#maybe more than that but it’s been too long

[fanfoolishness]

Just losing my mind at the implications that the companions have all been trying to help Rook grieve Varric, and Rook doesn’t know

Emmrich, wise and long-familiar with grief, being told by Neve and Harding what happened; understanding why sometimes he overhears Rook’s muffled voice in the Infirmary, talking to no one. He takes Rook to the Memorial Gardens and mentions he talks to his parents, thinking Rook might be comfortable with the same. Rook lights candles and rings bells but Emmrich watches, sorrowed, to see Rook still seems in deep denial.

Neve takes Rook to the Wall of Light; a Shadow Dragon Rook knows just what this means but any Rook can understand the solemnity, the power of remembrance. Neve reenergizes Brom’s light and looks to Rook, hoping Rook will mention wanting to make one for Varric. Rook is kind and comforting to Neve, but Neve is lost in wondering why Rook doesn’t take the chance to open up. She can’t figure it. Maybe Rook just can’t face it, not yet. Maybe Rook does something privately. She isn’t sure but it nags at her.

Davrin’s not big on talking about feelings. He’d rather just move on. But he sees the way Rook seems a little hollow sometimes, a little distant; he sees how Rook takes so quickly to Assan. “Hey Rook,” he says, and invites them to come with him and Assan to safe places in Arlathan, where the woods are clean and green and growing, where real sunlight dapples through the trees. Rook always seems to love these outings, seems lighter afterwards. But Davrin feels a little confused in that Rook never seems to realize the outings are mostly for them.

Taash is another person not big on feelings. But they know how much feelings can twist you up and mess with your head. When Lace tells them about Varric they feel badly for Rook, and think to how they feel when they’re struggling. Epic fights, dragon fights, drinks with the Lords. Taash is perfectly capable of doing all that on their own. But maybe bringing Rook along will help get them out of their head a little bit. Does it help? Taash isn’t sure.

Bellara’s double-versed in grief after what happens to Cyrian. Rook helped her through trying to reach him, and Bellara wonders, in her own pain, if she can help Rook a little bit too. Especially if Rook is elven, teaching Rook about the braziers and the challenges is another tool she can share about her or their people, another way that might help Rook with their grief. Neve’s told her that the Wall of Light didn’t seem to help Rook much, but maybe a different funeral tradition could help them instead. Rook helps her light the braziers and Bellara feels her heart lightening, though she wonders at Rook, who seems more moved by Bellara’s reactions than anything else.

Lucanis is nearly as allergic to dealing with feelings as Davrin is, but he immediately clocks how Neve and Harding are acting, and asks what happened before he joined them. They tell him about Varric and that they’re worried about Rook, that Rook seems to just be shoving those feelings down without dealing with them. Lucanis is no stranger to that, but while it’s fine for him, he doesn’t want to see someone who risked their life to save him share that struggle. He brings Rook to Caterina’s funeral planning to show Rook it’s okay to admit the loss and honor it. When that doesn’t seem to make a dent, he falls back to his standard - lavish meals, small gifts, coffee. He knows it would help him. He just wishes it helped Rook too.

Lace hurts the worst after losing Varric and Lace is where Solas’ magic comes the closest to faltering. Rook can see Lace is down, she’s quiet, she’s afraid after what happens with the gods escaping; but Solas’ magic holds and Rook can still never see quite why. Lace would love to sit over drinks one night and share stories about Varric, but she sees that Rook doesn’t seem ready, and she doesn’t want to push. Instead she writes letters to Ma, to the Inquisitor, to Cassandra, to Aveline, maybe even to Hawke. She writes out her stories with Varric’s old quill and she carries a bolt of Bianca with her. A dozen times she goes to talk to Rook about him, and when she tries Rook turns away or changes the subject. It hurts, but Lace knows she can’t make Rook talk about him, and she hopes in time it will get better.

This just absolutely crushes me the more I think about it 😭

Edit: Varric’s death is Rook’s personal companion quest every other single companion tries to help them with, and can’t 😭😭😭

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A change of living arrangements means you and the lieutenant are going to be sharing quarters for a bit. All would be fine, if you two could actually stand each other. Is that really it though? Neither of you will tell. But one night, an impromptu confrontation leads to something explosive.

Word Count: 7.9 k

Warnings:

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked lieutenant says under his breath as he opens the door to his new room in the barracks to see just what fresh hell awaits him now.

As a slew of recent recruits just got added to the task forces numbers and so orders went out that temporary room assignments would be put in place until more permanent accommodations could be dealt with to fit the growing numbers. That meant everyone already here had to double up in the short term and Lt. Riley is no exception.

It’s already been a long day and he just wants to get this over with so he can get some sleep soon. The door widens just enough that he can see the figure of his new roommate on the other side of the room setting up their area and that is all it takes for him to stop dead in his tracks as his heart begins to pound heavy in his chest. 

No, no, no; this can’t be right.

Even from the back he already knows it’s you that will be sharing a space for God knows how long and suddenly he is unsure of how he is going to make it through the proximity. Why the fuck of all people did it have to be you that he was paired to board with? The one person that would make the stay that much harder?

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ jokin’,” he says aloud and as soon as those distinct bassy notes make it out of his mouth you immediately turn.

The color drains from your face. “No,” you say as you shake your head. “This has got to be a setup. What the hell are you doing here?”

The lieutenant adjusts his pack full of his clothes and personal items hanging off his shoulder. “What the fuck do ya think I’m doin’?” he asks, his tone harsh. “This is tha room I’ve been assigned.”

The universe has to be playing a cruel joke on him that it would force him into being near the one person he can’t stand above anyone else in this shithole. It has been hard enough having to work together, but now he would have no escape from you and he could already feel himself growing weary at the prospect. 

You shake your head. “That can’t be right. There’s no way they even thought to put us together.”

“Ya think I jus’ decided ta bunk with ya of my own free will?” he shoots back as he moves to his side and sets his gear down. “I’d rather be anywhere else, princess.”

Where this dislike came from neither of you even really knew. There was never any pinpointed incident, no explosive confrontations, no pushbacks to his authority from you or questions about your abilities from him; it seemed to be as simple as two personalities that just repelled each other.

At least that’s what Lt. Riley tells anyone that happens to ask about why you two can’t seem to really get along, but if someone were to really pay attention maybe it isn’t that at all. Maybe there is, in fact, another reason for his attitude, a secret reason that means his eyes will sometimes linger a little too long on the person he says he dislikes, but if…and that is a big fucking if…there is something, he would rather take it to an early grave than even give a hint of anything.

And you, well… Your eye rolls whenever he crosses your path are getting a bit too theatrical to be believed fully anymore, almost as if you are trying to not only convince others of your strong distaste for the officer, but that you are trying to convince yourself as well. You keep your lips sealed tight though and so face value is all anyone can take, even if they just so happen to catch a glimpse of the way your pupils seem to dilate when he is near.  

“Don’t think you’re going to be here long,” you say, your tone snide. “This will be sorted soon enough cause this” you point between him and yourself repeatedly “will not work.”

The lieutenant has already resigned himself to living in hell as he hunkers down in his bed. “Whateva’ ya fuckin’ say, princess, but ya know what Cap’n Price said about not bringin’ this bullshit ta him as he’s too fuckin’ busy dealin’ with everythin’.”

Fuck. You’d forgotten that little memo… mostly likely put in place to avoid having to deal with situations just like this. If it wasn’t for that you would have marched right down to the captain’s office at first light to demand a change, but you’re already on thin ice as it is right now and can’t afford to cause trouble. All you can do is suck it up and bear it. 

It’s just a few weeks, right? Just a couple of measly weeks and you can both go back to avoiding each other like the plague and all will return to the status quo. Right?

Well a couple of weeks feels a lot longer when it’s spent in company with someone you are actively trying to keep up appearances around. By the end of the second week, even being the highly trained military officer that Lt. Riley is, even he is starting to crack under the constant closeness. 

He used to have an outlet, time that he could spend away from you to deescalate the desperate need growing in his belly, but now… now he has to see you after hours moving about the room in your pajamas that leave very little to the imagination and fuck is it killing him to not have some form of relief. 

He needs something to take the edge off or he is going to start getting sloppy around you and there are still three more weeks that just got added on to this torture. He’s held on for as long as he can, done all the mental gymnastics to keep certain thoughts at bay, but being forced to have his nose filled with the scent of your soap after your shower and have to watch you lay about casually on your bed as you read before going to sleep, legs propped in just a way that he can almost look into your shorts, he can’t do it anymore.

Tonight he has to fix his problem or you’re going to be able to see it protruding from the crotch of his pants. 

Lt. Riley waits long after he’s heard the change in your breathing to be sure you’re sound asleep before he puts his plan into action. The sharp edge of his teeth grip into the rolled up bottom of his crew neck shirt, holding it up off his stomach as his large hand is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock sticking out the top of his grey sweats. He had stuffed the fabric into the cavity to keep himself quiet, not wanting the sound of his desperation to wake you until he can finish; he has to get through this somehow and keeping his balls empty is the only way he knows will work. 

Vigorously he strokes up and down his length, using the bit of precum dribbling out of the tip as lubrication to smooth his movements. Those coffee-colored eyes stare up into the dark ceiling as his fantasies play through his mind like a film: you being a vision of beauty naked, his large body wedged between your legs, your bare thighs crushing against his hips as he slams into you hard and rough enough to make your breasts bounce with each thrust. 

Fuck, he cannot draw his thoughts away tonight. 

He desperately aches as he always does to feel you, get lost in your curves, let his touch map the contours of your body as he pulls your pleasure from you himself. His hand around his cock strokes harder as he imagines the way your body would feel wrapped around him instead of his rough palm. Would you cry out as he stretched you out for the first time? How hard would your hips buck and writhe against his?

God dammit, why do you have to be just out of reach? Close, right on the other side of the room, but not close enough… not in his bed, not under his body, not filled with his cock. Instead, here he sits propped up against the wall in his bed just as he has so many times before in his old room, using his palm to fuck himself, wishing he could be worthy of a minute of your softness instead.

He nearly bites a hole through the bottom of his shirt imagining the way the sound of your whimpering voice would run like a drug through his veins, leaving him in an intoxicating haze of desire as you moaned his name into the silence.

And that’s when it happens. This one isn’t only imaginary though, like your voice in his head. Muffled, your name falls from his lips in a groan and he doesn’t realize what he has done.

The hardened military lieutenant is unraveling at the seams, forcefully stopping himself from grunting like an animal as his abdominals tense the more that pressure builds inside. He’s almost there, so close that just a bit more and he is going to spill over the edge and finally be able to sleep so that another day can pass, but before he can reach that sweet peak of pleasure his eyes flutter open…

And there you are silently standing near the edge of his bed.

He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings during such an intimate act, but the ecstasy was too strong and he missed that squeak of springs and the soft pitter of feet across the floor. The bunched up shirt slips out of his lips as he tries to shove his cock back inside his pants, praying that the dark has masked enough of his body that you can’t see him clearly.

“What tha hell are ya doin?” he asks as embarrassment floods his nervous system.

Reaching over to his bedside table and brushing your hand over the fabric of his mask, there is a click as you turn on the small lamp to give the room just a tiny bit of light. You try not to get distracted by having those sharp features that you so rarely get to gaze upon meet your sight and you swallow to regain composure to continue.

“Could ask the same thing of you,” you return as you nod your head, using it to point to where his hands are doing a poor job of hiding the massive hard-on he still has.

Now it’s his turn to be silent. What the fuck is he supposed to say? It’s obvious that you’ve seen everything so no lie is going to convince you otherwise.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” you ask, but still he says nothing. “You know, you’re not as quiet as you think you are.”

The thought is left to hang in the air a moment, the only sound filling the room is of his heavy breathing as you weigh your options on how to handle this. You know you could simply chide him for needing to have a wank while bunked with a roommate and leave it at that, but that’s not what you want. No; you know what you just heard and that you have to know if what he was just doing was out of need for you… a need that you secretly share.

If this is your chance to make something happen between you both, you cannot let that go.

The lieutenant’s breathing gets even harder as he watches you move forward without another word and slowly climb onto the bed with him. You move your body up over top of him, his back still propped against the wall behind him, crawling up over his legs until you are straddling over his lap. 

Your face is right before his and there is a glisten that shimmers through the irises of your eyes  as you stare back at him that catches the spare bit of light illuminating the room and it makes him unable to pull his sight away. You’ve been quiet this entire time, but he still expects you to say something, anything, break the silence because he isn’t going to do it. The lieutenant doesn’t say a word as he keeps his eyes plastered to your face. His gaze drifts down to your lips where they linger only a moment before finally he watches you open them to speak. 

“But, you know, it wasn’t the sound of you fucking stroking yourself that woke me up,” you say and his eyes drift back up to meet yours. “Been in the military long enough to know that when you gotta relieve pressure, no matter the situation, you just gotta fucking do it. No, that wasn’t it.”

You pause and he waits on baited breath for you to finish the thought. He needs you to finish the thought so he can do something about how you are over his lap, nearly rubbing up against the tip of his hard cock.

Reaching for the bundled up edge of his shirt still resting at the top of his stomach, you give it a tug to draw his attention to it, brushing your knuckles over the hair covering his abdomen and he fidgets trying to keep quiet as ecstasy-filled synapses spark over his skin from your touch. 

It isn’t hard to miss that the contact has a certain effect, but you don’t say anything and instead continue your thought. “Your muzzle really isn’t that effective at buffering the sound…when you absentmindedly said my name in a moan. Care to explain why I was in your head?”

The lieutenant bristles and your smirk is as sly as a foxes. “Have I been in there long, sir?”  

That strong jaw shifts back and forth as he breathes in deep through his nostrils to try and calm his pounding heart from beating out of his chest. You’ve barely touched him and it is already rendering him nearly incoherent, but he has to pull it together cause he won’t give you the satisfaction of making him fall apart, especially and until he figures out what the hell is going on.

“Why don’ ya just go on back ta fuckin’ sleep ‘stead a askin’ questions?” he pushes back. “I’s late.”

You shake your head. “Suddenly I’m not so tired anymore. Come on, I promise I won’t tell,” you lower your voice “How many times have you stroked it to the thought of me?”

“Bed,” he barks, but you aren’t having it.

“I’m already in one and I’m not moving until you tell me.” 

Fine, he’s already caught anyway. What’s the harm in the truth? You already have enough ammo to use this against him, what’s a little more? 

“Alright, ya really wanna know? Do ya ‘ave any fuckin’ idea what it’s like to want someone and feel like you’re unable ta do anything ‘bout it?” he growls. His intense gaze never waivers and yours doesn’t either. “I mean, we ain’t exactly chummy with each other, what the fuck was I ‘spose ta do other than rub one out ta get it outta my system? Do ya know how bad I’ve been fuckin’ achin’ to ‘ave my way with ya?”

You tilt your head. “Is that why you’re always in such a piss poor mood when I’m around? Cause you want to bury that cock of yours in me so fucking bad? Is that right, Simon?”  

He smirks in return, running the tip of his tongue slyly over his top lip to buy him enough time to calm his racing heart down from hearing you say his name before his hand juts up from his side to find its way onto the back of your head tangling in your hair. 

He gives the strands a rough tug that makes you grin instead of wince. “Who said ya could fuckin’ call me that?” he waits for your answer a moment, knowing you won’t give one before continuing “And what’s your fuckin’ excuse for the way ya act, hmm? Maybe ya want me ta bury my cock in ya, princess.”

You move your face in nearer despite his grip, your lips ghosting so close to his that he can feel the heat of your breath on them. “Are we going to keep sitting here exchanging insults…” the sentence gets interrupted by a hiss from him as you rock your hips so that your pajama clothed pussy brushes over top of his bulge, “...or are we going to do something about this? Cause maybe we just found a way we can stand each other and you’re letting it slip by.”

A chuckle emanates from deep in his chest. “Fuck you,” he grunts.

The tip of your nose bumps against the tip of his as again you move your hip and you can feel the sharp inhale he takes as it steals some of the air from your mouth. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to get you to do, Simon. So, you better make up your fucking mind fast. Am I going back to sleep or…?”

That dam of need he’s kept walled up inside himself for this long had never been tested like this before and as you roll your hips one last time it finally bursts open with such force that there is no stopping the flood. Simon is no longer in control of his actions, though he still has a bit of sense left that he lets out in a terse comment before he lets himself completely go.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand how much I need ya, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere, princess,” he says in a groan and before the last syllable is even uttered his hand at the back of your head pushes your head in towards him so rapidly that you can feel the last word die on your mouth before he mauls you in a kiss that overwhelms your entire face.

A kiss that you cannot get enough of and you meet his intensity and desperation with the same magnitude of your own.

All he needs from this point on is you, all he wants in this moment is you. Nothing else in the world matters or exists except the two of you tangling your limbs and lips together in a union he has obsessively fantasized over for so fucking long it makes him ravenous for each kiss, each, touch, trying to satisfy that burning desire he had suppressed. And by the way you meet his kisses with a ferocity, he knows that you will take it all, anything that he has to give. 

Suddenly, in a display of his sheer strength, he grabs you tightly in his arms and flips you both over so that your back is now pressed into the mattress and his body weight is crushing you into it, causing the kisses overwhelming your mouth to not be the only thing making it harder to breathe. His heart is racing, his blood feeling like fire in his veins as he briefly breaks his mouth away to look down at you beneath him, swallowed under the bulk of his body; the angle he’s dreamed of seeing you in. His lips lock back to your own, devouring every heated kiss that you give to him like a man starved.

You moan into his mouth as he thrusts his hand down the top of your short pajama bottoms and into your panties while he pins his lips tighter against yours to swallow the sound of your pleasure down like water and keep it from escaping into the room. He has needed this for so long that now that he has it, he can’t get enough and he won’t waste a single note of it.

The lieutenant is flying blind, but his desire won’t let him falter in his movements. He struggles to keep as much attention he can scrounge up to observe you, read your body, let your sounds guide him so that he can adjust his actions. He isn’t worried about the rush, he is going to be thorough in finding all the ways that can make you fall apart for him and have you completely addicted to him by the end.

Simon’s thick fingers spread apart the silky, warm lips of your pussy and he slides the middle one right up your slit to your clit where he presses the rough pad against it harshly and begins to draw tight circles over it. He is not hesitant at all, touching you like he owns that thing between your legs and you are rendered dumb within just a couple of minutes of him stroking his finger over that small bud.

You’d seen his hands before, meticulously cataloged each thick finger both in and out of his skeleton-patterned gloves and mused about what they would feel like against you, on you, in you. So you know exactly how big they are, but having them between your thighs is an entirely different thing. They are strong, precise, everything a trained professional should be and you know you don’t stand a chance against how he decides to use them. 

The more he plays, the more that other hand of his he wants to put to good use and so he slips it up under the hem of your shirt to roughly push it up revealing your soft torso until it reaches the point that he will have to pull from your mouth to rip it off over your head. 

Simon tears the fabric off your body, flings it away, and lets his dark eyes linger on your naked curves to take you in as if seeing you for the first time all over again. He’s seen you almost every day that you’ve been a part of this team, but he has never been able to see you like this: naked, breasts on full display with their hardening nipples, the muscles along your torso clenching as his hand in your bottoms is quickly making a mess. 

But all this newly revealed bare skin calls to him and he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to cross his arms over his abdomen while grabbing the bottom of the shirt he still has covering his chest so that he can quickly pull it up and off in one fluid motion. He tosses the piece of clothing to the ground atop yours and immediately dives in to press tight to you while letting his touch glide over the contours of your exposed skin until his fingertips tremble with ecstasy. 

There is an electrical pulse that bursts over his flesh as your bodies connect skin to skin for the very first time, an attraction that is magnetic in its design, and he groans deeply as he nips at your bottom lip lightly. “God dammit, why tha fuck do ya feel so fuckin’ good?” he huffs in a desperate strain of his gruff voice as his fingers slip up into the short pant leg of your pajamas so that they can go right back to servicing your now damp pussy.

A shuddered breath escapes his lips, the corners upturning into a sinister grin as an idea strikes him and suddenly he is bringing his head in towards your chest, moving to one side and opening his mouth so that he can graze the tip of your nipple with the edge of his teeth before he circles it with the tip of his tongue. 

God damn, where the fuck did he learn something like that?

You let out a whimper as the feeling he elicits from your breast when he does it again can be felt in your clit, making the stroke of his finger even more potent. “F-fuuck…” you say in a shaky breath and you swear you can feel that bastard smile into your tit as he hums with satisfaction that his maneuver worked just like he had hoped as he switches sides to do the same to the other. 

Satisfied with how your nipples are nice and hard, his lips press into your breast so he can suck them into his mouth and now he has you right where he wants you- whimpering and bucking your hips into his hand to grind harder on his fingers. He knows right now he can do anything he likes and your body will force you to comply just to get him to keep going…and he is still feeling raw from being the only one to have to confess the extent of his need earlier.  

That hot mouth unsuctions from your breast with a pop.“Admit it,” he demands abruptly as he pulls his mouth away from your skin. “Admit ya have been achin’ for me just as bad as I’ve been achin’ for you.”

Caught up in the pleasure, you close your eyes and ignore his order to talk, wanting to only focus on the sensations causing your mind to get more hazy by the second. “Don’t stop,” you moan instead. “We’ll talk later.”

Without a word he drags his finger down through the gathering wetness in your slit away from your clit and lifts it out to settle it on the crease between the lips of your cunt and your leg, forcing you to open your eyes to him as you whine in protest. “Ya heard me tha first time,” he says.

You desperately try to wriggle your hips to maybe somehow get him to slip back in, but his free hand keeps your body restrained in place. He’s strong, strong enough that you aren’t going to get anywhere trying to push back against him. The only way you’re gonna get him to keep going is to speak…and you better do it fast because you cannot take this torture.

“Okay, okay,” you give in with a frustrated sigh; you made him admit, it’s only fair you do the same. “There is just something about you, I can’t explain it. This…desire… came out of nowhere and it’s been torturing me for a long time now. And then all this happened and I thought I wasn’t going to make it; I need you so bad sometimes it feels like I’m going to fucking combust. Then I heard you say my name tonight and the only thing I could think as I walked over is that I hope he will want to act on whatever he’s fantasizing about. Is that good enough?”  

Simon’s hand moves back to inside your lips, but it isn’t back up towards your clit. His finger gathers a friend and he moves them both down to your entrance where he aligns them quickly before slamming them up into you until the lips of your pussy hit his palm.

“That’ll do,” he praises in a low growl that gets quickly drowned out by your moan from the stretch of your walls to accommodate his large digits.

God you’re so fucking tight around his fingers it’s enough to drive him insane and his cock throbs as his excitement grows to thrust it inside, but not yet; it’ll do for now just to hump the back of his hand against your pussy until he’s finished prepping your body for what’s to come. 

Over and over he heatedly ruts against you and the bulge in the crotch of his pants hardens again into a stiff peak that tents his clothes. There are only a few measly pieces of fabric that separate your bodies and that only makes him grind harder and harder, scrambling for a tiny bit more friction. You match his energy by wrapping your thighs around his hips so you can roll your body into him and ride his fingers curling up inside until you feel the drip of your honey down his hand to gather into the crotch of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans.

You nod. “I’m ready,” you say desperately. “Fuck me; I need you inside me.”

Your plea goes unanswered for a moment as his fingers continue until you hear him chuckle; it’s anything but cheerful.“No.” The statement is short, but powerful.

“What?” you gasp, your breathing heavy.

That familiar tension is starting to build inside that causes your limbs to tingle and you know that if he keeps the rhythm steady that it won’t be long and he will make you cum. A part of you wants him to stop and fuck you, but the other part, the part that is surprised at his skill with his hands, wants him to keep going. You don’t have to struggle with the weight of deciding too long as your decision is made for you.  

“You’re not getting a god damn thing more till ya cum for me right now, princess,” he demands, “all over my fuckin’ fingers. Wanna feel it. Ya don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into; you’re gonna ‘ave ta be nice and wet ‘fore ya take me.”

That pressure is welling up inside you, ready to burst at any second as long as he keeps his strokes steady. Your mouth falls open and hangs slack so you can simply breathe as each minute that passes brings you to that edge until that heated knot in your core finally becomes so pressurized that it bursts open and sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body like a river of fire.

You cry out as your body lurches and your hips buck against his hand and he groans in ecstasy to feel your body clench around his fingers. “There ya go princess, let it out,” he coaxes as he curls his fingers over and over inside you through your orgasm until you finally relax as the ecstasy subsides.

You lay there breathing heavily as you try to contemplate how hard you just came, but your thoughts are wrangled back into the present as you feel heated lips against your neck trailing down to your collarbone.

Simon pauses and pulls his face back up to meet yours for only a moment; he is on a mission and can’t be stopped for long. “I am gonna fuckin’ ruin ya,” he snarls his deadly promise into your face before flashing a smirk and diving back into his work. 

Your body is burning under his fingertips as if everywhere he touches he sets ablaze and he can feel it as his lips follow closely behind. Down the line of your abdomen he places his kisses: over your ribcage, across your waist, over your belly button, and coming to a stop right above your shorts. 

His fingers hook into the fabric. “Lift your hips,” he urges and you follow his request as he grips into the material to pull them over the curve of your backside and down your thighs, tugging them the last bit off your feet and tossing them out of the way.

Only the skimpy bit of fabric that is your soaked panties remains, but his feral brain will only let him remove them one way and it isn’t with his hands. He moves in by lowering his head to your pelvis, his warm breath traveling over the sensitive skin just below your belly button until he raises goosebumps across the surface in response. The scent of your arousal fills his nostrils and it only fuels his urges with fervor.

“Christ, Simon,” you moan at delicious feeling of the damp heat from his mouth warming your skin, followed immediately by a louder one as the stubble on his jaw pricks you as the touch of his lips meets your body so that his teeth can sink into the top of your panties. 

Your head pops up over the line of your body at the strange sensation just in time to watch him slink down over your legs with shoulders arched and muscles rippling across his back while dragging the cloth of your panties stuck securely between his teeth. He looks up so his eyes can lock onto yours as he goes and you swear you can see them darken with the untamed desire that is floating in their depths, desire to give in to all that he has denied himself for so long and unleash it on you in the most depraved ways.   

He makes it to the end of your legs and harshly pulls the fabric off, holding the garment in his mouth like an animal as his chest heaves strenuously up and down with each labored breath. God, he can’t stop the way your body holds his gaze hostage. He is drowning in the beauty of you as he stares with baited breath, admiring how all this gorgeous flesh that he has pinned to get just a glimpse of time and again is right in his grasp and all he has to do now is reach out and take it.

Taking your damp panties out of his mouth and setting them onto the bed, he pops his gaze back up to your eyes. “Open your legs,” he says, inhaling sharply as you follow his direction and he sees your naked pussy presented to him. 

He tries to be as coherent as he can through the heavy panting he cannot settle, mix that with the visceral reaction he has to seeing you bare and dripping before him and his temperature begins to skyrocket so that the overwhelming desire he feels for you in that moment is strangling him like a straightjacket of heat.

Suddenly he is overwhelmed with an insatiable hunger to get at you with his tongue, wanting to feel you squirm across his face as his mouth makes contact and he begins to lap at you like a hungry dog. He needs you to make an absolute mess of cum across his stark features as he uses his tongue to draw out your pleasure until your scent has fused with his skin and your nectar has awakened the taste buds in his mouth.

Crawling on all fours he stalks back in close and in the haze of his desire, he grabs your thighs harshly to spread them even wider as he drops down onto his stomach. “Was jus’ gonna fuck ya, but not yet,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum again and I’m gonna eat ya out till ya do.”

No more words, he ignores your pleas to give you a moment as he moves his face in and places his lips to the petals of your pussy in delicate kisses that send shivers up the length of your spine from the stimulation and makes your head strike back into the mattress as you cry out.

You shut your eyes tight as you are immediately overwhelmed with the sensation of his lips pressed between your legs as he uses his tongue to push through them so he can suction around that sweet little bud and sucks it into his mouth. 

The sensation from your still tender cunt makes you buck your hips and slam them against his nose, but that doesn’t deter him one bit. The thrill of the struggle to eat you out while you’re still so sensitive is what makes him want more; Simon wants those whining cries and moans, wants to feel trapped against you as your muscles flex and make you lock your legs around his ears.

It takes a bit, but soon the slight discomfort subsides and all that’s left is the ecstasy of his agile tongue. Your hand finds the back of his blonde head and pushes down so that he is pressed tighter against you. Simon hums his pleasure deep inside his chest at the act of being forced to suffocate against you and the grip wrapped around your thighs tightens as if he is physically trying to hold on to his sanity.

The moisture rolls down Simon’s strong chin, through the stubble on his jaw, and drips down his face onto the sheets beneath him so that a noticeable dark stain begins to form on the fabric. Good, get him filthy, wreck his sheets, he doesn’t care. He isn’t going to stop licking and sucking no matter how bad it gets.  

How does he do it? How does he keep up the stamina to keep going at your clit with his tongue with just as much vigor as when he started minutes and minutes ago? You whine and it seems to make him go in harder, you buck and he is not deterred; you’ve never been treated like it was a fucking pleasure to get the opportunity to eat you out before.

Just the insatiable way Simon uses his mouth to pleasure you is enough of an aphrodisiac to kickstart the second gathering of warmth in your belly.

You want to cum again for him and so you leave him to his work and focus on letting him go wild. Giving up that control is what it takes and within minutes, you can feel that tautness inside about to give way to your ecstasy. You go completely silent and with a few more strokes of his tongue your orgasm comes on strong so that your legs draw together out of reflex to the overwhelming euphoria. 

Your thighs are wrapped around him so tight that if you don’t let up he is going to die between your legs from lack of oxygen, but still he doesn’t give up; if he dies, he dies. The air is slowly slipping away and just before he goes to pry you open so that he can escape, your body relaxes and you release your hostage as you sink into the mattress.

Simon rolls onto his side and rests his head against the shaking muscle of your thigh to catch his breath, lifting his eyes to gaze at the mess shimmering as it leaks from between the lips of your pussy, the mess that is entirely his doing. He smiles to himself as he wipes away the spit and cum that’s accumulated on his chin before he sits up and moves back over top of you. 

“God damn, ya never sounded better than when you’re cummin’ for me,” he breathes the words against your raw mouth as he steals it again, trying to drink your whimpers as you come back down that second time.  

There is a bit of fidgeting between your bodies that you can feel as he keeps your face at his mercy, but soon it becomes clear that he is wrestling down his sweats off his hips and kicking them off his legs. 

Through a panting breath you beg him. “Please.”

That’s all you have to say to make your intention clear, that one word is all he needs to understand what you’re imploring him to do; you need to feel him, even though you aren’t even sure you can stand another orgasm. It doesn’t matter, you need his cock inside you - now.

The tip of his free cock throbs against the skin on your thigh and he grabs your hand to wrap around it so you can get your bearings on what he has to work with; it’s definitely got some girth.  “Tha’s all for you,” he grunts as your hand tightens around the shaft. “Ya want it, princess?”

Staying silent, your hand still wrapped around it, you move it to align the head with your sopping entrance. You can taste the distinct musk of yourself in his kiss that he steals as he pushes his hips forward and presses the tip against the membrane. 

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures in a whisper on your mouth, “jus’ breathe for me.” 

Those strong hands hold your hips steady as he clenches his abdominals and drives the tip of his cock carefully up into you until your body gives way to his girth. The stretch causes your walls to expand quickly and you cry out at the delicious feeling of suddenly being so completely full of him. 

Christ, you’re so tight that he has to pause and pant heavily to gain control of his sanity before he attempts to continue or else he risks coming too soon. And nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to make this moment you’ve both waited agonizingly long for be over before it’s begun.  

“Tha’s it, sweetheart, tha’s it,” he struggles to get the words out coherently. 

His thrusts start slow, hips rocking back and forth easy until he is sure he can pick up the pace without losing it. As the speed increases so does the strength, each new thrust hitting harder and harder as he holds onto your hips to keep your body from being shoved away from the intensity.  

“Fuck…ya drive me insane,” he grunts, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips so hard you can already feel the skin begin to bruise. “And I can’t fuckin’ get enough a it.”

His breaths are now ragged, each one more of a struggle to draw in than the last and his thrusts become more sloppy with each pass as he fights himself to gain back control.

“Your mine,” he groans with a fierceness that sets your soul on fire to hear. “All mine, no one else can fuckin’ have ya. Understand? You belong ta me. Say it, say ‘I’m yours, Simon’.”

There isn’t a moment of hesitation as the words fall effortlessly from your lips. “I’m yours, Simon,” you repeat his words and he slams into your hard.

He drills his fingertips into your soft thighs to hold on to them like handlebars. “Say it again,” he commands.

“I’m yours, Simon.”

He frees one of his hands from your thighs to find the back of your neck and closing his eyes, he leans forward while pulling your head towards him to rest against you with foreheads touching. “Again.” The needy word is barely audible.

You steady your voice by taking a deep breath. “Simon, I am only yours,” you reassure and again he slams his cock into you more vigorously in response.

He could ask you to repeat the phrase ad nauseam until you are hoarse and he would still want to hear it again; he can’t get enough of the way it makes his heart pound faster and faster to hear you say it with such conviction as his cock is buried inside you. It’s the only thing he wants, the only thing he craves, and he cannot help the way he wants to hear it again so he can commit it to memory in case this is all some big dream he will soon wake up from. 

Your bodies slip against each other more now as the perspiration created from your copulation coats over all that exposed skin until you both sparkle in the soft light of the room. His hips roll into you with a sense of urgency; he’s close, but he has to be sure you come first. Reaching between your bodies into the gap created from this position, he guides his hand down the warm, glistening skin of your pelvis to slip his fingers back between your damp petals and up against your swollen clit. 

You mewl pitifully into his face with your mouth hung open as the pleasure radiates out from that tiny bead that his fingers rub over down into your core and you can’t help but try and push against his hand that is keeping your head locked to his as you desperately try to arch your back. “Gonna cum again,” you struggle to say. 

Simon nods his head against yours. “Finish for me, sweetheart,” he groans against your bottom lip as his fingers slip through all that natural lubrication that begins to dribble down over the back of his hand towards his knuckles the longer he strokes. “I need ya ta cum one more fuckin’ time for me.”

Your walls are fluttering around him, the pressure in the pit of your stomach almost painful as your body strains to bring you to orgasm for the last time. But it can’t be stopped even if you wanted it to, you are at the point of no return and there is no turning back. You whimper into his face, loud and pitiful, seeing stars in the darkness behind your closed eyes. 

He adjusts his head and opens his eyes so his sight can watch the movement of your bodies, watching to make sure that he is keeping steady. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he grunts, about to cum himself, “come on my cock. Show me how I’m tha only one that knows how ta make ya come.”

A few hesitant groans and your body clenches as you reach climax once again, only this time the wave of pleasure is more intense as his cock is buried inside you. And Simon feels it, the way you core squeezes him and he can’t hold off from cumming any longer. At the last possible second he pulls out of you and up between your thighs as his warm cum shoots out the tip of his cock to cover your stomach. 

Through the mind-numbing ecstasy flooding your body to make your limbs tingle, you quickly reach for him and wrap your hand around his shaft firmly, stroking it to milk his orgasm for as long as possible as he grunts deep and guttural while writhing in your touch. His fingers sink into your thighs as he sits back and lets you finish him off until he slows his movements and places his large hand atop yours, causing you to immediately slow to a stop.  

Your hand releases him and falls heavily onto the mattress beside you as you lay there and try to calm your breathing. The sweat along your curves starts to cool your burning skin the longer you stay still and it isn’t much longer before you start to get a chill. The hulking officer still kneeling between your legs is able to gain control of himself after a few minutes and moves to lay beside you on the bed, but not before stretching himself to the floor to grab his shirt.

Simon moves in closer and using the top he wipes up his cum off your stomach carefully, making sure to get it all before tossing the garment back to the ground. You turn your head to look up into his face as he props himself up on his elbow and meets your gaze.

“You going soft on me?” you ask, your tone light and playful as you are too tired to even try and pretend your usual attitude towards him is going to be kept up now.

Grabbing your hand he laces his fingers through the spaces in between your own, his thumb stroking over your knuckles gently. “Just keep quiet and fuckin’ enjoy it, yeah?” he returns, pulling your arm to roll you over so you are against his chest. 

He leans down and captures your lips so you can’t say anything else. Suddenly these new room assignments don’t seem so bad. In fact, you may just become a permanent bunk mate in his room no matter what comes in the next few weeks if this keeps up…and he is going to be sure it keeps up.

[delulustateofmind]

This is Love, Right?

Part two of Can My Friend Join?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

Sum: You're starting to grow used to Suguru, maybe evening learning to accept his love.

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Cameras, Obsession, Manipulation, trapping), Really toxic relationship, dubcon, oral (F and M receiving), Brief smut, Reader is going through it. SatoSugu (Just a warning in itself), Angst

WC: 4.7k

A/n: Listened to a random Mitski playlist and it lowkey made me depressed while writing this, expect some fluff after this one.

This is love.

You keep telling yourself that, don’t you?

Even as silent tears streak down your cheeks in the furthest bathroom—the one tucked away from the master bedroom, the one even Satoru’s Six Eyes can’t reach.

This is love.

The way Satoru leans down, his snowy white hair falling across his forehead in that effortlessly tousled way, pressing a fleeting kiss to your lips before heading out on a mission. His crystalline blue eyes, so striking they feel otherworldly, linger on you for a moment too long before he straightens up, a lopsided grin pulling at his lips. Suguru follows, his dark hair tied neatly back, though loose strands frame his sharp, beautiful face. He gives you a casual wave, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint, teasing smile as he murmurs, “I love you.”

You’ve never seen Satoru happier than he’s been since Suguru joined your relationship. Happier than back when it was just the two of you, curled up on the couch, his long legs stretched across the cushions while you laughed at some cheesy anime. Back then, his laugh was unrestrained, carefree. The way his shoulders would shake, his hand coming up to push his blindfold up and wipe away a tear—it felt real.

You miss those days.

You didn’t cry as much back then.

But they love you, don’t they?

They still pay your tuition, still ensure your life is cushioned and cared for. Suguru, always measured and composed, suggested once, “Maybe you should switch to online classes.” His voice was soft, his tone coaxing. It made sense, didn’t it? His reasoning was sound: “There was a special grade curse at the school the other day. We just worry about you, baby.”

Suguru always seems so calm, his velvety voice soothing and warm yet guarded dark eyes giving him an air of quiet authority. You begin to find comfort in that. However, the weight of his presence feels heavy, suffocating even some days.

Satoru, on the other hand, radiates energy. His presence fills the room like sunlight—blinding, inescapable. His tall, lanky frame always seems so relaxed, but you know better. Behind the teasing lilt of his voice and his constant grin lies a man who rarely lets his guard down. The way he looms, leaning just a little too close, reminds you of the distance he refuses to let exist between the two of you.

They worry about you so much. Yet whenever you voice concern for them, they hush you. Suguru’s deep voice reassures you, as if he’s talking to a child, while Satoru’s lips curl into a too-bright smile, his hand patting your head like you’re something fragile.

They love you. They take care of you. It would be selfish to leave them, wouldn’t it?

And Satoru—he’s never been this happy.

He’s working less, smiling more. Suguru’s return has lifted a weight off his shoulders. He’s not carrying the burden of being the strongest alone anymore. You can see it in the way his smile softens when Suguru speaks, in the way his gaze lingers on him longer than it ever lingers on you.

And yet, you tell yourself:

This is love.

Still, you wonder… wasn’t Suguru supposed to be going to therapy? You think back to his promises—vague, half-hearted reassurances—but did he ever actually leave for a session? Ever join a voice call?

You don’t recall.

You try to push the thought away, like so many others. Ignore the red flags. Focus on the green.

The relationship has its moments. You’re growing used to Suguru.

Especially your drunk self—the one that gravitates toward him, curling up on his lap like a loyal dog, seeking out his touch and the warmth of his arms. He always accepts you, his large hands stroking your back or brushing through your hair with a tenderness that feels almost too loving, almost cruel. You wonder what side of yourself that is, the part that craves his affection so desperately, the part that lets the lines blur between love and dependency.

You might even say you’re learning to love him—or at least the version of him that exists in the quiet of the night. The version that pulls you close under the weight of darkness, his voice low and unguarded as he whispers, “I love you.”

It’s in those moments that he feels human, almost fragile. A man with calloused hands and a broken heart trying to mend himself through you.

And it’s hard not to wonder—are you really learning to love him, or are you simply surrendering to the inevitability of it all?

Satoru, though… he never used to cuddle at night. Even before Suguru entered the picture, he always sprawled out in his ridiculously expensive sheets, claiming restlessness from the constant hum of his cursed energy. He needed the space, he said, and you told yourself he deserved it.

Suguru, however—Suguru surprised you.

At first glance, he didn’t seem the type for soft affections, but you quickly learned otherwise. Every night, his arms would find their way around you, wrapping you in a firm but gentle embrace. His warmth seeped into you, grounding and comforting, as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His lips would brush your skin with soft kisses, a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him.

Sometimes, his deep voice would murmur, “Sorry we came home so late,” heavy with sincerity. Other times, his words were more vulnerable, whispered just above a breath: “I love you,” spoken in the dark when he thought you were asleep.

It’s hard not to love him in those moments. Hard not to feel your resolve slip as his presence surrounds you. His breath fans against your neck, steady and warm. His rhythmic breathing eventually syncs with yours, as if his body is learning the cadence of your every inhale and exhale.

For those fleeting moments, you almost forget the cracks beneath the surface.

Other good moments were the intimate ones, the kind that left no room for doubt about how thoroughly they possessed you.

Suguru’s lips would meet yours in slow, deliberate kisses, his touch soft and coaxing, as Satoru’s tongue worked between your legs. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, clouding your vision and overwhelming your senses. Satoru’s tongue moved with precision, his mouth relentless as he lapped at your cunt, delving deep until your mind felt as hazy as your breathless moans.

Suguru’s fingers never faltered, rubbing tight circles around your clit in perfect rhythm with Satoru’s ministrations. Their combined efforts dragged you over the edge again and again, your body trembling and giving in to the relentless waves of pleasure.

It became impossible to think of anything else—impossible to care about anything other than the bliss they brought you. Their hardened cocks stretched you beyond your limits, filling you completely, their stamina nearly too much for your quivering form.

Suguru would cradle your face in his hands, his dark eyes soft yet intense as he cooed sweet nothings. He’d murmur praises, soothing and possessive, as Satoru pressed the tip of his cock into your overstimulated, leaking cunt. The stretch made you gasp—a sound Suguru captured with his lips, his kiss slow, methodical, leaving you no room to shy away.

Satoru’s hands gripped your hips harshly, his long fingers digging into your flesh, ensuring you stayed exactly where he wanted you. You could already tell the marks would bloom into bruises by morning, a physical reminder of their claim. Suguru, ever attentive, would turn your face gently toward the camera, his voice a low murmur against your lips. “You’re such a good girl,” he’d praise, his thumb brushing your cheek before pulling you into another kiss.

When they were finally spent, when your body gave out completely, Suguru always carried you to the bath. His embrace was steady, grounding, as the warm water soothed your trembling form. You’d lean against his chest, your body limp, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.

Sometimes, Satoru would join, his tall frame slipping into the water beside you. Their voices would soften as they spoke over you, discussing mundane things or recounting their mission. Occasionally, a kiss would press against your temple—a fleeting gesture, tender and claiming all at once—as you drifted in and out of sleep.

For a little while, it felt like you belonged.

And then, when he thinks you’re asleep, Satoru murmurs, “I knew you’d come around.”

You’re never sure who he’s talking to—Suguru, the man who swore to eradicate non-sorcerers? Or you, the girl who’s finally learning to love the monster who holds her at night?

It’s in these moments that you find yourself slipping out of bed, mumbling an excuse to use the bathroom. Suguru always lets you go with a teasing “Come back fast, or I’ll come get you.” You never linger long enough to see if he’s joking.

Once inside the furthest bathroom, the one that feels like your only sanctuary, you clutch the edge of the sink and sob. Quietly, so no one hears. Until your knees give out and you’re on the floor, shaking and clutching yourself.

This is love. Right?

They loved you. So why were you crying in the bathroom?

Why did each love bite feel like a brand, etched into your skin with every lingering gaze in the mirror? Why did their cum, warm as it seeped down your thighs, burn like it was searing itself into you, a mark you couldn’t erase? Why did the blank, soulless stare of the camera lens feel like an accusation, making you flinch away from any piece of technology?

Before too long, you would wipe your tears, force a smile to your lips—steadying it just enough so it wouldn’t wobble—and return to Suguru’s waiting arms. His hum would vibrate against your back as his dark hair tickled your neck. He’d cradle you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Goodnight, baby,” he’d murmur, and you’d close your eyes, pretending his embrace felt like comfort instead of confinement.

But mornings brought their own discomforts.

You found yourself rifling through the master bathroom, searching the countertop with rising panic. Where is it? The nagging thought ate at you.

Satoru, brushing his teeth beside you, glanced over with those striking blue eyes. His tone was soft, almost too casual. “What’s up, baby?”

“I can’t find my birth control,” you admitted, the words trembling as much as your hands.

“Did you misplace it? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” He walked over, his long arms wrapping around your waist. A kiss brushed the top of your head, his voice gentle but firm. “Go ask Sugu. He’s the one who organizes everything.”

So you did. Suguru was at the desk in the living room, working through a report. From over his shoulder, you could see the numbers—charge rates, payments for missions—enough to know your schooling costs barely amounted to a fraction of what they earned in a single week.

“Your birth control?” he repeated absentmindedly, his tone light, almost dismissive. “You’ve been misplacing that a lot, haven’t you, baby?”

His words felt condescending, like you were a child searching for a lost toy.

“Where is it?” you asked, voice still soft but with a growing edge of desperation. You were five minutes late—exactly.

“Ah-ah, no need for that tone, baby,” he chided, his eyes still glued to his paperwork. “Check the kitchen counter. Your purse? Maybe your school bag.”

It took thirty agonizing minutes of searching, panic simmering under your skin, before you found it—perched on top of the fridge.

You stared at it for a moment, unmoving. You would have never put it there.

Suguru’s behavior had become harder to ignore. There were moments when his touch lingered, his eyes softened, and his voice carried a wistful tone. He had baby fever—you could tell. Maybe it was tied to the twins he lost.

You’d asked him about them once. His face shuttered, dark and unreadable, and he didn’t respond.

You tried asking Satoru, but he had simply glanced away, his usual bravado vanishing for a moment too long.

You decided not to ask again.

Some questions weren’t meant to be answered. You had a sinking feeling the truth lay buried somewhere with the higher-ups, in a place you weren’t allowed to tread.

Suguru’s baby fever didn’t fade, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

When the three of you went to the store, you’d catch that soft smile tugging at his lips whenever he saw a child. It wasn’t the type of smile he gave just anyone—it was warm, tender, hopeful. And it was always followed by a kiss pressed to your temple. A gesture you used to pull away from, but now, you found yourself smiling through.

Sometimes, he’d suggest wandering into the baby section, his tone casual, almost playful. “Just in case. Want to see what’s out there.”

The words always made your skin crawl.

Because no matter how innocuous they sounded, your mind couldn’t help but spiral. It always went back to the hidden birth control, the misplaced pills, and the monthly pregnancy tests he insisted on. He’d stand there, watching you pee on the stick, his arms crossed but his expression almost serene—waiting, anticipating. He wanted to know right away.

You tried to shove those thoughts into the furthest corner of your mind. Tried to convince yourself it was all harmless.

Satoru, by contrast, didn’t seem to care much for babies. He never lingered in the baby aisle and rarely commented on Suguru’s behavior. But he’d hum softly, his hand clasping yours, and flash you a loving smile.

You liked to think that as long as everyone else was happy, Satoru was happy.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Occasionally, when they left for long missions, the apartment felt suffocating in its emptiness. You’d pad softly through the vast, cold space, the silence amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

Your eyes darted around, searching for the hidden cameras you knew were there. You weren’t sure where they all were, or when they liked to check the footage, but you’d found one blind spot: the hallway closet.

You moved slowly, deliberately, ensuring you didn’t do anything that might raise suspicion. Even though you were alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

All because they loved you.

Slipping into the closet, you nestled yourself on the floor, silky yukatas hanging above like a shroud. Your laptop glowed faintly in the darkness as you opened it and began your quiet rebellion.

You searched for apartments—something small, something within your budget. Each listing felt like a whisper of hope. You lingered on them, imagining the freedom they promised, before methodically deleting your browser history. Clearing the cache. Erasing every trace.

It was a silly idea. A foolish one, really.

But for a few stolen moments, it was yours.

It didn’t seem so silly after the heated argument with Satoru when he got home.

He was already overstimulated, frustrated, and teetering on the edge of losing his patience. Those moments were the worst—when the teasing lilt in his voice faded, replaced by something sharp and mean. His cerulean eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, turned cold and calculating, the glow of his Six Eyes adding an eerie sharpness to his gaze.

All he wanted was release. That was all.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” he said, his tone flat but brimming with expectation.

Except you weren’t in the mood.

“I’m sorry, Toru, I just—”

“I do everything for you, and you can’t even provide me with a little comfort?” His words came out harsh, the grin curling his lips into something too sharp to be soft. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. His presence always felt overwhelming—broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted face framed by stark white hair, and a lean body that seemed to hum with restrained power. You swallowed hard. Did he get taller?

“I just got off my period, so it’s—”

“It’s what?” His voice cut through your hesitation, his hands flexing as if he were trying to leash himself. “Come on, baby. Just a quickie. Or let me use your mouth.”

The fight drained out of you before you even realized it.

You ended up on your knees, the cold tile biting into your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed face. His long fingers twisted tightly into your hair, guiding your head as if you were nothing more than a puppet for his pleasure. His pale chest rose and fell steadily, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin catching the light, glinting like cruel punctuation to his earlier frustration.

The tip of his cock pushed past your lips, the stretch almost unbearable as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts. His head tilted back, exposing the sharp lines of his jaw, tightening with every wet sound that filled the room. A low groan rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating in the space between you like a growl of satisfaction.

Your throat burned, gagging and gasping as you struggled to adjust. Your hands clutched at his thighs for balance, fingers digging into the hard, taut muscles beneath his impossibly smooth skin. His hips began to move with more force, his breaths growing heavier, the faintest smirk curling on his lips as he reveled in your struggle.

His moans grew louder, rougher, until with a sharp tug of your hair, he pulled out. Hot ropes of cum painted your face, the heat of it stark against your flushed skin. You blinked through the haze, barely catching your breath, the sting of humiliation bubbling up in your chest.

Before you could even reach for something to wipe yourself clean, the sharp click of a camera shutter echoed through the room.

You didn’t need to look up to know what he was doing. You could already imagine him grinning at the screen, tapping a few buttons with casual ease. You could picture the caption as clearly as if he’d whispered it into your ear:

"Our girl is so beautiful, isn’t she? <3"

The thought sat heavy in your chest, a mix of shame, anger, and something else you didn’t want to name.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Satoru turned sweet again.

He brought you a towel, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped your face. “Come on,” he coaxed, his voice softening. He guided you to the bathroom, his fingers lacing with yours, and drew you into the shower.

Under the warm water, he washed your hair, his hands threading through your strands with care. His crystalline eyes softened as he began to tell you about his mission, his lips quirking into a small smile. From the counter, he produced a small box of mochi, your favorite snack.

“You’re everything to me, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. His arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressing against your back. “I’m going to marry you one day. You know that, right?”

And just like that, the storm passed, leaving behind only his affection.. 

Your heart sank at the mention of marriage. With them, you knew they’d find a way to make it happen—the three of you, bound together, no matter how impossible it seemed.

After the shower, you slipped into bed, craving the comforting warmth of the sheets. It was a small solace, a fleeting moment where you could envelop yourself in something soft and familiar.

Satoru liked to cuddle during naps, and true to form, his lanky arms found their way around you. He pulled you close, his chest pressing against your back as he nuzzled into you. His kisses came next, peppered across your lips with deliberate exaggeration, loud and obnoxious.

You used to giggle when he did that. You used to squirm and laugh, batting him away as he grinned and pulled you closer.

But now, you stayed still, letting him press his kisses and settle into a nap with you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d giggled like that. Or the last time you’d laughed at all.

On their next mission, you had exactly six hours.

Exactly six hours for a stupid idea. A fleeting thought. 

You’d planned this carefully, down to the second. When they asked where you’d be, you made some excuse about a doctor’s appointment. It was believable enough—Suguru always asked to see the summary of your visits when you got back, a habit you knew was less about care and more about control.

But this time, you lied.

There was no appointment.

Instead, you booked a one-way trip. Far, far away from Tokyo. Far enough that they wouldn’t be able to find you, at least not right away.

The States. It was the only place you could afford with the small stash of cash you’d scraped together over the years—birthday cards, Christmas cards, anything you’d managed to squirrel away without raising suspicion. You even bought a prepaid flight gift card, ensuring it couldn’t be traced back to you.

No suitcases, no sentimental keepsakes, nothing but the clothes on your back.

Before you left, you scrawled a simple note, placing it where you knew they’d find it. Just three words:

"I love you."

Ironic, isn’t it? 

As you sat at your terminal, the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. You told yourself a 14-hour flight wouldn’t be so bad. It was freedom, wasn’t it? The first real breath you’d taken in months.

But then, a familiar figure caught your eye.

Megumi.

He wasn’t alone—the other first-years trailed beside him—but it was Megumi’s gaze that stopped your heart. His dark eyes widened when they locked onto yours, a flash of recognition that made your stomach churn.

Your anxiety hit you like a freight train, crawling under your skin, seeping into your every bone as they walked past. Megumi glanced back at you one more time, his lips parting just enough to mouth the words: “I’m sorry.”

And then you saw it—his hand reaching for his phone, his fingers already dialing.

You didn’t have to guess who he was calling.

Your heart sank, but you told yourself it wasn’t his fault. You knew Megumi had his reasons—his own happiness to protect, his own precarious balance to maintain. He was trying to survive too, wasn’t he?

You understood. You really did.

But understanding didn’t make the fear any less suffocating.

You cried the entire car ride home, your sobs tearing from your throat, raw and uncontrollable.

Satoru didn’t even glance your way. His icy, dull gaze stayed fixed on the window, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by your muffled cries and the hum of the car engine.

In the passenger seat, Suguru sat quietly, his expression unreadable. His hands rested on his knees, fingers drumming absently, as if the tension in the car didn’t weigh as heavily on him.

Poor Ijichi-san gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, clearly caught in a situation he didn’t want to be in. He glanced at you through the rearview mirror—sympathy flashing briefly in his eyes—before he quickly looked away, the moment shattered by Satoru’s cold, piercing glare.

The car felt suffocating, like the air had been sucked out, leaving only the weight of your despair and the oppressive silence of the two men who claimed to love you.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched the familiar sight of your apartment complex slip past the window. Panic prickled at the edge of your already frayed nerves, your grip tightening on the fabric of your clothes. A small sniffle left your nose, your voice coming out hoarse and broken.

“Where are we going, Toru?”

You turned your gaze to Satoru, hoping for an answer, for anything—but he didn’t look at you. He didn’t respond. His profile was cold, distant, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Your stomach twisted, guilt clawing at your insides. You must have hurt him. He always clung to your love like it was his lifeline. You must have broken that lifeline, snapped it in two with your attempt to run.

You shifted your gaze to Suguru, hoping for some clarity, but his face gave nothing away. His dark eyes flickered toward you for the briefest of moments before returning to the road ahead, his expression as still and unreadable as ever.

The car veered away from familiar streets, the urban sprawl giving way to the shadowy embrace of the woods.

Your chest tightened.

Every nerve in your body screamed as the car crept deeper into the forest, the tall trees looming like silent sentinels. Your mind raced with grim possibilities. Were they planning to leave you here? Like an unwanted dog, cast into the cold for daring to run away?

But then, just as the panic began to claw at you, your gaze caught the sight of something familiar—something that made your heart sink even further.

The tall, imposing torii gates emerged through the mist, their vibrant red striking against the muted greens and grays of the forest.

Oh.

The Gojo Estate.

“I don’t think I can trust you enough not to leave again,” Satoru said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically calm, almost detached.

He wasn’t usually the one to chide you—that was Suguru’s role. Suguru, who would dole out punishments with a sharp tongue or a chilling, parental tone, as though you were a misbehaving child. But now, Satoru’s words held a gravity that made your chest tighten.

“So,” he continued, his crystalline eyes fixed ahead, “I figured here, you could have a few more eyes on you. Maybe even enjoy it more. Who knows? You might even come around to the idea of being Mrs. Gojo or Mrs. Geto. Your pick.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“We already filled out the documentation. You’re married.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, the weight of them crashing into your chest. Your mind spun, unable to comprehend the sheer audacity of it, the sheer finality.

You felt chained.

Like a dog, tethered to their will, stripped of freedom, and locked away under the pretense of love.

They didn’t say anything as they walked you through the grand, silent halls of the Gojo Estate, and for that, you were almost thankful. The air was heavy with whispers and disdainful glances from the servants. A non-sorcerer? Their murmurs carried through the air, sharp and cutting, as though your very presence was an affront to their world.

When you reached the bedroom, Satoru’s hand guided you forward with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing yours as though nothing had changed. He led you to the edge of the plush, sprawling bed, and you forced a small, trembling smile to your lips—a weak attempt at peace, at hope.

His bright eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him.

But then his hands caught your wrists.

A light kiss brushed your lips, so soft you barely registered it over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. The faint click of the cuffs was almost lost in the quiet, but the cold metal digging into your skin was impossible to ignore.

He stepped back, his expression unreadable.

It was Suguru’s voice that filled the air next, low and calm, like a lullaby that promised nightmares.

“You’re going to provide us an heir,” he said, his smile almost serene, even as your eyes widened in horror. “It was Satoru’s idea, actually.”

His smile deepened, almost teasing, as though he enjoyed the shock and betrayal etched across your face. “And you’re not leaving this room until you’re safe and pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating you.

Suguru’s tone carried a quiet, unmistakable happiness, as though this was something he’d always wanted. Maybe it was—he’d always longed for a child, hadn’t he? You turned your gaze to Satoru, searching for something, anything.

But all you found was the lovesick smile he gave Suguru.

Not you.

Your chest tightened as tears pricked your eyes, the overwhelming urge to scream, to sob, to lash out building inside you.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you sat there, the cold metal biting into your wrists, the weight of their love crushing the last sliver of hope you’d held onto.

You had grown numb.

Must be from all the love, right?

[p0orbaby]

All I Want for Christmas

summary: your daughter didn’t get the one present she really wanted

warnings: none !

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope you like it !

word count: 2.9k

-

You notice something’s off with Eliana two days after Christmas. At first, it’s subtle—an anomaly so slight it could almost be chalked up to post-holiday fatigue. Normally, mornings with Eliana are chaotic in a way that feels both exhausting and oddly necessary, as though the house depends on her noise to keep it from crumbling into silence. She bursts into the day like a firework: her small feet slapping against the wood floors, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her voice ricocheting between pitches as she narrates her life in real time or belts out whatever song has recently embedded itself in her psyche.

Today, there’s none of that. She lingers in her pyjamas—a pair with faded unicorns that she refuses to let you throw away despite the fraying cuffs—long after breakfast. When you remind her to brush her teeth, she drags her feet, her movements lethargic in a way that feels rehearsed, like she’s trying to stretch each step into eternity. It’s the absence of urgency that unsettles you. Eliana thrives on urgency. She once cried because Alexia beat her to the front door when the postman rang.

But this morning, there’s no competition. No noise. No off-key rendition of Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo echoing from the bathroom as she “forgets” to spit out her toothpaste. You’re struck by how quiet the house feels. Not peaceful—just wrong.

By lunch, the feeling hardens into certainty. Eliana picks at her sandwich with the detached precision of someone performing a task they’ve been paid to complete. She peels the crust away slowly, meticulously, her small fingers working like a jeweller inspecting a flawed diamond. The crust sits in a neat pile beside her plate, untouched. So do the carrot sticks you’ve artfully arranged into a star shape—an attempt to disguise healthy food as something fun. Usually, she’d at least nibble on the points before declaring them “too crunchy.” Today, she doesn’t even bother with the charade.

And then there’s the Coke. You could write a thesis on Eliana’s Coke-stealing habits. How she waits, biding her time like a cat stalking prey, until you’re sufficiently distracted—mid-sentence, mid-bite, mid-thought. The moment your guard drops, she strikes: clutching the can with both hands, her face breaking into a grin so triumphant it’s impossible to be mad. You always let her have one sip, though you draw the line at more. She doesn’t push her luck; she knows where the boundary is and takes satisfaction in skirting it.

But today, the Coke sits untouched. You leave it on the table deliberately, watching her from the corner of your eye, waiting for the familiar rustle of movement. It doesn’t come. She doesn’t even glance at it.

Alexia notices it too. She’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing the cutting board she insists on hand-washing because the dishwasher “ruins the wood” (a claim you’ve never verified but don’t argue against). “She’s been quiet today,” Alexia murmurs, glancing towards the living room. Her tone is casual, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

You follow her gaze. Eliana is curled up on the sofa, her knees drawn to her chest, her chin resting on top of them. The TV plays some saccharine animated film about magical snowmen and plucky penguins—one of those films where everything sparkles unnaturally, and the characters blink too often. Normally, Eliana would be transfixed, laughing at all the wrong parts and narrating the plot aloud despite everyone already watching. But today, she’s motionless. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, as though the screen is a window to a world she can’t quite enter.

“Maybe she’s tired,” you say, though you don’t believe it. Eliana doesn’t do tired. Even as a baby, she fought sleep like it was a personal enemy, crying herself hoarse rather than admit defeat. Sleep was a battle you rarely won outright; most nights, you settled for a stalemate.

Alexia doesn’t look convinced either. She dries her hands on a dishtowel, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” she says. “This isn’t like her”

It isn’t. And that terrifies you in a way you can’t fully articulate. You watch her from the kitchen doorway, your hand resting lightly on the frame, as though bracing yourself against an invisible weight. She looks small. Fragile. The kind of fragile that makes you want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her from the world.

But it’s not her size that unnerves you—it’s the silence. Eliana’s silence feels like an absence, like something crucial has been taken away without your permission. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, though you don’t know what.

And that, more than anything, is what scares you.

-

You get your answer that evening, during bedtime. Eliana’s room is a testament to her devotion to pink—a monochromatic sanctuary where even the air seems tinged with a rosy hue. The walls are painted a soft blush, a decision you regretted halfway through applying the third coat but one you could never take back once she saw the finished product and declared it “princess perfect.” Her duvet cover is a riot of pastel stars, most faded from repeated wash cycles and the occasional chocolate milk spill. On her bedside table sits a lamp with a shade adorned with tiny ballerinas, their poses forever frozen mid-pirouette.

The bookshelves, crammed to the edges, are an organised chaos of her literary life. Picture books dominate the lower shelves—familiar titles with tattered spines that you could recite in your sleep (Guess How Much I Love You has practically become your mantra). Higher up, a collection of chapter books gathers dust, ambitious purchases she insisted on during a trip to the bookstore, her eyes wide with determination. She struggles with the longer words but refuses to ask for help, insisting on piecing together syllables with the kind of stubborn grit that feels both infuriating and endearing. She gets that from you.

You tuck her in with the practised efficiency of someone who has made a ritual out of bedtime. She clutches Mr Snuggles, a stuffed rabbit so battered it looks like it’s survived a war zone. He’s missing an eye, his fur matted beyond recognition, but to Eliana, he’s irreplaceable. You know this because you’ve tried to replace him—multiple times, in fact. You’ve scoured boutique toy stores, online shops, and even eBay, searching for a plush rabbit with vaguely similar dimensions. Each attempt has been met with disdain. “It’s not him,” she always says, clutching Mr Snuggles tighter as though you’d threatened to take him away permanently.

“You’ve been quiet today,” you say, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. Her hair has reached that awkward in-between length where it’s too long to leave unchecked but too short to do anything meaningful with. She hates the hairdressers, the stiff capes they drape over her, and the stylist’s endless chatter about her favourite Disney princess. You’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her there.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifts upwards, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it holds the answer to some unspoken question. Her fingers tighten around Mr Snuggles, her thumb absently stroking the spot where his eye used to be. Finally, she speaks.

“Santa didn’t bring me what I wanted”

Your stomach twists in the way it does when you know something is wrong, but you can’t yet identify what. “What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your tone light. “He brought you loads of things. That dollhouse you’ve been asking for since May, the colouring set with the glitter pens—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice soft but resolute. “I wanted a sister”

You blink. “You wanted what?”

“A sister,” she repeats, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he didn’t bring me one”

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. Your brain cycles through a series of fragmented thoughts: What? When? How? You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to materialise in the doorway, her presence offering a lifeline. But the hallway is empty, save for the faint hum of the washing machine on its spin cycle. You’re on your own.

“When… when did you ask Santa for a sister?” you manage, your voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face.

“At school,” she says matter-of-factly. “We wrote letters. Miss García said we could ask for anything we wanted”

“And you asked for a sister?”

She nods, her expression solemn in the way only a six-year-old can manage when they think they’ve been wronged.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? Or Mamá?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise”

You press your fingers to your temples, as if physically holding your head together will help you process what you’re hearing. A surprise. Of course. Eliana watches you with wide eyes, her expression expectant. It dawns on you that she’s waiting for an explanation.

“Well,” you begin, your words slow and deliberate, as though carefully navigating a minefield, “Santa doesn’t… bring people as presents”

“Why not?”

Because it’s illegal. Because Santa isn’t real. Because your wife and I can barely handle the one child we already have.

“Because,” you say instead, stalling, “that’s not how it works. Sisters are… different. You don’t get them from Santa”

Her brow furrows, and for a moment, she looks startlingly like Alexia—her small face drawn into a frown of concentration, as though dissecting your words for hidden meaning. “Then where do they come from?”

You pause, the weight of the question settling over you like a heavy blanket. There are a dozen ways you could answer this, most of them wildly inappropriate for a six-year-old. You settle on, “From Parents, sweetheart”

She considers this for a moment, her head tilting slightly to the side. “So can you and Mamá make me one?”

The question hangs in the air, absurd and sincere in equal measure. You feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Or cry. Or both. “It’s not that simple, Eliana”

“Why not?”

Before you can answer, Alexia appears in the doorway, her hair pulled into a loose bun, her face flushed from the effort of folding laundry. She takes one look at your face, at the strained expression and the faint sheen of panic in your eyes, and bursts out laughing.

-

Later that night, after Eliana is finally asleep, you and Alexia sit in the living room, letting the weight of the day settle over you. The room is dim except for the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, blinking lazily in alternating patterns. The air smells faintly of pine needles and the remnants of the vanilla candle Alexia lit hours ago but forgot to blow out. There’s an almost sacred stillness in the house, the kind that feels rare and precious when you have a six-year-old.

Alexia hands you a glass of wine, her fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than necessary. She sits beside you on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and pulling a blanket over both of your laps. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie—yours, you think, judging by the way the sleeves swallow her hands—and a pair of faded joggers. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves around her face, and there’s a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that she hasn’t bothered to wipe off.

She looks tired but beautiful, the kind of beauty that feels effortless and intimate, like a secret only you’re privy to. It makes your chest ache in a way you don’t entirely understand.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “our daughter asked Santa for a sister”

You exhale, shaking your head as you take a sip of wine. It’s red, something bold and expensive that Alexia brought home last week. She has a knack for choosing good wine, even though she always claims it’s pure luck. “She did”

“And she’s heartbroken Santa didn’t deliver,” Alexia adds, her tone half-amused, half-disbelieving.

“She is,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. The table itself is covered in the detritus of Christmas: an abandoned roll of wrapping paper, a pair of scissors, and the instructions for the dollhouse you spent three hours assembling on Christmas Eve while Alexia supervised with a glass of champagne in hand.

Alexia leans back, stretching her legs across your lap. Her socked feet are warm against your thigh, and she wiggles her toes absently as she looks at you. “What do you think?” she asks, her voice light, as if she’s testing the waters.

“About Eliana asking for a sister?”

“No,” she says, her lips twitching into a small smile. “About giving her one”

You laugh, a short, sharp sound that feels more defensive than amused. “You can’t be serious”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” you repeat, incredulous. “Because we barely survived the first time around. Do you not remember the colic? The sleepless nights? The time she screamed for three hours straight because she didn’t like the colour of her bib?”

Alexia tilts her head, as if genuinely considering your words. “She was a baby. That’s what babies do”

“Exactly. And you want to do it all over again?”

Her smile widens, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes now. “Maybe”

You groan, leaning your head back against the sofa. “You’re insane”

“I’m not,” she insists, nudging your thigh with her foot. “Think about it. Eliana’s older now. She’s more independent. She’s in school most of the day. We’re not in the trenches anymore”

“The trenches,” you mutter, reaching for your wine again.

Alexia shifts closer, her foot still resting against your thigh. “I loved it, you know. All of it. Even the hard parts”

“You loved it?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I loved being a mum to a newborn. Watching her grow, seeing all the little things she learned every day. It was… magical”

You glance at her, and the soft, wistful expression on her face makes something inside you twist.

“And you,” she continues, her voice lowering slightly, “you were amazing”

“Alexia,” you say, a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m serious,” she says, her hand finding yours beneath the blanket. Her fingers are warm, her grip gentle but insistent. “You were. You still are. And when you were pregnant…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

She grins, her teeth catching the light. “You were insatiable”

“Oh, for God’s sake”

“It’s true,” she says, laughing now. “I could barely keep up with you”

“You managed,” you mutter, taking another sip of wine.

Her laughter fades into a softer, more thoughtful smile. “I’m just saying,” she says, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again”

You study her, trying to discern if she’s really serious or just testing the waters. But there’s something in her eyes, a quiet certainty that unnerves you.

“You really want another baby,” you say, not quite a question.

She nods. “I do”

“And when were you planning on telling me this?”

She shrugs, looking faintly sheepish. “I don’t know. I guess I was waiting for the right moment”

“Like now? After our daughter guilt-tripped us with her Santa request?”

Alexia laughs, and the sound is warm and infectious. “Exactly”

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable”

“I’m practical,” she counters. “Think about it. We can afford it. We have the space. The time. A great support system. Mami would love to help us out again”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to tell her we’re thinking about having another baby? You know she’ll start knitting booties the second the words leave your mouth”

Alexia shrugs, unbothered. “Let her. Eliana would love matching booties for her and her sibling”

The image of Eliana holding a tiny, wriggling baby flashes in your mind, unbidden. It’s too cute, too perfect, and you push it away before it can take root.

“It’s not just about logistics,” you say quietly.

“I know,” Alexia says, her voice softening. “But we’ve done this before. We know what to expect now. And we’re not the same people we were back then. We’re stronger. Better”

You glance at her, at the quiet confidence in her expression, and feel a pang of guilt for doubting her. She’s right, of course. You’ve come so far since those early days with Eliana. But still, the thought of starting over feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know,” you say finally. “It’s a lot to think about”

Alexia nods, her thumb still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand. “I’m not asking for a decision tonight. Just… think about it”

You nod, letting your head rest against her shoulder. The wineglass dangles from your fingers, forgotten. The weight of her hand on yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath, grounds you.

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Then Alexia speaks again, her voice so soft you almost don’t hear her.

“She’d be a great big sister,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

You close your eyes, letting the words settle over you. In your mind’s eye, you see Eliana again, her wide, hopeful eyes as she clutched Mr Snuggles to her chest. You see her laughing, running through the park with a smaller version of herself trailing behind her.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “She would”

[disastr0]

So I found out I have an autoimmune disorder. One that, until 2023, only had one medication that worked for it: Humira. Humira is the most expensive medication in the United states (on average). For me it would have been about $7,000/month. The US average is apparently over $9,000/month, which is fucking insane. The reason it costs that much? For the longest time it was the only option for a long list of autoimmune disorders.

In 2023 some biosimilars finally were allowed to come out. I'm on amjevita. It is $6,000/month. They cannot charge less because they have to pay Humira's company per dose. It's not even the same exact medication, it just acts similarly in the body. If I didn't have insurance, it'd be more than $72,000 per year. That's almost 2x more than the majority of individual Americans make per year.

With last years work insurance, it was only $40 per month. This years? It woulda been just the low low price of $3,000 per month. Wowie! Instead, I ended up doing a plan where insurance pays nothing until you pay $5,150 on medical stuff, then everything else is covered in full. I maxed that out in January. I finally paid off all five thousand one hundred and fifty dollars in November. As soon as January starts I'll need to do it all over again. Oh, and to top it off, last January they only sent me 2 of my 4 shots for the month. And that still maxed out my deductible.

I'm at risk of being laid off. If I get laid off? Well, I'm lucky as hell that my disorder isn't life threatening. I already know what happens if I'm off it for a month, because insurance fucked up twice. I slowly become in more and more pain, to the point where I was crying out while driving home from work. To the point where I had to use a cane again. To the point where I suddenly got a new skin disorder because I was off of it for too long. And that doesn't scratch the surface. Y'know what the problem was? The prescription was for 4 shots over a 28 day period, and they had it as a 30 day period. That tiny number discrepancy made it so I couldn't have my meds and got a new skin disorder.

And yet despite all of this I am fortunate to be able to fucking afford the luxury of being able to exist with less pain.

I fucking hate the US healthcare system. I fucking hate insurance.

I’ve got my tumblr inbox turned off so I really have to commend the person who actually emailed me to let me know they don’t like the things I’ve posted about the UnitedHealth CEO being murdered on their commitment to their beliefs.

But seen as how you emailed me from a dud email that appears to be bouncing back replies and I really wanted to address something you said to me about violence begetting violence:

My migraine medication, the medication I was given for my debilitating neurological disease that has gotten so bad I spent most of this year actively suicidal, costs $1300 a month.

My insurance covered it. But only because my doctors office went to fucking war for me because I’m a high anaphylaxis risk for the drugs the insurance wanted me to try.

Because that’s the thing.

My doctors knew, based on my documented medical history, I likely wouldn’t be a good fit for the “first line” of preventative migraine drugs, but because of insurance, I had to be given drugs that were contradictory to my other life threatening conditions, because otherwise insurance wouldn’t cover anything else.

I failed them. Spectacularly and with an anaphylactic reaction to one of them. And I was still warned insurance would fight me because I hadn’t tried the remaining drug they wanted me to try.

A drug which I would have to take in an ER waiting room because my mast cell disease is unpredictable but insurance wouldn’t cover in-patient treatment to let me try it safely under medical supervision.

Is that not violence?

Were all the times I was denied coverage for vital and necessary procedures that could have prevented my disabilities from worsening not violence?

Maybe not in the sense you mean. But I assure you it felt very much like violence to me.

Do I condone murder? No, obviously. But I’m also sick and tired of people pretending that what is happening to the American people every day isn’t eugenics through class warfare.

Violence begets violence.

It sure fucking does.

Maybe these insurance companies should have thought of that first.

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader? She was with him when both AM's drivers are going to the paddock for media days. And he looks so hot wearing an all white fit. He's doing all sorts of things, like making butterflies in her stomach. With the appearance of all black Lance. Maybe a little suggestive and fluff. Thanks!! :)))

You make me feel - Fernando Alonso x Wife! Reader

Plot: It’s media day, and your husband couldn’t look any sexier …

You’d stayed behind at the hotel having slept in longer than your husband who’d been up since the crack of dawn going for a run around the track before getting ready for the day. You’d taken an extra long shower and more time to get ready, until you basically floated into the paddock.

You hadn’t seen your husband all morning and you were excited to finally see him. You wave at the other drivers you pass that you were familiar with like Lewis and Max before rounding closer to the Aston Martin hospitality.

You make yourself known to the engineers around you, smiling and making conversation with them about today and how they thought it would go.

“Oh, by the way Fernando told us that we should send you too him if we saw you before him!” One of the younger mechanics grins pointing into the glass doors.

“Oh thank you Jay!” You smile before wishing them good luck for the upcoming race and goodbye for now. You make your way through the building sending a hello to everyone who makes your acquaintance.

Eventually you see your husband looking better than ever, he was in a white fit, thanks to his own branding. He had a Kimoa white top on and white karki shorts. When he saw you he immediately found his way over to you.

“Mmmmmm hermosa” he smiles pulling you into him, hugging you tightly.

“How was your morning, you were very sleepy” he grins, holding you at arms length to look over your now bright and awake expression, one very different from your half asleep, grunts and groans as he left you as the sun was just starting to peak its way over the building.

“I had a very good sleep, got to spread out the whole way” you tease looking up at him with a laugh. He laughs with a shake of his head.

“You don’t like me snuggling with you?” He asks, moving a hand to his chest in mock offence. He obviously wasn’t actually offended as he knew you liked to tease him like this often.

“Of course I do. But I do like turning into a starfish?” You grin, and he cocks his head to the side wondering what you are going on about. You attempt to think of the way to explain it in Spanish.

“Mmmm I think it would be estrella de mar?” You explain wondering if there was a more technical word for it.

“Ah yes, you do that even when I’m in the bed though” he chuckles and you gasp.

“I do not!” You say slapping his shoulder lightly.

“But you do, you just … sprawl out over me” he grins pulling you into a quick kiss before a familiar voice interrupts you both.

“Hey guys” Lance’s voice sounds past the loud clinking of coffee cups and plates from the busy hospitality suite.

“Ohhhh my gosh!! My son!! I haven’t seen you in ages” you say pulling him into a hug.

“Ahhh you look so nice! Did Fernando send you those clothes. Kimoa suits you” you grin seeing the branded clothes that he was wearing.

“No, I lost a bet with Daniel, Lando and Fernando that if I lost it I’d have to wear their merch at the next race. Wearing Nando’s today, Daniel’s tomorrow and Landos on Sunday” he laughs.

He looked good in Fernandos merch, as right now they were basically polar opposites. The vision of yin and yang.

“I like it, but aren’t you hot in all black?” You ask looking at the sheen of sweat across his brow that was nearly blocked by his sunglasses.

“A little but hotter in the car, work up that tolerance” he grins before checking his surrounding seeing his sister and running over to pull her into a hug.

You see your husband take two waters from a waitress raining his head to take the drinks a little spilling onto the white shirt. Once he’s done he comes back over handing you the remaining bottle nodding for you to drink it.

Your head cocks to the side.

“It’s a hot day, you gotta keep your hydration up okay?” He nods and you can’t help that swarming feeling in your stomach.

Your husband often gave you butterflies despite having been married for the good portion of 6 years. You always told him that was the best part of your relationship despite you being able to read him like a book, he always managed to have a surprise of two that made you feel like a giddy school girl.

“Thanks, you know you’re the best right?” You smile at him shyly and he looks at you shocked. It wasn’t often that he saw you shy in front of him, but he was always proud when he caught you out like this. So that shocked face slowly turned into a smirk.

“You think so?” He asks and you roll your eyes, a light blush crossing your cheeks as you look up at him.

“You know I do, wouldn’t have married you otherwise” you grit out awkwardly.

“Mmm didn’t tell you that you look beautiful today. Like I don’t even understand how you are my wife” he smiles and you nearly melt. You can’t help but lean up to kiss him.

“I think I’m the lucky one” you say softly and ever so quietly.

“Definitely not. I’m not needed for another few hours, shall we pop back to the hotel room? I think I might need to … change” he grins before pulling you back in for a kiss, taking your hand in his.

“I couldn’t agree more”

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: When the Hour Strikes

(Your doom is drawing nearer and nearer, and now you see the signs that will lead to it)

poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader, time loop

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two

Chaos eventually bloomed like rot within the castle walls, just as you’d expected. It began as whispers- always, in every life. Soft, serpentine murmurs slipping through the cracks of stone and shadow- but they spread quickly, clawing their way into the hearts of servants and courtiers alike. The air grew heavy with suspicion, thick as the scent of burning wax and spilled ink.

You felt it before you heard it.

A shift in the way the guards tightened their grips on their spears, in the way your maids avoided your gaze as they fastened your corset too tightly, fingers trembling against your spine. The silence when you entered a room was not the silence of reverence but the hush of fear- of vultures circling, their wings brushing against the walls.

You knew this song. Far too well.

The opening notes were always the same, a familiar melody of betrayal and inevitability, and like every time… the chords struck ominously. Sharp. Harsh. As if the unseen hand twisting the strings were far bolder.

And then the letters came.

Three sealed envelopes left abandoned in the corridors- no names, no crests, just ink blotted into thin, cheap parchment. The first was delivered to the head steward, its contents enough to send the kitchens into disarray as accusations flew. Poisoned wine. A plot to kill the king. Fingers pointed, but no evidence surfaced beyond the words themselves.

The food you were served was always cold and on occasions, spoiled.

The second letter found its way to your father’s study. You hadn’t been there when he read it, but the rage in his voice cracked through the halls like thunder. Words like “treason” and “execution” followed you even after the doors slammed shut.

The third appeared in your chambers. Unmarked. Unsigned.

But unmistakably meant for you.

You turned the paper over in your hands as the candlelight flickered against the script. It bore no threats- only a single sentence, written in a trembling hand:

Trust no one.

You burned it before the wax dripped too far. It didn’t warm the cold ache that burrowed itself in the tendons of your neck.

Of course, your “protectors” had to be aware of everything- maybe they even knew better than you of what rumors were spreading about you, and just as they’d done in most of your latest lives, they try to help:

Soap was the first to storm into yours room, expression thunderous, brows furrowed and his voice tight in his anger.

“Ye need to tell me if ye’ve seen anyone suspicious,” he said, pacing like a caged animal. It was nice to see that you weren’t the only one to feel like that “Anyone lurking where they shouldn’t be. Even if it’s one of the servants.”

You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Suspicious? In this place, everything was suspicious. Every glance, every word spoken behind closed doors, every breath held too long. No one could be trusted, not really. Everyone and everything was another knot on the noose to go around your neck.

But you bit your tongue, folding your arms against the cold that crept through the stones. “You think it’s one of them?”

He stopped, turning to face you. “I think it’s someone close. Someone who knows enough about ye to make this believable.”

The implication lingered between you, unspoken but heavy.

Soap didn’t say it, but you saw it in the way his eyes flickered to the ashes in the hearth where the letter had burned, in the way his hand hovered near the hilt of his dagger.

“It’s not me.” You sighed.

“I ken, lass.” He said it too quickly, like he was reassuring himself more than you. Then he ran a hand through his shabby hair, exhaling sharply. “But someone wants it to look like it is.”

You scoffed, turning away from him at last. If your hands were shaking, he said nothing of them. “You and I both know someone could come, admit to spreading rumors, and my father would still believe I am to blame. Let it go, Johnny.”

“Lass…”

You had no reply for him. Why would you? You had given up. All you had left was just attempt to ease the fear that constantly plagued you like a swarm of flies.

Ghost was next. He came with shadows clinging to his heels, his presence a weight that settled over the room like the storm clouds of cold winters.

“Who gave you the letter?”

You stared at him, fingers curling into your skirts. They were rumpled, not fully cleaned, but you cared not. Bit by bit, you were nearing the striking hour and everyone around you was a constant reminder of the ticking seconds. “No one. It was already here when I came back.”

Ghost said nothing, the mask leaving him as unreadable as always, but his silence was suffocating.

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“No.” A grunt. A pause. “But I think someone’s lying to you.”

His words burrowed under your skin, sharp and invasive. You didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to acknowledge the seed of doubt taking root in your chest.

But it was there. Growing and spreading its invasive roots.

Ghost lingered even after the questions stopped, his eyes never leaving you, as if he thought you might disappear if he looked away for one second. You should have found it unnerving, but instead, it felt like armor- thin and brittle, but armor nonetheless.

After him, Gaz found you in the gardens, the dying roses from before now nothing more than brittle stems and scattered petals. He didn’t speak at first, didn’t press, just sat beside you.

And for once, you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. Your tongue stopped being a weapon several lifetimes ago; you’d rather have it still in your mouth when you were executed, rather than brutally ripped off for “spreading filthy lies” against your beloved father.

It was Gaz who broke it, eventually. “… We’ll figure it out. We are all searching leads, you know.”

You turned to look at him, searching for something- reassurance, perhaps, or conviction- but found only quiet determination. You wished you could bathe in such an emotion, but…

“Even if it’s too late?” you asked softly.

“It won’t be.”

The certainty in his voice twisted something inside you, fragile and aching. You didn’t want to believe him..

Couldn’t allow yourself such a hope, after all the lives you’d been robbed of. You knew they didn’t like this attitude of yours, found it strange; how certain you were of your early demise.

Price, on the other hand, was a pillar- unshakable and steady in a way that felt rare amidst all the chaos unfolding around you. While the others hunted for answers, sharp and swift, Price moved differently. Slower. More deliberate.

Ghost had told you Price had always been like that; a born, patient hunter. He never rushed, never panicked. Instead, he listened. Observed. Held the room together with nothing but the weight of his presence.

“There’s more to this than letters and rumors.” He said one evening, his voice low as he studied the map of the palace spread between you. Distantly, you noted that his writing was not the same as the one on the letter. “Whoever’s behind this knows what they’re doing.”

You swallowed, the words curling tight in your chest. It made it hard to speak, to think, but you didn’t allow yourself to drown just yet. “Do you think it’ll matter?”

His eyes met yours then- calm and steady. Grounding.

“It matters,” he said quietly. “All of it does, princess. Your insistence on dying so soon is almost making me uncomfortable.”

You ignored his second service; no one would truly understand. It wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting, but it was one you found yourself holding onto anyway.

Because as the days stretched and the shadows pressed closer, Price didn’t falter. He never looked at you the way others did. Never let the whispers of treason or guilt change the way he stood beside you.

When the tension twisted sharp and the weight of it all threatened to drag you under, he didn’t flinch.

He stayed.

And it wasn’t in words or reassurances- it was in the small, steady things. The way he made sure you ate, quietly setting a plate down beside you when your hands were too unsteady to hold a fork. The way he noticed when the walls felt too close, wordlessly leading you outside to breathe.

He was a tether when everything else threatened to break apart.

You never questioned it- never questioned him. Had no energy to do, so why would you question one of the few who didn’t look at you like you were a speck of sticky dirt under their shoes?

Because Price wasn’t like the others. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. He didn’t fill the silence with pretty words.

He simply stayed.

And even when you felt like the world was caving in, that was enough.

By the end of the week, the castle was a hornet’s nest of accusations and fear. The kitchens were searched. The servants were questioned. Even the guards began turning on each other. The hour of the accusations had struck, and now the hour of your execution was nearing.

You were tired- bone-deep, soul-deep. The kind of exhaustion that even sleep couldn’t ease. Not that you slept much these days. The nightmares saw to that, clawing at the edges of your mind until the walls between dream and waking began to blur.

You stared too long into the mirrors, searching for someone you might still recognize and finding only the hollow reflection of a girl who had died too many times to keep pretending she was still whole.

I can’t keep doing this.

I am going to die again. And again. And again.

If anyone- if they- heard you pacing your rooms like a restless animal, no one came in to check you. If they heard your sobs, they knew no comfort offered would soothe you.

One night, after your father visited, after he made you kneel and kiss his feet and swear that you were not attempting to overthrow him, you broke.

Loud, pained, terrified sobs tore through your chest, raw and unrelenting. You pressed your hands to your mouth, desperate to muffle the sounds, but it did little to silence the grief clawing its way out of you.

Your knees buckled beneath the weight of it, and you crumpled to the floor, trembling as the cold seeped into your skin. The walls of your chambers felt smaller, closer, as though they were closing in, suffocating you.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there- folded in on yourself, shivering and broken. Minutes? Hours? Time had lost its meaning, stretching endlessly as your thoughts spiraled.

The door creaked.

You flinched, your breath hitching as shadows shifted across the floor. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t.

Not until a warm, heavy cloak was draped over your shoulders.

Price knelt beside you, silent as he settled onto the floor. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to pull words from you. He only sat, solid and steady, his presence filling the room like the glow of dying embers- quiet, but enduring.

And for the first time that night, the sobs began to slow.

[madamechrissy]

✨️Feels like Stardust, Floating all around Us✨️

✨️The five times Suguru tried to confess his feelings, and the one that worked ✨️

✨️Pairings - Suguru Geto x F!reader

✨️Summary - It’s New Years Eve, and Suguru is at a huge party in the city, with Satoru, Nanami and Shoko, but his mind goes to the girl who moved to France right after your Freshman year of College ended. The girl he never got the courage to tell his feelings to, despite knowing her most of his life. You. When you return from abroad, looking even more beautiful than he remembered, he wonders if he can finally tell you how he really feels, and get your kiss at Midnight. (Or every night) Watch as Suguru tries to confess his feelings from Elementary, Middle, High school and College, while not knowing you felt the same.

✨️CW - MDNI- explicit, 18+ only! Very emotional, light angst, cute fluff, and smutty!! Mutual pining, same format of Duvet Days and Vanilla Ice Cream (Satoru’s 5+1 !!) If you enjoyed that storytelling format, you’ll enjoy this one! (Same world as this too) friends/idiots to lovers. Will be NSFW at the end, there is oral (f recieving), dirty talk, mating press, rough sex, creampie, the rest of the story also has suggestive, fingering, teasing, edging. -Word count- 16.2k- oneshot long af lol, just trust meee <3

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoy!! -(divider by @strangergraphics - banner made by me)

It’s New Year's Eve, and you’re so nervous to see your old friends again, especially one friend in particular, Suguru Geto. As the cool air makes you shiver a bit in your dress, you wrap your light suede jacket around you just a little tighter, stepping up to what you remember as Satoru Gojo’s house, opulent and extravagant, the perfect place for a party really.

You take a little breath, looking up at the clear night sky, knowing soon it would be smokey with fireworks, and you can’t help but remember all the times you’ve been here. Particular parties, or study sessions, with all of your best friends, who had clearly stayed close, you wonder will you still fit in? You also wonder, will you look good to a particular dark haired man.

Shaking it off, you psych yourself up, you’ve done your hair, your makeup, you’ve got this gold glitter all over your skin, and a gorgeous little gold dress. You wracked over ideas over and over, wanting it to be so perfect, wanting to make sure that you could maybe get noticed by him in a different way, in the way you’ve always wanted, but have never really said.

You finally, after minutes of standing and contemplating it, knock on the door, you can feel the music reverberating, and it blares when Satoru Gojo opens the door. When you see Satoru’s smiling face and pretty blue eyes you can’t help but smile. He says your name and yanks you in practically, pulling you in for a big hug, you giggle and hug him back.

“Satoru!” He pops a kiss on your head now.

“Oh my god, you’re back for good!?” You nod then, smiling.

“Croissants and wine are great, but I missed home for sure. Satoru, you're squeezing me to death!”

“Sorry, sweets. Just missed your face.”

“You’re hogging her.” Shoko says, you grin so big again, as she pulls you in for a tight hug, you both kiss each other’s cheeks. “You came home, huh?”

“Finally! Oh, Nanami!” He smiles a tired little smile, holding a strong arm out, you hug him tightly, his hand on your head gently.

“You came back to this shithole?” You snort, pulling back and shaking your head at him, leaning up to ruffle his sandy blond locks, much to his displeasure.

“Came back to torture you, Kento.” He rolls his hazel eyes, then you pause when you see him across the room, he stops right in his tracks, his lips parted just so, a pack of cigarettes in one hand as if he was about to step out. But he doesn’t move, not an inch, and neither do you then.

“He didn’t know you were coming.” Satoru whispers, you look up at him curiously, and Nanami chuckles a bit.

“We wanted to see the full effect.” He murmurs.

“Look, his jaw is on the floor. Shit, take her coat!” Shoko says, Satoru snatches it off casually, as Suguru approaches, and sees you in your dress now, your heart is racing in your chest when he stands right in front of you.

Suguru’s heart isn’t racing, it’s pounding out of his chest, when he sees you, so beautiful in this golden dress, it hugs your every curve, hitting mid thigh, revealing much of your supple skin that seems to glitter under the fairy lights hung all over. He blinks once, twice, three times, and opens his mouth, but he can’t even form a coherent thought.

You’re looking up at him with those eyes, the glittering ones that he’s looked at for so many years, but he has longed for them since you’ve been gone, he’s pictured them when he closes his eyes. Pictures of you are not the same, they are all gorgeous, you are gorgeous, but there’s something missing in them, something he can only truly feel in person.

He feels your very energy humming, and he’s so terrified, he’s going to close up again, isn’t he? He’s going to let you down again, hold back and shut down, when you last left he was in such a dark, dark place, and he would not let you in. He had no idea you would be here, though he knew you were coming home soon, he’d tried to prepare a whole speech, torn paper after paper.

Filled notebooks about you, highlighting sections, writing poems about your eyes, your lips, everything he would do to you if he got a chance. How he’d kiss every inch of your smooth skin, how he’d see you writhing in pleasure under him, but also how he’d get down on one knee for you, how he’d devote anything if he could just get a chance, a chance to tell you the truth.

The truth?

Suguru Geto has been in love with you since the first day you met, all the way back in elementary school.

“Gonna just stare and drool?” Satoru teases, bringing him back, he clears his throat, a dark pink rushing across his high cheekbones.

Suguru Geto was not inexperienced, he certainly was not a Satoru level player back in the day, but them both being in a fraternity and in sports came with certain things, parties and hookups. He mostly avoided it though, but he’s never been tongue tied with a girl, in fact being with girls was effortless for him, they all just came to him, but you?

You’re so different.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen you in so long…” You fidget a bit, nervous now, looking down. He’s fucking it up already.

“No, I’m sorry, I missed you all very much.” You say with a little smile, hands entwined in front of you, pressing your breasts together in a dress already too revealing, addling his mind. “You look good, Sugu.”

Sugu, the little nickname you had for him, hearing it from your lips after so long melts him, and you’re telling him that he looks good, he should be telling you how beautiful you are. He should have always told you it, but he could never find the right damn words, and after years of not seeing you, he hasn’t moved on, not even close, there is only one you.

“You… you look good.” He manages, voice breaking, he watches your face fall just a bit, cursing himself, as Satoru gestures behind you, a finger gun to his head, and Shoko slits her throat with her finger. Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Um, I mean great, really great. Like… you look…”

“It’s fine, I appreciate it.” You smile, walking up to him then, holding your arms out for a hug, when he pulls you against him, and inhales that scent, the sweet vanilla of your perfume, and the strawberries in your hair, it all hits.

It’s your scent.

He inhales, pulling you tightly against him, the longing making him ache, as you inhale his scent, that fresh yet masculine one, feeling his hard body against yours, he’s gotten even more buff, you feel all the muscles as he holds you tight. You feel how broad his shoulders are when your hands gently brush against his biceps over his soft black sweater.

You look up into his eyes, those dark violet ones that are lidded and lazy, making you wonder what they look like when he feels good. You shake the thoughts away, praying your dress covers the now perked up nipples from the contact, your heat pooling in your lower tummy just from a hug. How has he gotten more gorgeous, you can’t understand.

His mid length dark hair is even longer now, straight and silky to his shoulders and even beyond them, he has half of it up in a bun and damned if Suguru Geto is the only man that can make it look so attractive. A little wisp falls in front of his forehead just so, you ache to brush it back, to lean up and kiss those full lips, glossy when he runs a tongue along them.

It’s not just as bad as it was before for you…

It’s not just as bad as it was before for him…

It’s worse.

“Ahem, weren’t you going to smoke?” Shoko cuts in the awkward silence of you two, you step aside then.

“Sorry, don't let me keep you! We can catch up later.” You say, and he opens his mouth again, then Satoru interrupts.

“Go check out the stars together on the balcony and have a smoke, Suguru, yeah?” Suguru nods then, eagerly, taking your jacket from Satoru and gently putting it over your shoulders.

“Yeah, if it won’t bother you?” He asks, you shake your head with a smile, although you don’t smoke, it is very common in France, and you’re pretty used to it now, along with Sugu and Shoko having smoked since high school.

“Not at all. If you don’t mind the company.” You say, brushing your hair back behind your ear, you’re so fucking cute, Suguru wants to tell you…

No, he’s going to tell you.

Tonight.

What if you leave again, what if someone sweeps you off your feet? What if he’ll live forever and not have said it? He has to throw it out there, and if you do not feel the same, he worries he’ll hit that dark place again, but he’s going to try. He places his hand on the small of your back, then Satoru hands you both a glass of champagne, winking at you.

You walk out with him, god his big hand feels good there, it feels so natural. For years upon years you had a thing for him, but it seems you all had really just stayed friends, he’s kept in touch even though you’ve been abroad, but it seemed merely friendly. He watched your Insta and liked a couple pictures, made a couple comments, you two hadn’t even had a phone call.

You realize just how much you missed that dark, husky voice when you both step out back to Satoru’s balcony, it’s high up on a hill, giving the perfect view of the sky and of the city lights below. You lean against the glass railing, watching the sky glittering, stars twinkling, the moon a crescent shimmering and reflected on the water overlooking the pretty lake below.

“This is so nice, I missed the beauty here.” Suguru looks at you, at the breeze gently blowing your hair back, revealing your beautiful face in the night.

“I missed the beauty too.” He says, you look at him then, incredulously, and his heart hammers, like he’s a dumb teenager and not twenty two now.

“What do you mean, did you leave here for a bit?” You ask, and he exhales then, stepping closer to you, two fingers tilting your chin up, and you feel your body react, your pulse fluttering.

“I mean your beauty. You don’t just look great, fuck I am dumb sometimes, I suck at expressing…”

“Sugu, it's fine.”

“It’s not. You look breathtaking.” His violet eyes glimmer, dark lashes hovering over them, the words not computing in your muddled mind. “That’s as close to the word that describes you as I can think.”

“Breathtaking? I… that’s too…” You’re glad it’s dark, so he can’t see his effects on you, but surely he catches the rise and fall of your chest with the quickening of your breath, and when his thumb brushes over your lower lip, it trembles just a bit. “You really think so?”

He scoffs a bit, sighing. “I’ve always thought so, I’ve always thought you were beautiful, even when we were kids. I’m sure I’ve… said it.”

“N-no. Um, you have said pretty but I thought you meant it as a friend?” Suguru sighs again, looking back into your eyes, hand still on your chin.

“There are a few memories I’d like to look back on with you, do you think you can listen to them tonight? If I promise you the best New Years Eve kiss ever?” You giggle then, looking down shyly, hands roaming gently up his hard abdomen, fingers clutching the soft fabric just so.

“I get a kiss from Suguru Geto? Wasn’t the last one… gosh, prom?” He nods then, smirking just a bit.

“That will be one of the stories.”

“And do I get a kiss for each one?” You tease, raising a brow.

“Do you want five kisses?”

“Five! Sounds like it’d be more than kisses, hmm?” Suguru’s hair falls over his shoulder gently, his free hand pressing against the nip of your waist, and something clicks then, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

He knows this is where he is supposed to be, gazing down at your beautiful face, your lips parted just so, eyes dilating when his thumb presses against your ribcage under the swell of your breast. He watches your breath hitch, as his own does, when he feels your body, the curve of your waist, over the sequined dress he’d die to take off of you.

“I could kiss you everywhere.” You let this sound escape, this little cry that you quickly get embarrassed by, but he shakes his head, pulling you closer. “I’ll demonstrate a bit.”

“Y-yeah?” He chuckles against your ear, breath tickling.

“Yeah.” He kisses right behind your ear, a little press of firm lips, that touch alone has you aching, reeling, when his tongue flicks against your skin, your hands clutch him tightly, earning his quiet moan at your reaction.

“Sugu, I've also wanted to tell you something, something I really have been wanting to say for so long.” Suguru kisses your neck again, inhaling your scent, before nodding and pulling back.

“After my stories.” He says with a turn to his lips, you laugh softly.

“Yeah? All right. First one, shoot.” You pick up your glass off the railing, he picks his up as well. “Thought you were gonna have a smoke?”

“Trying to quit soon.” He admits, pulling one out then, leaning on the rail and looking at you, clinking your glasses. “Light for me?”

“Sure.” You take the lighter, hands just a little shaky when you flick it, the flame burns the cherry of his slim white cigarette, he takes an inhale, careful to blow the smoke up and away from you, then he takes a sip of the champagne, as do you.

“First story starts on the day we met, do you remember?” You smile fondly, nodding then.

*****

The First time Suguru Geto tried to confess his feelings - Age 11- Grade Five

Suguru Geto was staring at you, the new girl in the school, how could he not when you were just so cute? He thinks you’re the cutest girl he has seen, actually, and Satoru, his best friend, was snickering behind him as he just stared. “You think she’s cute!”

“No!” Suguru hissed, but Satoru was snorting in laughter, as you all played in the playground, it was winter time that year, and a light dusting of snow was on the ground, coating the grass in white.

“Hey, new girl!” Satoru shouted, you turned then, you were just reading a book rather than playing, Suguru found it so interesting, how your glasses sat just so on the bridge of your nose, which is a little red from the cold.

“Yeah?” You closed the book, standing and walking up to them both, Satoru had begun nudging Suguru in the shoulder, when your eyes met for the first time.

Gosh, he’s so cute, you thought, he literally looked afraid though as he stared at you with wide violet eyes. You worry then, is there something on your face!? The way he stared, you start to feel like something must be wrong with you, especially when he didn’t say anything, and instead his white haired best friend stepped closer to you, grinning.

“What’s your name, new girl?” He asked, you softly tell them, and Suguru repeated your name softly, as he continued to stare.

“Um, is there something on my face?” You asked him then, gloved hand coming to an overheated cheek. Suguru sputtered, and Satoru laughed then.

“Nah, he thinks you’re cute. I think he likes you.” Satoru had declared in a sing-song voice, and you felt it, your heart fluttering at the thought of such a cute boy liking you.

Suguru doesn’t like you though, he thinks he has fallen in love at first sight, maybe that sounds silly, but how else can he explain this?

“You think I’m cute?” You asked shyly, and Suguru shook his head, breaking your little eleven year old heart.

“No, I don’t! I don’t like you.” You gasped then, and Satoru grimaced at his friend's folly, hand on his own face. “I mean, oh my god, I don’t know you… I don’t not like you! I just… don’t think you’re cute. I mean-”

“I… I have to go.” You felt the tears pricking your eyes, embarrassment creeping in, maybe this is a thing, to be mean to the new girl? You turned and ran off.

“You really messed that up. She is cute.” Satoru had said, Suguru glared at him, then frowned when he looked at your retreating figure.

“Satoru, you throw snowballs at the girl you like.”

“It’s better than what you did!” Satoru was stomping his foot. Suguru sighed, running after you, calling your name, you paused, turning then, and he saw your face streaked with tears, it gives him the worst feeling in the world.

“What do you want?” You mumbled, voice breaking. “It’s fine if you don’t like me, but leave me alone.”

“I do! I… I don’t…” Why can’t Suguru say anything?

“Maybe we can be friends anyway?” You asked, sniffling then, and Suguru nodded eagerly, clearing his throat, brushing tears from your cheek then.

“Of course I’m sorry. You’re not… not cute. I…”

“Okay. Then… we are friends? I need friends, all mine are back home.” You were, holding out a hand, he took it in his, nodding with a little smile.

“Friends.”

But eleven year old Suguru knew even then that he didn’t just want to be your friend, no he’d like to always hold your hand, and it felt empty when you turned and walked away, a pretty smile brightening your tear streaked cheeks. Satoru whistled and shook his head when Suguru came back.

“You messed up, Suguru.”

“I know.”

*****

You feel emotions pick at you now, remembering that day like it was yesterday somehow, it’s all fresh in your mind even after all these years. You look down nervously, sipping the champagne and sighing, as Suguru puts out a cigarette now, brushing his hair back and looking down at you.

“I remember all of that. It was so embarrassing, Sugu, why are we going there?” Suguru shakes his head, taking your hand in his now, remembering how it felt to hold your hand the first time, even in both of your winter gloves.

“I did think you were cute, the cutest girl I’d seen.” You giggle a bit, shaking your head. “I did, Satoru put me on the spot, and I froze.”

“He’s good at doing that.” You are stepping closer, looking up at him under your lashes as he towers so tall over you. “I was so nervous, it was my first day, I think you two were the first to talk to me.”

“You had your nose in a book, you always have though.”

“So, why the walk down memory lane?”

Suguru takes a breath, cupping your face, he watches your pupils dilate, feels the heat of your cheeks under his palm, aching for you. “It’s so you know.”

“Know what, you thought the new girl was cute?” He exhales, shaking his head, lips just a centimeter from yours.

“Much more than that. But you needed to know that I liked you.”

“Really!?”

He chuckles. “Yes, really. I hated when you cried, it made me so upset. It always has.”

You gently hold his wrist, thumb pressing against the veins of his inner wrist that pop out of his skin just so, strong arms, strong hands, that make you wonder. “I think I earned one of your kisses.”

“You did, love.”

Love, that little term of endearment breaks you, breaks your resolve, when his plump lips descend, tasting just faintly of smoke, but also sweet like the grape of the champagne against yours.

When Suguru Geto kisses your lips, it takes everything in him now to lift up that dress and taste all of you, when his tongue dives into the sweetness of your mouth gently between the seam of your soft lips. You let out this breathy cry, one that makes him ache for you, fuck he’s getting hard just kissing you, just feeling your tongue glide along his, then you gasp.

“You got your tongue pierced?” You murmur then, when you feel the barbell hit your tongue, he chuckles a bit, thumb brushing along your jawline, making you tremble, you feel it, the wetness sticking against your lacy panties, from a kiss, then when he holds out his tongue?

You’re done.

“Yeah I got it done a couple years back.” You bite your lower lip, mind thinking insane thoughts, picturing just what it could do, and then trying to shove all that back, because you know how much it would mean if you both took that step.

Fuck it would mean too much to you, you don’t know if you can casually hook up with him, to the point you step back a bit. “I can’t.”

He frowns, brows drawing together. “Can’t what?”

“I thought I could maybe… hook up with you. God I want to.” His lips part, narrowed eyes widening now. “But it would be too much for me. I need to… I need to go, I’m sorry.”

“Stop. Please.” He murmurs your name, gripping your hand when you turn away, big hand swallowing your little one, you exhale, looking back up at him. “You think that’s what I want from you, a hook up?”

“No, I said I wanted it. But I don’t think I could be casual, not with you.”

“And you think I could be casual with you?” Your heart is almost thudding so fast you feel dizzy, he pulls you against him again, your eyes go back to his lips. “I wasn’t asking for a ‘hook up’ tonight.”

“If you keep kissing me, that’s what will happen. Your tongue ring is fucking up my brain.” He snorts then, you look down shyly. “I’m not joking.”

“You’re so cute.” You think back on that day again, as does Suguru. “I should have told you then, that you were the cutest girl I’d ever seen.”

“Sugu, we were kids, it’s fine. Don’t worry about things like that.”

“No, I need to tell you another time I didn’t say the right thing.” You shake your head. “Yes, I do. Want another drink for the next story?”

“Just don’t show me that tongue ring please, I don’t think I can handle the horny ass thoughts.” He chuckles again, leaning close, the breeze blowing his sweater just a bit, lining his hard body.

“Think that’s my only piercing?” You bite your lip, mind racing.

“You’re a tease, Suguru Geto.” You whisper softly.

“Not teasing. Another story, should we go inside for the next?” You nod, a little nervous as he guides you through the party, you wave and make small talk with old friends and new faces, when he grabs two more glasses of champagne and takes you by the hand.

“Where are we heading, storyteller? Feel like this is the ghosts of New years past.” He laughs again, fuck when is the last time he laughed this much?

“I have a room here for when I stay, though I don’t often now that Satoru has his girl, they fuck so loud it echoes everywhere.” You snort now, shaking your head.

“It’s wild they ended up together after so long, I didn’t know if they’d ever admit their feelings.” It gets quiet then, between you two, so much left unsaid, because Suguru hasn’t admitted his own feelings, despite helping Satoru finally confess his.

Suguru shuts the door to the room, heading over to the speaker and connecting his phone, putting on one of your favorite songs, sitting on the bed then, leaning casually and patting the spot next to him. You sit down, you’re alone with Suguru Geto, the boy you’ve been head over heels for, since forever.

His heart skips a beat when you sit down, and sip your drink, smiling curiously at him, the longing just growing with every breath you take. “You remember this?”

“Of course I do. It’s going to fit into my next story.”

“Can I pick the next spot you kiss? Shit that’s so forward oh my-”

“Shh.” Suguru has a finger on your lips. “Yes, you can pick anywhere on your pretty little body.” His words fuck what’s left of your mind, one of his hand casually brushing against your bare thigh.

“Pretty little body?” You whisper back.

“Very, very pretty. Are you ready for more of me admitting I absolutely was trash at communicating?” His violet eyes glint just a bit with humor, you sip your drink, scooching just a little closer, nodding then.

“I’m ready. Where to next?”

“Middle School.”

*****

The Second time Suguru Geto tried to confess his feelings - Age 14- Grade Eight

You and Suguru had a school project together, and he had to admit he was so nervous for you to be here, in his house, in his room. You were laying on your tummy on the floor, feet kicked up in the air, little silver anklets on your ankles dangling just so as you swung them back and forth, as you drew all over the giant poster board, shading it in as you go.

“You’re really good at art.” Suguru said softly, you smiled brightly at the compliment, lighting up your pretty face, your braces just adding to it.

“Oh thanks Suguru, you’re always so nice. I’m so glad we’re friends.” You said, sitting up then, on your knees, a hand on his shoulder fondly.

With glasses and braces, some kids picked on you here and there, but Suguru and Satoru never let anyone mess with you, so people backed off rather quickly when the boys getting taller and bigger than everyone stood up for you. Especially Suguru, he was the first to defend from any standpoint.

When your hand touched his shoulder he blushed, and you tilted your head curiously at him. “Are you hot in here, Suguru? Do you have a fan?”

“I… um… yeah. Hot.” He cleared his throat, turning the little fan on in the room, it blew back his hair just so, his growing dark locks blowing back, and your heart faltered just a bit.

He looked like some guy from a book, from a movie you think, riding some horse with his hair blowing like that. When he smiles at you with those tired violet eyes of his, you melt more and more. How were you supposed to only be his friend when he’s that handsome, and you kept imagining your first kiss in your head over and over, wishing that it could be him.

You know you’re probably not his type though, Suguru had girls that flirted with him a lot, and the only couple you’ve seen him with were pretty different from you. You’re a nerdy girl and quiet, so the two of you fall into a comfortable silence often. You imagine maybe he wants someone a little more outgoing, a little more popular, but you’re not sure.

You do know no matter how many times you all hang out, he has never even glanced at you as anything but a friend.

But you’re very wrong.

Every time you look away, Suguru looks at you, and would think just how cute you are doing every little mundane thing you did. His already deep feelings had him writing in his journals about you, and only you, he composed silly poems that absolutely should never see the light of day. You made him feel so silly, he should just share it with you, right?

He’s brought back to you gently putting your hand down, scooching close to him on the soft carpet of his bedroom, leaning back against the bed. “Suguru, can I ask something personal?”

“Of course. Yes, I am a spy, undercover. You knew?” You snort at that, rolling your eyes.

“Knew it. No, um… you’ve… have you ever kissed?”

Suguru’s heart literally stopped at that moment, god he thinks the room is spinning, as those words casually came from your lips, lips that had sparkly gloss on them, that he’s currently staring at now. He gulps, and you nervously wet them, doing far too many things to his teenage brain, that already runs at half capacity when in your presence.

“Have I what!?”

“Oh that’s too personal? I’m sorry… I just haven’t yet, and I feel like everyone else has. Is it the braces? Or… am I too shy? Not… maybe not pretty enough. Suguru, do you think I’ll get prettier when I get these off?” You asked, and he glared at you, long lashes lowering. “Am I asking too much?”

“You’re… you’re so…” Say it, say it, say it.

“So…” You lead him to finish but he takes a breath then, shocking you when he cupped your face gently, your hands came to his wrists, breath catching when he leaned over you.

“You’re pretty with braces, or without, okay?” You felt your own cheeks heat up, when he leaned closer, his silky hair falling to the side.

“Thank you, you’re the best friend.” You whispered, the word friend made him sick almost. “You made me feel better.”

“I’ve kissed before, I can show you. If… if you want.” He said then, and you nodded nervously, it’s a friend showing you a kiss, right?

When Suguru’s lips found yours that day, while your favorite song played on the radio, it was like some electric current ran through you, his lips pressing just so gently on yours, careful and sweet, his hand on your face pressed just a bit more. You gasped out, pulling back, eyes shooting up to his, his lips were just so glossy, covered in a bit of your glitter, making you giggle.

“You’re glittery.” You teased softly, and he licked his lips to taste the gloss.

“Strawberry?” You nodded nervously, your hands went to his shoulders.

“Can I try again? Like what do I do with… the tongue and all that?” Suguru gulped then, you were literally killing him.

“That’s making out. You just um… I don’t know how to explain. I can show you again?”

“Sure.” You both kissed once more, his tongue darted in your mouth, making you gasp at the sensation, you felt so warm, butterflies in your tummy, as you tried to move your tongue back. You felt so awkward in his comparison, the ease in which he moved, he seemed so smooth, so practiced.

But he enjoyed it, he enjoyed it so much, how sweet you were, and how much he wanted to kiss you every moment of every day. You tentatively moved your lips, your tongue, at certain points you sighed and leaned even further against him, Suguru lost himself in you, imagined that this was all real, that you were his girlfriend, that he could tell you the truth.

Soon you both heard a knock on the door, and you both separated quickly, nearly jumping apart.

“Hey mom.” He said, as she smiled at you both.

“Do you all want anything to eat? I’m cooking dinner.”

“Oh I can’t stay, mom will want me back home, but thank you!”

“Of course sweetie. Alright well it is six, so you may want to head home soon if you are all done.” She smiled as she walked out, leaving you to nervously gather your things.

You just kissed Suguru Geto.

Your first kiss!

You opened your mouth, then shut it. How do you tell him your feelings?

“Um, that was really nice. Kissing you.” You whispered, wondering if that was okay, but Suguru was still reeling, kissing you was nothing like kissing the other girls, it was… just, different, it was special.

“Oh, um yeah.” Was all he said then, and you stood there, blinking up at him, as he struggled to form the right words.

Tell her.

He said nothing, however. The silence was loud while you both stood there in that awkward silence, until you felt so mortified, embarrassed beyond belief. He was just showing you as a friend, why would you expect him to feel what you do? He probably felt sorry for you if anything, you immediately turned to leave, he stopped you with a gentle hand on the shoulder.

He cursed himself internally, why couldn’t he reassure you, why couldn’t he tell you that he has never felt this way!? When your eyes were just a bit glassy, and he saw your lips were just a little swollen from his kisses, you look even prettier, so pretty and perfect just how you are, that he was intimidated to say it. He was terrified, were you just wanting a friend to show you?

Was he overthinking it?

Were you overthinking it?

“I’m… you… you’re…”

“Suguru, what is it?” You asked, blinking just a bit and tilting your glasses up, he brushed your hair back, clearing his throat, your lips parted just a bit.

“You’re not bad at it.” Your face falls, the hopes just shattered, and Suguru could sense it, sputtering, what the heck was coming out of his mouth!?

“That’s good I guess?”

He can’t think of what to say, that he wants to kiss you again, that he wants to ask you to be his girl. How could he fuck it all up this bad!?

You felt so emotional you turned away again. “Bye Suguru.”

He’d shut the door behind you, resting his head on it, seeing your sad face in his mind until he closed his eyes that night. He kept looking at his phone, but he couldn’t reach out. He didn’t wanna mess up even more.

*****

You bite your lower lip now, it’s quiet as the song fades in the background, the same song that had played when he kissed you. “Was I so bad at it?”

“God no, I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn’t.” He leans close to you, eyes drinking you in. “You were beautiful then, and now. And you were the best kiss I had, you are the best kiss I’ve had.”

You gasp in surprise, brows together as you look into his eyes, as his hand on your thigh slips up just a bit, the contact making heat pool between your thighs. You look down, at his strong, tanned hand so casually touching you, before looking back up at him, letting his words set in.

“You were my first kiss, and you… are still my best kiss too.”

He blinks. “I am?”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back behind his ear, fingertip running along his gaged earring then. “Oh Sugu, you're so silly. Of course you are, I thought you didn’t like it, or felt bad for me?”

“No, no… no. I should have said it then, something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

He smirks now. “First you get a kiss, anywhere you want, remember?” Your mind goes to the most lewd places, you raise a brow.

“Anywhere?” He laughs softly.

“Anywhere.” His voice is husky, so deep, the timbre just adding to your addled senses, but you can’t just be like- kiss my pussy Sugu thanks- so you look where his hand is touching you now.

“There.” You gesture to your upper thigh, Suguru kneels then, shocking you as you look down at him, between your thighs, leaning low, the sexiest thing you can imagine seeing. You whimper, you fucking whimper when he presses his lips on your inner thigh gently, looking up at you.

“Here? Or… here.” He kisses higher, you grit your teeth to hold in another embarrassing cry, hips arching just a bit off the bed.

“There, actually.” You whisper, tapping your other thigh. “You have to make it even now.”

“Oh, of course.” He kisses your other soft inner thigh, fuck he can see those lacy panties peeking out under your dress, the plump lips of your pussy visible, along with a wet spot forming, making him throb under his jeans. His hands grip your calves, feeling the muscles tense under his hands, kissing up your other thigh.

He watches your head fall back, your eyes fluttering shut. “Sugu…”

“Yes, love? Somewhere else?” He stands now, leaning over you, fingertips trailing up your inner thighs and higher, leaving a network of goosebumps in their wake.

“Can I be greedy and get another kiss here?” You tap your lips, he smiles softly, nodding, then he’s kissing you, pressing your back into the mattress, and you swear you’d just have his fucking babies at this point when you feel him, hard under his jeans, pressing against your aching cunt. “Ah!”

“You okay?” He whispers, you nod eagerly, too eager, yanking him down against you, tongues moving, messy and sloppy, his kiss so intense you have to pull away to suck in a breath. “Fuck.”

“Y-yeah. F-fuck.” You manage to whisper back, he leans up on one arm, your hands slip under his sweater, feeling his hot skin, his taut perfect abdomen. “Do I need three more stories? I’ll die.”

He laughs softly, kissing down your neck, your hands grip his back, hips arching, he feels your heat against his cock. “Are you so needy for me, Princess?”

“Princess!? I’m already wet, stop.”

“Oh, I can feel that.” You’re heating up when he reaches down, rubbing you over your panties, then his violet eyes dilate, and he moans. “Oh, you’re that wet? Fuck.”

“Embarrassing.” You mumble, he shakes his head, thumb pressing against your clothed clit, fabric so damp it’s pathetic, his touch feels so good you could almost cum from his little circles.

You’re not like this, what does Suguru do to you?

“One more story and I’ll make your pretty pussy cum.” He says in your ear, your head falls back, when he nips it with his teeth.

“Oh fine, but Sugu we need to cool off or you’re not making it.” He smirks down at you, making your eyes narrow. “You’re getting cocky about this.”

“Getting you this wet, oh yes.” He laps the sticky clear arousal off his thumb, thin nostrils flaring then, he moans, as your mouth opens at the action. “You taste so sweet, oh my god.”

“Sugu…”

“Shit, yeah, come on.” He exhales and you both fix yourself a bit, you both down your drinks and he then leads you down the stairs, holding your hand as he does, earning the grins of your friends, including Satoru’s girlfriend.

Just this Christmas they’d finally gotten together after a lifetime of just being friends, Suguru hopes and wonders if something is in the air, as he tastes your sweetness still on his tongue, mixing with the champagne. “You all were up there a while, but not long enough.” Gojo teases.

“He’s regaling me with stories.” Gojo’s girlfriend giggles then.

“Oh, let me guess, five of them?” She teases, as Gojo yanks her closer.

“It’s the formula.” Suguru pulls you away then, as a song starts.

“Let’s dance?” You agree, smiling as he holds you in his arms, fuck it feels so good, his strong arms wrapping your hips, it’s nothing like the dances you remember with him before, not when he pulls you against him, and his thigh presses between you, torturing you when you roll your hips. He leans close, as your friends watch, kissing you in front of everyone then.

Something you never, ever thought he’d do.

Something he’d been dying to do.

He pulls back, turning you, your back against him as you rock side to side, pressing kisses down the side of your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, ass arching against him, his big hand splaying your waist completely as it presses gently over your tummy.

“Having you in my arms? Am I having some dream.” He murmurs, surprising you then.

“You, having a dream about me?”

God, if you only knew what he dreams of, all the positions he’d have you in, the ways he’d make you cum for him. But also little things, like having coffee in the morning on the balcony with you, sweet little intimate moments he can picture so very vividly, like waking up with you in his arms, smiling at him sleepily.

“I have so many times while you’ve been gone. God I missed you.” Suguru turns you back around then, hands finding purchase on your waist, the entire room fades away then, it’s just you two.

Just like that night, the one where Suguru failed again.

“Third story, I’m ready. What’s the next story, Sugu?”

He grins, white teeth glinting. “So eager to cum, hmm?”

“Shush.” Your arms wrap his neck, fingers playing with his long silky locks. “Go on then, what grade are we travelling to?”

“We’re up to sophomore year now.”

*****

The Third time Suguru Geto tried to confess his feelings - Age 16- Grade Ten

 You were at this party after Satoru and Suguru had won the state championship for your school. It was an insane party you’d had to sneak out to go to, your mom thought you were at Shoko’s house, her mom thought she was at your house. You’re both giggling as you sit next to each other now, in a circle with a ton of your friends and a vodka bottle someone had snatched.

It’s spinning currently, Suguru was looking at you then, he was the one who had spun it, he watched you bite your lip, he studied you carefully, in bits and pieces, looking away every time you catch his gaze. Since that night in eighth grade you all had stayed great friends, but now Suguru knew how it was to kiss you, and no other girl had such an effect.

He had so many journals of you it’s embarrassing.

You had so many diaries of him it’s embarrassing.

You kept looking at him, at his jaw line, at him smiling and sipping on a soda as he watched everyone at the party, ever observant and aware, and even more handsome as you all grew up. Suguru and Satoru were two of the most popular boys there were, and they had their dedicated fans. You’d gotten your braces off and gotten contacts, you suppose you’re sort of popular by association of your friends, but nothing like them.

Suguru missed your glasses, he missed how they sat on the bridge of your nose, though he does enjoy seeing more of your pretty eyes now, not that you knew that.

Suguru had a girl by his side who was whispering something in his ear. You hated that you felt it like a punch to the gut, sipping your drink nervously to choke down the sensation. Shoko leans in, giving you a knowing look in her dark brown eyes. “You should just tell him.”

“Tell who what?” She snorted at you, rolling her eyes and wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

“You’ve got it bad baby, it’s painfully obvious.” You sighed, looking back at Suguru again, catching his violet gaze across the circle, and you busied yourself looking back at Shoko, whispering in her ear.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Oh yeah. He likes you too, you know?”

“No way. He’s never said so.” Shoko had leaned over and poured a little vodka in your cup, you gasp. “Shoko!”

“For courage.” You sipped it and winced, earning her laughter, when the bottle stopped, and it was just a bit from you… it’s on Shoko. “Yuck.”

“Yuck.” He agreed, and Satoru was laughing maniacally.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss.”

“Oh whatever.” Shoko leaned close, disgust plain on her pretty features. “I’ll puke after this.”

You giggled a bit at her expression, she leaned over, as did Suguru, and you watched their lips press together, but Satoru booed when they pulled back quickly, as did everyone in the circle. “You have to make out, you know the rules.”

They both grimace, and kiss each other again, Suguru’s eyes caught yours as he did, as he pictured kissing you instead, long lashes fluttering and casting shadows along his high cheekbones. You felt sick then, downing more of the strong drink with cheap vodka, as you saw the love of your teenage life kiss your best friend, his hand cupping her face.

Everyone whistled after that, and the worst part is it looked like Suguru enjoyed it, but he only did in any way because of looking at you, picturing your lips on his. Was your lip gloss still strawberry, he wondered? Was it another flavor? And when he caught your gaze, he could see you’re upset, and he wondered why. It can’t be you liked him, it had been years and you’ve never brought it up again.

Friends.

Best friends.

Shoko had wiped her lips in disgust as everyone laughed, and then it was Satoru’s turn, he spun the bottle and winked over at Suguru. “Hope it’s you baby boy.”

“Shut up, Satoru, ugh.” Suguru grumbled, his eyes kept flitting to you, watching Shoko pour more liquor in your cup, when Satoru’s bottle landed directly at you.

Shit.

Satoru leaned in close, lips against Suguru’s ear. “You don’t like her like that anyway, right? So no big deal.”

“Yeah.” He managed to try to spit out that lie, and Satoru knew it, rolling his blue eyes.

“Yeah? Won’t care?” Suguru shook his head, when you scooted to the middle of the circle, on your knees, your little pleated skirt spread just so, killing Suguru then. You had looked at him with something deep in your pretty eyes, before looking back at Satoru.

“Are we doing this?” You asked nervously, Satoru smirked charmingly, nodding and cupping your face, before descending his lips on yours.

Suguru wanted to punch his one best friend for kissing his other best friend, he’s never felt so mad, so sick as when he had to see Satoru kissing you. His fists clenched at his sides, anger coursing through his veins, at himself. His breath caught in his throat, Nanami and Shoko were whispering and looking right at him, your eyes were fluttering shut, like you enjoyed it.

Why wouldn’t you? You weren’t with Suguru, he shouldn’t expect you to just know what he thinks, how he felt, but when Satoru was pulling you against him, putting on a show, Suguru was losing the little control he had. Your hands came to rest on Satoru’s shoulders, wrecking Suguru then, he couldn’t handle it, the longing, the need for you, the desire to rip his friend off you.

You were kissing Satoru Gojo that night, and sure, it felt good, but it felt like a friendly press of lips at first. Then, Satoru surprised you, he was moving his tongue against yours, making you gasp as his big hands pressed your waist, you hadn’t been kissed like that.

Satoru had pulled back and whispered in your ear. “Gotta make it look good, look how mad he is.”

“Mad? No way.” You shook your head, Satoru chuckled, kissing you once more, your eyes found Suguru then, standing and turning, making you gently push Gojo away. “What are you trying to do?” You had asked him, glaring at his antics.

“Get him to admit his feelings.” Satoru winked now. “Oh you’re a good kisser by the way.”

You’re a blushing mess. “Go after him.” Nanami’s voice said softly behind you.

“Should I?” You ask, they nod, and you had taken a breath for courage, hopping up and running after Suguru, finding him alone out front of the little white house full of so many people. You wrapped your arms around yourself as he turned to look at you.

“Suguru, are you okay?” You asked softly, he sighed, shaking his head, looking at your lips, just a little glossy and swollen.

“No.” You stepped closer, shivering a bit, he took his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders, rubbing your arms gently under it, warming you with the contact, making the butterflies soar in your tummy.

“Why?” You asked, he had tilted his head, opening his mouth, closing it, then opening it again.

“I didn’t like it.”

“Me kissing Satoru?”

“Yeah.” He said, but did not elaborate.

You blink a bit, looking down. “I didn’t like you kissing Shoko.”

“You didn’t?” You both stepped closer, the alcohol was new to you, it’s hitting a bit, and that plus him leaning so close made you dizzy, made you want to kiss him so badly, and only him. “Why not?”

“Why didn’t you, Sugu?”

He sighed, cupping your face, brushing your silky hair back, his jaw tensing just a bit. “I just… I don't like it. Did you like kissing him?”

“I mean, he’s a good kisser.” The words bring you back then, and you step back, surprising him. “I guess I wasn’t then, was I?”

“What now?” His eyes narrow.

“In your room, do you even remember? It’s probably nothing to you, but it was my only kiss until just now.” His lips parted in surprise, and you feel embarrassment creeping up.

“Only kiss till now? But guys are all after you. Look at you.” His gaze had darted down, making your breath come in little pants.

“You like looking at me?” You asked softly, he scoffed then, looking to the side, seeing cars drift down the road.

How can you not know?

“That’s a dumb question.”

You blink then, before glaring. “Excuse me for asking, I guess I should know you don’t even see me that way.”

“What?” You were handing him his jacket, feeling tears prick your eyes.

“Why do you say things like that!? That you don’t like me with someone, when you’ll never have interest in me. No matter how pretty I try to look around you, it’s not like you care, I’m just your friend.” You turned and stomped away, confusing the shit out of him then.

“You’re drunk or something, you’re not just walking off into the night. And you’re wrong, you know.” He turned you back to face him, throwing the coat back on you, the moonlight glinted off your tears, tears that broke him. “Don’t cry please. You’re… you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“You’re pretty, okay? I notice.” You gasped, and Suguru wondered just how you were so oblivious, or was he that good at hiding it. “I notice a lot about you, all the time.”

“Why have you never even asked me out?” You asked boldly then, and he just stared at you. “Will we only be friends? I need to know, Sugu, because I hold back constantly, in this silly dream.”

“Hold back?”

“Yes. Why do you think you were the only kiss? I hoped you’d want to again, one day. But I think I’m wrong here.” Suguru tilted your chin up, leaning down so close you taste his sweet breath.

“Thought you liked the kiss with Satoru, hmm?” His thumb brushed over your lower lip, shocks were running through you.

“Not like our-”

“Suguru!” The girl that had been all over him most of the party came out giggling then with two more girlfriends, Suguru pulled back, and you felt your heart break into pieces, when you took the coat off and handed it to him, rage seething through you along with embarrassment.

“Hey, it's your friend!” They waved at you, and you smiled politely, Suguru just watched you, not saying anything, coat in his hand.

“Come on back in, they’re doing seven minutes in heaven Sugu.” Another girl teased, you stare at each other then, you ached for him to say something, say anything, but he cleared his throat, holding out a hand to you.

“Wanna go back in?” He asked, a fake smile on his face.

“Sure.” You don’t take his hand, but soon he has girls all over him, as you all return to the party, and he’s sent to that closet for seven minutes with one of those girls, Shoko is rubbing your shoulder gently.

“Did you say how you feel?”

“I tried, I tried. But he doesn’t say anything Shoko, he just shuts down.”

“He does that sometimes, but I swear he really likes-” Her vision went to the opening door, people were all whistling and making comments, you turned and saw him, with lipstick all over his cheek and neck, and the girl was giggling. His eyes caught yours, his face falling then.

“Let’s go home, please.”

*****

The memories hit so hard you can’t breathe for a moment, Suguru’s face is serious, you all aren’t dancing any longer. Remembering seeing him out of that closet feels as fresh as ever somehow. Now you’re in his strong arms, and he watches those tears back in your eyes, hating himself for them.

“I didn’t kiss her.” His voice brings you back to the present.

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I never kissed her. She didn’t wanna get made fun of, so she asked if she could plant some kisses on my cheek, she was getting pressured by some friends. So I agreed and let her, but the rest of the time we talked, and I thought about you, fuck I felt horrible after.” You step back then, taking a breath.

“I need air.” You walk back outside, Suguru follows you then, your eyes are shut as it all sinks in.

“I’m sorry, I know that night was terrible, and after…”

“I got a boyfriend like a week after.” You say, when he stands behind you, hands on your bare shoulders, he leans over you, kissing one, making you tremble. “I was so hurt and upset I dated the first guy who asked me.”

“Shit.” Is all he manages, and you laugh without humor, resting back against his warm, hard body.

“Yeah, shit.”

“I wanted to kill Satoru, he did it to get a reaction, and he got one, but I still couldn’t open up. I couldn’t tell you that I wanted to kiss you.” You turn then, looking up at him, head falling back just so, seeing his own emotions now, making his violet eyes glisten, adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. “I only ever wanted to kiss you.”

“Suguru…” You’re crying when he captures your lips again in his, taking a breath against him, shaking with emotion. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Every time I tried I closed up. Then I fucked it all up, and… then you dated that guy for like almost a year.”

“I know. I wanted to get the silly idea of us becoming more pushed back in my brain. But… I never stopped…”

“Me either.” You both rest your foreheads together now, emotions coursing through you both. What seemed like a silly high school night had meant so much, and done so much damage. “We weren’t as close after that, I wanted to make it right, but I think I just fucked it up more.”

“No more stories for a minute.” He nods then, brushing your tears away gently, the love for you swelling more and more, he’s so ready to tell you, for you to know everything in his heart and soul.

“Let’s finish the other story on the way to my house.” You heat up then at the thought, eyes darting back at his lips.

“Are you inviting me to stay the night?” He moans softly, pressing your back against the railing, hands sliding down your arms gently, a thigh pressing between your own, right where you’re so hot for him. Your head falls back, hips arching just so, he feels you so wet against him.

“If you want to, shit I’d let you move in.” You giggle, shaking your head, but he’s dead serious. “I would, fuck I’d let you do anything you want, just to see you every day, just to hear your voice. After all these years, just pictures, just memories.” His voice is hoarse, as his hands slip across the sides of your breasts. “The real thing is finally here, and I don’t intend to let you go.”

“I missed your voice.” You admit, sniffling now, cupping his face and running your fingers along his jaw. “I missed you so much, god I just wanted to call.”

“I did too, god I kept dialing it and hanging up, I kept… dreaming of you.”

“I did too, Sugu.” He sighs now, as he holds you in his embrace, and it feels so perfect, to be in his arms.

You were always supposed to be here.

“Why all the stories, to make me cry my makeup off hmm?” You tease, trying to ease the tension, he smiles, shaking his head.

“Not a drop out of place, you’re perfect, Princess.”

Princess, you’re gonna die.

You bite your lower lip now, arching your hips just so, his hand trails down your tummy, it trembles under his touch. “Will you come spend the night at my house? So I can kiss you in more places?”

“Oh yeah?” He nods, smiling.

“I already owe you an orgasm for this one, don’t I?” The casual way he says those words wrecks your psyche.

“You do. Leaving me edged, you’re cruel Sugu.” He snorts softly at that, shaking his head.

“I’ll make up for it. Come on.”

“Oh you’re having a VIP party huh?” Satoru wiggles his white brows, smacking Suguru on the back. “You remember how to do it anymore? I have tips.”

“Oh fuck you Satoru.” You giggle a bit, raising a brow.

“It’s been a while?” You ask teasingly.

“Just a bit, is all. I assure you I know how it works.” His timbre is low as he whispers in your ear, making you ache.

“I believe you. It’s been a while for me too.” You whisper, he exhales, picturing everything he’s going to do to you.

“We’ll make up for it.”

“Get out before you fuck right here, god.” Shoko says, and your friends are grinning maniacally, basically shooing you all away.

“They planned all of this, didn’t they?” Suguru says, walking next to you now, you nod with a little smile.

“When aren’t they scheming something? Oh… is this your car, holy shit!” Suguru blushes a little, nodding as he opens the door for you, his sleek black sports car worth more than anything you own likely, but it doesn’t surprise you. Satoru and Suguru had killed it in sports, and both were making a lot of money. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Soon he’s shut your door and started up the car, leaning close to you, studying your face carefully, as if committing it all to memory. He studies you like you’re a beautiful work of art, and he’s a connoisseur, like you’re the most precious thing there is. And that is what made you always feel so special, how he looked at you, how you captured his full attention, even as a friend.

“Where is the spot you want a kiss?” He asks softly, you look around nervously, you all are in a car right in front of Satoru’s place still. “They’re very tinted.”

“Oh. Um.” You pull down your top then, and his throat goes dry when he sees them, your perfect breasts that gently bounce out, your nipples pronounced and begging for attention.

“Jesus Christ.” Is all he manages to say hoarsely, bending low, gripping your breasts in his huge hands, you cry out at it, nipples getting harder in his touch. “You’re perfect.”

“You don’t have to say-”

“You are. You are so perfect.” You feel a whirl of emotions, desire, love, pure fucking bliss when he runs his tongue around one areola, before sucking one into his hot mouth, moaning.

“Suguru!” Your hands entangle in his locks, back arching, one of his hands pulls you against him, the other gripping your breast, as his barbell flicks on it, and you’re getting soaked, so wet your panties are sticking. “Oh my god…”

Your voice is a breathy cry, urging him on more when he sucks on your other perky nipple. “Can’t wait to taste you everywhere.”

“Mnnh.” You yank him back up, kissing him over and over, it’s hungry and desperate, it’s full of a longing you’ve both had for over a decade, it’s needy and messy, so fucking messy. He’s got you on his lap, you’re grinding against him, pulling back for a gasp of air. “Sugu, I can’t make it to your house.”

“Lemme make you cum, Princess. Yeah?” You nod eagerly, he positions his arm so his fingers slip under your barrier, earning his groan, his eyes dilating so much they’re almost black when he feels you. “Oh my god, feel her, she’s so wet for me, isn’t she?”

You just nod weakly, when he’s teasing your entrance with his fingertip, before sinking in, you scream out at it, breasts pressing against his chest as he sinks one fully in, stretching your slick walls. You’re blinded when he finds that spongy little spot, pressing like he’s known your body forever, making you feel better with one finger than anything ever has.

“You’re so tight, fuck.” He whispers, you’re squeezing him like a vise when he slips two in, stretching you out, hearing the squelching wetness in his car now. He watches your face contorted in pleasure, his cock straining against his pants. He has precum leaking against them, so ready to be inside you. “You’re close already, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

“Please.” Is all you manage, rocking on his hand now, dripping all down him, crying out your pleasure into his lips, as he works you so well, long fingers hitting your spot again and again. “M’close, y-yes.”

“I can feel her, let go Princess. Let go for me.” He’s talking you through it as his thumb finds your clit with the pad of his thumb, and it’s over, you’re shattering for him, cumming so hard you can’t even see then, and he watches you as you fall apart. “That’s it Princess, good girl.”

“Sugu, Sugu- mmm!” You’re shaking as the orgasm wracks through your body, as his fingers slow in your sloppy cunt, so wet it’s fucking stupid, curling them just so to prolong the orgasm even more, until you’re weak. You clutch at his shirt desperately, thighs shaking. “Oh my g-god… what… you’ve been holding out on me this whole t-time!?”

He chuckles, cupping your face now, but not before sucking your arousal off his fingers, kissing you and letting the flavor of you mix with both of your mouths. “Can this hold you for two more stories?” He teases softly, you sigh.

“God I want more though.” You run a hand down his length, he pauses you, shaking his head.

“Not yet, I’ll die.” You’re blushing at the effect you have on him, his thumb runs along your inner wrist, as both of you gather your breaths.

“I don’t do this, I don’t get this way…”

“You still think that I want a hookup? No.” He cups your face, dragging your lips back down to his, as your fears melt. “I’ve waited forever for you, we can wait just a little longer.”

“Forever?” You ask softly, he nods, gulping and then easing you off him, adjusting himself with a wince, you giggle a bit, earning his glare.

“You laugh at my pain, hmm?”

“I’m flattered.”

“You seatbelt up.” He murmurs, leaning across and buckling you in, an arm around the back of your seat as he looks back and reverses, then he turns toward the road, which is surprisingly quiet. You lean against him then, head on his strong shoulder, it feels perfect, despite the nerves.

Would you be good at it? It had been forever.

“So it’s been a while.” Sugu teases, as if reading your thoughts, you grimace and bury your face against him. “It’s fine, you know. It’s been like ten months for me.”

“You? How. Aren’t women all over you?”

“Not the one I want.” You feel the happiness swell at that, looking up at him in the night, the red light you all stop at casting a glow across his handsome face, bathing it in soft red when he looks at you. “I also only really have sex in relationships.”

“Me too, actually. Um… it's been like two years for me.”

“Shit, yeah?” You nod nervously, clearing your throat.

“Yeah, and before that? Freshman year of college. I’ve only been with a couple people, I know that sounds lame.” You’re fidgeting nervously with your hands.

“It’s not, not at all. You’re picky hmm?”

“I wanted some dark haired broody man, one who lived so far away.” Suguru’s jaw tenses, the light goes green but he’s kissing you before he pulls off, exhaling as your words hit him.

“You wanted me?”

“God yes. Want you.” You lean closer, kissing up his neck and unclipping your seatbelt. “Should I show you how much?”

“You are not going to suck me before I eat your pussy. I’m a gentleman, mmkay?” You giggle now, he peeks at you with a tortured expression. “Seriously, I won’t last one stroke if you don’t stop.”

“Oh fine. I was going to see if I have any skills left!”

“I’ll teach you again.” His husky voice melts you all over, you stop the teasing strokes on his hard length, much to his relief, as a couple of more strokes and he’d cum in his pants and embarrass himself. “Alright, let's get this next story going, yeah? We’re at prom now.”

“Oh…”

*****

The Fouth time Suguru Geto tried to confess his feelings - Age 18- Grade Twelve- Prom Night

Suguru couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping that night when he saw you, in your beautiful prom dress, this little red number that clung to you in places that wrecked his brain. You typically were a little more covered up, so for Suguru to see the love of his life’s body like this, it was difficult to function, like you had short circuited his brain, well what was left of it.

It’s about to be the end of high school, and you and Suguru had grown a little distant, despite still having a good friendship. Suguru had been dating this girl for a few months, and they had been intimate already, he had always hoped his first time would be you, but you also were dating someone again. Every time he would think for a moment he could admit his feelings, something got in the way.

At this point he had just tried to focus on being a good friend to you, to have you in his life in any capacity, the journals he penned growing dusty as he lived his life, with sports and school. Friends and a girlfriend, who was then in his arms, dancing with Suguru, despite the person that he wanted, you, were standing there all alone suddenly, tiny in the center of the dance floor.

Your date had left you, right in the middle of prom on the dance floor, you were mortified then, when Nanami came to your rescue, pulling you in his arms and looking at you with concern. “What happened?”

“Oh Nanami, you don’t have to dance with me.” You murmured, tears pricking your eyes, you felt Suguru’s glance as he danced with his pretty girlfriend, you hated that you wished you were her.

“Nonsense, tell me.” Nanami spins you a bit then, he’s gotten so handsome already, him Suguru and Satoru all had, they were so tall and towering over everyone at the school, buff with pretty features. It wasn’t fair how attractive they all were.

So why then, did it only hurt that Suguru was with someone? You didn’t know if you ever would get over it, some dumb kiss from eighth grade!? It had been over four years, nothing was ever, ever going to happen, why couldn’t you just give it up, why couldn’t you stop comparing any boy you date to the man that he was?

“He wanted to go too fast. I couldn’t.” Nanami’s jaw tensed then. “Nanami don’t beat him up!”

“I will, and I will get Satoru and Suguru-”

“No, no it’s fine! Swear. I love you though.” You leaned up and pecked his cheek, earning a blush on his features, you pulled back shyly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, darling. But I really think someone is mad now.” He teased, and you saw it, Suguru’s glare.

“We’ll never be anything.” Your whisper was broken, Nanami frowned at it.

“You don’t know that.”

“Look at who he’s with, and he never… I… Nanami I need a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.” He nodded then, and you strode past Suguru as the song ended, heading to sob your worries in the bathroom.

“I’ll be right back.” Suguru had said to his girlfriend, he ran down the empty halls of the school then, watching you turn the corner, hearing your sobs. He faced you then, watching mascara streak on your face, breaking his heart. “What happened, are you okay?”

“Just go!” You surprised him at your emotional outburst, shoving at him. “You just go be happy, okay?”

“But my friend is-”

“Nanami danced with me, I’m fine.” Your voice got so cold, and it made Suguru break down, stepping closer to you. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He whispered, his hands came to rest on your shoulders, which heaved with your breaths.

“Like you want me. When you never will. Stop giving me hope.” Suguru blinked in confusion at you, how could you think he didn’t want you!?

“What now? You think I don’t want you?” He brushed your hair back, your hands came to sit on his jacket, clutching the fabric, your corsage the same color as the red rose in his pocket, a trembling hand, as your breaths entwined.

“You’re with her.” You had whispered.

“And you were with him.” He said softly back, the hurt on your faces and in your voices so clear.

“Just go, before I do something stupid.” You said, sniffling then, but Suguru leaned even closer, lips a breath away.

“I’m not leaving you.” You tiptoed, dragging him down to you, kissing him deeply then, and it had been like everything clicked into place, like the world all around you all melted. When Suguru’s tongue devoured your mouth, like no kiss you had before, and his hands cupped your face. “Fuck.” He whispered softly.

“Mnh.” You were whining out weakly, Suguru’s hands came to your waist, dragging you against his hard frame, you were heating up like you never have, heart thudding in your chest, when he’s slipping them lower, to your hips. Your back arched, breasts brushing against his chest, earning his moan, as he lifts you then, right on the sink.

Your eyes meet, both of your breaths coming in pants, Suguru Geto is between your fucking thighs, in your school bathroom, and your mind is reeling. “I’ve always wanted you, okay? I have always wanted you.”

His words destroy you.

Are you just dreaming?

“You’re with someone. I can’t do this.” You panicked then, Suguru’s face fell, he had been ready to leave that girl then and there just for one more kiss from you, but you hopped down, touching your lips and shaking your head. “I’m terrible, you’re making me terrible!”

“You’re not terrible, I am. Please, I’ll make it right, don’t leave just give me time and I will-”

“No, I’m awful.” You hated yourself then, so willing to kiss a taken boy, just because he’s Suguru. “You can’t just do that… for me to…”

“Stop, please.” He had begged, gripping your wrist then.

“No. Forget it. Forget it ever happened, I’m sorry I did that.” He doesn’t want your apologies, he wants you, you who disappears that night, before he could stop you, leaving him with one realization.

Kissing you was Earth shattering, kissing you was everything he could ever imagine, and he knew then, he would never get over you.

*****

“I broke up with her, you know.” The hurt in Suguru’s voice is clear as you all come to a stop in front of his home, it’s beautiful and sleek, wide open floor to ceiling windows surrounding it, in a quiet street. You admire it when he opens the door for you, pressing your back against the car as he leans down. “I wanted so badly to finally tell you that night.”

“I ran off on you, you can’t blame yourself for that.” You cup his face now, brushing your lips against his softly. “I was terrified that I did it, that I could do that to another girl, even if it was just a kiss. It felt like the worst thing I could do, but the kiss was the best thing I’d ever felt.”

Your words take Suguru’s breath away. “For me too, it eclipsed anything… though I think kissing you now is even better.” He smiles just a bit, enjoying the blush on your cheeks. “Come inside, Princess.”

“Princess, is that what you call the ladies?” You tease, as he unlocks the doors, and you step in, it’s sleek and modern, but it’s warm and inviting too.

“Only you.” He admits, you feel it then, you’re alone in Suguru Geto’s home now, he’s taking off your jacket, hanging it, warming your chilled fingers with his hands ever so gently.

“Well I’m special then.” You tease, but he’s serious, when he nods, and you lean up, taking out the bun of his hair, letting it fall. You exhale. “You’re like a whole romance cover with it down.”

“A romance cover?” His lidded eyes assess you carefully, now taking out the few hair clips you had holding your hair half up. “You’re beautiful.”

“Sugu…” He’s kissing you again, your hands slipping under his sweater, dying to see him, to see all of him, when he pulls away just an inch. “No, no more stories! I need you to kiss a certain area.”

“I bet you do.” He laughs softly, easing back, enjoying your slumped shoulders and head falling back in frustration.

“Biggest tease of a man ever.”

“We’re almost done now though, want a drink? It’s actually almost midnight.” He muses, peeking at his silver rolex then.

“It is, huh? Alright you better get this last one going then.” Suguru leads you to the kitchen now, he pops a bottle of bubbly, it looks stupidly expensive, and tastes so sweet on your tongue, and as he gazes at you, you ache to tell him. “Sugu… I really should say something.”

“You can soon, I promise.” He plants a kiss on your lips, leading you over to his living room, he slides open the curtains, revealing the pretty night, where people are already lighting fireworks. He sits in a leather seat, patting his lap, you sit on one hard thigh, his arm comes around your waist.

“It's so natural.” You say, brushing your fingers along his hand.

“I know, it feels like you were always supposed to be here.” He sips his drink, setting it down, cupping your face delicately, thumb brushing a drop of champagne that spilled on your lip. “I never want you out of them.”

“Then keep me.” You say softly, he moans, kissing you again, big arm wrapping you so tightly. “Mmm, finish, I’m dying here.”

He chuckles a bit, feeling your heat on his lap, his hands slipping under your dress on the side of your thigh, making your body react. “Alright, the last story.”

*****

The Fifth time Suguru Geto tried to confess his feelings - Age 19- The Summer before Sophomore year college

You were leaving for France, you were leaving for at least two or more years, and you still didn't see Suguru Geto at the airport. With all your friends and family, you kept looking for him. You all had not talked much this year, not after prom, not after that kiss that had you reeling for days, you hadn’t even gone to school that last week, you’d spent it in your room, a mess.

You decided that night to only be friends, no matter what, you’d come back to school for the graduation and given him a hug and a bright smile, and neither of you brought it up again. The lingering tension eased somewhat, and in college you all were so busy you didn’t get together much, and then you got the news that you’d get to study abroad.

A dream of yours, always. All these years you’ve dreamt of going to Paris, of seeing the Eifell tower, of walking along the rolling hills and cobblestone streets, drinking wines and nibbling on croissants and watching the sunrise. The only thing missing from your dream?

Suguru next to you.

“He’ll come, I’m sure sweetie.” Your mom had said softly, you sighed as they sound that you have ten minutes to board over the intercom. “We’ll see you soon, promise to take care?”

“Promise, love you mom, dad.” They left, as did Nanami, then Shoko, Satoru stayed for a moment, madly texting Suguru over and over.

“He’ll come, I swear.” Satoru tried to assure you. You put a hand on his shoulder, shaking your head when the five minutes are announced. “I swear if he doesn’t-”

“Satoru, it's okay. You’re a good friend.” You hugged him tightly, he exhaled, wrapping arms around you, then he chuckled. “What is it?”

“He’s here. God with one minute to spare.” You turned and saw him then, his face so serious, wrapped up in a black coat as he ran up to you. “Alright, bye sweets.”

“Bye Satoru.” You kissed his cheek and he shoved at Suguru, whispering something in his ear, before running off and waving, leaving you two alone, as there are just three more minutes before you board.

The busy airport faded that afternoon, all the people running, hugging, boarding and leaving. It was chaotic, but it’s just Suguru and you, as he’s breathless, his silky dark locks falling just so out of their bun. You felt it then, the emotions, as he opened his mouth to apologize for being late, but you stopped him with a big hug. He wrapped you in strong arms, pulling you against his chest.

“I almost didn’t come.” He admitted, you look up at him with eyes glittering with tears now, broken hearted at the comment.

“What? Why?”

“It’ll hurt too much.” He admitted, his own eyes glittering violet, lidded as tears threatened to spill, tears he cried all morning thinking of you leaving.

“Oh Sugu, I’ll miss you so much.” There was so much more you wanted to say, you ached to say, but you knew you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t spill a bunch of feelings a minute before leaving the country. Feelings you doubted were returned.

“I’ll miss the fuck out of you. Barely even seen you this year.” You nodded in agreement, choking up when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, cupping your face, and you ached to kiss his lips, he ached to kiss your lips. To tell you.

That he’ll always love you.

But he can’t do that, he can’t just ruin your opportunity, this is your dream, and he wants you to live it, despite it killing him, despite him longing to keep you by his side, forever. So he swiped those tears, smiling down at you, as the final minute was announced loudly, he felt his heart shattering, his mouth opening and closing, as it always does, because he was terrified.

Terrified to lose what he never had.

Terrified you wouldn’t feel the same, terrified also that maybe you did, and that he’ll mess up your opportunities, ruin your life.

Terrified of you getting on that plane.

Terrified.

“Suguru, I…” The announcer cut off your admission that day, he never heard it, he never heard that you said you love him.

“What?” He asked, as it quiets, and you feel a relief, having said it, even if he doesn’t know. You leaned up on your tiptoes, kissing his perfect high cheek bone, arm wrapping around him once more.

“I said something silly, Sugu. Just know, I’ll miss you most of all, out of everyone, I will.” He opened his mouth once more, only for you to place a kiss on it, quick, running off before you talked yourself out of it.

He called your name, and you turned as you’re about to board the plane, he feels like he has to tell you. He should, what if he never sees you again? But he waves at you, smiling just so. “I’ll miss you the most.” He responds, shouting across the airport now.

You smiled sadly, sniffling as you turned and left the love of your life, knowing he has no clue how you feel.

“I love you.” He whispered, watching your retreating figure, leaning against one of the pillars then, sobbing into his hand as your plane took off, not knowing when or if he would ever have a chance to tell you.

*****

You’re a mess now as you’re brought back to the present, Suguru pulls you against him tightly, feeling your every emotion rake through him. “I should have told you then.”

“Told me what, Sugu?” Your voice breaks as you ask him, and he smiles through his own tears when he can finally say those words.

“That I’m in love with you.” Your breath catches, entire body overheats, as your heart clenches with his words. “That I’ve been in love with you, since the day I first saw you reading that book outside. That your first kiss with me that day in middle school? I wrote in twenty different ways in my journal. That night Satoru kissed you, I should have told you that I’ve never been more upset.”

“Sugu…” He shushes you gently, shaking his head, standing you both up then, your hands go to his chest as he pulls you against him.

“The night of prom, I should have danced with you, I should have let you know then, that you were the one I wanted to be with me. I should have told you then that I was in love, but that day you left? I should have let you know that I wanted to be selfish, I wanted you to stay, by my side, every day. But I loved you so fucking much, I wanted you to have the best life, even without me.”

“Suguru Geto, my life was not great without you, it was lonely, it was empty.” You speak now, your hand enwrapping in his hair, as he gulps, leaning so close. “I should have told you that I loved you. That I’ve been in love with you since I met you.”

Suguru gasps, and shakes his head, your words a dream, your body against his some insane fantasy. “You… you love me too?”

“God, yes, I always have. There was never anyone but you for me, not in my mind, not in my heart. I said it at the airport, but you didn’t hear, and I thought… I can’t do this, before I leave for years. So I didn’t repeat it, but in my heart? It’s always been you.”

He slams his lips on yours now, kissing you desperate, hungry, backing you until your shoulder blades hit the cold glass, you gasp at it, as he hovers above your lips. “Will you be mine, Princess?”

“I’m already yours, Sugu.” You answer, he groans then, turning you, unzipping your dress slowly, his long slender fingers trailing your spine when he lets it fall to the floor in a pool around your ankles, leaving you bare as the fireworks blast outside, his lips pressing kisses along the nape of your neck.

“You wanted another place kissed?” He whispers, you feel your cunt throb around nothing, nodding, getting so nervous when he turns you, when he sees your beautiful body naked for the first time, feeling his gaze all over you. “Oh fuck you’re so perfect.”

He melts your every fear.

“I want to see you.” You slip his shirt over his head, heating up when you see his broad chest, his perfect chiseled muscles, flat tan nipples pierced with black barbells, your body clenches when he’s got you back against him, his hands gripping your ass, just your panties a barrier now. “You’re so gorgeous, look at you.”

“Look at you.” You grin when he kisses you again, and he grins, you both have never felt this, the bliss, the beauty, words you both kept for so long spilling over and over in quiet whispers, when he picks you up in his arms, so effortlessly. “I need you in my bed.”

You cling to him, your thighs wrapped on narrow hips, and he carries you to his room, beautiful and huge, so clean aside from a set of journals scattered all over his bedside table. He lays you down then, kissing between the valley of your breasts, peeling down your damp sticky panties slowly off your thighs. You’re trembling as he does, hips arching up.

“Suguru…” You’re whining out when he’s between your thighs, broad shoulders nudging them apart, and he sees you intimately, all of you. His fingers part your plump lips, watching arousal drool out of your little hole, he looks up at you with hungry violet eyes, licking his glossy lips.

“Is this where you wanted your kiss, Princess? Your pretty pussy?” He asks huskily, you nod shyly, you’re so cute he thinks, when he laps at your honeyed arousal, making you cry out in pleasure, gushing more wetness out, coating his lips and tongue. “Fuck you taste so good.”

He’s lapping at you more now, his tongue ring hitting your clit, making you jerk, crying out as he starts flicking it over and over, long fingers pressing into the plush of your thighs, keeping them open as he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue. Your hands entangle in his long locks, pulling his hair and earning his moan, you let go then and he looks up.

“Pull it, Princess. Fuck my face.”

“Fuck your… face!? I…” You’re panting, his tongue flicks again, teasing, and you pull his hair then, putting him right there, he devours you then, his fingers bruising in their grip, the sounds of Suguru drinking you lewd and wanton in his quiet room, the fan spinning above doing nothing to cool you down. “Ah, m’close, Sugu! S’good at… you’re s’good I-”

You’re mumbling as he sucks your clit in his mouth, feeling it twitch when his barbell hits it again, and then he hums. He fucking hums on your clit, your juices flowing all over his mouth as you cum so hard you can’t form a thought, clinging to his hair and rolling your hips, unsure how he was even breathing as he’s buried his face, moaning as he drinks you all up.

The slurping sounds are ridiculous, when he leans over you, he kisses you, and you taste your sweetness, gasping out when he slips a finger in your eager hole, feeling the aftershocks pulse around his fingers. “That’s it, Princess, can you cum again f’me?” He whispers, kissing back down your body.

“Y-yes, yes. Ah!” Suguru is curling those long fingers in your gummy walls, so slick they’re slippery, his tongue circling your clit again, and you’re so sensitive you’re close stupidly quick, he smiles against your pussy lips when he watches you, shaking and falling apart for him.

“Good girl, you’re close hmm?” You nod weakly, he begins scissoring his fingers in and out of your squelching wetness, which pours everywhere down his hand, down his wrist, his cock aching as he grinds against the bed. He could cum just from drinking you, tasting you, feeling you cum again, gripping him like a vise. “Can you take three Princess, I need you ready.”

“Three? I… think? I haven’t…” You’re nonsensical, it’s been so long, and you have never felt anything like this in your experiences, Suguru’s so precise, overstimulating you to the point of tears when he slips a third in, leaning over you, hair falling to the side, his face coated in your slick.

“You’re so fucking tight, god. Hear yourself?” You nod weakly, as he stretches you with his fingers, your own jerkily unbuckling him, gasping when his cock leaves his boxers, thick, heavy and so long, you gulp at it, throat dry.

“You’re huge.” He blushes at that, where you thought he may brag or laugh, but he just nods, then moans, eyes fluttering shut when you stroke him, down his veiny length to his reddened tip, drooling precum. “Will this fit?”

“I’m gonna have fun trying.” He teases, his voice a whisper, he pulls back and slides his boxers and pants off then, and you drink in his body for a blissful moment before he’s on you, laying on top of you, you whimper.

“Lemme suck you, Sugu.”

“I won’t make it. Next time.” You stroke him, running your thumb on his tip, making him hiss, you lick his pearly precum. “You’re too hot, stop it.”

“Me hot? You.” He moans, kissing you deeply, lining his cock up then with your entrance, sliding it between your lips, you’re crying out, nails pressing into his back when he starts sinking in you, stretching you so much it burns. You’re so full of him just barely in, just the tip, you’re almost cumming again from it, your eyes flying up to his.

“Are you okay, Princess? Need more work up?” He’s so sweet, so caring you melt, but you pull him more, rolling your hips, watching his violet eyes roll back when you take more of him.

“I want all of you, Sugu. I can take it.” You whisper, he groans, one hand bracing himself up, the other cupping your face when he sinks in further, then in two more thrusts his tip is pressing your cervix, so intense you scream out. He’s kissing down your throat as your thighs shake around his hips.

You’re so full.

Too full.

But it’s so good, you feel him fucking everywhere, you’re dizzy when he begins to move, when he starts pumping inside you, your wetness dripping down his length, down his balls that are smacking your ass as he fucks into you more and more. Suguru can’t stand how good your walls feel tightening around him, how wet you are, the sounds of skin smacking mixing with your cries and his soft moans.

You lose your breath when he bottoms out, stuffing you full of his cock, when he slides a hand down, pressing into your clit, and your eyes lock. He watches you with parted lips, rolling his thumb on it as he rolls his hips just so, bringing you close again, but this time it’s so intense you can’t handle it, you’re whimpering and sniffling, eyes rolling back in your skull.

“Let me fuckin feel you cumming around me, that’s it. You’re taking me so good, love.” Suguru is murmuring in your ear, your nails leave crescent marks in his back, feeling the muscles roll and bunch as he fucks into you, curved tip dragging just so, and your orgasm starts hitting you in waves. “Oh, there it is. Good girl, so good.”

“Suguru f-fuck!” You’re sobbing out the words, he pulls back, your eyes lock, one of his hands entwined with yours over your head, as you try to focus, try to keep your eyes from rolling back. You’re weak, pathetically mumbling under him, cock drunk eyes lidded and heavy as you whisper. “L-love you, Sugu.”

“Love you, Princess. Love your body, your pussy, how your face looks when you cum? How wet you are.” He praises you, every bit of you then, before he shoves your thighs up so high, until your knees are on his shoulders, leaning over and folding you in half under his weight, hands gripping your face when you gasp. “Where do you want all this cum, Princess?”

You’re so flustered now, cunt spasming around him, his pelvis pressing against you, still snug in your drooling hole, so deep you can’t think of where he ends or you begin. “In me, Sugu. In me.”

“Fuck.” He growls that word then, pounding his cock now into your hole, slamming your abused cervix, balls slapping heavy where your cunt is dripping down your ass, down to his blanket. “You’re a mess, Princess.”

“F-fuck… you… I am… but…” He laughs just a bit, you glare, tightening, making him gasp, and glare as you giggle.

“Bratty Princess, hmm?” You bite your lip, then start drooling as he jerks his hips, hitting your spot again, throbbing inside you. “Can you take it hard, love?”

“Y-yes.” He smiles, kissing you so sweet, before he leans up and starts fucking you harder, faster, mean strokes of his fat cock in your sweet little pussy, hands shoving your thighs even higher, you feel him in your tummy when your head falls back, he watched the bulge move in your tummy, the site ending him then.

“F-fuck… Princess… gonna fill you so full.” He leans down, breath against your lips, you whimper and try to open your eyes as he cums so much, filling your cunt, coating you with his white hot ropes. His groans fill the room while he pumps it more and more, until you’re both oversensitive messes.

“You… feel so good in me…” You whine, tears falling when he finally slows, allowing you to get a breath, your thighs falling to the side now. He kisses you over and over, gently, softly, all over your face. You cling to him, struggling to catch your breath as you both come down. Suguru eases out, watching the mess of his cum and yours pour out of your little hole then.

“Oh my god, look at you, took so much cum in you, didn’t you?” He kisses your inner knee, you giggle, skin so sensitive you feel ticklish, he smiles softly, running his fingers across your skin.

“Ah!”

“Do you get like this after?” He muses, watching goosebumps form everywhere he touches, you shake your head then.

“Never, it’s never been like this for me.”

Suguru kisses your lower lip, exhaling sweetly on your lips. “It’s never been like this for me, either. God I can’t believe you’re here.”

Soon he’s got you cleaned up, and you’re wearing one of his sweaters, it’s swallowing you, so comfy and it smells just like him, you keep inhaling the sleeves as he makes you both coffee, you’re sitting on his balcony watching the fireworks. You’re enamored by them, but Suguru is watching you, your pretty face so enthralled by the sky, he can’t take his eyes off you.

You smile at him then, melting his heart, snuggling up to him and resting your chest, feeling his heart thud against your ear. “So where are you staying?” He asks, you lean up, sipping the coffee then sighing.

“My parents for now, ugh I know! But I need to find a place, the market is so crazy right now.”

“Stay here.”

You blink in shock, mouth opening. “Sugu, I’d love to but…”

“Then stay here. Home, where you belong.” He says softly, and you feel those tears again, tonight has been such a whirlwind, but this?

“Home.” You repeat softly, and he gently kisses your salty tears from your cheeks, as you snuggle even closer to him. “I feel like I’m home, Sugu.”

“Then stay with me. For as long as you want. Forever.”

“Yes.” You kiss his lips, and Suguru soon has you back in his bed, as you all get to know each other in every way, the fireworks are still thundering outside, as you get the best new years kisses all over your entire body.

And that was the last time Suguru tried to confess his feelings, but this time it worked, and you felt the same way the entire time.

A/N- This one was a lot of work so I really hope you all enjoyed, I love this format of storytelling, if anyone wants another similar let me knowww! Hope you enjoyed I got emotional w/this one, have an AMAZING new year!

Taglist: @higuchislut @cocoamide @imodii @makingtimemine @smolcooki33 @fushitoru @levislug @pe4rl-diver @indiewritesxoxo @uhnosav @candy-s72 @moonlitwitchdaisy @soobinsbreadscrumbs @inthedarkshadows000 @iheartkhloe @mawhoreagaa @yunho-leeknow @you-transfix-me @sugusmonkeyy @aldebrana @xixflower @witchbybirth @katsukihair23 @username23345 @ninikrumbs @stardust-mina

Post

[vxnuslogy]

— the only exception.

pairing: rin itoshi x gn!reader

premise: itoshi rin isn’t a very likable person in general. he’s rude and doesn’t have any respect for anyone, well other than you. quite literally attached to the hip, you were the only one that rin actually ‘tolerates’. everyone still wonders why you even put up with him, but dear, if they actually cared enough to look past his icy exterior maybe then they’d be rewarded with the soft and clingy rin you knew.

— warnings: ooc-rin (??), just rin fluff

— author’s note: this is reupload from my old blog ( syriiina ). i also might start writing for bllk again so yippie!! art credits to @l_An_pi on twt.

— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @laterosal @mikashisus @powchakko ; if you’d like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned or send me an ask off anon!

“rin!” you shouted, hands frankly waving from the stands as the tall boy jogged towards you. leaning over the railing, hands neatly folded in front of you as you grinned at your sweaty friend who only raised a brow at you. “do you wanna go to the arcade later after practice?”

from the corner of your vision, you could see his teammates speak in hushed tones. you couldn’t help the amused chuckle in your throat as you patiently waited for rin to answer your invitation.

“why not?” you grinned, “we’ll be done in 10 minutes, mind waiting for me?” you just nodded and sat down on one of the vacant seats of the seating area while rin jogged back to the field with his teammates. laughing at how his team was interrogating the poor boy.

10 minutes flew by quickly, at this point you had stood up from your seat and made your way back to the entrance, waiting for rin to finish his shower and change. a few more minutes passed by before you heard the soft padding of footsteps behind you. it wasn’t long when a tap on your shoulder made you look up from your phone. grinning when familiar eyes with long under lashes came to greet you.

“you ready to go?” duffel bag carelessly slung over his shoulder, he followed you out of the school and to the arcade you had mentioned earlier. “you seem happy for a trip to the arcade.” he said, tugging at your hand slightly when you were near the crossing –he was making sure you didn’t get run over by a vehicle – before letting go and instead taking hold of your bag.

unlocking your phone, you showed rin of the new crane machine that had been installed a few days ago. “aren’t those machines scams?” he asked you, flailing your arms around a bit saying that’s not the point. he only sighed and let you ramble about how the plushies in the machine were cute.

“you’ll help me get one right?”

“no.”

you knew it was a lie. 

by the time you made it to the arcade, you made a beeline to the new crane machine while rin got the tokens. he sighed again when he saw you beckoning him over, eager to play the scam machine to try and get a plushie that wasn’t even worth all the hassle.

“rin let’s go get lunch!”

no one was really surprised by your presence when you were by the door of the classroom, already anticipating your arrival minutes prior. it was exactly noon, meaning you’ll be by the classroom door waiting for itoshi rin to finish packing up to go get lunch at the cafeteria.

“no packed lunch today?” he asked, one hand shoved inside his pant pocket. you only shook your head, moving aside from the door to give room for rin to get out of the classroom, “not today, was too lazy to cook.”

as the taller male closed the door, everyone began to wonder as usual. someone as stoic and indifferent as itoshi rin hanging out with you, they thought of it as a strange combo but neither of you ever really bothered to care about how people perceived your relationship.

“i hope the strawberry cheesecake isn’t sold out yet.”

from the corner of his eye, rin saw the silver bracelet move along with your hand as you got your wallet out of your pockets. gaze lingering more than he should, “rin? you good there?” you asked but he only nodded his head. turning his focus on the corridor buzzing with students but every now and then, he’d take glances at you.

you always never bother pointing it out. you take pleasure in the simple normalcy routine with rin.

“sorry i’m hanging out with rin later! maybe next time?”

“i’ll pass for today, i promised rin i’d help him with homework.”

“i’m going to watch rin’s match, i’ll see you guys later!”

“oh right rin said he needed some new pens. be right back!”

“rin let’s go eat lunch! i packed a bento for the both of us!”

“not eating with itoshi today?” your friend asked as she pulled out the chair in front of you, taking out her own lunch and placing it on your table. you only shook your head, “already finished. he’s at practice now.”

her gaze lingered a little over your figure, you only tilted your head to the side, “is there something on my face?”

“no, no, it’s just…”

“just?” taking another bite of your lunch you patiently waited for your friend to ask her question.

“you and itoshi seem really close.”

you just shrugged, continuing to eat your lunch as she sighed. the both of you were enveloped in silence for a while before she asked another question.

“i’m a bit surprised you put up with him. i mean, didn’t you say you don’t really like people like him?”

that question made you stop chewing and begin to ponder. it didn’t take long for you to come up with an answer, “he isn’t so bad if you get to know him well enough.” you said with a smile. almost laughing at your friend’s face as she gave you a bewildered face.

“seriously? he didn’t brainwash you or anything did he?”

letting out a laugh, you waved your hand, “you watch way too many movies. no, he didn’t brainwash me or anything.”she sighed and just continued to eat her lunch. 

itoshi rin may not be the most likable student, but you like him. he may not show it but he truly does care. all does impromptu visits to arcades, tugging at your sleeve, arm, and even hand in some occasions to make sure you didn’t stray too far from him, getting you those plushies in the crane machine even if it takes hours, coming over to your place to help you cook lunch for the next day because he knows you hate the food in the cafeteria most of the time, giving you his jersey so you could wear it during his match. itoshi rin shows his affection in his own unique and simple ways.

they don’t know him like you do. they knew the rin who’s stoic, rude, disrespectful and arrogant. but you? the rin you know is kind, caring, sweet, a bit rough around the edges but he’s your rin. the rin you wouldn’t trade for the world.

if only they knew that he was the one that gifted you the silver bracelet that adorned your wrist – his name engraved on the inside – when he first confessed. and they’ll never know how there’s a silver chain around his neck with a ring – your initial delicately engraved on it – that he always wears no matter where he goes.

no one knows of your relationship. no one needed to know of your relationship.

rin from the very beginning was a private person, and you never minded. after all, why would you complain when you have him all for yourself?

© VXNUSLOGY 2024 — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ I Need A Charles Dickens | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Maybe teasing him so much was not her best idea but all's well that ends well am I right?

A/N: Guys I swear this is the last Christmas fic. But I was listening to Nonsense Christmas by Sabrina Carpenter and my brain immediately spawned this. like I don't even know if this was an innuendo or not but my brain sure as hell thought so.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Warning: This chapter contains non-explicit sexual content

Dinner with your family was always lively. Christmas Eve had everyone in high spirits—your dad cracking his usual corny jokes, your mom fussing over the perfect placement of the centerpiece, and your siblings sneaking cookies before dessert.

And then there was Charles.

Perfect, charming Charles, sitting next to you at the table, effortlessly winning over everyone as usual. He looked good enough to eat, dressed in a snug sweater that hinted at his toned physique and a smile that could have melted the snow outside.

But as much as he seemed at ease, you knew better. You could see it in the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hand occasionally tightened on the edge of the table, and the barely-there flush on his cheeks.

You had him exactly where you wanted him.

It started small. A lingering touch on his arm as you reached for the butter. “Can you pass that to me, Charles? Thanks, love.”

Your hand brushed his, fingers lingering just a moment too long, and you saw the way his jaw tightened, his smile faltering for the briefest second before he regained his composure.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice smooth but strained.

Then, as your mom brought out the mashed potatoes, you leaned close to him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear under the guise of making conversation. “These are your favorite, right?”

He inhaled sharply, his hand gripping the fork a little tighter. “Oui,” he managed, his accent thicker than usual.

But still, he didn’t break.

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to grab the extra bread rolls from the kitchen. On your way back, you “accidentally” brushed against his chair, your hip grazing his thigh and—very deliberately—his crotch.

“Oops,” you said innocently, setting the rolls on the table and glancing at him. “Sorry about that.”

Charles froze for a moment, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his knife and fork. He didn’t look at you, but you caught the way his chest rose and fell a little faster, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth.

Still, he said nothing, though the storm brewing behind his eyes told you he was hanging on by a thread.

You weren’t done.

After dessert, Charles handed you a beautifully wrapped box. “Open it,” he said, smiling nervously.

Inside were several books you’d been wanting for months.

“Charles,” you breathed, genuinely touched. “These are perfect.”

His face lit up, relief washing over him. “I hoped you’d like them.”

You looked up at him, your smile turning mischievous. “I do. But you know,” you said, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear, “I think I could use some Charles Dickens too.” 

His brain short-circuited.

Charles coughed, turning his face away as his cheeks burned bright red. “Ah—” He grabbed his water glass, taking a long sip to regain his composure.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, watching the way his hand fisted his napkin, the tension radiating from his entire body.

By the time you said your goodbyes and got into the car, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Charles didn’t say much on the drive home, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set as he stared straight ahead.

You glanced at him, amused. “Are you okay?”

His laugh was dry, almost dangerous. “You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, feigning innocence.

He didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and you knew you’d crossed a line.

The moment you stepped through the door, Charles shut it behind you with more force than necessary, spinning you around and pinning you against it. His hands framed your face, his body pressing into yours as his lips hovered just above yours.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?” he murmured, his voice low and filled with restrained frustration.

You tilted your head, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’m not sure. Care to remind me?”

His hand slid down to your hip, gripping it firmly as he pressed closer, his breath hot against your neck. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” he growled. “Brushing against me, whispering in my ear, saying things you know you shouldn’t.”

Your pulse raced, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. “And what are you going to do about it?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering. “Oh, chérie, you’ve been such a bad girl tonight,” he said, “And I’m going to make sure you understand it.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, demanding and punishing. His hands roamed your body, his grip possessive as he dominated the kiss, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

“You’ve had your fun,” he murmured against your lips, his tone softening but still firm. “Now it’s my turn.”

With that, he scooped you up effortlessly and carried you to the bedroom, tossing you onto the bed with a smirk that made your stomach flip.

“Stay right there,” he commanded, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up slowly. “We’re not done yet.”

And as he stalked toward you, you knew you were in for a very memorable Christmas.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Charles was on you, his body moving with a deliberate, unyielding confidence that made your pulse race. He climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as his hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head with ease.

"Do you know how hard it was to sit through dinner tonight?" he asked, his voice low, each word dripping with restrained intensity. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Do you know what you did to me?"

Your throat was dry, your heart hammering against your ribcage as his grip on your wrists tightened just enough to make you feel completely at his mercy.

"I-I might have an idea,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and breathless.

His laugh was soft but dark, laced with a dangerous sort of amusement. "Oh, chérie, I don't think you do."

His free hand trailed down your arm, his touch featherlight, teasing and unhurried. You squirmed beneath him, heat pooling in your stomach as his fingers traced the line of your collarbone, dipping lower with every pass.

"Be still," he ordered, his tone sharp enough to make you freeze, your body obeying before your mind even registered the command.

The tension in the room was palpable, every nerve in your body attuned to his every movement. You felt the weight of his gaze as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and focused, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

"You've been such a tease tonight," he murmured, his hand continuing its slow exploration. His fingers skimmed the hem of your sweater, pausing just long enough to make you ache for more. 

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't do something about it?"

You swallowed hard, your skin prickling under his touch. "Maybe I was hoping you would."

His smirk was devastating, a perfect mix of amusement and dominance. "Careful what you wish for, mon amour."

His lips claimed yours again, the kiss intense and demanding, leaving you breathless. You felt the scrape of his teeth against your lower lip, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue as he deepened the kiss, stealing what little control you thought you had left.

When he pulled back, you gasped for air, your chest heaving as his lips moved to your neck, trailing a line of heat that made your toes curl. Every press of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth, sent shockwaves through you, making it impossible to think about anything but him.

"Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice a gravelly whisper as his hand finally slid beneath the hem of your sweater, his crotch brushing against your thigh.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, his touch both teasing and possessive, as though he were staking his claim. "Good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Because I want you to remember this. Every. Single. Second."

His words sent a shiver through you, your body arching toward him instinctively, desperate for more.

"Patience," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "You don't get to rush me, not after tonight."

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized he was doing this on purpose-dragging it out, making you feel every agonizing second of his touch. And it was working.

When he finally moved to shed the sweater you'd worn specifically to catch his attention, his hands were slow, precise, as though unwrapping a gift he intended to savor. The fabric pooled on the bed, leaving you exposed to his gaze, which burned into you.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice softer now, reverent even. His hand traced a path down your side, his touch igniting sparks everywhere he touched.

Your breaths came in short, shallow bursts as he leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you.

"Yes," you whispered, your heart swelling with both anticipation and certainty.

"Good," he said, his lips brushing against your skin. "Then let me show you exactly how bad you've been."

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Your body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together, every nerve alive and buzzing, your muscles trembling in the aftermath.

You were exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion—the kind that left you boneless and utterly content, your heart still racing as you tried to catch your breath.

Beside you, Charles sat up on the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. His back glistened faintly, his broad shoulders tense for a moment before he exhaled deeply and turned to look at you.

“Mon amour,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. His touch was gentle now, a stark contrast to the way he’d gripped you earlier, his hands firm and unrelenting. “Are you okay?”

You smiled, your voice hoarse from all the times you’d screamed his name. “I’m more than okay.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing,” he said quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

Without another word, he stood and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the sound of water running, and a moment later, he returned with a warm, damp towel. He knelt beside the bed, his movements unhurried as he gently cleaned your skin, murmuring soft reassurances as he worked.

“You pushed me tonight,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate as he wiped your shoulder. “But I might have pushed you harder. Did I go too far?”

You shook your head, reaching out to touch his arm. “Not at all.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, though his eyes remained serious. “If I ever do, you tell me. Promise?”

“I promise,” you said, squeezing his arm to reassure him.

Satisfied, he set the towel aside and climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms. The heat of his body was soothing, and you curled into him instinctively, resting your head on his chest.

His fingers began tracing lazy patterns on your back, his touch light and soothing. “You completely wore me out,” you mumbled, a soft laugh escaping you.

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Good,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before teasing me like that.”

“Doubtful,” you murmured, smiling as your eyelids grew heavy.

Charles sighed dramatically, though the smile in his voice was unmistakable. “You’ll never learn, will you?”

“Probably not,” you admitted, your words slurring as sleep began to claim you.

His arms tightened around you, his voice the last thing you heard before slipping into dreams. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

"Merry Christmas Charlie" 

"Merry Christmas love"

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — prologue

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 1.1k

↠ Warnings : none for the prologue! unless you count Jungkook & oc …

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here is the prologue for PHBC! Two different scenarios which show you all what this lovely couple (+ their friends) are like! 🫶🏻 I hope you enjoy this little something before I release the first drabble <3 enjoy the short read & do share your thoughts (please send an ask / comment below for the taglist) 🩷. Seeing some of the enthusiasm already has increased my confidence in this series so much ; forever grateful 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Prologue : Sunrise & Smoke

Series Masterlist || Teaser || Moodboard || Main Masterlist

You: “So babe, let’s tell them, what was your first impression of me?”

Jungkook: “Loud.”

You: “You’re mean! And fgs, say more than one word.”

Jungkook: “It’s true. You wouldn’t even speak and I’d look over at you and think ‘she’s loud’.”

You: “Well, it’s not my fault I look like I own the place.”

Jungkook: “You don’t.”

You: “Metaphorically, I do.”

Jungkook: [smirking] “And what does metaphorically mean?”

You: “I think you’re obsessed with me.”

Jungkook: [deadpan] “You wish.”

You: “You know.”

Jungkook: “Annoyed sounds better.”

You: [grinning] “Sure. That’s why you spend every second thinking about me.”

Jungkook: “I wouldn’t waste my time doing that.”

You: “What about now?”

Jungkook: [sighing, defeated] “Fine. Maybe a little.”

You: [smiling triumphantly, cheering] “Knew it.”

Jungkook swears he’s never met anyone like you before. Now, when he says that, he doesn’t mean it in a sweeping, romantic way - at least, that’s what he tells himself.

What he means is that you’re infuriating.

Very infuriating.

Almost as infuriating as Taehyung and Jimin, except he’s grown immune to the two of them.

You’re loud where he’s quiet, bold where he’s careful, chaos where he’s calm. It’s as if the universe decided to throw him the ultimate challenge: someone who refuses to be ignored.

And, God, has he tried to ignore you.

At first, he chalked it up to sheer annoyance. The way your laugh carries across the room. The way your jokes are often at his expense. The way you seem to glide through life like you own every inch of it.

But annoyance doesn’t explain the way his eyes always find you in a crowd. It doesn’t explain the way his heart skips when you text him in the middle of the night just to share a stupid TikTok.

And it definitely doesn’t explain the way he’s memorised the exact shade of your eyes in every kind of light… which brings us to your current status.

You’re sprawled across a wooden bench in the campus courtyard, one leg draped over the other, scrolling on your phone. The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow on your skin, and Jungkook wonders, not for the first time, how someone can look so effortlessly radiant while doing absolutely nothing.

“Yah,” you call out when you see him approaching. “Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting forever.”

“It’s been five minutes,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets as he stands in front of you. “I went to buy this.”

Jungkook hands you a bottle of strawberry-flavoured water, knowing full well if it was plain, you’d be complaining about how ‘boring’ it is.

“Five minutes too long,” you say, grinning up at him. “I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me again.”

“I didn’t,” he deadpans, but the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying him.

You sit up, patting the space beside you. “Sit down, Bakugo. You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Jungkook sighs, but takes the seat anyway, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I’m not Bakugo.”

“You totally are,” you tease, leaning into him. “It’s okay, though. Bakugo’s hot. Works for ya.”

You wink.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

And this is how it’s always been between you and Jungkook - a constant push and pull, a game of who can fluster the other first. It’s messy, it’s ridiculous, and it doesn’t make sense on paper.

But in moments like this, sitting next to him as the world hums softly in the background, you know it’s exactly where you’re meant to be and exactly what your relationship means.

Another instance

You feel his eyes on you again.

Seated at the edge of the graffiti-covered bench outside the university’s art building, you hum softly to yourself, applying another coat of shimmering pink gloss to your already glossy lips.

Jungkook sits next to you, one booted foot propped up on the bench, a cigarette dangling carelessly between his fingers. His usual scowl is firmly in place, but his gaze - dark, intense, and unwavering - is locked on you.

“Are you done yet?” he grumbles, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward, betraying his feigned irritation.

You click the cap of your lip gloss shut with a flourish, turning toward him with an innocent smile. “Done! What do you think, Koo?” You pucker your lips at him, tilting your head like a puppy seeking approval.

He let out a low, dramatic sigh, flicking the ash from his cigarette before leaning in close. The scent of leather and smoke clings to him, but when his lips brush yours, barely a whisper of contact, all you think about is how gentle he always is with you.

“Sticky,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to smirk at your affronted expression.

“It’s not sticky, it’s glossy,” you correct him, arms crossing under your chest as you huff.

Jungkook’s eyes dipped to your lips again, his smirk softening into something almost sweet. “Yeah, whatever. Looks good on you, though.”

“Thanks, Koo!” you chirp, your mood instantly brightened by his rare compliment.

Now, his friends across the courtyard aren’t as charmed S you right now.

Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin lean against the brick wall, watching the scene unfold.

“Unbelievable,” Namjoon scoffs, shaking his head as he adjusted the strap of his guitar case. “He barely speaks to us half the time, but with her? He’s all sunshine and rainbows.”

“More like sunshine and bubblegum flavoured lip gloss,” Taehyung quips, earning a chuckle and shove from Jimin.

Jungkook doesn’t care. He never does.

He simply shoots them a sharp glare, the kind that promises swift retribution if they dare to open their mouths any wider. Then, as if a switch had flipped, he turns back to you and softens instantly.

“Come on,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette on the bench. “Class starts in five and I don’t want you tripping in those ridiculous shoes again.”

“They’re not ridiculous!” you protest, looking down at your baby pink platform heels. “They’re super cute! You just don’t know fashion.”

“Sure, princess.” Jungkook rolls his eyes but reaches out for your hand, easily pulling you to your feet. His fingers curl protectively around yours, his thumb brushing over the rhinestone-studded ring on your index finger.

As the two of you walk off, the boys watched in stunned silence.

“Man, he’s fucking whipped,” Jimin says finally, breaking the spell. “I kinda love it.”

“Yup,” Namjoon agrees, lighting his own cigarette. “She’s got him wrapped around her pinky finger. Literally.”

But as clarified before, this doesn’t affect Jungkook.

Because when you squeeze his hand and look up at him with that wide-eyed, saccharine smile of yours, nothing else matters.

Not his annoying ass friends.

Not his bad mood.

Not even the fact that your lip gloss really was sticky and he hates kissing you with this particular flavour.

Where was your strawberry one today?

Anywho… you were his, and he was yours.

Smoke and sunrise, velvet and venom, perfectly mismatched.

There we go! Please share your thoughts ; I can’t wait to speak with my readers about these two 🥹🩷

↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie (names in italics could not be tagged).

[verxca]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ [ imagine #02 ]

[ j. todd ] ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

── . ✦ in which jason is your next door neighbour.

✦ The first time you met Jason wasn’t out of high stakes - a dangerous situation - or from a friend of a friend. It was by pure will, and that stuck out to him. You’d come over to finally meet your new neighbour who’d moved into your small apartment complex, blushing slightly as a young man opened the door. There you were, standing with a small container of pasta in hand next to the hunk of a man you’d never met. All because you’d made some extra on accident.

“Thanks. This looks great.” He nods his head ever so slightly in gratitude.

✦ Jason notices how your shoulders relax as he takes the container— how cute you looked all nervous like that. Above all, he was just happy he didn’t come off as some shitty neighbour, fortified by the wide, gentle smile you ported while turning to wave goodnight.

✦ He sets the container onto his counter, picturing your face in his mind for a brief instant. It'd been a while since someone did something nice for Jason, just because. He wasn’t used to it.

✦ You’d crossed paths many times in the hallway, but what really sealed the deal was when your sink started to leak one random thursday evening. You couldn’t tell if it was minor or not, but you wanted to play it safe, knocking next-door. Who was Jason to deny a pretty girl, anyway? He accepts causally, though inside he’s beaming more than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, no sweat, let me grab my tools.”

✦ And only a couple minutes later, he was hunched under your kitchen cabinets— sleeves rolled up and everything. His hands work deftly, years of practice making the task almost second nature.

“Do you need a water, or anything? I have soda, too.”

“Oh- Yeah. Water would be perfect.”

✦ You tried desperately to hide your growing grin while reaching up for a glass, the whole situation particular. Jay stayed longer than he had to once the leak was actually repaired; a whole half hour to put into perspective. Maybe it was the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, or the way you seemed genuinely happy to have him over that made him give in. Or, maybe, it’d just been too fucking long since he’d had a normal conversation like this.

“Eh, I've been around for a bit," He says vaguely as you two were sharing, "Long enough to know my way around. And- to know that this place is a hell of a lot better than some of the other shitholes in the city."

He gestures to your apartment with his glass in hand, leaning against your counter. “Yeah, tell me about it… It’s small, but it works.” Jason points to the sink he had just finished fixing with a smirk, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

✦ Your smile just lit up around him, and that was when he knew you’d be the woman he’d marry.

✦ And then, the fateful night hit. Red Hood had come back home after beating up some prominent criminals near the side of an old port— covered in bruises and a small stab wound to the lower abdomen. His head wasn’t in the game, and the feverish lightning made it hard to concentrate. He reached for his apartment door, mask in hand. It was late; he knew nobody would be out roaming the halls at this hour.

✦ The handle didn’t budge, though, his black gloves gripping onto the metal more harshly.

“Fuck!”

✦ Jay yelled, banging his hand against his apartment door. This? Now? Could his night not get any fucking worse? He pauses, his expression not angry, but just sad. Tired. He looked defeated. Jason walked over to the left of him, pausing before knocking on your door.

“Jason? Oh my god- Are you-”

✦ The stab wound in his side was throbbing, and you could see some blood dripping down from his leg. He needed to get it cleaned before he passed out.

“Please.”

✦ You don’t waste anytime before helping him inside, placing your hand on his lower back. You always had your suspicions about the guy— but this? He had to be a vigilante! Crime was rampant in this area, anyway… You prayed he was on the good side of things.

✦ Jason was sitting on your toilet seat, shirt off, gaze completely averted down. He didn’t want you to see him like this; all fucked up and broken. But you didn’t run screaming, or turn away in disgust— Instead you rushed to help him. He didn’t understand. You diligently cleaned his wound with an antiseptic, own expression sour from how much you knew it had to be hurting him. Jay tried his best to hold still despite the stinging pain— grunting slightly.

“Shit…”

✦ You look up, only to notice he was already staring down at you in between his legs. Your heart skipped a number of beats.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You ask calmly, and Jason just couldn’t take it. Your soft hands - your sympathetic expression - your fucking voice. He was going to break, averting his gaze in the matter of a second before clearing his throat roughly.

“Just crossed through the bad side of town.”

✦ Once the wounds were cleaned, you bandaged them up with extra care. Jason’s gaze was fixed between your hands working at his cuts, up to your pretty face. Apart of him wanted to apologize for showing up all unannounced like this, but another part of him— a part that's been starved of kindness and compassion for far too long wanted nothing more than to let you take care of him. Nobody had ever before, at least not with such compassion as you carried.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this… I just didn’t know where else to go.”

✦ He explained his situation once you offered him a glass of water— how his apartment was locked. You don’t think twice before letting him stay the night.

✦ You handed him some old pyjama pants that were too big on you to sleep in, all the while his equipment sat in your bathtub for the time being. You didn’t waste your time before setting up the couch, too, even lighting a nice candle on the coffee table. Jason feels a warmth spread through his chest as you smile at him— it had nothing to do with the pain.

“Fuck- I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Oh, Jason- It’s my pleasure, really. If you need anything during the night, just come get me, yeah?”

✦ You close the blinds and shut off all the lights before tucking yourself back into bed. Holy… what a night! You couldn’t get the image of him out of your head, knowing he trusted you enough for this. All the while Jason fell asleep like a light for the first time in many years, all thanks to your gentle care.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ part 2 ?

[zhelin-thames]

Disowned by Vlad, Adopted by Bruce

prompt idea

@silverblueglitter

Danny leaned back in his chair, staring at the clock as it ticked down. It was becoming unbearable, and his coffee was long gone. He needed something to take his mind off the pressure. So, naturally, he decided to take a break with a call to his old "father" figure.

"One second," Danny muttered, holding up a finger to Bruce, who was standing nearby, watching him with an amused look. "I need to make a call."

Bruce raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Danny picked up his phone, hitting speed dial with practiced ease.

The phone rang a few times before a familiar voice crackled through the line. "Danny, what is it this time?"

"Dude, I need you to disown me or something," Danny said bluntly, letting his shoulders slump as he leaned back in his chair. Bruce shifted next to him, clearly interested but not saying anything.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before Vlad’s voice came back, a little more strained. "What do you mean ‘disown you’? I don’t think that’s how this works."

Danny exhaled dramatically, flipping a pen between his fingers. "Look, I found a much better billionaire. Even his basement is cooler than yours, and his mansion doesn't give me the creepy ‘don't go near the basement’ vibe. I’m just saying, this Bruce Wayne guy is kind of a step up from whatever mess you’ve got going on. You’re interfering with my ability to fantasize, Vlad."

From the other end of the line, there was an offended sputter. "What—Bruce Wayne? You can’t be serious. That man is—"

"Yeah, well, I might just call him Dad," Danny interrupted, a smirk pulling at his lips as he looked over at Bruce, who was now watching him with wide eyes. "Who knows, maybe he’s better at this ‘parenting’ thing. I mean, you’ve been busy being a creepy ghost villain, and Bruce... well, he’s got a cool cave. You should be jealous."

Bruce froze. His posture shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion and... something else. Something a little less amused. Danny was too wrapped up in the call to notice the shift.

"I don’t care if you find a ‘better billionaire.’ I’ve invested time in you!" Vlad yelled, his voice thick with indignation.

"Yeah, well, maybe it’s time for an upgrade," Danny shot back, crossing his arms. "Your mansion is a total dump compared to Wayne Manor, and it’s kind of embarrassing now. I might just take up Bruce's offer to adopt me. He seems way more competent, and, honestly, I don’t know what you’ve been doing in your creepy lair all these years."

At this point, Bruce was visibly processing the situation, his mouth slightly open as he tried to piece together what was happening. He hadn’t heard Danny mention wanting to be adopted by anyone—especially not someone like Bruce Wayne. His heart rate had picked up a little, though he quickly masked it with a forced casualness.

"I don’t need your drama, kid!" Vlad shouted in response.

Danny shrugged, his attention drifting back to Bruce. "Don’t worry, Brucie. I’ll come over sooner or later. Your mansion’s way cooler, and your kitchen has better snacks."

Danny could practically hear the steam coming out of Vlad’s ears on the other side of the call as the ghost finally cut the connection with a harsh click. Danny stared at the phone for a moment, then tossed it onto the desk.

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. "You... You really want to be adopted by me?" His voice was even, but there was a slight edge to it—a crack that betrayed something beneath the calm façade.

Danny shrugged, not meeting his gaze. "I mean, I could think of worse things. You're rich, you have cool gadgets, and, honestly, it'd be nice to have a family that doesn't involve ghostly vengeance, y'know?"

Bruce’s posture shifted again, and this time he didn’t hide the brief moment of genuine surprise. Then, ever the composed figure, he let out a slow breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I can’t exactly offer you the freedom you seem to want, Danny... but if that’s something you want to discuss, I’d be happy to have that conversation."

Danny met Bruce’s gaze, and for a second, just a second, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter.

"Yeah," Danny said softly, leaning back in his chair again. "I mean, I guess it's not the worst offer."

Bruce’s expression softened further, though he quickly masked it again. "Good. Let’s talk when you’re ready."

The awkward silence settled between them, but it wasn’t as heavy as before. Danny could see it now, just barely. Maybe Gotham wasn’t such a mess after all.

Maybe it was just starting to look a little more like home.

[sugawhaaa]

SKZ HEADCANONS

The type of women they like in bed...

Warnings//genre:: SMUT, shower sex (Hyunjin), cowgirl (Changbin, Felix), BDSM (minho) Collar (Minho) creampie (Chan)

Pairing:: ot8!Skz x fem!reader

A/N:: so I started with ateez and now I'm done skz should I do...a txt version 🤨 or maybe piwon 🤭

Skz masterlist:: 🍒

Taglist:: @weallneednamjesus @strykdsstanot8

Emotional, a girl who will let him take care of her in many ways

Chan has many different sides to him in bed but no matter what, he loves to cherish his partner. He wants to be able to treat her like a princess or a slut or just his girlfriend.

"You're so pretty like this," Bangchan groans before leaning down to kiss your neck, his hips never losing their pace. You can't even reply because you're so focused on the sensation of his fat cock stretching you wide open. "How you feeling baby?" He tucks a strand of your hair back. You let out a choked moan as you try to form words.

"Good," You claw at his back as you struggle to speak. "Faster please," You whine and Chan smiles shyly.

"Already?" He asks in a teasing and genuine way.

"Yes please! Fuck, I can take it," You assure him and he grins before snapping his hips against yours. The room fills with a symphony of screams of pleasure and the clap skin on skin. As Bangchan pounds into you he leans back, holding your hips, to admire your body. The way you squirm and twitch, the way you pant and moan and reddened face, the way tears of raw desire build in your eyes, and it's all because of him.

Obedient, a woman that'll listen to him and enjoy it

Minho loves to be in control during sex but he doesn't want his partner thinking their opinions aren't valid. He needs his woman to understand that this is his way of showing love and that he just wants to love on her...hard.

"C'mon, look at me baby," Minho says as he lifts your chin up to look at him, however the vibrator pressed against your core drew your attention more. "You need to keep being good for me alright?" He tugs on your collar slightly to draw your attention. You nod with a little whine and Minho smirks, his power over you shining through.

"C-Can I cum yet?" You ask between heavy breaths, the band in your stomach tightening its knot.

"Soon baby, hold on as long as you can," He then leans into your ear, his breath ghosting over your ear. "The longer you last the greater your reward babygirl," Minho smiles before bringing a hand up to your breast, cupping it in the soft lingerie. "shh, you've been doing so good," He says before smirking. His opposite hand creeps down to your vibrator, ticking it up a few setting, the vibrations now more intense than ever. You squeal and arch your back, your head falling back as well. Minho chuckles darkly at your reaction. "So cute~"

Comfortable, a girl who will make him feel safe and relaxed

Changbin has rough appearance and exterior but everyone knows he's very vulnerable inside. He needs to find someone who will keep that vulnerability safe, especially when indulging in something like sex.

It was moments like these you really cherished with Changbin. Your bodies nearly bare and pressed up against each other, your tongues intertwined as your hands frantically search for a place to rest. Changbin holds the back of your head, his fingers sorting through your hair, as he hungrily kisses your lips.

"I need you," You pull back to announce and Changbin smiles shyly, looking down.

"Whatever you need," He kisses your cheek as his hands trail down to your ass, picking you up and lifting you higher up his lap. His mouth finds yours again as he messily helps you take off your panties but you're too impatient to let him take off his underwear, instead you grind against his boner. He moans quietly, his brows furrowed at the new sensation. "Wow that feels..." His hands fall to your sides, relaxingly resting on your hips. "Keep doing that baby and I might cum in my clothes," He chuckles as he tosses his head back.

Gentle, a woman that will put care into every touch

Hyunjin has a frail heart and he can be a little sensitive to such intense feelings such as lust. He needs someone to calm him and occasionally steer him during sex.

"Yes fuck, are you slipping baby?" Hyunjin grunts as he slows his hips, making sure the wet surface wasn't causing you any risks.

"No, I'm okay, keep going," You pant softly and rest your head against the shower wall again. Each one of his thrusts was deep and passionate, the pace was slow but the strength was there. You bounce against the wall with each pound and Hyunjin comes around to hug you, pulling you off the wall like a starfish.

"Is...Is this position okay?" He asks shyly as his wet hair clings to your shoulders, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"God yes," You moan and throw your head back. He begins to thrust into you again, hitting up deep in that one spot that makes you scream. Hyunjin focuses hard as he watches your body from over your shoulder. "Yes right there, keep going," You moan, subtly praises him. Hyunjin has to hide his smile as he fucks you faster, hoping to receive more praise later.

Passionate, a woman who will bask in his presence

Felix has a bit of a clingy side, but it's not as much physical as it is emotional. He needs that person release on especially when it's his love.

"Yeah, yeah, just like that baby," Felix encourages in his thick Aussie accent but a hint of something else lingers in his voice; perhaps lust, hunger or love? His hands stay fastened to your hips as you hop on his lap, his cock slipping in and out of your warmth. Felix rests his head in the crook of your neck as he pants heavily, his hot breath ghosting over your damply sweaty skin. He lets out a low growl before tossing his head back. "Oh yeah, harder baby, c'mon bounce on me," He smirks softly at the lewdness of his words.

"I can't," You breathe out softly and Felix sits up again, holding your hips with more strength.

"You can babygirl," He kisses your jaw before assisting in lifting your body up then back down on him. His cock hit imaginably deep very hard, making you moan loudly, eyes wide. "That's it, feels good doesn't it?"

Needy, a girl who will match his constant need for relief

Han is undoubtedly clingy and loves the feeling of hands and attention on him. Jisung needs a girl who won't mind his constant need and ache for her. This fact transfers into the bed as well, he gets aroused easily, especially with physical stimulation, and he needs a partner will understand and care for his needs.

"Baby..." Han whispers as you peacefully sleep. He gently shakes your shoulder and you startle awake, forcing your eyes open. "I'm sorry," Jisung instantly regrets waking you and hides his face in the plush white sheets.

"What's wrong?" You ask groggily as you prop yourself up with your elbows. As your eyes adjust to the lighting you notice Han looks quite distressed; his eyebrows are curled upward, his lips swollen and red, his eyes glossy and his face and hair damp from presumably sweat. "Is everything okay?" You sit up, alerted by his appearance.

"Yeah but I um..." He blushes and looks away, ashamed of his behavior. "I had a wet dream and I've been trying to get off but..." He bites his lip before looking at you. He lets the plump skin between his teeth go with a sigh. "I need your help," He whines and your heart melts at his puffy cheeks and doe eyes.

"Of course, what do you need?" You watch as he sits up beside you, the blanket falling to reveal his broad chest.

"Anything...your hands, your touch, your voice, just be here with me," He whines as he extends a shaking hand toward you. "I need you," He caresses your jaw before pulling you into a deep kiss.

Patient, a girl who can wait for and understand him

Seungmin feels a little conflicted about his sex life. There's times when he's really into it and other times he can't find the lust to indulge in. He needs a girl who will respect his boundaries and understand his conflicting emotions.

Seungmin lays back on the bed after a long day with hands tucked behind his head, a thoughtful look on his face. As you put away your laundry you notice his stern expression. "You look scary when you're thinking," You smile, your voice light hearted. "What's got you thinking so hard?" You ask sincerely, assuming he's stressing about work. You set aside your laundry and sit next to him. Seungmin tenses as you come closer.

"Not sure...I feel," He looks away, pausing for a moment. "I feel like I wanna have sex but I'm so tired. My body feels weak from working," He groans as he props his head back, his arms now limp at his sides.

"That's okay," You smile, trying to assure him that he's feeling normal.

"It's annoying," He grumbles with a little pout. He shifts his hips and a blush creeps up his neck. "Could you...help me?" Seungmin asks hesitantly before making eye contact.

"Of course, lay down," You push his chest down softly, encouraging him to relax. As you do so you notice the throbbing tent in his jeans; you tilt your head in curiosity. "Is this what's been bothering you?" You smirk softly and he looks away from you with a slight pout.

Daring, a girl who will take the lead and follow his lead

Jeongin has a switch in his sexuality. Sometimes he wants to be on top, be mean, be hard, be in control and other times he wants to be hurt, broken and rebuilt as someone else's. He needs a lady who will be able to do both: fold for him and fold him.

"What's it gonna be tonight?" Jeongin says as he kicks his feet up on the bed, his elbows propped up to hold his jaw. He watches as you walk around the bedroom, doing chores, while he patiently waits for you to finish and indulge in some lust. "Maybe you'll let me bend you over the bed or desk?" He says with a devilish smirk before rolling onto his back, his legs now crossed. "then let me fuck you into the wall of the shower for round two," He tilts his head as he watches you get flustered by his words, your focus fading as you brush your hair. "Or would you rather pull out the sex toys and use me until I cry?" Jeongin just kept egging you on until you reply.

"Bending over sounds nice," You smile with red cheeks as you sit beside him on the bed. He instantly pulls you closer by your hips, setting you in his lap. He nuzzles his face into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"I was hoping you'd let me fuck you tonight," He flicks his tongue out to snake around your ear, making your body shiver with excitement.

[keehomania]

bad religion — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, angst, minors dni, sexually explicit content below the cut, bartender!reader, unrequited love, slowburn, crashout!rafe, nobody understands him like i do, reader lowkey has bob the builder mentality, no religious themes despite the title, dirty talk, gun play, alcohol consumption, drug usage, if it brings me to my knees, it’s a bad religion; this unrequited love

it started off as a way to pay off your student loans—tuition, housing, supplies. the minute you enrolled, you had picked up the job. it was supposed to be temporary, just until you found a better solution, but time had a way of slipping through your fingers. years later, you were still standing behind the counter, wiping spills, pouring drinks, and serving customers whose names you rarely bothered to learn. the debt was gone, long since paid off, but you hadn’t managed to leave. you told yourself it was because the money was decent, but deep down, you knew the truth: you didn’t know where else to go.

the roadside had become something of a second home to you, though a noisy, sticky one. you liked the rhythm of it, the way the nights started off slow and built to a fever pitch, only to settle into a steady hum again by closing time. you liked the regulars, too—the older men who came in after long shifts at the docks or the factory. they nursed beers as if they were lifelines and tipped generously, their wallets loosening with each drink. they were kind, if a little lonely, and they made your job bearable.

the others weren’t as pleasant. there were men with slicked-back hair and gold watches, the kind who brought their wives to brunch in the mornings, but showed up at the roadside every night with someone new on their arm. whiskey neat for him, a bright, sugary cocktail for her—each woman seemingly younger, blonder, and more compliant than the last. they never tipped, and they always left a mess. you hated them the most.

and then there were the tourists. they breezed in like they owned the place, their faces sunburned and shining, and almost always said the same thing: “surprise me.” you never did. you’d pour them a vodka soda with light ice, knowing it would do the job. they didn’t care about flavor or nuance, just speed, and you weren’t about to waste good liquor on someone who wouldn’t appreciate it.

over time, the faces all blurred together. you’d seen so many people come and go that you’d stopped trying to remember them. the roadside was a revolving door, and you preferred it that way. no attachments, no complications.

“on the clock?” you looked up, having been lost in thought, polishing a variety of glasses and setting them away. he was sat in front of you, a look of near disinterest playing on his face. he almost seemed ticked off. the scent of his cologne clashed with the smell of gin. he fashioned a buzzcut, a polo shirt, and a pair of shorts. tan, blond—he’d have been disney’s dream if he was just a few years younger. if he wasn’t so easy to recognize, you would’ve mistaken him for a tourist. “unfortunately,” you responded with an honesty that almost made him smile. “what can i get you?”

for a second, he didn’t respond. you stood in front of him, with nothing but the counter separating you, but it did little to stop either of you from staring. his light blue eyes bored into yours without the faintest shade of shame. there seemed to be a grey hue to them that the photos of him never captured. rafe cameron, what were the chances of him showing up? he had gained a certain reputation thanks to his father, and his tendency to act out in public. maybe it was best if you said nothing. so, you broke the gaze.

“single malt scotch,” he answered, leaning forward against the counter. you nodded, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes followed your every movement, paired with the uncanny order that screamed toxic masculinity. you grabbed the bottle of scotch from the shelf, careful not to let your hands tremble as you poured the amber liquid into a clean glass. the sound of the pour filled the silence between you, and you were hyperaware of his gaze tracking every movement. it wasn’t just curiosity; it felt calculated, as though he were sizing you up, deciding if you were worth his attention.

the scotch settled in the glass, and you slid it across the counter toward him. “here you go,” you announced, your voice steady despite the prickle of unease his presence stirred. rafe pulled out a wallet from his pocket and laid a crisp bill on the counter, more than enough to cover the drink. his movements were deliberate, slow, as if he enjoyed the way it kept you waiting. “keep the change,” he muttered, picking up the glass and taking a measured sip.

you tucked the bill into the register, brushing off the way his tone lingered in the air. glancing around the bar, you noticed a lull in the activity. the older regulars were nursing their drinks, and the tourists had either left or were too absorbed in their own conversations to need you. your eyes drifted to the window, catching sight of a dirt bike parked just outside. its sleek red and black frame stood out against the muted colors of the streetlights.

“that your bike?” you asked, your curiosity slipping through before you could stop yourself. rafe’s lips quirked up slightly as he set his glass down. “yeah, ktm. you know bikes?”

“not really,” you admitted, leaning your hip against the counter. “but it’s a nice one. looks fast.”

“it is.” he took another sip, his eyes still on you. “you like fast things?”

there it was—the subtle shift in his tone, just enough to make the question feel loaded. you raised a brow, refusing to let him get under your skin. “depends on the thing,” you replied coolly. “fast isn’t always better.”

the smirk on his face deepened, and for a moment, he said nothing, just stared at you like he was trying to figure out what made you tick. “you’ve got a mouth on you,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with amusement. “i like that.”

you rolled your eyes, reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter. “and you’ve got a way of talking that screams trouble. i’ll pass.”

“trouble, huh?” he chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “you make that judgment on your own, or is that what you’ve heard about me?”

you hesitated. his reputation preceded him, of course. rafe cameron, the kook prince with too much money and too much anger. everyone had a story about him, most of them involving fights, drugs, or some poor girl left heartbroken in his wake. but something about the way he was looking at you now—calm, almost bored—didn’t match the chaos you’d heard about.

“a little of both,” you admitted, meeting his gaze again. “does it bother you?”

“not really,” he said with a shrug. “people are gonna think what they want. doesn’t make it true.”

“doesn’t make it false either,” you shot back, unable to help yourself.

that earned you another smirk, sharper this time. “you always this quick with your customers?”

“only the ones who think they’re special,” you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

his laugh was soft, but almost genuine, and it caught you off guard. “fair enough,” he said, finishing the last of his scotch. he pushed the glass toward you, the faintest hint of a challenge in his eyes. “one more?”

you nodded, grabbing the bottle again. this time, you didn’t feel the same pressure to avoid his gaze. if he wanted to play games, you could play too. as you poured, you said, “you must get this a lot.”

“what’s that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“girls falling over themselves for you,” you said bluntly, setting the glass down in front of him. “the charm, the looks, the whole mysterious bad boy act—it’s a lot.”

“act?” he raised a brow, clearly amused. “you think this is an act?”

“isn’t it?” you countered, crossing your arms. “seems a little rehearsed.”

he leaned forward, the movement subtle but deliberate, and suddenly the air between you felt charged again. “if i wanted to charm you,” he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave, “you’d know.”

the heat of his words settled in your chest, but you refused to let it show. instead, you picked up his empty glass and started wiping it clean. “i’ll take your word for it,” you said evenly, refusing to meet his gaze.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. he watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, and you found yourself wondering what was going through his mind. finally, he stood, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

“thanks for the drink,” he said, his tone cool and detached again. “maybe i’ll see you around.”

“maybe,” you replied, watching as he turned and walked toward the door. his figure disappeared into the night, leaving behind the faint scent of cologne and a lingering tension you couldn’t quite shake. when you glanced out the window again, the dirt bike was gone, its engine a distant hum in the night. you exhaled, realizing only then how tightly you’d been gripping the rag in your hand. he was trouble, no doubt about it. but for some reason, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret the encounter.

the walk home was quiet, unsettlingly so. you’d managed to convince one of your co-workers to cover the rest of your shift, citing the lack of customers as a valid reason, but now, as the empty streets stretched before you, you almost wished you’d stayed. the moonlight pooled on the cracked pavement, illuminating a path that felt both too open and too confining. you held your house keys tightly in one hand, the jagged edges digging into your palm like a makeshift weapon. just in case. you weren’t the type to take chances.

your steps were brisk but measured, careful not to echo too loudly. every shadow seemed alive, every sound amplified. a rustle in the bushes had your heart racing, your grip tightening on the keys. it was probably a cat, you told yourself, though your eyes darted back toward the noise every few seconds, just to be sure. the world felt too quiet, too exposed. you hated this part of the night—the vulnerability of it. it wasn’t paranoia, you told yourself, just caution. but still, your mind raced with every worst-case scenario.

when you finally reached your house, relief washed over you like a wave. the sight of the peeling paint and sagging porch might have been depressing to anyone else, but to you, it meant safety. unlocking the door felt like unlocking a barrier between you and the rest of the world. once inside, you locked it again, flipping the bolt twice just to hear the satisfying click. the air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of cleaning products and something slightly metallic. it wasn’t much, but it was yours. or at least, it was until the lease ran out.

the place was as minimal as it could get. a mismatched thrift store couch dominated the small living room, its cushions worn and sagging in places. a single bookshelf stood in the corner, half-filled with old paperbacks and a few decorative knick-knacks you’d found at a yard sale. the kitchen, visible from the living room, was clean but bare, its counters free of anything that might be considered a luxury. your future depended on saving, on scrimping wherever you could, and every dollar you didn’t spend brought you one step closer to a life that didn’t feel like you were treading water.

you dropped your bag near the door and kicked off your shoes, the weight of the day settling over you like a blanket. collapsing onto the couch, you reached for the remote and flicked the television on. the screen blinked to life, casting a dim blue glow across the room. you scrolled aimlessly through the channels until the news caught your eye.

“...marking the anniversary of ward cameron’s death,” the reporter announced, her voice measured. the screen cut to a montage of images—ward’s face, the cameron estate. “ward cameron, a prominent figure in the outer banks, left behind a legacy of wealth, corruption, and betrayal. his death, which shocked the island community, continues to be a topic of both fascination and controversy.”

you scoffed, sinking deeper into the couch. “apple, tree,” you muttered under your breath, the words bitter and sharp. it was hard not to think about rafe, his cool demeanor and the air of entitlement that clung to him like a second skin. the spawn of the man had left the world behind with a son who seemed a fistfight away from being institutionalized. it was rich people bullshit, all of it, and it infuriated you. they lived in their gilded cages, creating drama out of thin air while people like you scraped by just to keep the lights on.

the reporter continued, delving into ward’s crimes and the ripple effect they’d had on the community, but you tuned her out. it all felt so distant, so removed from your own reality. people like the camerons didn’t have to worry about overdue bills or walking home alone at night. they sneezed, and the rest of the island lined up to wipe their noses.

you grabbed the thin blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over yourself, letting the reporter’s voice fade into background noise. the couch wasn’t comfortable—not really—but it was familiar. it was where you ended most nights, too tired to drag yourself to the bedroom. the faint hum of the television lulled you into a fragile sense of calm, the weight of the day finally giving way to exhaustion.

as you closed your eyes, the image of rafe’s piercing blue stare flitted across your mind, unbidden and unwelcome. you shoved it away, chalking it up to nothing more than an odd encounter. he was a blip on the radar, a momentary distraction in a life too busy for indulgences like curiosity. with a heavy sigh, you let the hum of the television pull you under, the world slipping away as sleep claimed you.

the next day dawned slow and gray, the kind of morning that felt like a continuation of the night before. you went about your routine with mechanical precision, brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom with its perpetually fogged mirror and peeling wallpaper. breakfast was quick—toast, black coffee, and a glance at the wilted plant by the window you kept forgetting to water. you were out the door before you had time to feel the weight of the day ahead.

the walk to the bar wasn’t long, but it was enough to remind you why you hated mornings. the streets were quiet, but not in the same way as they were at night. this quiet felt temporary, like the city was holding its breath before the chaos of the day began.

at the bar, you fell into the rhythm of the job almost immediately. wiping down counters, setting up glasses, restocking liquor shelves—it was second nature by now. the hours dragged, each one blending into the next as a slow trickle of customers came and went. a few regulars shuffled in for their early beers, their faces as familiar to you as the scratches on the bar top. you greeted them with polite smiles, but your mind was elsewhere.

you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself, but you half-expected rafe to show up. every time the door swung open, your eyes darted toward it, only to find someone else stepping inside. the anticipation was irritating, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. you told yourself you didn’t care whether he came back or not, but the lie was too obvious to be convincing.

by nightfall, the bar began to pick up. the low hum of conversation grew louder, mingling with the clink of glasses and the faint strains of a classic rock playlist. you stepped outside for a smoke break, needing a moment away from the noise. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of salt from the ocean. you leaned against the wall, the cigarette in your hand a small comfort against the monotony of the day.

the sound of a motor rumbled in the distance, growing louder until it filled the air. your eyes flicked toward the source, and there he was, pulling up on his dirt bike like he owned the place. the red and black machine gleamed under the dim streetlights, and for a moment, you just watched as he killed the engine and swung a leg over. he took off his helmet, revealing that same buzzcut and piercing blue eyes that had lingered in your mind longer than you cared to admit. he saw you almost immediately, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he approached.

“you get lost again?” you called out, unable to resist. your tone was teasing, but the sight of him sent an unexpected jolt through you. “figure 8’s on the other side.”

he chuckled, low and amused, the sound like gravel in his throat. “must’ve taken a wrong turn.” his eyes dropped to the cigarette in your hand, and his smirk deepened. “those things’ll kill you, y’know?”

you scoffed, tapping the ash off the end and watching it scatter to the ground. “not fast enough, obviously.”

“let’s hope not,” he replied smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “not until i get a glass of scotch.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the faint tug of a smile. “two nights in a row, it must be good.”

he tilted his head, the smirk on his face turning downright devious. “among other things.”

the way he said it sent a chill down your spine, one you couldn’t quite shake as you turned and headed back inside. you heard his footsteps behind you, steady and unhurried, as though he knew exactly where he belonged.

behind the bar, you reached for the bottle of single malt without needing to ask. he took the same seat as the night before, his movements deliberate and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. you poured the drink and set it in front of him, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes seemed to follow your every move.

“caught the news last night,” you said casually as he pulled out his wallet. “sorry for your loss.”

the change in his expression was instant, the smirk wiped clean in less than a second. his jaw tightened, and his light blue eyes grew cold. “don’t be,” he said flatly. “i’m not.”

you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the obvious deflection. “he’s your dad, is he not?” you asked, more curious than you should’ve been.

rafe’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “sure, why not?” his tone was stoic, detached, and it made you regret bringing it up. the silence that followed was heavy, thick with something unspoken that you couldn’t quite place.

he sipped his drink, his gaze fixed on the counter as though it held answers to questions you didn’t even know how to ask. to you, it was just another reminder of how different your worlds were. but to him, the weight of that silence carried memories he wouldn’t let surface, not here, not now, not ever.

the bar buzzed around you, but for a moment, the two of you might as well have been the only ones there. you busied yourself with wiping down the counter, giving him the space he clearly needed. whatever his relationship with his father had been, it wasn’t your place to pry. but as you glanced at him, you couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of man grew up in the shadow of someone like ward cameron?

you were midway through rinsing a glass when a new customer slid into the seat beside rafe. the man was tall, blond, and sun-kissed, his skin bearing the unmistakable sheen of someone who spent most of their days by the water. his outfit—a white wifebeater and faded shorts—screamed local. rafe stiffened beside him, his easy demeanor shifting as he leaned back in his seat, jaw tightening. the newcomer leaned forward onto the bar, turning his attention to you.

“excuse me?” his voice cut through the background noise, drawing your focus. you walked over, keeping your expression neutral.

“what can i get you?” you asked casually, pulling a towel off your shoulder and tossing it onto the counter.

the man grinned, clearly enjoying himself as he pretended to think. he was already swaying slightly, the telltale sign of someone who’d started drinking well before stepping through your door.

“well,” he began, dragging the word out like it was some profound thought, “i’d ask for a beer, but it depends.” he paused, his smile growing wider. “does the beer come with a phone number?”

you bit back the urge to roll your eyes, a skill you’d perfected over countless encounters like this. leaning forward, you fixed him with a stare so sharp it could cut glass. “a restraining order, actually,” you replied coolly, your voice devoid of humor.

the man laughed, clearly not deterred. if anything, your response seemed to fuel his bravado. “come on, sweetheart,” he said, tilting his head as though to charm you. “what kind of customer service is that?”

you turned away, doing your best to ignore him as you crouched to grab a beer from the fridge. the cool air brushed your skin, offering a brief reprieve from the heat of the room. you popped the cap off the bottle, your back still turned, oblivious to the way the man leaned back in his seat, his eyes glued to the way your jeans stopped below your waist. what you missed, someone else didn’t.

the first crash was deafening, shattering the rhythm of the bar in an instant. you whipped around, the beer in your hand sloshing slightly as your eyes widened at the scene before you.

the blond man was on the ground, sprawled awkwardly, his face contorted in shock and pain. towering over him was rafe, his knuckles already bloodied from the first blow. the air felt electric, charged with the sheer force of the rage radiating from him. “come on, sweetheart,” rafe sneered, his tone mocking as he delivered another punch. “what kind of manners are those?”

the man barely had time to respond before rafe grabbed him by the front of his tank top, hauling him up like a ragdoll. the look in his eyes was something primal, something feral. “i might just make you my bitch if I don’t kill you first,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

the man whimpered, his bravado completely gone, but rafe wasn’t finished. his fist connected again, the sound of impact reverberating through the room.

“rafe, stop!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos. you scrambled out from behind the bar, pushing past the growing crowd of onlookers. it took more than just you to pull him away. one of the other bartenders jumped in, followed by a bouncer, both of them struggling to wrestle rafe back. his chest heaved, his hands still twitching with barely-contained energy as they held him.

you crouched beside the man on the floor, who was clutching his face and groaning. his nose was bleeding, and one eye was already swelling shut. your heart pounded as you turned back to rafe, fury and disbelief written all over your face. “are you trying to get me fired?” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

his gaze shifted to you, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. for a moment, he didn’t respond, his breathing heavy, his hands still shaking as they hung at his sides, blood dripping from his knuckles. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice dripping with venom. “because that’d be such a shame.”

his eyes flicked back to the man on the floor, his lip curling in disgust. you saw it then—the side of rafe cameron everyone warned you about. the man who was a ticking time bomb, always seconds away from detonating.

your manager’s glare burned into you, sharp and unrelenting, but the message clear as day. with a sigh heavy enough to rattle your ribs, you turned back to rafe, still seething where he stood, blood dripping onto the floor like a crimson metronome. “come on,” you muttered, jerking your head toward the back. “let’s fix you up before you make this night even worse.”

rafe followed without protest, his steps heavy and deliberate, the energy of the room shifting as you led him through the door behind the bar. the hallway was dim, illuminated only by the flicker of a fluorescent bulb, the walls lined with scuffed paint and the faint smell of bleach. you shoved open the door to a small office-slash-medical-room hybrid—a cluttered, utilitarian space with a desk shoved against the wall and a first-aid kit hanging by the door.

“sit down,” you snapped, pointing at the worn metal chair in the center of the room. he obliged, sinking into the chair with an infuriating calmness, his long legs sprawled out as if he owned the place. he didn’t say a word, but his gaze tracked you as you rummaged through drawers, the scrape of metal and plastic breaking the silence.

it wasn’t until you turned back with supplies in hand that you noticed it: the black grip of a gun tucked into the waistband of his shorts. “are you kidding me?” you hissed, your eyes narrowing. “you’ve gotta be shitting me. second night here, and you’re ready to get me fired.”

rafe didn’t respond immediately, his eyes drawn to the streaks of moonlight slicing through the cracked blinds. the faint silver light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening them just enough to be dangerous. “i have a permit,” he said finally, his voice low and disinterested, as if that explained everything.

you almost laughed. almost. “put that shit away,” you ordered, gesturing sharply.

he smirked but complied, pulling the weapon free and sliding it into his jacket instead. only rafe cameron could make following directions look like a favor. “unbelievable,” you muttered, stepping closer. “hold still.”

you crouched beside him, your fingers deft as you dabbed antiseptic onto a rag. the smell was sharp, stinging your nose as you pressed it to his knuckles. he didn’t flinch, his stoicism unnerving as you worked to clean away the blood and dirt. his hands were strong, calloused in a way that hinted at a life rougher than the one you’d imagined for someone like him.

“you wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” you asked, your tone cutting.

“he was staring at you,” he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

you glanced up, caught off guard by the frankness of his statement. “so what? i deal with creeps like that all the time. doesn’t mean you get to knock their teeth in.”

his lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smirk. “guess i’m not good at letting things slide.”

“yeah, no kidding,” you shot back, shaking your head. his knuckles were raw and split, the blood pooling in thin lines that you carefully wiped away.

the silence between you stretched, thick and charged, until finally, you leaned back and surveyed your work. his hands were still trembling, though whether from adrenaline or something deeper, you couldn’t tell. “all done,” you said, straightening up. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m clocking out before someone else decides to bleed all over my bar.”

rafe stood, towering over you as he adjusted his jacket. “i’ll take you home.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “my legs work just fine,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended.

he didn’t budge, his gaze steady and unwavering. “i wasn’t asking.”

before you could protest further, he was leading you back to the front, where his bike waited. the night air was cool against your skin, the hum of cicadas filling the silence as he handed you a helmet.

“don’t tell me to hold on tight, because i won’t,” you warned as you climbed on behind him, the words almost daring.

he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “we’ll see about that.”

the engine roared beneath you, and despite your earlier words, your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist as the bike lurched forward. the wind whipped past you, pulling at your hair as the world blurred into streaks of light and shadow.

by the time he pulled up to your house, your pulse was racing for reasons you refused to examine too closely. you slid off the bike, your legs unsteady as you removed the helmet and handed it back to him.

“thanks for the ride,” you muttered, stepping onto the porch. rafe followed, his gaze sweeping over the small, weathered house you called home. you braced yourself for some snide comment, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable.

“it’s not much,” you admitted, crossing your arms defensively.

“it’s enough,” he said simply, his tone carrying none of the judgment you’d expected.

you looked up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow over his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. there was something magnetic about him, something that made your heart stumble even as your mind screamed at you to stay away.

no matter how much your mind screamed at you, you knew you wouldn’t listen. when he kissed you, it wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was rough, insistent, a collision of mouths and unspoken tensions. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, claiming and demanding in a way that left you breathless. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t kind. but it was everything you didn’t know you’d been craving.

“we’re so not doing this,” you exhaled with a shaky laugh, breaking the kiss as reality clawed its way back into your mind. your palms flattened against his chest, as though a barrier of mere inches could hold back the tide of whatever this was.

but rafe didn’t flinch. his hands, rough and warm, rested on your bare waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your skin that sent sparks racing through your veins. his gaze, piercing and unrelenting, locked onto yours like a challenge, daring you to contradict him.

“yes, we are,” his eyes seemed to say, the intensity of his stare enough to make you forget the very air around you. “are you scared?” he whispered, the words slipping from his lips like silk. they weren’t a question, not really. they were a taunt, a gauntlet thrown at your feet.

he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver rolling down your spine. his nose brushed against the shell of your ear, his lips so close they grazed your neck, and you swore he could feel the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin.

“i’m not scared of anything,” you shot back, your voice firmer than you felt. defiance burned in your chest, even as the sensation of his mouth barely ghosting over your jaw made your knees weak.

“maybe you should be,” he murmured, his voice low, his tone a promise more than a threat.

the words undid you. they stripped away your composure, your restraint, until nothing remained but the white-hot pull that had been simmering between you all night. your fingers moved before you could stop them, wrapping around the back of his neck, the tips grazing the bare skin there. the contact sent a shiver through him that you felt as much as saw.

and then you were kissing him again, your lips colliding with his in a frenzy of heat and need. there was no hesitation this time, no room for second thoughts or retreat. he tasted like scotch and rebellion, smelled like leather and something darker, something dangerous. you weren’t scared, but you should have been. everyone was scared of the devil.

his hand found the small of your back, his touch searing through the fabric of your shirt as he pushed you backward, through the open door to your house. your legs gave out slightly, the doorframe digging into your spine as you kissed him harder. rafe’s other hand roamed up your side, his fingertips tracing the line of your waist, up to your chest, cupping one of your tits through the fabric. your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering shut as he squeezed gently.

“you must do this a lot,” you half-joked as his lips find their way back to your neck, wet and sloppy as they travel down to your collarbone. he grunts against your skin, “could say the same about you,” he retorts. the room spun around you as he backed you further into the house, his hands never leaving your body, his mouth never leaving your neck. you felt the wall behind you, your body trapped between the hardness of the wall and the hardness of, well, him.

his hand slid around your thigh, diving under the fabric of your jeans, fingertips grazing the wetness of your panties. your hips bucked slightly at the touch, betraying your own eagerness. “haven’t been fucked in a while, have you?” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. “what’s the matter, baby? did i turn you on?” you wanted to defy him more than anything, but you were powerless to resist.

instead, you fought fire with fire, raising your knee enough to press it against the center of his shorts. no matter how tough your bones were, they did little to prepare you for just how hard and heavy he felt, throbbing under the thick material of his shorts. “you’ve got it worse than i do,” you do your best to retort, but it’s not easy, not with his fingers rubbing sweet circles against the damp spot of your panties, drawing out every whimper he can from you.

“ease my pain, why don't you?” he murmurs softly. you watched him through hooded eyes as he crouched down, his fingers tugging down your jeans until they're pooling around your ankles. you complied, raising your feet to rid yourself of the blockage. when you did, he took a moment to admire you—pressed against the wall of your own home, standing in nothing but a skimpy top, panties soaked, and a pair of heels he didn’t plan on letting you take off.

when you tried to, he was quick to stop you. “heels on,” his voice was coated in authority, and you’re quick to pull back. “everything else, off.”

“bossy, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but ask him, but it only encouraged him. you watched as he leveled the playing field, peeling his own shirt off, leaving him in nothing but his shorts. he seemed skinny, thanks to his height, but you had clearly been deceived. he was toned, everything about him was toned in just the right places.

your eyes trailed down to the metal tucked in his shorts, and you allowed yourself to pull the weapon out, holding it in front of him. “really?” you couldn’t help but ask. he offered a smile amd a shrug, unable to protest as you sat the gun on the table beside him. better safe than sorry.

you couldn’t help but trail a hand down his chest, your feather-light touch sending shivers down his spine as you traced every muscle and crevice from his collarbone to his hips. youd never admit it out loud, but he was incredible. “see something you like?” he teased, attaching his lips to your neck a final time as his fingers tugged at your shirt, eager to get it out of the way. you whimpered at the feeling, the way he’d bite down enough to make you wince, but run his tongue over the surface a second later. “don’t flatter yourself,” you managed to say.

but he had every intention of doing so. he allowed your shirt to fall to the floor as his lips travelled south, making their way down your collarbone and over your clothed tits. you tilted your head back, fingers instinctively pulling him in closer by the back of his neck, drawing him in further between your tits. he unclasped your bra with ease, giving you the impression he had definitely done this plenty of times, but you were too desperate to care. “should’ve just told me you wanted it rough,” he said, and you swore you could feel his smirk against your skin.

his hand slid down to cup your ass, his fingertips ghosting over the lace of your panties. with a sharp tug, he pulled them aside, revealing the sticky mess that had been hidden beneath. “dripping all over my fingers, huh?” he murmured, his voice low enough to send a tremor through you. his finger slid through the slickness, teasing your entrance before pressing inside. you moaned, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting back against him. “fuck, rafe, too much,” and you wished you were exaggerating. his fingers were thin, slender, hitting all the right spots like they had them mapped out.

his eyes searched yours as he began to pump his finger in and out of you, his strokes measured and deliberate. “not enough, never enough,” he countered, his tone almost mocking. you whined, desperate for more. he smirked, adding a second finger, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle. you leaned into the wall, using it for support as his digits worked their magic. you were dripping all over his fingers, wetting them from the tips to his knuckles.

when he pulled them out, it almost felt cruel, a long whine drawn out of you as the feeling of emptiness replaced fulfillment. “so fucking needy, jesus, shit,” he groaned, taking a second to admire how glossy his fingers were, how hard the sight of your arousal had him. “just a second, i promise.” you nodded, watching as he brought his shorts down, leaving him in his boxers, but only for a second. it was enough for you to catch the trailer, to see what awaited you.

when his boxers followed, you really wished for another minute to process the sight. his cock flopped against his abs, twitching. his tip was stained an angry red, beads of pre-cum trailing down the underside of his cock, following a prominent vein before collecting under his balls. “stroke my ego, just like that,” you heard him say, but you didn’t care. you needed him.

his hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it slowly, teasingly. “you like watching, don’t you?” you nodded, your eyes glued to his hand as it glided up and down. “good,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “i’ll put on a fucking show for you.”

he stepped closer, pressing the tip of his cock against your clit, hard and ready to split your folds open. you could feel the heat, the urgency, and the promise of what was to come. he leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “gonna take this dick like a fuckin’ champ.”

your cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire, his words hitting you in the core of your being. you didn’t know why, but you craved his dirty talk, his filthy mouth whispering bittersweet nothings that turned you into a trembling mess. “yes, please, fuck me,” you breathed, your voice a shaky whisper that seemed to echo through the room.

rafe smirked, his hand still working his cock. “that’s my girl,” he said, and the term of endearment had your stomach doing somersaults. his eyes never left yours, not even as he pushed his cock past your folds, eyes glued to the way your jaw dropped, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sensation of his bare tip splitting you open.

you were soaked, the sound of his skin slapping against yours obscene, filling the room as he picked up his pace. he leaned in, his teeth capturing yours in a brutal kiss that had you moaning into his mouth. your nails scratched at his back, leaving deep red grooves that you knew would scar. his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you, his strokes deep and unrelenting. “fuck, shit, pussy’s squeezing my cock,” he groaned through the kiss, breathless.

the room spun around you, the sensation of his bare length inside you, the feeling of his teeth on your lip, his tongue in your mouth—it was all too much. your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending a live wire ready to spark and explode. “yes, yes, fuck, yes,” you chanted, your voice a desperate mantra that matched the rhythm of his hips.

his hands slid to your throat, thumbs pressing against the pulse that beat frantically. you gasped, the sudden pressure a jolt of electricity that shot straight to your core. his grip tightened, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make you aware of your vulnerability. “you like it rough, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress in your ear. you didnt even have to answer, the feeling of your cunt clenching around him told him everything he needed to know.

his hand slid down to grip your neck, his fingers tightening as he slammed into you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. “you want it harder?” he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. you nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps. you weren’t sure how much harder it could get—with him pounding your pussy, you could feel the way he throbbed, pulsing deep inside of you, but you had to expect the unexpected from him. the unexpected came as he leaned back, hand wrapping around the barrel of his gun. your eyes widened, but you were in no position to resist—you didn’t even want to.

there was something dangerous in his eyes, something you had only seen once, just a few hours earlier at the bar, but it drew you in more than you wanted it to. his pace never faltered, his hips slamming against your flesh as one hand held your leg up high, the sight of your cunt swallowing him whole only adding fuel to the fire. his other hand held the gun, finger to the trigger, as he pressed it to your temple.

“tell me you’re scared,” he murmured, gripping your thigh in a way that told you to expect a bruise or two. the cold metal of the gun you knew had to have been loaded dug into your skin, his fingers locked around the trigger.

“scared,” you barely managed to whisper, tits shaking with every forceful thrust. “i’m scared, rafe,” but your words were like music to his ears, the clenching of your cunt a sign that you were just as horny as you were scared.

he threw his head back, pushing your leg up even farther, enough for it to sting deliciously as he rammed into you, the head of his cock bruising the entirety of your pussy. “you should be,” he hissed, sweat dripping down his chest. he lowered the gun, giving you a temporary feeling of relief, one that didnt last long. he brought it closer to you, tapping your bottom lip with the muzzle. “didn’t i tell you?”

your eyes widened at the sight of the weapon so close to you, his fingers never leaving the trigger, but you knew your best option was to oblige. your lips parted, and he was quick to push it into your mouth. he groaned at the sight, watching your swollen lips wrap around the barrel enough to send him over the edge. “doin’ everything i tell you to, fuck, you’re so good.”

you felt the metal of the gun slide along your tongue, his hips moving with the rhythm of your mouth. you didn’t dare bite down, not with how close he was to climax. his hand tightened around your throat, his other hand keeping the gun in your mouth as he fucked you harder, his strokes becoming erratic. “you’re gonna take it all, baby. all of me. every single drop,” he promised, and the thought of his hot, sticky cum filling your mouth had your pussy tightening around his cock.

you felt your orgasm approaching, the tension in your body coiling like a tight spring ready to snap. you moaned around the gun, the vibrations of the sound traveling up the barrel and into your mouth. rafe’s eyes glazed over, his movements becoming sloppy with lust. “yeah, just like that,” he whispered, his thumb pressing into your neck, cutting off just enough air to make your world spin.

the gun slipped from your mouth with a wet pop, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving as his grip around your neck loosened slightly. his eyes snapped to yours, searching, hungry, as he pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your wetness. before you could protest, he turned you around, pressing you into the wall. his hand found your throat again, squeezing as his cock nudged at your entrance from behind.

the fear and arousal had started mixing in a heady cocktail that had you on the edge of oblivion. with a smirk, he slammed into you, his bare skin slapping against yours in a way that was almost painful. your eyes rolled back as he fucked you mercilessly, his hand around your neck keeping you in place, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you steady.

his thumb brushed against your clit, the sensation making you moan, your knees buckling slightly. he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a thrill through your body. “such a sweet thing,” he said, his voice deep and guttural. “letting me fill this sweet pussy up.” you could only moan, unable to do anything but submit to his will. the pressure built inside of you, a crescendo that was only heightened by the way he choked you, the way his cock hit just the right spot deep inside of you.

his strokes grew more erratic, his breathing becoming ragged. “yes, yes, fuck, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he demanded, his voice a mix of pleasure and command. and like a good little slut, you did. your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your body shaking and convulsing around his cock, your cunt pulsing with every beat of your heart.

his grip on your neck tightened, his thrusts becoming even more punishing as you came. your nails scraped against the wall, leaving marks that would surely be there when the sun came up. you could feel your eyes water, your vision swimming with the pressure he applied, but it only added to the intense pleasure that flooded your body. “fuck, yes, take it, take it all,” he groaned, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside of you. his cum filled you, hot and thick, and you felt the stickiness of it trickle down your legs. he leaned into you, his body pressing you into the wall, his breathing harsh and heavy in your ear. for a moment, you felt it all, right before youe vision betrayed you.

the morning greeted you with the kind of disorientation that made reality feel like a cruel trick. your head throbbed, and your body ached as if every muscle in you had given up the fight. blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the window, you became acutely aware of the rough texture of the couch beneath you. the blanket draped over you was haphazard, your clothes were gone, and a sickening weight settled in your stomach.

it didn’t take long for the memories to come flooding back: rafe’s hands on your skin, his lips on yours, the way he’d devoured you as if you were the only thing keeping him alive. and now? nothing. the couch was empty, and the only remnants of him were the bruises on your neck and the dull ache between your thighs.

you exhaled shakily, pressing your palms against your face. what had you expected? a note? breakfast? rafe cameron wasn’t the kind of man who stayed. he took what he wanted, and you’d been foolish enough to give it to him.

the guilt settled like a weight on your chest as you forced yourself to your feet, rummaging for clothes. the shame was suffocating, curling around you as you dressed in silence. by the time you stepped out of your house, the sun was high, and the day was already slipping away.

at work, the tension was evident. your manager’s icy glare followed you as you prepped for the event that night. “last night was your first strike,” he said coldly, and you knew there was no room for argument. you nodded silently, biting back the urge to snap. the day dragged on, and despite the busy prep work, rafe never appeared.

by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the event was in full swing. the bar was packed, music pumping through the speakers, and you were moving through the crowd like clockwork. but you couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in your chest, the anticipation every time the door swung open. he still wasn’t there.

frustrated, you stepped outside for a smoke, seeking solace in the familiar burn of nicotine. the beach in the distance was scattered with people, laughter and music drifting on the wind. that’s when you saw him. rafe was leaning against the hood of his bike, his head tilted as a girl’s hands tangled in his hair. her lips moved feverishly against his, her body pressed against his in a way that made your stomach twist.

“it’s not that serious,” you muttered to yourself, exhaling a shaky breath. but it didn’t stop the sting, the ache that settled deep in your chest. you extinguished the cigarette against the wall and went back inside, needing something—anything—to dull the edges of your emotions.

the first drink went down easy. the second burned, but you welcomed it. you poured yourself a third before a light tap on your shoulder startled you. “excuse me,” a voice said, nervous and unsure.

you turned, offering a faint smile to the tall, sunkissed guy standing behind you. “are you on your break?” he asked hesitantly.

you shook your head, setting your glass down. “it’s okay. i could use the distraction. what’re you having?”

he slid onto the stool, rubbing the back of his neck. “a mai tai would be alright.”

nodding, you set to work, your movements automatic. you slid the drink across the counter, noting the way he fidgeted with his fingers. “busy night,” he said, trying to make conversation.

“yeah, i guess,” you replied.

he shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “came with a friend, but he’s with a girl right now.”

you sat beside him, crossing your arms. “sorry to hear that.”

“it’s fine,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “i’m topper, by the way.”

before you could respond, a familiar presence loomed beside you. you turned slowly, your stomach sinking when your eyes landed on him. “this the friend you were talking about?” you asked topper, though your gaze stayed fixed on rafe.

“yeah,” topper said, oblivious to the tension. “you two know each other?”

rafe opened his mouth, but you were quicker. “no,” you said firmly. “no idea.”

rafe’s expression was unreadable, but you didn’t care. you spent the rest of the night ignoring him, focusing on anything but the way his eyes bore into you. when your shift finally ended, you clocked out and stepped outside, only to find him waiting.

“what do you want?” you snapped, already exhausted.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone laced with faux concern.

“fuck off, rafe.”

he grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “is this about sofia?” he asked, realization dawning on his face.

“so she has a name,” you said bitterly, yanking your arm free.

“get over yourself,” he called after you. “you should’ve known it was casual.” his words hit like a slap, but you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

the next few days were a blur of muted colors and sharp-edged feelings that refused to dull. you didn’t go to work; the thought of stepping back into that bar, facing the memories etched into its walls, was unbearable. instead, you sought solace in the one place that had always calmed you—the beach.

the sand felt cold beneath your feet, even in the mid-morning sun. the rhythmic crashing of the waves usually soothed you, their endless cadence like a lullaby for your restless mind. but today, they felt distant, like a song you no longer knew the words to.

you sat by the shoreline, knees hugged to your chest as the salty breeze tangled in your hair. there was no anger, no fire—just an aching hollowness that stretched out inside you. mourning someone who was never really yours wasn’t a dramatic storm; it was a slow erosion, like the tide pulling pieces of you away until you were left unrecognizable.

you replayed every moment with him in your mind, dissecting every look, every word, searching for signs of something deeper, something real. but the truth was glaringly simple: rafe cameron wasn’t yours. he was never meant to be.

as the day slipped into evening, the sun sinking low on the horizon, you wandered aimlessly along the beach. the golden light painted the world in soft hues, but it couldn’t reach you. the weight of your thoughts dragged you back to the sand, and you sat again, staring at the endless expanse of water, feeling as though it mirrored the vast emptiness inside you.

you didn’t notice the presence beside you at first. the silence had become your companion, so when the soft crunch of sand gave way to stillness, you barely registered it. but then you turned your head, and there he was. he didn’t look at you. his gaze, like yours, was fixed on the water. the sharp angles of his face were softened in the twilight, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. he said nothing at first, and neither did you. words felt too heavy, too complicated for the fragile stillness between you.

“my dad had a choice to make before he died,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, as though dragged over gravel.

you didn’t turn to him, didn’t acknowledge his words beyond the faintest flicker of your lashes.

“he told me he had to choose between me and my sister,” he continued, his tone clipped, detached. “he told me it’d always be her.”

the confession hung in the air, heavy and raw, but you stayed quiet, your eyes locked on the waves that seemed to stretch forever. “the first night i came into the bar,” he said after a pause, “it was the anniversary of ward’s death.”

your throat tightened, but you remained silent, letting him unravel the threads of himself piece by piece.

“i bent over backward for him, y’know?” his voice cracked, but he recovered quickly, masking the vulnerability with bitterness. “did some things i wasn’t proud of for him, but none of it mattered.”

his laugh was low and bitter, barely more than an exhale. “so forgive me if i’m a little hesitant to let you in.”

there was a challenge in his words, a dare for you to contradict him. but you didn’t. you stared at the water, your voice soft when you finally spoke. “i’m not him, rafe.”

he nodded slowly, the movement barely perceptible out of the corner of your eye. “yeah,” he said, his tone heavy with resignation. “but most of them are.”

you could feel his eyes on you, searching for something—what, you weren’t sure.

“i told him once that I knew something was wrong with me,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost distant. “but he told me to keep it quiet. that’s how much he cared.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could say. the ocean stretched endlessly before you, its waves crashing softly against the shore as if mocking the turmoil inside you.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

“for what?” he asked, his tone edged with disbelief.

“for what he did to you.” he didn’t respond, and you didn’t push him. The two of you sat there, side by side, two broken pieces that didn’t quite fit together but couldn’t seem to pull apart.

tears pricked at your eyes, hot and unwelcome, and you blinked furiously, determined not to let them fall. but it was no use. the weight of everything—the loss, the pain, the hopelessness—was too much. a single tear slid down your cheek, then another, until they were falling freely, carving silent trails down your face. you didn’t wipe them away, didn’t hide them. what was the point?

you felt him move before you saw him, his arms wrapping around you from behind. his chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and his grip was firm, possessive. for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, the warmth of his body a cruel comfort against the chill of the night.

but even as he held you, even as your tears soaked into his shirt, you knew the truth. you would worship something that has destruction in its blood, blind and desperate, chasing something you could never truly have. rafe cameron was the kind of man who would burn you to the ground and then light another match just to watch you smolder. and yet, there you were, willingly stepping into the flames.

you stared out at the ocean, its vastness swallowing you whole, and you knew you were lost, eyes dilated as you watched the clouds float. you would practice the worst religion of them all, praying for something you knew you’d never have.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[strwbrychffoncake]

"santa, baby,, 3.2k words synopsis: after being spoiled by sylus all year round, you struggle to find the perfect thing to gift back— so you decide, what better than to gift yourself ? contains: sylus x afab!reader (no phys. desc. but later described to be wearing a dress so take that how u will) not specifically lads mc (there's just one line from his melodic waves card) ,lots of fluff ,starts off w unestablished relationship (& later unfolds.. the feelings are mutual) ,slight yearning ,angst if you squint hard enough ,sylus throwing money at u bc he can ,decorating ft. the twins ,kinda needy sylus ,teasing (goes both ways) ,soft!sylus ,kinda-needy sylus ,kissing ,sylus slings you over his shoulder (heart eyes) ,implied suggestiveness (+ twins shenanigans at the end LOL) that should be it.... note: managed to write an excuse into the story for releasing this after christmas heh.... i seriously was so stuck & maybe it was bc the amount of fics i cranked out after not writing fics for so long?? but i still like this & hope you will too :x dedicated to the sylus lovers: i love u i hope u can forgive me for being late w this

-

sylus has never been one for the holidays.

he didn't really have a reason to celebrate anything, so he didn't go out of his way to do so, continuing with business as usual while barely registering when these dates would come and go.

the only tell that such holidays were close was the small decorations set up around the base, courtesy of the twins.

he grew accustomed to walking into his office, a small christmas tree set up on his desk along with a string of little red lights draped across the front of it, small crow embellishments hanging around the place and paper snowflakes strung from the ceiling.

and he doesn't think he can forget the sight of the twins struggling to fit a ridiculously-sized (and real, mind you) spruce tree through the front of the door.

at the time, sylus only shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"what do you two think you're doing?"

"oh, hi boss!" they'd said in unison before kieran continued.

"well, you know, christmas is coming up already," he started.

"-and you don't have a christmas tree!" luke finished.

"...did you two cut this one down yourselves?"

"why, of course!" they answered together proudly.

sylus only sighed in response.

"do whatever you wish..." he trailed off, walking out of the living area back down the hall, some classic holiday song fading as his steps receded further.

this was all until you entered the picture.

as your relationship (whatever it may be) continued to grow with sylus, so too did your visits to the N109 zone, and by extension, his mansion.

for this reason, your more frequent visits reflected in the usually dark mansion: a cute yet out-of-place mug in the sink, pink towels in one of the bathrooms, some clothes left astray in the guest bedroom, even some cute lamps and decorations in the main living area (that sylus would make a teasing comment about once noticing, but make no move to take down, even encouraging you to add anything else you like. to him, his space was yours).

but in your most recent visit to sylus' place, you noticed the sheer lack of any change since you'd last stopped by about a week prior.

—not that he was one for decorating in the first place, but did he really not have any festive cheer anywhere in his little den?

when you barged into his office and spoke out about how the place looked exactly the same when christmas was so close by, joking about him having no holiday spirit, he only let out a hearty chuckle before offering you his card with a simple "then why don't you fix that, sweetie?"

he watched amused as your eyes glimmered with excitement, snatching up his card before happily scampering away to your laptop to begin your shopping, his eyes following you all the way till you were out of sight.

"such a simple kitten," he muttered to himself, smirk adorning his lips before he got back to work.

in no time at all, the halls were adorned with shiny silver tinsel (in which mephisto had so generously helped you put up), a faux black christmas tree was set up in the living area with cute twinkling lights, and silver and red ornaments came in several boxes (among all the other small decorations you had to put up in other various rooms).

when luke and kieran stumbled upon you opening the ornament boxes, they basically offered themselves up to help you with the tree.

you tilted your head at them, confused.

"you two really want to help me?"

"please, miss!" luke begged.

"we won't cause any trouble, swear it!" kieran finished.

"no, its not that— you can help, that's fine, but—"

"yay!" they cheered in unison.

"—if you guys like to decorate, then why didn't you put up any decorations for christmas?"

they blinked at you behind their masks.

"did you miss our decorating job?" luke tilted his head.

"yeah, we did more than we usually do!" kieran piped up.

you blinked at them.

"what are you—"

"didn't you see the little christmas tree in boss' office?"

"and the little hat by mephisto's perch!"

"not to mention our hand-cut snowflakes... those are difficult, you know???"

"...you call that decorating?" you deadpan. "what's so different about them this time, then?"

"ah," luke began, excited.

"we put up a bunch of mistletoe!" they spoke in unison.

"thats—"

"now, lets get to the tree!" kieran quickly changed the subject.

"yeah, im itching to put these up!" luke finished, eyes trained on the boxes of ornaments.

in your momentary shock, they seemed to have closed the distance in the blink of an eye, sorting through the boxes themselves and beginning to map them out on the tree.

while they begin their fun, you imagine being caught under the mistletoe with sylus, imagining the look in his eyes as he looks down at you before closing his eyes, leaning in, his lips moving closer and closer—

you snap back to reality, shaking the image out of your head.

you breathe out a sigh to try and calm your racing heart, turning around as you wonder if sylus put the twins up to that, or if they decided to hang them all up on their own accord.

you push the thought away as you join the twins in embellishing the tree, ignoring their bantering as they babble about how perfect mephisto would act as the tree topper instead of some lousy star.

-

"hey," you pipe up, hanging an ornament on a free spot between the branches. "what would you two like for christmas?"

the twins stop for a moment before looking at you behind their masks, tilting their heads.

"huh?"

you look back at them.

"what do you want for christmas?" you ask again, eyes darting between both masks trained on you.

the idea being foreign to them, they think about it for a long moment before ultimately shrugging.

"dunno," they answer in unison.

"well, try thinking of something. a new gun, another type of weapon, new matching masks, anything at all."

"hmmm...."

while they're lost in thought, muttering to each other about how their current gear could benefit from an upgrade even if its still perfectly intact, your mind drifts back to sylus.

what would sylus want for christmas?

you think about everything that he has, how he so easily either hands you or swipes his card without batting an eye, and where you are right now: in his mansion.

what could you possibly gift to a man who already has everything?

-

a couple of days later, sylus takes his leave for a deal, expecting it to be over quickly. he tells you to stay at the mansion if you wish while he's gone before he's out the door (not without taking one lasting glance at the decorated tree, a pleased smile subconsciously curling on his lips before the door clicks shut).

having him leave is both a blessing and a curse: you can easily brainstorm more ideas of what to get for him out in the open, but your heart seems to long for his presence within an hour of him gone.

which is how you find yourself plopping down into his office chair, spinning back in forth in it as you let out a sigh, allowing the lingering scent of him to envelop you as you think.

anything you thought up either seemed too simple, or it was something he could easily have.

jewelry? he had plenty, for you and him both, and could easily obtain more.

cologne? he already had a small collection, but would favor the ones that you said you liked the most.

vinyls? not a bad idea, but you weren't sure if you were willing to sort through his entire collection to find one that he was missing (or if one you got him would even be his taste).

when you asked the twins, they both answered "a new karaoke machine!" to which you swiftly shut down and left the room, mumbling about how they were no help at all.

not that his actual singing voice was any bad per se, but....

you shuddered at the ego boost he'd undoubtedly get from receiving such a gift from you.

like you needed to inflate it any further.

your mind wanders to him; the way he seeks you out in the form of bugging you, always finding a way to turn the tables on you and tease you after he started something, the way he'd never back down when you bite back, the constant petnames and lasting glances—

the way he'd playfully (or not) respond to something you said, on several occasions:

"i'm not sure friends is the right term for us, kitten."

you jolt at the memory of his words hearing his voice crystal clearly, remembering how close he was when he murmured them to you, the way you looked back at him wanting so badly to close the distance when the moment was interrupted, leaving you wondering if there was truth to his words (the look in his eyes definitely suggested it) or if he was simply teasing you again.

and suddenly, it hits you.

what if... i gift myself to sylus for christmas?

you ponder the idea for a moment.

as ridiculous as you think it is, you want more than anything to go through with it anyway.

in the worst case, he may just laugh it off and tease you to no end.

embarrassing at most, sure, but nothing you (probably) couldn't live with.

and in the best case?

"..."

you shake your head, taking deep breaths as you try not to work yourself up with your wishful thinking before rolling the chair back slightly.

with the anticipation of sylus' reaction to this genius idea, you start thinking about an outfit that would be fitting for the occasion.

and given the nature of your gift, the only thing you really need is some ribbon.

-

sylus was tired. the meeting of the deal lasted much longer than anticipated, and all he wanted was to return back to the mansion and spend his precious time with you.

he had half a mind to call it off and blow the place up for wasting his time before dashing back to you, pulling you close and never letting you go.

—but this client would serve to benefit him, so he restrained himself enough to power through it

(images of your cute, angry expression at pulling such a stunt almost tempted him but the thought of you berating him crossed his mind served in helping him to resist the urge).

when the day finally came to return home to you, he wasn't afraid to hide how eager he was, wrapping everything up swiftly before letting them deal with the rest, and hastily making his way back to you via driving.

when he arrived back, the first thing that floated through the entrance was some festive, almost flirty christmas tune.

he shut the door, making his way through the place before pausing at the sight before him.

-

sylus had texted you over an hour ago, with a simple "be home soon, kitten," leaving you to run around and prepare your surprise, ultimately resulting in your current position.

"come on..."

you're sat by the foot of the tree, trying to tie the last piece of ribbon over your head when it slips from your grasp yet again.

"ugh..."

for your outfit, you settled on a cute off-the-shoulder knitted dress paired with some stockings, leg warmers, and some pretty jewelry to finish it off— it was the cutest outfit you could put together while also ensuring you'd stay warm (considering you weren't too sure how long you'd have to wait, and the mansion seemed to have a natural cold air about it, even with the fireplace running).

you'd tied the ribbon into bows around each of your wrists and ankles, even going as far as to add a silly stick-on bow that was meant for wrapped gifts onto your chest, giggling to yourself at the absurdity of your plan.

you grasp the ribbon you're struggling with, curling it around your neck instead, thinking it a better place to tie a bow when a voice interrupts you.

"well, this is a surprise."

you almost jump at the voice, turning your head to meet with the man of the hour, hands on on his hips, head slightly tilted, and most notably...

his sharp, crimson gaze directed completely on you.

sylus' eyes drag over your figure, admiring the way the dress hugs you, accessories sitting pretty (your bare shoulders seeming to beg for his attention), adorned with cute ribbons all tied up around you, short laugh escaping him at the sight of the bow stuck to your chest.

"we-welcome back," you breathe out, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze.

he slowly steps towards you.

"how did this pretty little kitten find her way under my tree, hm?"

at his tease, you manage to get over your initial shock enough to bite back a response.

"you know what it means for something to be under the tree this month, don't you?"

he's right before you now, eyes dancing with amusement as he continues gazing down at you.

what a sight you were this up close.

"hmmm, its been awhile. why don't you remind me," he bends down to your level. "kitten."

"well," you tilt your head slightly. "during this month, presents are placed under the tree, waiting to be opened by their recipients on christmas day."

"go on..."

"the presents are also wrapped up in pretty paper and sometimes decorated with bows."

"uh-huh," he nods along.

you've dragged out the explanation knowing he already knows all of this, and he's still waiting for you to explicitly say why you're there yourself.

"so... it seems you've gotten a pretty expensive gift this year."

he smirks.

"oh? the sender must be quite.. generous."

"quite generous, indeed." you agree.

he kneels down properly now, hand reaching out to grasp your chin between his fingers before tilting it up.

"this... gift... wouldn't happen to come with an instruction manual or anything, would it?"

his free hand is slowly tugging at the bow you'd just tied around your neck, loosening it as he keeps the end grasped between his fingers.

his gaze holds both mischief and something else.

admiration? adoration?

who knows.

you laugh.

"nope. the only thing you need to know about this gift," you reach a hand out, holding it against his chest. "is that it's all yours."

and thats what does it for him.

the second he processes those words, no other response is given except his lips crashing into yours, his scent (the real thing) enveloping you as you're slowly consumed by him.

before you know it, you're lying on your back against the floor, sylus hovering over you as he continues, lips dancing with fervor against yours, silk ribbon lost somewhere between you both leaving your neck more barren— not that you really noticed.

when he separates to catch his breath he does so for only a moment before diving down to kiss your jawline and down your neck. your arms are wound around his neck, panting as you try to catch your breath.

"sylus..."

"you are all i've ever wanted," he speaks against your skin, kissing across your shoulders before nipping at the skin.

"well, i th-thought, you might appr-eciate the pre-sent, hah" you manage in between gasps due to his ministrations.

he pulls back to look into your eyes, the love and adoration circling his dark gaze so deeply you momentarily get lost in them.

he cups your cheek in his warm hand, watching as you immediately nuzzle into it.

his eyes rake over you again, now slightly disheveled, still catching your breath in puffs of air through your parted lips, watching him expectantly as pretty marks already begin to bloom across your exposed neck and shoulders.

he shudders.

"i think... id like to play with my new gift someplace else."

before you can ask him what he means, your vision is turned upside down as he easily lifts you up with one arm, slinging you over his shoulder before standing upright, and making his way towards his bedroom.

though, on the way, he's interrupted (much to your embarrassment).

he's halfway down the hall when a voice pipes up out of nowhere.

"boss! oh- and miss hunter!"

its none other than the twins.

"sylus, sylus! put me- put me down!" you plead from behind, hitting at his back and kicking at his front.

"what is it?" sylus speaks curtly, paying absolutely no mind to your pleads and hits, instead bringing his free arm to hold your legs down firmly against his front.

"first of all, welcome back!" kieran starts.

"secondly, we were wondering..." he trails off, feeling a little strange.

"—when we'd get to open our presents!" luke finishes for him, kieran nodding along excitedly.

sylus deadpans.

"what?"

"well, miss hunter said she would get us presents—"

"—and we want to know when we can open them up!"

sylus lets out a short, pleased laugh.

"is that so? well, miss hunter, what do you think?" he turns his head slightly, awaiting your answer.

you've given up fighting him at this point, having gone limp in sylus hold, but respond anyway.

"you're supposed to open them christmas morning—"

"but didn't we miss that because boss was gone?" kieran interrupts.

"yeah, you insisted to wait for him so that we could open them all together!" luke accuses.

sylus' expression takes one of surprise suddenly.

"oh? is that true?"

"yes!" the twins answer for you.

"well in that case.. you can't make them wait forever, miss hunter," sylus teases, dragging out the pet name as he jostles you slightly in his hold.

the movement elicits a sound of surprise from you, gripping onto sylus shoulder with one hand and his arm that's holding you securely with the other, steadying yourself before lifting your head up slightly, enough to speak into sylus' ear.

"they can open them once we're done!"

you glance back at the twins as a pleased smirk curls on sylus' lips.

"you'll get to open them soon enough, just practice exercising a little more patience. we'll be ready shortly."

and with that, sylus walks past the twins, whisking you away to his bedroom and making sure to lock the door (should the twins get any ideas in their inevitable impatience).

a light snow had begun to fall and a quiet calm enveloped the base as sylus took his time to unwrap you, savoring you and keeping you warm from the cold, finally uniting together and become one another's in the truest sense, words of love and affirmations warming you both to your cores.

and sylus thought maybe, just maybe, the holidays really were worth celebrating, so long as it was with you.

-

extra:

the twins had watched sylus make the rest of his way down the hall with you in tow, waving at you as you mouthed apologies behind his back before you both disappeared behind his door.

"do you think theyre—"

"oh definitely," luke answered, knowing what his brother was thinking.

"hell yeah, boss man!" kieran cheered, fist pumping in the air.

"but in that case... how much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" luke wondered aloud, mask turning to look at his brother.

"hmmm...." kieran gave it a long thought.

"..."

"we're definitely not opening them tonight."

-

a/n: omg i finished it??!!? im quite pleased w this one, might need one more editing job later but i feel satisfied.... to the rafayel kissers.... what would u say if i said i had not a single idea for his fic.... im sorry ill figure it out, promise, i'll take a short (short) break from this one before trying to draft it & see how it comes out... thanks for your understanding......