measure, then rises to get you a glass of water.

"Do you think you could eat breakfast for me?" he asks after you drank it.

You shake your head. The mere thought of food makes you nauseous, and leaving the room to go eat would probably mean encountering the people you are to live with. You won't risk that, not now that you've finally calmed down thanks to Bodhi's presence.

He looks like he already expected that answer. "Okay. How about a nap, then? I'm guessing you didn't get any sleep last night."

Since he's right about that, and you're exhausted from all the crying and blood loss, you nod. Last night, the thought of going to sleep hadn't even crossed your mind, but in bright daylight and with Bodhi by your side, you might manage a few hours.

He looks like he didn't get much sleep, either, and you feel a pang of guilt for causing him additional distress. All of this is just as horrible for him as for you, and yet he is keeping his shit together to look after you.

Bodhi simply shoves the leftover first-aid supplies aside, leaving the mess to clean up later, and pulls you to your feet by your uninjured arm so you can sit on the bed. After removing your shoes as well as his own, he lies down in the middle of the bed and opens his arms for you to snuggle into. The room is warm enough that you don't need any blankets, especially when holding each other like this.

"Promise me you won't hurt yourself again?" he mumbles into your hair.

"I— I'm not sure that's a promise I would be able to keep," you admit.

"Then promise me you'll tell me when you feel like hurting yourself. When you start thinking about finishing what you started today. No matter if it's day or night, or what I'm doing, I want you to come tell me."

"Okay. I promise."

Silence follows.

You close your eyes and try to sleep, but it's hard when you can't forget that you're far from home, why you're far from home. You try to shut out all the little reminders of it — the too-soft mattress beneath you, the way the warm sunlight hits your skin at an angle it never came from in your room back home, the sounds of chickens somewhere outside.

"I want to go home," you whisper.

Home — a place that no longer exists, at least not in the way it used to be. The fortress itself may have withstood the fire, but the rest of Aretia... Gone. Turned to ashes just like your father. Ruins and charred earth, that's all you would find if you could return there.

Bodhi's arms tighten around you as the first tear drips onto his neck. "I know. Me too."

"I want Dad. And Xaden. And— and I want everything to go back to normal!"

"I know," he repeats softly. "And you're allowed to feel that way. But you can't let it destroy you. We have to go on, even if it hurts, because otherwise, Xaden will have taken all those scars on his back for nothing."

"How?" you demand. "How do we go on?"

"I don't know. But we'll be alright. Somehow." You can't tell if it's you he's trying to convince or himself. "I know all of this feels like the world just ended, but it didn't. We're still here. Xaden, too, and Garrick and all the others, even if we're not allowed to see them. Someday, we'll all be back together. And until then, we've got each other. I know I'm not Xaden, but I'll take care of you. I promise."

(I'm not entirely sure I like the way I ended this, but I'm tired and if I keep staring at this the chances of getting tomorrow's fic done in time are zero, so here it goes anyway.)

[tsukkisbitch]

when hopeless megumi seeks out the school sl*t to help him lose his virginity.

01 | chapter 2

To put it in simple words, you were less than excited to start your first day back at school after Christmas break. Don't get it wrong, you loved JTU. The classes weren't easy, but weren't too hard for someone of your intelligence level. You were smart, more so than people give you credit for. That wasn't really your fault though, the only one to blame was the school slut rumor constantly floating around.

You hoped that it would disappear after the month-long break, but when you walked into the university's student union, you could feel eyes on you. Eyes watching and waiting, no one bothering to even appear like they weren't staring.

A social pariah in your freshman year, way to go YN, you thought to yourself as you got in line at your school's coffee shop. The rumors weren't even true. Well most of them anyway.

Look, you're a freshman. Freshmen have fun, and that's what you did. You slept with a couple guys, okay maybe more than a couple. But this was your chance to let loose and explore your options, like all freshmen did. Did most freshmen gain more than a couple bodies in their first semester, no, but you liked sex. Everyone likes sex, it's just the fact that you're a girl that everyone sees it's a problem.

You sigh out loud, something that seemed to be the talk of the town, as all of the peering eyes quickly turned to their respective friend groups. You rolled your eyes.

How fucking annoying is this. 

You were next up in line at the coffee where you ordered the same thing you always order: your favorite drink and croissant. After ordering and paying, you sat to the side with the others who were waiting for their orders. You got used to the eyes, the whispering, the laughs, all of it. It didn't bother you anymore.

What did bother you was Fushiguro. You have never spoken to him in your life, honestly the only reason you know of him was because of his older brother, Satoru. The two of you have had more than a couple of run-ins, and the older brother would never shut up about his darling baby sister and baby brother. You always thought for such a guy with a cool persona, he was a giant cornball.

Fushiguro was just staring at you, hard. The others who would stare would at least look away after a couple seconds to whatever video was playing on their phone, but not him. He was just staring. His gaze wasn't menacing or hateful, but curious and nervous. You shuttered a little at the unfamiliarness of it before hearing your name called at the coffee counter. You went up and grabbed your drink, ignoring the wink from the cashier. Note to self; never fuck a barista ever again.

You were starting to feel uncomfortable, probably just another nerd trying to figure out how a girl like you got into a prestigious school like this one. But you were tired of this, just because you like to fool around doesn't mean you didn't earn your spot like everyone else. You decide to walk past him, to give a scare, to show off your confidence even though your steps were a little shaky. Fushiguro was a hot guy, way hotter than the rest of the guys you had slept with, but that didn't mean he could shake you down like the rest of the students.

You began to walk past him, eyes locking onto his. Two can play this game.

As you got closer, his eyes didn't falter. This interested you because what kind of guy looks at a girl for this long.

You paused in front of him, not originally meaning to, "Did you want something?"

Megumi just blinked, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm sure you are, did you want something?" You said emphasizing the last sentence. Megumi shook his head. "Then why the fuck are you staring at me?"

You could hear him gulp.

"Nothing, I wasn't staring." You scoffed.

"I felt you staring at me for the last 7 minutes, ever since I ordered from the cafe. Really, that's the game you want to play?"

Megumi looked around in nervousness, trying to meet anything but your eyes, "I was just-"

You cut him off, "You were just?"

You didn't mean to be rude, but you've met your fair share of guys like him. Guys that try to tear down your confidence with menacing looks and vulgar words.

"I was just wanting to talk to you," Megumi finally spit out. You raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Um," Megumi faltered. "Could we talk somewhere more privately?"

You opened your mouth in confusion, "No? I don't know you. Why would I go to a private place with you? Look if you think that rumor about me with the custodial team is true, you can fuck right off."

You began to walk off, annoyed, when you felt a hand on your wrist. You looked down at your wrist and back up at him. Megumi quickly dropped the wrist, feeling your piercing gaze on him.

"Look, I'm not trying to get sex out of you, but Nobara said you could help me." Megumi said, trying to keep his voice low.

"Kugisaki? She said I could help you? With what?" You asked confused. Megumi gulped again.

"Can we please go somewhere away from all these people, I promise I won't kidnap you or anything like that."

Against your better judgement, you allowed it and began to follow Megumi to an empty conference room.

You set your bag down on the table, "Speak your truth, Fushiguro."

He was picking at his fingers, obviously nervous. "I need help."

"Help with?" You pressed.

"Sex."

"Sex?"

"Sex."

You pursed your lips, "And why would I be able to help you with that?"

Megumi looked up at you," Well, Nobara told me that you're an expert in the field and I am completely hopeless."

Before you could give an answer, Megumi began to speak, "Look, I have never done the - thing - and I am nervous. I didn't go out last semester and I am frustrated, okay."

You just stared at him, not sure if you were on an episode of Pranked or not.

"The thing?" Was the only thing you thought of saying in the moment.

"Sex. I've never," Megumi paused. "I've never had sex. And my friends have no confidence in me, and I don't have confidence in me either. Which is why Nobara thought it would be a good idea to learn from a professional."

You laughed softly, "And I'm the professional?" Megumi nodded.

"And you're serious," You asked. Megumi nodded again. "You're sexually frustrated because you've never had sex and thought that I would be a good person to learn from? Because I'm a professional?"

Once again, Megumi nodded.

"Okay Fushiguro, you gotta stop nodding and starting talking or this is gonna be a long fucking day."

"Sorry," He said, finally talking again. You put your head in one of your hands.

"The answer is no. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not a teacher. I don't think I can guide you through the act with pictures and flashcards." You spoke.

He shook his head, "It's not pictures and flashcards, it would be a more - hands on approach?"

Your mouth dropped open, "More hands on? You wanna have sex with me?"

Megumi didn't move. Just standing there, staring at you in the same manner as he did outside of the cafe. You moved from your stance and walked closer to him.

"Fushiguro?" You asked. He looked down. You bent a little to meet his eyes which were burning holes in his shoes. He towered over you, but in this state, he looked so small. You kinda liked it. Well not kinda, you did like it.

"How can you have sex with me if you can't even look me in the eyes?"

Megumi lifted his head and you straightened your posture. "Please."

You stilled, trying to go over the pros and cons of this "arrangement." On one hand, this could end terribly for both you and Fushiguro, but you could also mold him. Mold him into the perfect little sex machine. Also, not that you'd admit this to anyone, the idea of being a guys first everything sexually sounded so..so..hot.

The scared touches, nervous kisses, the constant reassurance that everything they were doing was okay. The thought of Fushiguro desperate to learn how to please a girl, no, how to please you, was captivating.

"Okay." You said, shrugging. Your inner thoughts were screaming at you to say no and run away, but you thought this could also be so fun. The thought of a man, especially Fushiguro, being so compliant and so eager was making your insides mushy.

Megumi's eyes widened, "Really?"

"Yea, why not. Fushiguro, I am gonna be your little sex angel."

"Please call me Megumi. Fushiguro is my dad," Megumi said.

"Okay, Megumi," You said, emphasizing his name. You sat on the edge of the conference table. "Come here."

You move your finger at him, beckoning him over.  Megumi slightly shaking walks over, as you spread your legs to let him slip into between them.

"Kiss me."

Megumi gulped, may lord have mercy on his soul.

-

posting on the pad. lemme know ur thoughts :) im a new writer and could use the feedback 😆❤️

- elle 😚

[seokmn]

︵⠀MALDIVES ⠀◌Ⳋ ✧ ── you and your husband try to enjoy your honeymoon as much as possible, even if that means doing small sacrifices for each other.

pairing: seokmin x gn!reader wc: 1.1k words warnings: suggestive lua's notes: trying to overcome writers block :p not proofread

ᯓ★ “mon amour, you know you free my soul”

Being actually married could be a new thing for you, an unknown experience on paper. However, you felt like you were married to Seokmin three years ago, when you decided to move in together.

The wedding felt like a dream. It was so beautiful and amazing that you can’t even remember some of the moments of it, thankfully you gave disposable cameras to your guests and they were able to take pictures of moments that you had forgotten or thought about how much you wanted to turn it into a photo.

However, there was something even better than the wedding night – the honeymoon.

Ever since a video about Maldives popped up on Seokmin’s Instagram explore page on a random day a few years ago, he never shut up about how your honeymoon had to be in the Maldives. You always thought that he didn’t actually mean it and that your honeymoon would be somewhere else, but you were wrong.

At the luxurious hotel room, you tossed in bed for the ninth time, making Seokmin’s eyes flutter open. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep…” You sighed and opened your eyes, looking up at the face of your husband with a pout on your lips. “How are you sleeping well?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckled and caressed your arms, his fingers running up and down your skin. “Closing my eyes and sleeping?”

“Not funny. I’ve been trying to sleep as much as I sleep back at home, but I just can’t.”

“Hm, have you tried to count sheep?”

You nodded. The pout still on your lips made him smile softly and play with your lower lip, making you fail to hold back a smile.

“I think I have an activity in mind that could make you feel exhausted and sleep like a baby afterwards.” His words made you laugh, blush a little bit and smack his chest. “Ouch!” Seokmin chuckled. “Got the message, not talking about that this early in the morning.”

“What time is it? It’s still dark outside.”

Seokmin turned his head to the side and, with a groan slipping through his throat, reached out for his phone. He blinked repeatedly when the phone’s brightness hit his eyes before getting used to it. “It’s almost 4AM… How can you not be sleepy right now?”

“I think I’m excited, there’s just so many things I want to do here and so little time to do all of them.”

Seokmin’s brows furrowed slightly when he heard your reason. It’s not that he wasn’t excited to do tourist activities with you as well, he just hoped that you would get some rest too. But he knew you, you were not the type of person to stay in the hotel room bed rotting. So all he could do was to go along with your plans, even if he wanted to stay in for a little while, because your happiness was also his happiness.

“But you can’t enjoy the day if you don’t sleep well, can you?”

“I know,” you whimpered before looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Can you sing me to sleep?”

Seokmin’s eyes softened and he grinned, his chin dimple adding more charm to his reaction. With a smooth move, he brought you closer to him, your head resting against his chest as he started to sing the song you entitled as the song of your relationship and caressed your back.

You could sense that he was tired by the way he sang lower than usual and the thought of him staying awake and singing for you just in order for you to get your sleep before he gets his made your heart melt like an ice cream.

To your and Seokmin’s surprise, you fell asleep faster than you expected. Seokmin kept singing, his voice turning into a soft whisper and then a murmur until he stopped singing at all.

“Sleep well, my love. I love you.” He pressed a kiss on the top of your head and closed his eyes, finally letting the exhaustion get the best of him.

In the morning, the sun invaded the room and the brightness made you wake up. When you opened your eyes the first thing you saw was your husband’s sleeping form being illuminated by the sunlight.

The sight made you envy the sun for being the first one to kiss Seokmin that day, but you couldn’t deny that it was an ethereal sight. His eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he somehow managed to keep on sleeping even with the sun shining on his face, his lips slightly parted, his chest rising up and falling down as he breathed and his tan skin making him even more attractive.

You couldn’t help but place a kiss on his chest, which made him hum and eventually open his eyes. “Morning, love…”

“Good morning, babe. Did you sleep well?”

 He nodded and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “You?”

“I don’t even know when you fell asleep, I slept while you were singing and only woke up a couple minutes ago.”

“That’s good,” Seokmin smiled and stretched himself before sitting up, his back facing you as he looked around. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips against his back mole before tracing kisses towards his neck.

Seokmin let out a soft sigh and turned around to face you. “If you keep going on with this, we won’t leave this room today, and we have a lot of things to do today,” he took your hand and kissed it. “So, what do you have in your plans?”

“Hm…. I want to swim and maybe play ping pong as well, then we can get back to our room after lunch and just rest a bit.”

“Rest? You want to stay in the room even after saying that you have so many things you want to do here?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s our honeymoon, not only mine. You’re the kind of person who also likes to stay inside and recharge a little bit before going out again, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

Seokmin not only looked relieved, he looked like he had just fallen in love with you all over again. “That’s… an amazing plan, love.”

“I know, right? Then we can have dinner at a fancy restaurant and have some fun in the room later.”

“Have some fun, huh? Why am I suddenly so excited for tonight?” He planted a kiss on your lips. “Let’s get ready for the day, just make sure to not get too tired before our little fun time, alright?”

You laughed and nodded.

“Trust me, I’m never tired enough for that.”

taglist ! @tkooooop, @smiileflower, @auroramilaa 𖹭.ᐟ enjoyed the fic? join my taglist to know whenever i'll post another one! have a great day ;)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

There's Always a Catch

Prompt #14 - Poetic Justice | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Mild Horror Vibes, Came Back Wrong | POV: Steve | Tags: Post-Apocalyptic World, Mercenary/Smuggler Steve, Robin Is His #2, A Job is A Job, Until It Isn't, Open Ending

"They told us you're the guy to see."

Steve nods, short and curt. He doesn't want to be the guy, but it's been fated, for some fucked up reason. He's the guy, and for the right price, he'll take any job. He can be bought. Easily.

He stays quiet in the chair. Arms folded over his chest. 

Let them talk. That's the secret. They'll tell you more when you don't ask.

There are three guys, all wearing masks, and well, Steve doesn't judge. Keep yourself safe, he gets it. Doesn't matter to him who they are, what their end goal is, so long as they can pay for his services.

"We have a package. It's important. And we need it transported. Across boundaries. Several."

Steve nods once. Waiting.

There's a catch. There's always a catch.

"It's in Hawkins, Indiana," the shortest guy says, and Steve tilts his head back. 

Goddamnit.

Anywhere but there.

Hawkins, Indiana is a wasteland. Destroyed. He knows. He was there when it happened. His hometown, the epicenter of the world that was shifting into this. Going back has never been something he's been asked to do. There's never been a reason.

Robin stands, like she's his muscle. Maybe she is. She holds out her arm, dismissing them,  "Thanks, but no thanks. We're not interested."

Well, that's a lie. Steve's very interested in whatever the fuck could possibly be worth anything in Hawkins these days. There ain't shit there. Definitely nothing worth paying him to retrieve.

So, he's curious. Sue him.

They plunk three large bundles of cash down on the table. Paper bills, the kind that he hasn't seen in a long while. They're worth more than credits in the repository, because they can be used underground, untraceable. 

It's very tempting.

"Lot of money," Steve says.

"One for the crate, two to let us come with."

There it is. The catch.

It's a trunk. Like bands would have used to move their equipment. Black and silver, with heavy latches.

And it's just sitting out in the open. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, because this stands out as weird in a whole world of weird.

Steve doesn't ask questions. Doesn't much care what he's transporting. A job is a job. 

But — how did this get there? That's what he doesn't understand. Who was left in this godforsaken town to leave it? He was expecting to sift through the ruins of what was once a home, or a business. Not walk straight up to a footlocker, waiting in the middle of the road to be picked up.

It's too easy.

And that means it's gonna be extra hard.

Fuck.

He wants out of this place, and fast, so Steve and Robin load it into their cargo hold, as the three masked men watch.

Late at night, Steve hears scratching coming from it. He ignores it. Whatever it is, it's not his business. He can only fucking imagine. He doesn't think the crate is large enough to haul a demogorgon, and those have been extinct for years. 

But, what if it's Vecna?

What if it's his long, bony fingers clawing at it, biding his time.

Steve wipes his hands down his face.

What if that's exactly what this is, and he's been used to transport that motherfucker somewhere else, and this nightmare will resume, full force. 

No. No way.

He has rules, his own personal code of conduct, and he will not let that happen. He'll do a lot of things, illegal things, but that's one step too far.

He's gotten used to the world the way it is now, and god-fucking-damnit, he's not taking a step backwards. The world that was is gone, but he's not about to let it get worse.

These three surely think they've got Steve and Robin outnumbered, but Steve's no goddamn fool. His army is beneath them, stowed away, waiting. The contingency. The calvary. Cooling their heels. He goes by and knocks on each bunk door three times. Giving the code, the time.

Standing in the bay, he looks at the crate. 

If there's hell inside, he'd rather unleash it here, contained. He'd prefer the chance to prevent the rot from spreading. Hawkins already infected the world. There's no need to make it worse.

He'd rather fight, go down in a blaze of glory.

He's gonna open it.

"Don't touch that!" one of them screams, and Steve whirls around. Jonathan has him in a headlock, the other two equally restrained. Crew's all here, ready to fight. It's what they do.

If it's something that shouldn't have left that hellhole, these assholes will get what they have coming. Steve will make sure of it. If the thing they're smuggling doesn't do it first. Wouldn't that be some poetic justice?

He flips open the latches, and the panic rises, the bile climbing his throat. The smell. It's overwhelming. The Upside Down. Concentrated. A time capsule nobody wants.

He peers inside, but it's black-on-black in there. He thinks he sees a tangle of hair, matted and pulled into a knot. Fabric. Denim. His fingers reach forward, unconsciously.

Then, it moves. A head turning, red eyes flashing, fangs bared and Steve's fingers carefully unlatch the snap on his hip holster. 

The guy Jonathan has a hold of is screeching, flailing, and in the scuffle, the mask comes off. 

Steve recognizes him. Gareth. Fuck, so the other two must be Jeff and Goodie.

The panic Steve feels doubles. That means. This is. 

It can't be. 

They didn't. Couldn't have. 

He's dead. Steve saw it with his own eyes. It's been burned into his brain since.

A pale hand with long nails slides over the lip of the open case, and Steve sees the rings. Tarnished, but familiar, and Steve peers over the edge, looking down. 

Terrified, but exhilarated, every ounce of adrenaline in his body is dumping, washing over him, all at once.

The restraint to not ask questions, to wait, long gone.

"Eddie?" 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Steve's definitely got some Malcolm Reynolds vibes going here, lol.

[rhaenyraeri]

getting caught with joaquin torres <3

joaquin torres x fem!new avenger!reader

minors dni, 18+!!!

you’re a new avenger, he’s on sam’s team of avengers. what could go wrong?

he wasn’t supposed to be here; he shouldn’t be.

that’s the thought racing through your mind as joaquin knelt at the end of your bed, pulling your legs to place them over his shoulders, causing you to yelp.

“shhh, baby. quiet,” he murmured, breath hot against your core, “gotta stay quiet for me.”

your fingers tangle into his hair, grabbing at his hair as his tongue slid over you painfully slow, just enough to work you up. joaquin didn’t like to rush, not when it came to you. especially not when you’re laid out before him like this. his tongue felt around you, savoring the taste of his girl. your heart beat faster as the sight of his head between your thighs as he all but buried himself into your pussy, as well as the added secrecy and heightened adrenaline, flooded your mind.

you shouldn’t have let your boyfriend stay, knowing the repercussions of being caught. tensions were high between the teams now— the thunderbolts/new avengers and sam’s avengers team. but that didn’t stop him nor you from seeing each other. but never once did you sneak into the bases of the other, until tonight.

“joaquin,” you moaned, trying to whisper as to not alert anyone, “you.. we can’t..”

he hummed against your clit, licking like a man starved, then pulled away, “i know, cariño, i know.. please let me have this. i’ll be gone before they get back, i promise.”

you nodded, throwing your head back in pleasure as he went back to your pussy. his tongue swept deep motions that sent you arching your back off the bed, using your free hand to clamp over your mouth. keeping this quiet heightened your senses, focusing in on how good he was. too good. your thighs started to tremble around his head, lightly clenching around the dark curls.

“are you fucking serious right now?”

it was bucky.

his voice bounced off the walls, sounding louder than it actually was due to the silence. you reach out to grab an article of clothing, but in the panic you couldn’t find one, so you pull joaquin’s hair to get him to stop.

but he didn’t stop. he didn’t skip over a swipe of his tongue or a suck to your core. his eyes just flicked up towards your bedroom door, looking at the soldier before him.

“kinda in the middle of something,” he mumbled his answer against your pussy, the feeling of his lips ghosting over you causing you to clench.

“torres,” bucky’s voice roared, growling his name like a command, “off her. now.”

he grunted in disagreement, but unwillingly removed your legs from his shoulders and stood up. his mouth shined with your slick and his own spit combined, “i told you, man. we’re busy.”

“b-bucky, i,” you tried to defuse the tension, but to no avail. he’d already seen way more of you than you ever thought he would. now he’s upset at the sight before him, knowing what would happen if you were caught by literally anyone else.

your eyes took their gaze from joaquin to bucky, who looked like he was holding back from punching the man before you. his jaw clenched, then he sighed. “you’ve got five minutes before the others make their way through the tower. both of you better handle this before it becomes everyone else’s issue too. get straightened up.”

bucky slammed the door, his loud steps trailing off down the hall.

you looked back to joaquin, who was staring at the door. he felt your eyes on him, and he looked down at you, eyes dark and still filled with lust. instead of apologizing for getting the two of you caught or for putting you in that position, he knelt back down between your still-spread legs, kissing up your thigh.

you opened your mouth to stop him, but he cut you off. “he said we got five minutes, baby. but i only need one.”

[malsmind]

vampire!matt 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 antisocial!reader’s 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯

✰ - content warnings: ✦ sexual tension ✦ mentions of blood ✦ emotional conflict ✦

wc - 2.6k

he woke up to the smell of coffee and a throbbing hard-on.

at first, it didn’t register where he was. couch cushions beneath him, blanket tossed halfway to the floor, someone’s throw pillow jammed under his neck awkwardly. the sun was bleeding in from a slit in the curtains, too bright. his head pounded faintly from the leftover buzz, and his mouth tasted like dried blood and bad decisions.

then it hit him.

your house.

his eyes snapped open fully. the living room. your living room. his stomach dropped. fuck.

last night crashed over him like a fucking wave—your hands on his face, the sting of antiseptic and your voice in his ear, sharp and worried. the way you snapped at him while cleaning him up like you weren’t trying to stop your hands from shaking. the blood on your lip. your scent, all over him.

and the shower.

his dick twitched at the memory before his brain could tell it to shut the fuck up. the way he leaned back against your tile, biting back your name, trying to get you out of his system. trying not to walk into your room soaking wet and ruin everything.

it didn’t work, obviously. and now he was lying here like a fucking idiot, painfully hard and humiliated. what the hell was wrong with him? he scrubbed a hand over his face. sat up. tried to breathe through the heat pooling between his legs, the shame twisting in his gut. he was already planning to sneak out the front door when he heard it—

your footsteps in the hallway.

and then you were there. walking past him into the kitchen like it was any other morning. hair a little messy. one of those oversized hoodies hanging off your shoulder, and the tiny black shorts underneath barely showing. you didn’t even look at him. you just started making coffee. casual. like he wasn’t sitting on your couch trying to will his dick to chill the fuck out.

he swallowed hard. shifted under the blanket still loosely draped over him. forced himself to stand up and follow you into the kitchen like a normal person. like he hadn’t practically begged to touch you last night and got shut down because he was drunk and desperate and close to bleeding all over your sheets.

but you—you weren’t unaffected. he saw it the second you realized he was behind you.

you stiffened, slightly. your grip on the edge of the counter tightened just enough for him to notice. and fuck. that changed everything.

he felt the heat rise up again—not from shame this time, but something else. something darker. heavier.

you were nervous.

not annoyed. not weirded out. not brushing it off like usual. you were nervous.

his stare locked on you. hard. sharp. watching the way your shoulders tensed, the way your breathing changed. you wouldn’t turn around. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. but it was already too late.

“you gonna talk to me?” he murmured, voice rough from sleep.

you reached for a mug without looking back. “you’re awake.”

he stepped closer. slow.

“you left me on the couch like a one-night stand, angel. cold.”

“you are cold,” you muttered, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

his mouth twitched. “yeah? want to warm me up?”

you turned then. fast. too fast. like it was a reflex. like your body betrayed you before your brain could stop it. and now you were facing him, mug gripped tight in both hands, jaw clenched like you were ready to throw it at him.

but your eyes—he saw it.

you wanted him. still. just like last night. and the way your breath hitched when he stepped even closer? sealed it.

“you look tense,” he said, barely above a whisper. “you nervous, sweetheart?”

“no.”

“liar.”

his hand reached out, brushing your hip like it was nothing. like it was instinct. and maybe it was, now. because when you didn’t flinch—didn’t shove him away, didn’t tell him to fuck off—his other hand found the edge of the counter behind you, caging you in.

you licked your lips. his eyes dropped to your mouth immediately.

“thought you said no last night,” you breathed.

“i’m sober now.”

you blinked up at him. “so?”

“so this time,” he murmured, “you can’t stop me because i know what i’m doing now.”

you opened your mouth, some kind of retort hanging there—but his hands were already on your waist, sliding under the hem of that hoodie, fingertips grazing bare skin. your breath caught.

“unless you don’t want me to,” he added, voice just a breath against your neck.

you didn’t answer. your fingers tightened around the counter’s edge. and that—that—was enough for him.

his lips brushed your jaw, your neck, slow, like a warning. like a promise. his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing just the edge of your underwear as your entire body tensed, toes curling inside your socks. you couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think.

his breath was warm against your ear now, hands still inching lower. “you gonna stop me, angel?”

you hated the sound you made in response. soft. pleading.

his lips barely ghosted over your skin. “didn’t think so.”

you melted. you let him.

your hips arched forward against him instinctively, and his grip tightened in response, pulling you closer. you could feel him now—hard beneath the soft fabric of his sweats. pressing right against your stomach. your mouth parted. your head tilted back. you were seconds from falling into him completely, voice gone, knees weak—

ding-dong.

the doorbell rang like a gunshot. you jumped. matt froze. your eyes met. wide. startled. then you both registered it at the same time.

chris. and your best friend.

you groaned, slumping back against the counter like the universe hated you. matt cursed under his breath and dragged his hands away from your body, jaw clenched like he wanted to throw the entire front door across the lawn.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice raw.

“yup,” you mumbled, already pushing past him, trying to ignore the fact your knees were still shaking.

he stayed in the kitchen while you opened the door. but you could still feel him watching you. chest rising too fast. lips parted. hands still twitching from where they’d just been on your skin. and you didn’t know what was worse—that it got interrupted, or that you’d let it happen again. just as fast. maybe even faster.

if he tried. if he looked at you like that again. and you already knew—he would.

you open the door with a sigh that practically rattles your bones. and there they are—chris, already halfway through some dumbass story, and your best friend, holding a bag of snacks like this was a regular saturday hangout. they freeze a little when they see your face, your hoodie half on, your hair a mess, your legs still trembling from whatever the fuck just happened in the kitchen.

“uh… everything okay?” your best friend asks, narrowing her eyes at your expression.

you clear your throat. shift your weight like it might make you seem less rattled. “yeah. just woke up.”

“matt here?” chris asks, already peering over your shoulder like he knows damn well his brother is somewhere in the house causing problems.

you open the door wider. gesture vaguely behind you. “kitchen.”

you don’t wait to see their faces when they step inside. you’re already walking away, pulse pounding in your ears, trying to keep your breathing steady. matt’s not in the kitchen anymore. of course not. he’s leaning against the wall just outside of it, arms crossed, still shirtless, eyes locked on yours when you walk past. he looks cool now. composed. like he hadn’t just had his fingers down the front of your shorts.

but you can see it. the clench in his jaw. the faint flush on his chest. the storm still in his eyes. he’s not done. not by a long shot. you don’t know what the hell this is. or why you’re letting it happen.

but fuck—it’s happening.

you end up in the living room with your best friend, half-listening to her complain about the party last night, your hands wrapped around your coffee mug even though it’s cold now. chris and matt are off to the side, talking in low voices, but you can feel matt looking at you again. stealing glances like he can’t help himself. like he doesn’t want to help himself.

you bite your lip. not hard enough to bleed this time, but enough that it makes your stomach flutter again. he sees it. you know he does. you know him now, too well. so when chris says something about needing to grab something from the car, and your best friend follows him out, leaving you alone with matt again for the first time since that doorbell, it’s fucking inevitable.

you’re barely halfway to the kitchen to rinse out your mug before his hand is on your wrist, spinning you around, backing you up against the fridge. your breath catches.

“what the fuck was that?” you whisper, but it doesn’t come out angry. it comes out breathless. shaken.

he’s too close again. always too close. always in your space like he owns the air around you.

“you tell me,” he murmurs. his hand is still on your wrist, thumb brushing slow circles against your pulse. “’cause i don’t know what you’re doing to me, angel, but i can’t fucking stop thinking about you.”

you press your lips together tightly.

“i was trying to be responsible,” you say after a beat, eyes locked on his.

his smirk twitches. “yeah. didn’t feel that responsible when you were grinding on me a few minutes ago.”

“you had your hands down my pants—”

“and you didn’t stop me.”

you freeze. your mouth opens, ready to argue, but nothing comes out.

he leans in, mouth just near your ear. “you don’t want to stop me.”

you flinch. not because you disagree—but because he’s right. you feel it everywhere. in your bones. your chest. between your fucking thighs.

“matt…” you whisper.

“look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t want it.”

your breathing hitches. your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie. you didn’t even notice he put one on. you want to shove him away. scream at him. but you also want to fall apart in his hands. and maybe he sees that battle in your face, because he suddenly backs up half a step. enough to look you in the eye again. enough to give you space to make the call.

his voice is rough now. quiet. careful.

“tell me to stop, angel. and i will.”

you just stare at him. heart in your throat. your mouth opens. and before you can say a damn thing—the front door swings open again.

you both freeze.

“found it!” chris calls from the hallway, waving some hoodie in his hand. your best friend follows behind, laughing about something you didn’t hear, walking straight toward the kitchen.

matt moves. quick. fluid. like he hadn’t just had you pinned against the fridge. he grabs your mug from the counter and turns the faucet on, rinsing it out with a casual flick of his wrist. your hands are shaking again. you turn, pressing your back to the fridge, trying to steady your breathing as the door swings open.

“you good?” your best friend asks, pausing just inside the kitchen.

you nod too fast. “yeah.”

chris is already joking about something again. and matt? matt’s as cool as ever, mug in hand, towel slung over one shoulder now, the faintest trace of a smirk playing on his mouth. he walks past you. doesn’t touch you this time. but as he leaves the kitchen, you hear it—just for you.

“this conversation’s not over.”

you don’t doubt it for a second. and worse—you don’t want it to be over.

₊⊹

you didn’t hear them slip out back. you were too busy trying not to think about the way matt said this conversation’s not over, like it was a promise. like he already had plans. like he knew you’d let him try again.

but out behind the house—just far enough from the sliding door, chris was gripping matt’s hoodie in one fist, yanking him back with enough force to make his brother stumble.

“you fuckin’ insane?” chris hissed. “what the fuck are you doing?”

matt’s jaw clenched. yanked himself free, taking a step back. “don’t touch me.”

“don’t test me,” chris snapped, voice low, sharp with warning. “i saw you in that kitchen.”

matt rolled his eyes. “oh yeah? get a good view?”

“don’t fuck around,” chris growled. “you were two seconds from biting her.”

matt’s mouth opened. shut. his hands flexed at his sides, jaw ticking hard enough to crack.

“you don’t know that,” he muttered.

“bullshit. you were breathing like a goddamn animal.”

“yeah, well, aint that what i am?” matt snapped, voice louder now. darker.

chris stepped in close. their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent war.

“this isn’t a joke,” chris ground out. “you wanna fuck around with someone, fine. but not her. not like this. you know how easily you lose it. you know what happens when you—”

“i’m not gonna hurt her.”

chris let out a bitter laugh. “that’s what you said about that kid in eighth grade who called you a freak. remember how that ended?”

“that was different.”

“oh, yeah? how?”

“because,” matt hissed through gritted teeth, “i care about her.”

and there it was. the thing he hadn’t said out loud. the thing that had been clawing up the back of his throat for weeks. months. longer, maybe. chris stared at him. stunned silent for a second.

“you care?” he repeated, voice tight. “jesus christ, matt, are you trying to get her killed?”

“i would never—”

“you think that matters when you snap? you think ‘oh, but i cared about her’ is gonna mean shit when her blood’s on the floor and you’re on your knees wondering what the fuck you just did?”

matt looked away. jaw clenched so tight it hurt. chris kept going. quieter now. but sharper.

“you get one second of weakness, matt. one second where you lose grip, and it’s over. you know that. and you wanna risk that just so you can feel something for five fucking minutes?”

matt didn’t answer. his stomach twisted. because yeah. he did. he wanted those five minutes. even if they destroyed him. he took a breath, slow. heavy.

“you have a fucking girlfriend, chris,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “why can’t i fuck around with her?”

“because you’re not like me,” chris snapped. “you’re not wired like me. and you fuckin’ know it.”

matt’s hands curled into fists. chris stepped back. dragged a hand through his hair, pacing now.

“look,” he muttered. “i’m not saying you don’t like her. hell, she probably likes you too—though god knows why.”

“fuck off.”

“but you wanna keep her around? don’t touch her. not like that. not when you’re half-feral and bleeding out lust and whatever the fuck else you’re bottling up.”

matt looked away. stared at the stars. his chest felt tight. burning.

“you don’t get it.”

chris sighed. “no. i do. that’s the thing.”

they didn’t say anything for a long moment. just the distant thrum of bass from the bluetooth speaker inside, laughter echoing faintly behind it.

and matt?

he couldn’t stop thinking about your face in the kitchen. your eyes. the way your breath hitched when he touched you. the taste he didn’t get to have. the blood on your lip.

fuck.

he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

and worse—he didn’t want to.

…

dividers by @issysh3ll