#oh and yes there are now five books

[ranger-danger]

Still do not get why people hate on rangers so much. Especially when they don’t even know what they’re talking about and only watched a 3 minute video about how “rangers bad because they’re not rogues” like no fucking shit they’re not rogues THEYRE DIFFERENT CLASSES FOR A REASON. Are you going to sit there complaining about how sorcerers aren’t wizards or warlocks? Or how paladins aren’t fighters?

[tc-doherty]

so I've been reading this book recently and I gotta say that for any of you who also like writing about war politics you should try to find this if you want to just like

read the wildest noncooperating city state nonsense you've ever seen in your life. I won't lie it's giving me lots of ideas for "internal" conflicts that I would not even think of that might alter the course of a war

also it's just very interesting

[fragmentedblade]

I've been reading about xiangqi a bit and now I'm even more obsessed with that one video of Jing Yuan

[kthologue]

steal my girl — gojo satoru

synopsis. the time gojo and megumi decided to crash your date.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo roping megumi into his loser activities, timeskips, tw sappy

notes. this drabble has been rotting in my brain for over a year. finally wrote it!

“I’m going on a date.”

It only took five simple words from you to make the world’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer drop to his knees. For the first time in his life, Gojo could swear he was experiencing shortness of breath. And was it just him, or were the walls closing in?

“What?” The word leaves his mouth like a demand rather than a question. He’s trying so hard not to overreact, but your overjoyed face makes it nearly impossible not to succumb to the ugly green monster clawing at his insides.

“Well,” you push his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re not the only one that pulls.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gojo mutters under his breath, eye twitching. Don’t you know how hard he works to deter any suitors vying for your attention when the two of you are out? He’s practically a rabid dog growling at anyone who so much as breathes in your direction.

Hell, even Shoko once mentioned to him something about being a “registered pervert” at most establishments you frequent together.

 Not his finest moments.

You eye Satoru suspiciously before continuing. That was your first mistake.

“Yeah, he’s taking me to that new Michelin Star restaurant downtown,” you sigh dreamily. “I mean, seriously. Isn’t that so cool?”

Gojo scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “If that’s what you wanted, you could’ve just said so. I know a place that has three Michelin Stars.”

You pout. “Well, it’s different with you.”

Gojo’s eyebrow quirks up. “How so?”

“You’re a friend. And with him…” You trail off, suddenly feeling shy under Gojo’s piercing gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you toy with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s a lot more romantic.”

Gojo thinks he could just die.

The word romantic rings in his ears, and it was deafening. It digs into his ribs and squeezes at something raw inside him. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive, yet right now, he feels utterly powerless against the way your voice softens when you talk about someone else. Against the way your lips curve at the thought of another man.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Romantic, huh?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it.

You nod, eyes glimmering with something dreamy, something distant, and Gojo wants to reach out and wipe it away. He wants that look—wants to be the reason for it.

If you wanted romance, he could give you romance.

Better romance.

A grand plan manifests in his head, spinning to life at full speed. 

Oh, this poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.

The moment Megumi sees Gojo enter his and Tsumiki’s shared apartment, he knows something is wrong. There’s a certain energy in the air, a distinct lack of peace that Gojo drags with him that makes the eight year old’s stomach churn.

“Fushiguro!” Gojo’s voice rings out, far too enthusiastic for Megumi’s liking. “We have a problem.”

Megumi barely glances up from his book. “We?”

Gojo makes himself at home and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, we. Our dear [Name] here has a date.”

Megumi's grip on his book tightens, his interest sparking at the mention of you. Where Gojo lacked maturity, you balanced it effortlessly. He liked that about you. He liked you.

Megumi blinks once. “And?”

Gojo sighs dramatically. “And we can’t just let her go unprotected, can we?”

“Unprotected?” Megumi repeats, deadpan. “From what? Bad table manners?”

“From heartbreak, Megumi!” Gojo places a hand over his chest, looking scandalized. “What if this guy is a total loser? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he’s a handsy creep?”

Megumi’s expression darkens. He had been indifferent before, but now there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He doesn’t like the idea of you being stuck with some no-good scrub who isn’t worthy. In a series of twisted events, you and that white haired idiot had managed to become the only constants in his life. The last thing he wanted was for some random guy to come along and take you away.

“We need to intervene,” Gojo presses, watching the flicker of hesitation in Megumi’s expression. His usual deadpan exterior is cracking, just a little. Gojo knows he has him.

Megumi exhales sharply, gripping his book a little too tightly. “I am not going to ruin their date.” His voice is firm, but there’s a sliver of doubt wedged between the words. Gojo seizes it like a cat pouncing on its prey.

“Ruin?” Gojo gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Megumi, this is purely a background check.” His grin stretches.

Megumi glares at him. “It could be considered stalking.”

Gojo waves him off. “Pfft. Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘protective oversight’.”

“You don’t even know if he’s a bad person.”

Gojo tilts his head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe he’s perfect. Maybe he’ll take such good care of her that we won’t be needed anymore.”

Megumi stiffens, and Gojo bites back a smirk.

“That’s not—” Megumi starts, but Gojo steamrolls over him.

“I mean, think about it. If this date goes well, they might actually start dating. And then what? She’ll start spending more time with him.” Gojo nudges him. “She’ll run off and start a new family.”

Megumi’s jaw tightens. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” Gojo corrects cheerfully. 

Megumi runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. He already knows Gojo won’t drop this, and, annoyingly, he’s already planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

Gojo leans in, voice lower, almost serious. “You care about her, don’t you?”

Megumi exhales sharply. “...Yeah.”

“And you’d rather make sure she’s safe than sit around wondering?”

Megumi stares at him for a long moment, then groans. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Gojo grins, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go before you start growing a conscience.”

The night was supposed to be perfect. A well earned break. It your first real date in a while. Probably your first since meeting Gojo. Though, strangely, you’d never stopped to question why that was.

The guy sitting across from you was a non-sorcerer, and while his looks had been enough to catch your attention when he first asked you out, the novelty was wearing off fast. His personality was as flat and each word he spoke draining more of your enthusiasm. You found yourself nodding along absently, barely listening, already regretting your decision.

Still, you just had to stick it out until the food arrived. Then you could eat, make an excuse, and be done with this painfully dull evening.

Though, just when you thought the night was starting to get interesting, a familiar voice cuts through the elegant ambiance of the restaurant.

“Mom, who is this strange man?”

Your choke on your wine at the familiar voice while your date stiffens.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you come face-to-face with Megumi, standing at your table with his arms crossed. His expression is perfectly deadpan, but you see the flicker of mischief in his eyes, a familiar gleam of mischief that could only be the work of a certain white-haired man lurking nearby.

“E-eh?!” You sputter, glancing between Megumi and your date.

Your date looks thoroughly confused. “Do you… know this child?”

“N-no—I mean, yes, but—”

Megumi doesn’t give you a chance to explain. Instead, he sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “And what will Gojo—Dad—say about this?”

The words slam into you like a truck.

Your date’s jaw drops. “You’re married?”

“N-no!”

“Then why is he calling you Mom?”

You glare at Megumi, but he just shrugs, completely unbothered.

“Come home,” Megumi continues with a sigh. “Tsumiki misses you too.”

“You have multiple children?!”

Your date looks absolutely horrified, like he’s just found himself in the middle of a scandalous affair. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, if you’re going through a divorce or something, we don’t have to do this—”

Before you can defend yourself, another, far-too-cheerful voice joins in.

“There you are, sweetheart!”

Gojo waltzes up to the table, dressed in his finest suit and those damn glasses he only wore on special occasions. He places a hand on your shoulder and turns to your date with an exaggeratedly apologetic expression. “Sorry, buddy, but this one’s a real work. You know it took me two kids to finally tie her down?”

Your date glances between you, Megumi, and Gojo, his eyes wide with pure panic, as if he’s just stumbled into something far beyond his comprehension. His grip tightens around his napkin, knuckles white. “I—I think I should go.”

You lurch forward, reaching out as if that might stop him. “No, wait—!”

But it’s already too late. He’s scrambling for his coat, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes back from the table, nearly knocking over his drink in his rush. Without sparing you another glance, he spins on his heel and all but bolts toward the exit, shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

You sit frozen for a second, blinking at the now-empty seat across from you. Then, slowly, you turn toward the culprits, fists clenched at your sides.

“You two,” you hiss, voice low and simmering with fury, “are in serious trouble.”

Megumi has the decency to look guilty, staring down at his lap, shifting awkwardly in his seat as if he’s just now realizing the full extent of what they’ve done.

Gojo, on the other hand, is utterly shameless. He stands there in all his smug glory, adjusting his sunglasses with a satisfied smirk. 

You grab your purse and storm out of the restaurant, with the two trailing behind you like two guilty kids.

“You know,” Gojo muses, “I think that went pretty well.”

You round on him so fast that even he takes a step back. “Pretty well?! You humiliated me! That poor guy thinks I have an entire secret family!”

Gojo snickers. “Well, technically, you do.”

You jab a finger into his chest. “You are not my husband.”

“But wouldn’t it be great if I was?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Megumi lets out a long sigh. “Please don’t entertain him. I’m sorry, [Name].” His blue eyes are trained onto the floor, “I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”

You exhale sharply, some of your anger ebbing as you glance between the two of them.

“It’s okay, Megumi,” you sigh, your frustration softening at the sight of his guilty expression. You could never stay mad at him, not with that face.

Gojo, however, was a different story.

Slowly, you turn to him, eyes narrowing. “You—”

He grins, entirely unrepentant. “Me?”

Oh, he was so in for it.

Although he had been shamelessly unapologetic at the time, Gojo still found ways to complain about that night, even years later, after you were finally married.

“It was an unusually cruel punishment,” your husband whines dramatically, draping his entire body weight onto you as if his sheer presence could sway your sympathy.

“You mean the silent treatment?” you deadpan, eyes still trained on Megumi practicing his cursed technique across the yard. “It was only a week. Could’ve been longer if you hadn’t harassed everyone around me until they practically begged me to forgive you.”

Gojo lifts his head just enough to shoot you an exaggerated pout. “I don’t harass people. I simply exist, and they just happen to find me irresistible.”

“You tend to have the exact opposite effect, actually.”

“Ten years later, and you’re still so cruel to me.” He sighs heavily, as if burdened by the weight of your terrible treatment, before shoving his face into the crook of your neck. “You wound me, wife.”

You laugh, warmth bubbling in your chest as his breath tickles your skin. “You’re impossible.”

A loud thud interrupts the moment, and you both glance over just in time to see Megumi scowling, his stance off from a misstep in his training.

“You are still disgusting after all of these years,” he grumbles, adjusting his form before going at it again.

Gojo beams. “Aww, he likes us.”

You shake your head, smiling. “He tolerates us.”

“Eh, same thing.” Gojo squeezes you tighter, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to your cheek just to be insufferable.

Megumi groans. “Seriously, get a room.”

Gojo smirks, wiggling his brows. “Don’t tempt me, kid.”

[rin-may-1103]

Aspiring Escape Artist (part two)

Last | Master Post | Next...

"Why don't we all head inside, yes?" Mr. Wayne suggested, waving his arm in the doors general direction.

"Yes, that sounds great," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to Danny like she was debating whether or not she should drag him inside. Danny was very against that idea and glared at her. She huffed but turned and started making her way up the stairs.

The other, he can't really say kids because he's pretty sure half the people standing in front of him were over the age of eighteen, but they still lived with Mr. Wayne, apparently, so kids it was. The other kids continued to try to stealthily watch him as they made their way into the building. (He refused to call this place a house; it was bigger than Sam's manor for Ancients' sake.)

The gray-eyed girl waited for him, the not-so-happy but happy sparkle back as she watched him approach. Pausing for a moment, Danny turned and gently patted the bush closest to him, it had been practically begging for attention for the past ten minutes and Sam would have throttled him if he had just ignored it.

She treated them like demented puppies, and it's against every unspoken law (in danny's books, atleast) to ignore a puppy.

The gray-eyed girl (man, he was going to have to learn their names, Ancients, why were there so many people here?) tilted her head curiously, eyeing the plant he just patted.

"My friend has plant powers," Danny huffed, which was true. Sam still had lingering plant control and a connection to the green because of Undergrowth. Danny was just leaving out the fact that he also had plant powers. He wasn't sure why he always got new powers after beating new powerful ghosts, but it happens, and now he needs to pet the plants because they get sad if he doesn't.

(Jazz theorized once that the new powers were due to his half-a nature, but then they looked at Vlad and decided it was probably something else.) (Also, why in the world did he get ice powers and then almost immediately plant powers? like, seriously, why?)

"Close friend?" Gray asked, turning to follow Danny inside.

"One of my best friends," Danny agreed. Man, he missed them. He'd have to figure out how to get out of here soon; there was no way he was going to just not see his friends on Tucker's birthday. Which meant he had about a week to bust out of here and get back to Amity. Oh, and stay under the radar so Vlad doesn't find him.

Glancing around the entry hall, or was the term foyer? like, the place was fancier then most five star hotels he's seen (which he wants to make clear, was against his dying wishes. fuck vlad and his not hard earned money.) like, sure, it wasn't all white modern minimalist like the hotels, but he's pretty sure the vase just sitting a little too close to the edge of a table was worth more then a human heart on the black market.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor," Mr. Pennyworth started, closing the doors with a heavy thud. He didn't lock it, though, Danny noted. Probably because Ms. Clance still needed to leave.

"may I have your coats?" he asked, holding out his arm to Ms. Clance and looking over to Danny. Ms. Clance immediately started to shrug off her jacket and dropped it onto his arm without a second glance, trying to talk to Mr. Wayne about an office or something.

Danny shook his head, "No thanks. I prefer to keep my things with me." especially in a new place, who knows what they'd do to his stuff. last time he handed anything over it had been locked up and never returned. (or well, not returned until he stole it back right before leaving, but that's getting into semantics.)

"So, Daniel was it?" the older guy from the first three asked, smiling brightly and trying to act casual. He was failing.

"It's Danny," Danny huffed, glancing around to study the others.

Gray was nice, he had a feeling they'd get a long fine. she was like an open book, all her opinions and emotions right there for him to see. Though that just meant she was awear of them and could easily hide them.

The others not so much.

Eyebags looked tired but alert, watching Danny like he was a new puzzle. Which was fine, Danny could deal with that. He probably wasn't as bad as Jazz or his parents were when obsessed with new things, so he goes lower on the list but not off.

Mr. Casual over here was watching him AND the others, which meant he was probably the peacekeeper. That or he was the one who antagonized the others into acting without them noticing. Same as eyebags, then.

Blondie looked like she was planning how to prank him right then and there, but also like she was evaluating him for something. Like he thought earlier, she'll probably stick around until she gets bored. So, hmmm. Keep an eye on more than eyebags, but probably not a problem.

there was a kid maybe two-three years younger than him trying to hide on the stairs out of view, he looked pissed off and annoyed. Something was telling Danny he should stay away from him. So, definitely going to the top of his list right next to butler man.

And finally, Mr. Wayne. He was smiling and chatting with Ms. Clance like he didn't have a care in the world. And it would have been believable if it wasn't for the fact that the man was easily steering the conversation away from the stuff Ms. Clance wanted to talk about, without Danny around, before leaving. Which means Mr. Wayne wanted Danny to be part of the conversation, probably to get both sides of the story.

He was smart and knew how to manipulate situations without people catching on.

Also, top of the list, then.

"Only people who want to kill me call me Daniel," Danny added, watching as Ms. Clance tried to bring up his file and fell for another diversion.

"Really?" Eyebags asked, actually surprised for some reason.

Oh, wait, murder isn't normal. Ha, to live a normal life. It must be boring. Couldn't be him, even if he wanted it. There was nothing normal about growing up with mad scientists, and nothing normal about being half dead and a vigilante.

"Yeah, my friends and I made a chart and everything. Granted, we didn't have many people to add to the list to compare with, but it's checked out so far." Danny admitted, turning to face Eyebags.

Honestly, it was just Vlad, his parents, a few GIW agents, and those very few times his friends almost killed him. But come on, they all called him Daniel at some point. Therefore, it totally checks out.

"Huh," Mr. Casual blinked, glancing at his siblings before shaking his head. "Right, so uh, why do people want to kill you?"

"Because they're Fruit Loops," Danny grumbled, finally deciding to approach Ms. Clance. Might as well get this done and over with. The longer she stayed, the less time Danny would have to scout the place by himself later, after all the introductions.

Next (to be written)

[brittle-doughie]

Beast Stars (The Five Virtues/Beasts)

[Compassion/Scorn AU]

Platinum Salt Cookie: *hands Y/N a flower*

You: “It’s pretty, I love it, dear friend!”

You kiss their helmet where their cheek is located. You can’t see it, but Platinum Salt is blushing under the helmet.

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Oh, Y/N Cookie! Look what I got for you!”

Blueberry Milk Cookie got you a whole bouquet of flowers that he hands you with suppressed giddiness!

You: “O-Oh! These are very lovely too, Blueberry Milk! Thank you!”

You kissed his cheek too which makes Blueberry smile widely. Platinum Salt didn’t appreciate being upstaged as a figurative fire ignited around them as they glared down Blueberry Milk.

Pure Sugar Cookie then abruptly showed up with a mountain of flowers.

Pure Sugar Cookie: “Even then, this wouldn’t be enough to show how much I cherish you, Y/N Cookie!”

You: “Oh my…..”

Pure Sugar Cookie: “Gimme kiss. Preferably on the lips!”

Platinum Salt had an anger tick on their helmet.

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Showoff!”

———————————————————————

You: “I miss having cookies around…”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh? Has the almighty, yet cranky Y/N Cookie learn to love again? In that case…”

You: “I miss reducing them to crumbs for having the nerve to fall for me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh…can you still do that to me though?”

Mystic Flour Cookie: “Shut your freaky ass up, Shadow Milk Cookie.”

———————————————————————

Crimson Spice Cookie: “Why has Y/N Cookie been locked up in their room?”

Ethereal Flour Cookie: “They accidentally stepped on a Jelly Bee. It flew away just fine, but Y/N Cookie is in despair over it.”

———————————————————————

You hand gifts to Silent Salt Cookie and Eternal Sugar Cookie.

Silent Salt Cookie: “…” (They made it clear that they “hated” your gift.)

You smirked as you thanked them for “hating” it. Now it was Eternal Sugar’s turn-

Eternal Sugar Cookie: “I love it-“

Eternal Sugar Cookie was immediately yeeted into the stratosphere.

———————————————————————

You: “What do you got in your book there, Blueberry Milk Cookie?”

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Only the finest knowledge that spans across all of Earthbread! I like to read it in my past times when I’m done with my duties for today!”

You: “You must be pretty smart with the knowledge of the land in your hands!”

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “Yes, of course! I am the Virtue of Knowledge after all, let me show you a page of my book-“

Photos of you slip out of random pages from his book after he accidentally opened it a little too loosely. Some looked like they were peppered in what looked like coral blue #2 semiglass lipstick!

You: “Very knowledgeable of Earthbread indeed, my friend. Perhaps a little too much information?”

Blueberry Milk Cookie: “These are necessary for my pursuit of knowledge, I swear!”

[wonsroyalty]

METER : ̗̀➛이희승

pairings/warnings: uni student!heeseung x reader, smut, <18 DNI,, not sure what other warnings to put here yet but i'll add more later

a/n: had this idea in the drafts for a longgg time but never wrote it so i finally got to work!!

“You could never.” your friend gasped from across you.

You could and you definitely would.

For context, you’d just announced to the table that you were planning on submitting a new entry into your collective, ‘Munch O Meter’.

Yes, you had a blog that ranked the guys and girls at your university based on how well they could eat pussy. It was a way of ‘taking feminism into your own hands’ as Yunjin liked to say.

If you weren’t all beautiful and popular, the cancellation of your friend group would’ve began a longggg time ago.

However, top of the list hadn’t been topped in over 5 months and your loyal followers were getting concerned.

Jake Sim had given Hyeju a ‘cosmic’ orgasm and she’d rated him a 97. Out of disbelief, you all took turns hooking up with him and truth be told he truly was as good as she’d said.

His average score was 90, placing him at the top of the list.

For the sake of your entertainment and theirs, you proposed an unexpected candidate.

Deep down you just wanted to see if he was a virgin but disguising your intrigue as concern for the list worked perfectly.

“Lee Heeseung..?” Yooyeon looked at you as if you’d just shit on her plate. “Seriously.”

Yunjin shook her head.

“Definitely not.”

You slouched in your chair sulking.

Whenever they put people forward, you encouraged their suggestions, thinking of their fun rather than the entertainment of the blog.

“I literally never suggest anyone.” you whined. “Just let me have this.”

“No.” Yunjin firmly shut you down.

Hyeju gave you a pat on the head, attempting to comfort you.

“But why?!” you sat up abruptly, slamming your hands on the table accidentally.

“Who even is he? If his name doesn’t ring a bell, he shouldn’t even be considered.” she doubled down.

You sighed exasperatedly.

Heeseung had come over to the table not even five minutes before, handing you the notes from music theory during your group brainstorming for the next candidate.

“He was that nerd.” Yooyeon explained to her. “The one with the baggy clothes and glasses that kept falling down his nose.”

“He’s really nice.” you frowned.

“Nice doesn’t cut it.” Yunjin shook her head. “If he’s a bad fuck you’ll just ruin his chances of getting with anyone else.”

Fed up with their resistance you swiped your bag off the table and announced that you were going to do it anyway.

Despite the protests sent your way you stormed off to find Heeseung.

There was only one place he could be - the library.

And that’s where you found him. Buried behind a pile of books while sipping on one of those cheap energy drinks.

You were just glad that you weren’t giving him a blowjob, out of fear that his sweat would reek.

Your fingers tapped his shoulder rapidly.

“Heeseung!” you sang.

“Shut up.” his friend who you knew as Jay, snapped at you.

You held your hands up, surrendering.

“Um.. Yn? What wrong?” Heeseung panicked. “Were my notes bad? Oh my Pythagoras, did I miss out anything!”

“Shut up!” Jay snapped again.

You shook your head.

“I just need to talk to you… over there.” you pointed towards the book shelves.

He didn’t even have time to respond before you were yanking him out of his seat, ignoring the books that toppled to the ground.

“I have a problem..” you started.

Now that he was up close in a tight space and you were asking for such a shameful act, the embarrassment caught up to you.

“Am I your last resort?” he asked.

“No!” you panicked. “My first….”

He held his hand awkwardly on your shoulder.

“It’s okay. What can I help you with?”

Your brain registered where you were and who you were with. The warmth of his hand felt nice but you had a reputation to uphold.

You shoved his arm off and he immediately gained composure, but not in the way that you wanted.

He wouldn’t hold eye contact with you anymore, feeling the weight of your different status’.

“I wanna enter you into the Munch O Meter.” you bashfully answered.

His head whipped towards yours.

“What the fuck.”

You covered your face with your fingers, curling into yourself.

“You stopped my studying for this joke? Are you kidding?” he glared before storming off.

Your fingers grasped at his jacket, pulling him back.

“I’m not joking.” you confess. “I don’t usually pick people but I wanna choose you.”

He scanned your eyes looking for any hint of doubt but couldn’t find any.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Yes. I’m definitely sure.” you stepped back.

He bit his fist to stop himself from squealing.

“Jay is gonna be so shocked.” he looked over at his friend. “One thing though,”

“Whatever you want.” you replied. “It’s the least I could do to be honest.”

“We need to get ramen, first.” Heeseung nodded calmly.

You smile dropped. “Fucking.. Ramen?”

“I promised Jay I’d get him some.” he shrugged, unbothered and not in a rush at all. “And i’m kinda hungry.”

You fought the urge to walk away then and there. Choosing to stick to the plan for your own pride. Going back to the lunch table would be way too embarrassing.

“Fine. I’ll pay.” you stormed off to their table.

Heeseung trailed after you packing up his things.

“What are you doing?” Jay huffed.

You yanked him out of his seat.

“Hurry up, we’ve got an errand to run.”

***

The whole way to the ramen place, you were forced to listen to their atrocious science jokes. You were smart enough to understand them but the quantity was overkill.

It was surprisingly close to your apartment so that was a bonus, you could ditch Jay as soon as they’d eaten and get on with what you wanted.

You paid and sat waiting for them to start eating.

Jay wasted no time but Heeseung looked skeptical.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked.

“Not hungry.” you shrugged.

“Eating ramen isn’t gonna make your pussy taste weird.” he deadpanned.

An old lady sat near the three of you gave you a look.

“Keep it down, will you.” you growled. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“Suit yourself.” Jay slurped. “If you tasted like ramen, he’d eat you out better.”

You flicked him in the head, his vulgar response had sent the old lady away.

Heeseung finally began to eat and you saw what Jay meant.

His eyes closed in pure bliss and he inhaled the food.

You hated how the noises coming from his mouth went straight to the pulsing sensation between your legs.

He didn’t even stop when he’d eaten all the noodles, gulping down the leftover soup without a care in the world. Even licking the bowl to not waste a drop.

You’d never wanted to be a bowl so badly.

“Is it good..?” you croaked out.

“Fuck, that tasted amazing.” he wiped at his face with a napkin. “You would’ve liked it.”

“Yeah..? Fuck.” you moaned out. “We’re going now. Bye Jay.”

You jumped to your feet bouncing impatiently as you watched Heeseung clean up.

“So when will I be on the list?” Jay joked.

“Idk. When we have a threesome or something.” you absentmindedly responded, pushing Heeseung’s arms into his coat.

You missed the way Jay began to choke on his spit, as you were busy shoving Heeseung out of the door.

“Someone’s needy, heh.” he rubbed the back of his head.

“No, it’s worse than that.” you sighed.

Heeseung stumbled after you as you dragged him to your apartment.

The two of you stood in silence as the elevator took you up.

"Are you okay?" Heeseung asked. " Do you still want to do this?"

You didn't respond and instead attacked his lips as soon as he’d kicked his shoes off in your apartment.

"That's not an answer." he pulled away.

"Fuck yeah. I still want this." you responded, dazed by his lips.

You bit, sucked and kissed at every piece of skin available.

He pulled you off by your hair. “Am I not here to eat you out?”

Your hands grabbed his, taking him across the apartment and into your bedroom.

He lightly pushed you onto your bed and hovered over you, placing light kisses on your lips.

His lips messily made their way down to your neck, stopping at the spot where he hear you cry out the loudest.

"Wait," you panted. "Have you done this before?"

You felt his hair brush against your cheek as he shook his head.

"Really?" you sat up.

Yes, you'd thought he was a virgin but but hearing the confirmation made your heart jump for joy.

"I've had sex before, just.. never eaten a girl out." he shrugged.

"Oh."

"Not what you thought, huh?" he squinted.

You scrambled to change your expression.

"That's not what I thought-"

Heeseung used his palm to smush your face into the mattress. Upon hearing you complain he shoved two fingers into your mouth, pushing them further down till you gagged.

"Shhh. Please just stop talking, oh my."

Your eyes widened in shock.

"Who are you talking to like that?" Is what you would've said if you didn't have fingers playing with your uvula.

He moved down to your shirt, popping each button with one hand but by his expression, you could tell he was getting frustrated. The fingers in your mouth popped out and moved to help slip you out of your shirt before unclasping your bra.

Heeseung took a second to fold the items and place them on your bedside table.

"Can you hurry up- Wait, fuck!"

He took your newly exposed breasts into his hands, twisting your tender nipples, painfully.

"What did I tell you?"

You scoffed.

"You can't actually expect me to be quiet. That's- Ow!"

He leant down and took a nipple into his mouth, biting down with his teeth, swirling his warm tongue around it before popping off.

"Shut up."

All the talk went down to where you desperately needed him the most.

Heeseung kissed down your stomach, hesitating at your skirt before unzipping it and folding it with the rest of your clothes.

You watched as his eyes widened at the sight of the wet patch on your panties as he dragged them down slowly.

"Do you always get this wet?" he asked in awe.

You shook your head feeling the embarrassment of being completely bare in front of him while he was fully clothed and composed in front of you.

"So that's your kink." he laughed. "Crazy, but I'm not surprised that you're kinda freaky."

"Shut up, Heeseung. I swear I'll-"

He sighed loudly, interrupting you once again.

"Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth closed?"

He lowered his body down the bed so that his face was eye level with your pussy, eyes wide and curious.

Cold air blew onto your clit as he watched you clench around nothing.

"Fascinating how the female anatomy works."

You sat up, resting on your arms.

"You're gonna turn me off, stop being weird!"

He looked at you as though you'd just called his mother a bitch but didn't respond.

Two of his fingers gathered the slick dripping out of you and lathered it all over your clit, switching up the tempo randomly.

Your head fell back, legs widening in pleasure.

"Cool..." he drawled. "You know you've got more than 10,000 nerve fibers here, right?"

Your arms collapsed from underneath you as you moaned out.

"Wow. When I actually want you to speak, you don't."

He experimentally slipped two fingers into your cunt, feeling around as he kept his other hand circling.

Your legs closed around his shoulders as you gripped onto your sheets when he found the spot that usually had you screaming.

You felt Heeseung speed up the pace as you gushed all over his fingers, orgasming faster than expected.

"Are you sure that was your first time?" you gasped for air.

The boy between your legs was clearly distracted.

He licked at the release leaving your pussy, closing his eyes in pure bliss before sticking his tongue in.

You rapidly fought to push his head away.

"No. No more." you sighed.

"I know you can get another one." he rested his head against your thigh.

"I really can't." you shook your head.

"Stop lying." he frowned.

"I'm not lying!" you lip dropped in shock.

"Jake literally made you cum four times and yet you don't want me to do it again. Right."

You sighed from your gut.

"But.. I'm tired." you looked away from his piercing gaze. "And since when did you even speak to Jake?"

"Good thing you don't have to actually do anything." Heeseung scoffed before diving back in.

Your fingers curled into the duvet again as he quickly found a steady pace.

"Heeseung, I really can't." you whimpered.

He picked up the tempo in response, slurping and sticking his tongue as far into you as he could.

"Hee! Please." your weak arms attempted to push him away.

He continued to ignore you, your body setting alight as you got closer to a state of other-worldly pleasure.

"Heeseung, Jake lied!" you cried out. "I can't take it- I can't."

Heeseung seemed to reach a spot even deeper than you had ever tried, the constant stimulation had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Your hips bucked against his face uncontrollably as you got closer to your impending doom.

A loud moan left your lips as your entire body went rigid.

"Hee, fuck!"

In the midst of the best pleasure you'd ever felt you peeked an eye open to see how Heeseung was reacting.

He had his eyes closed and his tongue wide out as he tried to catch ever drop of the release you'd squirted out.

Your chest heaved as you attempted to get a breath in, causing him to open his eyes abruptly.

"Wait what." he frowned.

"Jake, he lied. I only came twice and that was because he fucking edged me for two hours. But I gave him a high score because I didn't know who told him about how I always squirt the second time." you confessed in a ramble.

Heeseung hopped off the bed shaking his head at how you picked at a thread on your duvet to avoid looking at him. He slipped off his boxers and jeans waiting for you to finish you sentence.

"I don't even recommend people for the list because my ex told me it was weird how I always squirt and since then I've just felt embarrassed so I don't fuck people, well aside from Jake because I didn't believe Hyeju, but I wanted to put you forward because, I don't know, I'm kind of admitting that I do in fact have a crush on you and this was like the only way I could get you to not be scared to talk to me outside of class and yeah I overheard you and Jay talking about it in Music Theory, truly shameless-"

Within a split second you had a dick shoved down your throat.

"Fuckk." he moaned out. "Didn't I tell you to stop talking."

He raked your hair into a makeshift ponytail for easier access to use you how he wanted.

"You just don't listen." he sighed, gagging you over and over.

If you weren't sweating before, you definitely were now.

Your hands gripped onto his thighs for dear life as he ruthlessly used your mouth.

"I can't focus on the moment when you keep speaking." he looked you in the eye. "And I know it sounds mean but, fuck, I didn't think we were ever gonna do this again, so I obviously wanted to have a good memory of right now."

His fingers left your hair, head falling back onto your pillows.

You grabbed them and pulled them back.

"You're so hot." he moaned. "And your ex is a fucking imbecilic, doltish prick. He didn't deserve you."

You sure as hell weren't letting Heeseung escape your grasp after this. You used one hand to jerk off whatever you couldn't reach while the other fondled his balls. His hips thrust up into you uncontrollably as he let himself go.

He watched in surprise as you swallowed every last drop before composing himself and walking over to the pile of folded clothes.

"Hee, where are you going?"

He gestured towards the door.

You tilted your head in confusion.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I liked you, come back here!"

He laughed in disbelief, landing on your bed and pulling you into his embrace.

"You like me?"

You nodded.

"I have for a while actually."

He kissed the top of your head as you reached to get your phone.

Bitchless Bitches😩

yn

heeseung lee - 100

yunjin🪼

YOU IM GONNA FWJOFNQ

hyeju🌺

OHHH so that's where you went

yooyeon🐰

how do we know that he's actually that good..

hyeju🌺

PREACH

if hes a 100 let me at him🥰

yn

no. off limits.

Heeseung laughed at your messages.

"Next time we'll actually fuck." You nodded with determination as you put your phone away.

"Next time?" he gasped in shock.

"Duh. You can't leave now."

"Wow you really want that threesome with Jay."

"What threesome with Jay?"

[black-fist-order]

THIS WAS ON A FRIEND’S PAGE: An anguished question from a Trump supporter: ‘Why do liberals think Trump supporters are stupid?’

THE SERIOUS ANSWER: Here’s what the majority of anti-Trump voters honestly feel about Trump supporters en masse:

That when you saw a man who had owned a fraudulent University, intent on scamming poor people, you thought "Fine."

That when you saw a man who had made it his business practice to stiff his creditors, you said, "Okay."

That when you heard him proudly brag about his own history of sexual abuse, you said, "No problem."

That when he made up stories about seeing Muslim-Americans in the thousands cheering the destruction of the World Trade Center, you said, "Not an issue."

That when you saw him brag that he could shoot a man on Fifth Avenue and you wouldn't care, you exclaimed, "He sure knows me."

That when you heard him relating a story of an elderly guest of his country club, an 80-year old man, who fell off a stage and hit his head, to Trump replied: “‘Oh my God, that’s disgusting,’ and I turned away. I couldn’t—you know, he was right in front of me, and I turned away. I didn’t want to touch him. He was bleeding all over the place. And I felt terrible, because it was a beautiful white marble floor, and now it had changed color. Became very red.” You said, "That's cool!"

That when you saw him mock the disabled, you thought it was the funniest thing you ever saw.

That when you heard him brag that he doesn't read books, you said, "Well, who has time?"

That when the Central Park Five were compensated as innocent men convicted of a crime they didn't commit, and he angrily said that they should still be in prison, you said, "That makes sense."

That when you heard him tell his supporters to beat up protesters and that he would hire attorneys, you thought, "Yes!"

That when you heard him tell one rally to confiscate a man's coat before throwing him out into the freezing cold, you said, "What a great guy!"

That you have watched the parade of neo-Nazis and white supremacists with whom he curries favor, while refusing to condemn outright Nazis, and you have said, "Thumbs up!"

That you hear him unable to talk to foreign dignitaries without insulting their countries and demanding that they praise his electoral win, you said, "That's the way I want my President to be."

That you have watched him remove expertise from all layers of government in favor of people who make money off of eliminating protections in the industries they're supposed to be regulating and you have said, "What a genius!"

That you have heard him continue to profit from his businesses, in part by leveraging his position as President, to the point of overcharging the Secret Service for space in the properties he owns, and you have said, "That's smart!"

That you have heard him say that it was difficult to help Puerto Rico because it was in the middle of water and you have said, "That makes sense."

That you have seen him start fights with every country from Canada to New Zealand while praising Russia and quote, "falling in love" with the dictator of North Korea, and you have said, "That's statesmanship!"

That Trump separated children from their families and put them in cages, managed to lose track of 1500 kids, has opened a tent city incarceration camp in the desert in Texas - he explains that they’re just “animals” - and you say, “Well, OK then.”

That you have witnessed all the thousand and one other manifestations of corruption and low moral character and outright animalistic rudeness and contempt for you, the working American voter, and you still show up grinning and wearing your MAGA hats and threatening to beat up anybody who says otherwise.

What you don't get, Trump supporters, is that our succumbing to frustration and shaking our heads, thinking of you as stupid, may very well be wrong and unhelpful, but it's also...hear me...charitable.

Because if you're NOT stupid, we must turn to other explanations, and most of them are less flattering.

- Adam-Troy Castro

(To all who agree with its content, I ask that you PLEASE SHARE IT on your own post, and ENCOURAGE OTHERS to do the same.)

[reidphobic]

i’ll show you heaven (if you’ll be an angel all night) - s. r.

in which you give your pretty boy neighbor a few much-needed lessons in pleasure. 4426 words. part two.

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, unprotected sex, mommy kink, brief hint at nursing, praise, oral (f receiving), no use of y/n, reader is super condescending at times but it’s hot i promise

You’re utterly enamoured with the pretty boy next door. You know next to nothing about him, only that his name is Dr. Spencer Reid (his mail); he’s bookish (you first met when he literally bumped into you in the hall with his nose in a book); he keeps very odd hours; and, most crucially, in the four years you’ve been his neighbor, he’s never had a girl over.

It’d be enough to make you think he just isn’t particularly interested in sex, if not for the paper-thin walls you share. You’re not trying to listen, but it’s hard to keep yourself under control when you know he’s only feet away, stroking himself to a whimpering, moaning orgasm in the dead of night. He just sounds so pretty, pliant and delicate, like he’s begging to be wrecked.

Your little crush has been spiralling out of control for a while now — you’re going through a dry spell, and it’s hard to keep your gorgeous neighbor out of your fantasies when they’re all you have. Your heart flutters when he smiles and waves from across the street, kicks in your chest when he nods at you in the hall. It’s embarrassing. Eventually, you have to take action. You order a parcel to his apartment, put your feet up and wait.

There’s a soft, timid tap at your door a day or so later, and you force yourself not to sprint to the door. “Hi,” Spencer says, bright and cheerful, an openness in his face that you’re dying to take advantage of. “Is this yours? It was delivered to my apartment by mistake. I- I’m Spencer. Reid. I live next door.”

Time for the performance of your life. You paste on a shocked, grateful look. “Yes! Oh, thank you!” you gasp. “I’ve been trying to get my money back all day, and it’s been a fucking nightmare,” you laugh, taking the box from him and leaning against the doorframe. Your eyes flicker down his body, tall and lean, catching on his hands for a second before landing on his lips. You smile, lick your lips. “Hey, d’you wanna come in? I’ll make you a coffee as a thank you.”

Spencer glances at his watch, then smiles, and, oh. You swear to yourself right then and there that you’ll do anything in your power to make him smile like that again. “Sure. I can’t stay long, though. Work,” he adds with an apologetic shrug.

“What is it you do?” you ask politely, closing the door behind him and busying yourself in the kitchen.

“I’m in the FBI,” he answers, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Your eyes bug out of your head, and you turn to face him. But then you catch his expression, resigned and almost bored.

You let your eyes widen just enough that he knows you’re impressed, and then shrug. “And I bet that’s all you get to talk about when you meet someone new, am I right?” His face cycles through surprise, confusion and then relief, and he nods. You sit, slide him a cup of coffee, try not to be too transfixed by the muscles in his throat as he swallows. “So let’s talk about something else. You’re a doctor, right?” He tilts his head quizzically. “You’re not the only one who gets other people’s mail by mistake. The whole FBI thing means you’re not a medical doctor, at least, I don’t think, which only leaves a PhD.”

“Three, actually.” At that, you can’t stop your eyes from bugging out. He can’t be more than twenty-five! “Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering.” He almost sounds sheepish, deliberately tucking in his shoulders to seem smaller as he speaks.

“Oh, my God,” you say faintly. “Well, I was going to ask about your thesis, but apparently I have to specify.” You pause. “Which one is your favourite? No, I wanna hear,” you say when Spencer opens his mouth to protest. “I won't understand a word, but I’m told I’m a really good listener.” You lean forward, smiling sweetly, and he fiddles nervously with his tie, stumbles over his words.

True enough, you don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but the way his eyes light up and his movements grow more animated the longer he talks more than makes up for it. You’re content to sit and listen, carefully memorise him as you hang onto every word, and the best part of an hour flies by like that. He pauses to take a breath, checks his watch and winces. “Crap. I’ve gotta go. This was… really nice. Thanks,” he says, setting his empty mug next to your sink on his way out.

“Hey,” you call out, and he pauses. “You’re welcome to come by another time, if you’re up for it. No offence or anything, but I kinda get the sense you need someone to talk to who’s not in the FBI.”

Spencer chuckles softly. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” you tease. “I’m sure your work is super serious and important, but, really, drop by if you get the chance. I’d like to see you again,” you add, letting the smallest note of interest creep into your voice at the last sentence, and you can tell by the way he falters mid-step that he picks up on it.

But he only smiles, offers you a polite goodbye, and disappears into the elevator. You don’t see him for a little while after that, but just when you’re starting to kick yourself for not getting his number, he taps on your door. It’s so late that you’d thought he wasn’t coming home for the night, but you smile warmly when you open the door, assure him he’s not bothering you at all, of course not, and you work nights anyway, so it’s not even close to your bedtime.

“You want something to drink? It’s a bit late for coffee, but I have tea? Wine?” You pad across the living room, hyper-conscious of Spencer’s gaze on your bare thighs, your short silk robe doing very little to protect your modesty.

“Wine would be great, actually,” he says, balancing himself delicately at the edge of your couch.

“Rough day?” you ask, pouring two healthy glasses and passing one to him.

He laughs ruefully. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Spencer bites his lip. “I’d really rather not,” he says quietly, looking down at his shoes. “How about you talk and I listen this time? About anything.” He laughs softly and you launch into your best first-date stories, slowly working your way through the wine and inching closer with each new glass. Both slightly tipsy, your head rests in his lap and he’s staring down at you like you hung the moon, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips, his pretty, flushed cheeks. “Hey, what was in that package they delivered to my apartment?” he asks, and you’ve got him.

“You don’t wanna know,” you smirk, toying with the hem of your robe and dragging it up, revealing just a sliver more of your bare thigh.

“I do, though,” he pouts, carding a hand gently through your hair.

Your smile broadens. “Well, you know what they say about curiosity.”

“It killed the cat?”

“Sure,” you answer, hands sliding up to the tie around your waist. “But satisfaction brought it back.” You untie your robe, let it spill into his lap and across the floor, hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of you. Lace in a shade of red so deep it’s almost black cradles the curves of your body, and you study his face carefully for a reaction. Spencer’s eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his hands tremble where they hover above your skin. “Do you like it? I bought it to cheer myself up. I’m in a real dry spell at the moment — but, you know about that, right?” you tease.

Spencer clears his throat. “I, uh… huh?” He sounds practically tongue-tied, poor thing, and you reach up to smooth his hair behind his ear.

“Spencer. Come on. Unless your mute girlfriend only comes in through the fire escape, you’ve never had a woman in your apartment,” you say, playful but just mean enough to get under his skin.

He flushes crimson to the tips of his ears. “Is it, uh…” He licks his lips. “Is it really that obvious?”

You smirk. “Yeah. Be honest, is this driving you a little crazy? Do you think I look pretty?”

“I think you’re beautiful.” You sit up, plant yourself squarely in his lap. He’s stiff, back ramrod-straight, fists clenched by his sides.

You shift your hips, grind down against him. “Do you want me?” you breathe, leaning in close. Spencer nods weakly, entirely at your mercy. “Spencer,” you purr. “Are you a virgin?”

“No!” he says indignantly. “I’ve had sex. Just not, you know, for a long while.”

Taking his hands, you place them on your waist, and his head tips back like he can’t believe his luck. You laugh, low and dark. “You blush like one.” Leaning in, you speak against his lips, so close he can practically swallow your words. “Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?”

He nods frantically, so hard you’re afraid his neck is going to snap. “Please. I want… God, I can’t—”

You drag your thumb across his bottom lip to silence him, resist the urge to press it deeper into his mouth. “Aw, you’re so needy, baby. So cute,” Spencer whines, pouts up at you as you shift your hips. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you,” you murmur, finally leaning in to kiss him; nothing more than a soft press of lips, at first. Then his hands slide up from your waist to your jaw, pull you in again. His kiss is starving, feverish, almost crazed, like he’s gone so long without it that he can’t relax.

You nip playfully at his bottom lip, pull it into your mouth. He slides his hands into your hair, happily cedes control as you slip your tongue into his mouth. His face scrunches up in displeasure when you pull away. “You’re not very experienced, are you?” you say, taking one of his hands and skimming it down your back. “All the theory in that brain of yours, but no application, right? Does that make you nervous?”

Spencer flushes impossibly redder. “I… Yes. I don’t… I want it to be good for you,” he murmurs, deliberately avoiding your gaze until you tilt his head up to meet his warm, honey-brown eyes.

Pressing a soft, near-chaste kiss to his lips, you gently twirl a strand of his hair around your finger. “It’s okay, baby. I can teach you, huh? How’s that sound?” You slip your hands under his sweater, slide them up his slim, toned chest.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, head dipping to kiss your neck.

You giggle. “Such a quick learner, baby. You wanna bruise me up, just a little?” His teeth scrape at your neck, a messy, graceless thing; pain blooms under his touch, skitters down your spine. “Good boy,” you murmur, and he shudders. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, pretty? Be a good boy and take your shirt off for me, okay?”

He scrambles to obey, practically rips his shirt over his head and tosses it away. You pull back to gaze at him, trace your fingertips over his bare chest. “Stop it,” he says quietly, almost a whine, squirming under you. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Can’t help it,” you grin. “You’re just so pretty.” You grind your hips down, moan just a touch theatrically. “And so hard. This all for me, sweetheart?” you ask, and he melts under you at the epithet. “I asked you a question,” you add, digging your nails just slightly into his jaw.

“Yeah, it’s for you. S’yours, baby, I want you,” Spencer pleads, eyes wide and lips parted.

“So eager, baby. I’ll give you what you need, don’t worry. You wanna stay here or go to bed?”

Spencer grabs at your hips, squirms under you, meets your hips at an angle that sends pleasure cascading over you. “Bed. Please,” he gasps, burying his head in your neck and whining.

You stand up without a word, affecting casualness, but you feel the loss of his warm body between your thighs like an ache. “You coming, pretty?” you smirk, glancing over your shoulder to where Spencer is still sitting, stunned. He scrambles to his feet so fast he almost pitches over, stumbling after you as you pad into your bedroom.

Spencer doesn’t follow you into bed, though, casting a sweeping, curious look around your room. You snap your fingers impatiently. “Hey. Stop profiling the half-naked girl who wants to have sex with you.” Obediently, he climbs onto the bed next to you, kisses you sweetly as your hands slide down to unbuckle his belt. You tug his pants and boxers off in one motion, let him awkwardly kick them to the floor. Suddenly, he’s gorgeously naked in your bed, his cock hanging heavy and hard between his legs.

You stare openly, mind blanking for a second as your mouth waters. All you can think about is how beautiful he is, how good he’ll feel inside you. “Are you… Am I, uh… Okay?” Spencer asks softly, like he’s embarrassed. You gasp, grab his face, kiss him fiercely.

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, cupping his cheek as he blushes. “You’re gorgeous. Such a pretty boy for me, huh?” you breathe, connecting your lips and taking easy control of the kiss, your movements languid where his are frantic and desperate.

“Please,” he murmurs against your lips, the pathetic sound of it falling straight between your legs.

You smirk against Spencer’s lips as his hands rove along your back like he’s searching for something. “It undoes from the front, honey.” You guide his hands to the clasps, let him loosen your lingerie and pull it off, and he moans openly at the sight of your naked body.

He sits up to gaze at you, lips parted and eyes darting around as if he’s mapping every inch of you. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, hands hovering over your chest until you grab them and rest them on your boobs. Arching up, you press your chest into Spencer’s hands, moan when he squeezes softly. One hand trails down your body, down your side and along the curve of your hip, under your leg to grab at the point where your thigh meets your ass. “How do you want me?” he breathes, a nervous tremble in his voice.

“It’s alright, baby. Take your time. I’m all yours, promise.” You smile softly up at him, let him cautiously explore your body, learn exactly how to pull a soft moan from your kiss-swollen lips. Spencer dips his head, kisses the hollow of your throat, works his way down until he’s wrapping his lips around your nipple. You whine when he sucks softly, laps at the peaked bud.

It seems like you’ve found something that makes him tick, because it’s minutes before he lifts his head, and only to switch to the other side. His eyes are glazed over with lust when he finally looks up, and you smile down at him. “Enjoying yourself?” you tease, and he flushes a now-familiar red. “It’s okay, pretty. Don’t need to be embarrassed. But I wanna fuck you now, ‘kay?” You crawl on top of him, grind your soaked cunt against his stomach. “Feel how wet I am, baby? S’all for you, gorgeous.”

Slowly, you push yourself up onto your knees, Spencer’s hands clutching your hips like you’re a mirage, like you’ll fade into a dream if he lets go. “Oh, my God,” he moans, eyes fluttering closed as his hips twitch in desperation.

You circle your hips, carefully line him up with your dripping hole. “You ever done cowgirl before?” He shakes his head mutely, mouth open but no sound coming out. “You want to?”

“Yes,” he rushes out. “God, yes. But, don’t you wanna… condom?”

You lean down to whisper in his ear, conspiratorial. “No. It’s hotter that way.” You shift your hips again. “I mean, I know I’m clean, and you haven’t had sex in over four years, I’m on the pill… I can go and get one, if you want, but I really want to feel you cum inside me, Spencer,” you murmur, and he gives a full-body shudder. “Yeah?”

He nods frantically. “Yeah.” You trail your hands down his stomach, the muscles bunched tight under your fingertips.

“Relax, okay, sweetheart?” you coo, still roaming your hands across his stomach. “S’only gonna feel even better if you just relax for me.” Spencer breathes in deeply, closes his eyes, exhales the tension. “Good boy.” Oh-so slowly, you sink down on him, the aching stretch delicious between your thighs. His whimpered fuck when you’re fully seated makes you pulse around him, back arching involuntarily. “Do you need a minute, baby?”

Spencer looks up at you, dazed, and nods. “You feel so good,” he groans, half-broken already. A moment or so passes, giving the both of you time to adjust to feeling each other. You can sense that he wants you to move by the way he starts twitching inside you, his nails digging harder into your hips.

You watch him suck his bottom lip into his mouth, screw his eyes shut, fight not to make a sound. Pouting, you slide your thumb over his mouth until his lips part obediently around the digit. “Who taught you that?” you murmur, scrunching your face in displeasure. “Who told you to be quiet, Spencer? Don’t do that with me, okay? I wanna hear all your pretty noises, honey. You gotta let me know you feel good.”

Nodding, Spencer moans your name the second you free his mouth, hips jerking as pent-up, needy whines spill free. Something that might be the word please stumbles from his lips, over and over until it’s the only sound you can hear, filling the room and humming under your skin.

Despite all his efforts, you hold still, though every nerve in your body is screaming, begging for you to fuck yourself on his cock. “Is there something you want, sweetheart?” you say, sickly-sweet and patronising. “Beg me for it, pretty.”

“Fuck, come on, please!” he whines. “Want you s’bad, please. God, I need you, please, Mommy, want you to fuck me, you feel so good, please!” he gasps. You don’t think he even realises what he’s said, too far gone in his desperation. You, however, are far more lucid.

You rock upwards, lift your hips off him, and he whines at the loss. “Is this what you need, baby? Need Mommy to fuck you like this?” Spencer covers his face in embarrassment, but he can’t hold back the gasping moan that slips out when you sink down on him, grind your clit against his stomach. “Stop it,” you snap, pulling his arm away from his face. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t hold anything back. How’m I supposed to teach you if you don’t let me know what makes you feel good, huh?” Setting a slow pace, you start to bounce in his lap, every sound that escapes him pathetic and delicious. “I’ll be your Mommy if that’s what you need, pretty.”

Whining, Spencer gazes up at you, eyes fixed on your tits and practically drooling. “Tell me— shit— tell me what to do,” he pleads, grabbing greedily at your ass and moaning.

“Such an eager boy. Just wanna please, right?” He nods, moans your name and yes and Mommy. “Give me your hand, okay?” You take his hand, carefully press his index and middle fingers against your clit, moaning at the sudden stimulation. “Little circles, okay, baby? Just keep goin’, try and find—oh, fuck!” You choke on your words, a bright bolt of pleasure shooting up your spine as your thighs clench around his hips. “That’s it, baby, good fucking boy. Don’t stop,” you moan.

To his credit, Spencer knows what don’t stop means; doesn’t try to move faster, harder, just works at you in those same tight little circles, arousal sliding hot and sticky down your spine. His hips jerk, fucking up into you harder, and you grind down into his lap, against his fingers. Ecstasy pools in your belly, drips out between your legs, your hands fisting in the sheets.

You clench around him, roll your hips, lean down just enough that he can wrap his lips around your boob, grazing your skin with his teeth in his desperation. “Feel so good, Mommy,” Spencer moans, writhing desperately under you. “I’m gonna— gonna fucking— please,” he whimpers, choking on his own moans. Desire threads under your skin, pulls taut in your belly.

“You gonna cum, pretty? Aw, baby. Cum for me, yeah? I wanna feel it.” Your instruction seems to be all Spencer needs, twitching and jerking under you as he spills in your cunt. “Good boy,” you murmur. He shudders, goes limp, smiles dazedly up at you.

“Thank you,” he gasps as you climb off him, kissing you sweetly, frantic desire dispersed into slow, indolent passion. “That was… you’re… I mean…”

You giggle. “Oh, my God, are you speechless?” You press your lips against his, chest clenching with affection as he blushes. “God, you’re so cute,” you add, and Spencer closes his eyes, scrunches up his face in embarrassment.

He pouts up at you, all pleading brown eyes and soft hands skimming up and down your body. “You didn’t finish,” he says, and he sounds genuinely forlorn, earnestly apologetic.

“It’s okay, baby,” you say, and although it’s far from the first time you’ve said that in bed, you really do mean it. “This was about you, yeah? First time you’ve had sex in, oh… five years?” He nods. “You were never gonna last, sweetheart, it’s alright,” you coo, stroking his cheek as he presses his body close to yours.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me? If I just… like that… How am I supposed to learn?” Spencer says slyly, the corner of his mouth quirking teasingly upward.

Oh, he’s learning, all right. You grin. “I’ll teach you something, Spencer. You ask a woman anything with that look on your face, she’ll do it.”

Spencer smiles faintly as you slide his hand down your body, along the inside of your thigh, let him explore you with the tips of his fingers. “Can I… I wanna taste you. Please?” You thread your fingers into his hair, tug lightly just to make him whine.

“Yeah? S’that what you want, pretty?” He nods as you lift his head, straining frantically to reach your lips where you hold him tantalisingly out of reach. “Oh, you’re so good, honey. God, I’m so lucky I got my hands on you, sweetheart, so good for me, such a sweet boy,” you say indulgently, and he scrambles down your body as soon as you let go of his hair. “Slow down, baby, s’not a race. You wanna take your time, alright? Kisses, a little bit of tongue, make me want it, yeah?”

“Okay,” Spencer breathes against your skin, kissing at your lower belly. His tongue swirls over your body, tracing delicate patterns over your skin that work you into a frenzy. You’re desperate, a fire burning you from the inside out, your body aching with it. You moan his name, and you feel him smile against you. “You want something?” he says, sounding all too pleased with himself.

You scoff, tugging on his hair. “Don’t get cute,” you scold, pulling him down until his lips meet your core.

Still teasing, he presses soft little kisses to the insides of your thighs. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, wide eyed and faux-innocent even with his mouth achingly close to where you need it.

“Use your imagination,” you groan, tugging his head down until his tongue finally makes contact with your core. He’s hesitant, at first, licking a slow stripe along your cunt, but your moan and the way you slam your thighs closed around his head seem to spur him on. Suddenly, he’s frantic, hands clutching at your hips as he buries his tongue inside you. Pleasure burns under your skin, creeps up your spine, drips out against Spencer’s mouth. He pauses between every new motion, every movement of his tongue, every trace of his fingers, studies your reaction oh-so carefully.

He’s hungry, and it only makes you more feverish, his sweet little moans into you coaxing matching ones from your own lips. His nose bumps your clit and you whine, a bolt of heat lurching through your body. Smiling, Spencer repeats the motion, brings his fingers up to circle your soaked clit. You grind against his face, down on his tongue, arousal winding tight between your thighs. “Shit, honey, I’m close,” you moan, holding him close, crossing your legs behind his head. He murmurs something unintelligible, but the words vibrate deliciously through you all the same, dragging you ever closer to your peak.

You whine when he moves his fingers away, clenching uselessly around nothing and bucking your hips in a silent plea. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly and moaning into you. The sudden wave of stimulation is all it takes, your vision cracking and splintering as ecstasy crashes over you. Your cunt pulses against his mouth, his name spilling from your lips in a nearly crazed litany, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. You’re half-convinced you left Earth for a second, your body melting into the mattress with his still tangled between your hips.

When you finally regain the strength to move, you let go of him, and he climbs eagerly up your body. “Was I good?” he asks, quiet and almost fragile.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You cup his jaw, kiss your own taste off his lips. “You’re so good for me, baby, did so good. C’mere, let me hold you.” You hook one leg over his, let him tuck his body into yours. “Such a good boy,” you murmur.

You’re conscious of the state of both of you, sweat-soaked and sticky between your thighs, but, selfishly, you just want to hold him a little longer. “Thank you,” Spencer says softly. “Do you… Can we, um. Do this again sometime? Maybe?”

You smile. “Honey, I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

[ak319]

Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 bmf

synopsis: zoro doesn't take kindly to you being disrespected... at all.

cw: supposed to parallel piña colada, fluffy fluff, comfort, ZORO DOES NOT PLAY ABOUT YOU, protective zoro, decent amount of profanity in this one, zoro is mr. handle it.

a/n: I LOVE LANA SO MUCH I IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF ZORO WHEN I HEARD THIS SONG <3 i suggest you listen to it while reading for the full experience.

"This is insane!" a random onlooker exclaimed, hand gripping his hair in disbelief. "Are these guys even human?!"

His shouts of surprise were followed by howls of excitement from the other passerby, everyone packed tightly around your net and towels to get a glimpse of the action.

Originally, the boys had been taking on challengers in four-on-four volleyball matches, but when they kept kicking everyone's ass, they opted for two on two between themselves instead.

The current match was Sanji and Usopp vs. Zoro and Franky.

And the entire crowd was on the edge of their seats.

"C'mon, Sanji! Get your head in the game!" Nami exclaimed, slightly tipsy, as she gripped onto her wad of cash. "If you lose this, I'm out thirty thousand berries!"

"Yes, Nami-Swan! Your wish is my command!" the lovesick cook squealed, completely stopping what he was doing to gawk at her, his eyes turning heart-shaped.

With a smirk, Zoro took the opportunity to launch himself in the air, meeting Franky's set perfectly and spiking the ball into the sand with a deafening slam, the force creating a small crater.

"Yes! Good job, Zo'!" you cheered, pumping your free fist in the air while the other held your swordsman's sake.

"SANJI!" Nami growled, furious.

With a small chuckle, Robin glanced up from her book, eyes carefully examining the navigator's puffed cheeks and childish pout.

'Adorable...'

"Nami, this is supposed to be a vacation..." you snickered, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you relax?"

"I would be relaxed if I was making money!" she huffed, crossing her arms over his chest. "I ask him to do one thing, and he can't even do that!"

"This is for the win! One last rally!" Chopper announced, happily jumping atop his lifeguard chair.

"C'mon, Sanji, you gotta help me on this!" Usopp exclaimed as he grabbed the cook by his shoulders, attempting to shake him out of it. "There's no way I'm stopping them if they pull that move again!"

"Nice work, bro!" Franky commended, giving your moss-haired swordsman a high-five as he approached the service line, ball in hand.

"Thanks," he nodded, a cocky smirk settling on his lips as he turned to face the net. "Now, let's finish this... I got a nice bottle of sake waiting for me."

Out the corner of his eye, he glanced at his towel, where you sat, reapplying your sunscreen.

Carefully, you squeezed a glob into your palm, closing the cap before rubbing your hands together and massaging it into the flesh of your legs.

Like a dog with a bone, he watched, mesmerized, as you caressed your skin, the sunscreen giving you an alluring shine and making your legs look ripe and tender for the grabbing.

'Goddamn...'

He grinned, taking in the light (f/c) of your bikini, along with the waist beads hanging lazily over your stomach, and the gold anklets and bracelets that jingled with your every movement.

You looked oh-so sexy, and he was oh-so ready to join you.

"Let's hurry this up!"

Tossing the ball in the air, he served, sending it flying over the net with the force of a cannonball.

"Sanji!" Usopp shrieked, eyes wide with fear as he slapped his hands on his cheeks.

"Diable Mouton Shot!" Sanji spat, jumping into the air and hitting the ball with a flaming kick, sending the it right back.

The damned thing caught on fire with his force, and was headed straight for the sand.

"What a weak serve! I'd expect that from you, moss for brains!"

"HAH?! YOU WANNA SAY THAT AGAIN!"

"I got it, bro!" Franky dove, extending his fist in the nick of time and saving the ball, letting it bounce into the sky. "All you!"

Pissed, Zoro broke into a running start before launching himself into the air once again, the crowd going wild as he wound up his arm for one monster slam.

Suddenly, something called his attention to the sidelines, his eyes instantly landing on the (h/c) head of hair that belonged to his girlfriend.

You were smiling from ear to ear, beaming with pride, hands clasped together as you watched him soar through the air.

Finding his eyes, you gave your swordsman a firm nod, your expression encouraging him to push forward.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With renewed vigor, Zoro turned to the ball, your support turning his drive into pure, molten fire.

He roared, striking down on the ball, executing a perfect spike.

"Ow!" a random woman winced as she walked past, lifting up her foot. "Stupid seashells..."

"Do you need help, my dear?! I'd be glad to carry you wherever you need to go!" Sanji offered, practically teleporting to her side with a lovesick grin.

"SANJI!" Usopp screamed, terrified, as the ball came careening toward him.

Frantic, he dove out the way, just barely saving his ass as it slammed into the ground with a thunderous crack, a large burst of sand shooting up from the ground.

For a moment, the crowd was silent, before erupting with roars of joy and excitement.

Everyone rushed Zoro as he landed, Franky letting out loud whoops and howls of victory.

"SANJI!" Nami shouted, dropping herself face first in her towel. "My berries!"

"Zoro and Franky win! Way to go, Zoro!" Chopper cheered, jumping off of the lifeguard chair.

"That move was killer, man!" one of the onlookers exclaimed. "I could barely see the ball!"

"You should go pro! You'd make a killing!" another added.

"Great game!"

"Good job!"

"You're the best player I've ever seen!”

"That last spike was insane! A little higher and you could've jumped over the net!"

The women were next to swarm, pushing past the men and surrounding him on all sides.

"Nice game, hot stuff!"

"You're really strong, aren't you?"

"You doin' anything later tonight?"

Zoro rolled his eyes, unamused, as he attempted to maneuver around them, one thing on his mind.

You.

Though, as he managed to peer past the crowd of girls, he caught sight of a man next to his towel.

He was large for an average guy, muscular and decently good-looking with shaggy brown hair.

But that wasn't what bothered Zoro.

What bothered Zoro was the way he was talking to you, forcibly positioning himself to tower over your sitting form and using a sharp tone that sparked a few embers of anger in the swordsman's chest.

Who the fuck did he think he was talking to?

"You got a name, handso—?" "Move."

Pushing past her and the other girls, he power-walked toward your umbrella, getting close enough to actually make out what you were saying.

"Look, whatever your name is, I'm trying to help you out," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I can't promise your safety if my boyfriend comes back here and catches you acting like this."

He'd been at this for fifteen minutes...

After Robin left to go get a drink, and Nami ran off to kick Sanji's ass, he swooped in like a vulture on the hunt, attempting to put the moves on you.

He used every line in the book, laying it on thick as he bragged about his weight-lifting stats and obnoxiously flexed his muscles in your face.

"My safety?" he scoffed, letting out a haughty chuckle at your outlandish statement. "Sweetheart, if anything, your boyfriend's the one that should be worryin' about safety. I guarantee you I'm twice the man he is."

You paused a moment, almost disbelieving, lifting up your shades and waiting to see if the man was serious.

He was.

Deadly serious, actually.

'HA!'

You threw your head back in a burst of uproarious laughter, the sound causing the man to jolt with surprise, and slight confusion.

He'd never seen your expressions range anything past disinterest, so seeing you so amused by the idea of him beating up your boyfriend was... jarring, to say the least.

But you couldn't help yourself.

Zoro, the man with a bounty over one billion?

Zoro, the master of the sword belonging to the king of hell?

Zoro, the man who has moved literal mountains with his bare hands?

It was almost too much.

The man's brows furrowed, face burning at the mockery.

"The hell is so fuckin' funny?!" he huffed, growing anger.

Attempting to regain your composure, you wiped a tear from your eye, slightly clutching your stomach as your laughs died down.

"You wish," you snickered into the rim of your fruity drink, taking a sip as you attempted to muffle your chuckles. "He'd kill you... like actually."

Furious, the man took a harsh step forward, completely invading your personal space and smacking your drink out your hand, knocking the cup into the sand.

"You think I'm some kind of joke, bitch?!" he exclaimed, the veins in his neck bulging.

"Pick it up."

Zoro's voice traveled through the air like a wave of ice, quelling the slight pangs of worry in your chest like water to a fire.

Feeling tough, the man snapped his head around, meeting your swordsman with a harsh glare.

That is... until he realized who he was talking to.

Instantly, the wind left his sails, eyes widening and heart sinking like a rock in a river as it all finally clicked.

Your boyfriend was one of the most wanted men in the New World.

"Y-You... Y-You're... Pirate Hunter?!"

"I said... pick it up," Zoro pressed, tone leaving no room for argument, eye sharply trained on the bastard in front of him. "Before I make you do it myself."

"Look! I didn't know she was your girlfriend!" the man blubbered, practically shaking as he scrambled to pick up your glass, frantically handing it to you. "I didn't mean it! I don't want any trouble!"

"Then get lost," Zoro spat, harshly, brows cinching with anger. "You come around here again and I'll show you who's the real bitch."

The man didn't have to hear it twice.

Like that, he was gone, running back to his friends with his tail between his legs.

Finally able to sit, Zoro plopped himself down next to you, muttering and grumbling to himself in annoyance as he watched the man run away.

He let him off easy—only because you chewed him out the last time he "went overboard" and caused an island-wide incident, forcing the crew to evacuate.

He nearly murdered the island's sovereign for calling you out of your name, and doubling down when he told him to watch his mouth.

Tenderly, you grabbed his chin, pulling him in and placing a thankful kiss on his cheek as you handed off his sake.

"My hero," you cooed, teasingly.

With a grumble, he popped the cork with his teeth, taking a large swig with puffed cheeks, before breaking off with a harsh sigh.

As he wiped the excess with the back of his hand, he glanced at the man once again, anger flaring in his chest when the bastard hid behind his umbrella.

Like a goddamn child...

Zoro scoffed, taking another swig of his sake.

"Fuckin' pussy..."

[firewasabeast]

The Kid Isn’t Okay

a little bucktommy fic. tags: mcd, grief, hurt/comfort. read below or on ao3.

Buck had stopped crying by the time they brought out Bobby’s body. Those final words kept repeating in his mind, a reminder of what he needed to do and who he needed to be.

He passed by Tommy without a word. Got in the rig and drove it back to the 118.

B shift was already there. The place was quiet. Everyone stared. No one asked questions.

He went straight to his locker, grabbed a change of clothes, and headed for the showers.

He cleaned the day off of him. Washed away the sweat, the dirt, the dried tears.

Once he had changed, he picked up his duffel, dug out his keys, and made a beeline for his car.

His phone buzzed. He had a missed call and text from Maddie, a text from Tommy too. He replied to Maddie first.

Gonna head home for a bit. I’ll be at the hospital later. Text me if you need anything.

He looked at Tommy’s message next. A simple question. Evan, are you okay?

He took a deep breath. His hand shook. He squeezed it into a fist until it stopped.

He answered.

I’m okay. Thank you for your help today. Sorry if I got you in too much trouble. If you need me to talk to someone, let me know.

He dropped his phone into the passenger seat and he drove home. He ignored the sounds of more messages coming through.

*****

Buck didn’t remember Eddie until he walked into his house.

He answered on the third ring. “Buck? Why are you calling me right now? What’s wrong?”

Buck didn’t even know the time. Could have been two in the morning, maybe six. He wasn’t sure.

“Bobby,” he breathed out.

Silence on the other end of the line.

Buck checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“When?” Eddie asked.

“Tonight. Not… Not long ago. It’s- everyone else is okay. Chim and Hen are in the hospital but they’ll be fine. Ravi’s alright. Just… it’s just Bobby.”

“Okay.” A pause. Eddie cleared his throat. “I’ll get the earliest flight.”

“There’s no plans yet or anything,” Buck told him. “I- no one knows when the service will be.”

“I wanna be there anyway. Buck, are… how are you?”

“I’m alright.”

“Buck-”

“No, I… Really, Eddie. I’m okay. Let me know when your flight gets in.”

He hung up before Eddie could get in another word.

*****

He took Jee the next day, so Maddie could spend a little extra time at the hospital.

“She can stay here with me, Buck,” Maddie whispered, Chimney sleeping nearby. “I brought crayons and coloring books. She’ll be fine.”

“No, I know. But a kid doesn’t wanna sit in a hospital room all day, and you need to be here with Chim.” He looked down at Jee, who was holding onto his hand, waiting to go. “We’ll have a good day, won’t we Jee?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, we will!”

Maddie smiled at Jee, the smile fading when she glanced back up at Buck. “I’ll pick her up on my way home. I’ll probably leave around five.”

“No problem. She can stay the night if you need her to.”

Maddie reached out to give Buck’s arm a squeeze. “Are you sure about this, Evan? You really don’t have to. I know-”

“I’m okay, Maddie,” he interrupted. “I promise. Now Jee and I have some ice cream to go eat, don’t we Jee?”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Alright, say bye to your mom and we’ll go.”

Jee wrapped her arms around Maddie’s waist, giving her a hug. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Baby. Be good for Uncle Buck, okay?”

“Oh, she will,” Buck guaranteed with a smile. “We’ll have a great day.”

*****

Buck took his place at the head of Bobby’s casket. The weight of it was lighter than he expected, even when sharing it with five others.

He went through the motions at the procession. Stared at the firetruck in front of him as he and everyone else took each solemn step.

He didn’t look in Tommy’s direction.

Could feel him staring though. Could feel his eyes burning a hole into his head.

He focused on the task at hand.

Focused on getting Bobby to his final resting place.

It needed to be perfect.

Bobby deserved that.

His plot at the cemetery was a great location. A large tree overhead to provide shade. He’d have a big gravestone soon, engraved to show just how much his people cared for him.

There would be a bench too. Somewhere to sit when his family came to visit.

Buck stood there as they lowered him into the ground. Kept standing there until he could hear familiar footsteps coming up behind him.

Tommy.

He moved then. Avoiding a conversation that wasn’t needed.

The cemetery was nice.

Buck was okay with it.

*****

The 118 and Tommy were all gathered in a huddle at the reception, telling stories that no one else could understand. They’d joke, laugh for a bit, and then the bitter reminder of why they were there would spring up again.

“I keep thinking about it,” Eddie said between sips of his beer. “I should have been here.”

Hen shook her head. “Be glad you weren’t.”

“I just keep thinking, if I had been there then maybe… maybe it would’ve been different. Maybe Cap would still be here.”

Tommy, who had been keeping an eye on Buck all day, noticed an instant shift. His eyes lost focus, his finger tapping at the cup in his hand.

He took a silent step back, then another, before turning and walking away from the group.

Tommy followed.

“Evan,” he said, trying to get his attention without drawing anyone else’s. “Evan.” He jogged a couple of steps to reach him, planting a hand on his shoulder. “Evan?”

Buck stopped, turned. “What’s up?”

“It wasn’t a slight at you.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

There was a light missing from his eyes. A void in its place. He was looking at Tommy, but Tommy didn’t feel like he was seeing him.

“Evan.” He moved closer, making sure no one was close enough to listen. “You did everything you could. Nothing and no one would have changed the outcome.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrowed. “I know that.”

“Evan.”

“I’m fine, Tommy,” Buck said defensively, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m going to get something to eat. Is that okay with you?”

Tommy’s shoulders dropped, lips in a tight line. “I just wanted to check on you, Evan. That’s all. I’m, um, I’m gonna be heading out in a minute.”

“Okay, well, I’m good here. Thanks for, uh, for all you did. See ya.” He was walking away before he finished the sentence, before Tommy could fully register the words coming out of his mouth.

Tommy left the reception ten minutes later. He couldn’t help but notice the empty parking spot where Evan’s car once was.

*****

A knock on his door had Buck rushing out from the bathroom. He hadn’t been home long. Had just gotten changed after a quick shower.

His hair was still damp, skin still warm from the water.

He wasn’t sure who could be on the other side. Maybe Maddie, wondering why he left so quickly. Maybe Eddie changed his mind about staying at the hotel another night.

What he didn’t expect was for Tommy to be standing there, a deep look of concern on his face.

“Wh- What are you-”

“I wanted to check on you,” he said, breezing past Buck as he walked into the house, uninvited.

Buck swung the door shut, then turned to him. “I told you earlier that I was fine.”

“I know what you said,” Tommy replied with a curt nod. “I just don’t believe you.”

Buck crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t really care what you be-”

“I saw you, when you were still in that building. I saw you break down in the hall.”

Buck sucked in a breath. He tried to play it off. “You should go.”

“I know how you’re really feeling," Tommy pushed, "and I know you’re not okay."

“Tommy, stop.”

“You’re shielding yourself from everyone and everything. You’re not allowing yourself to feel, Evan. This isn’t you. I know it’s not you.”

“He told me that I’d be okay!” Buck yelled suddenly, face becoming red with anger. Tears stung his eyes. “He told me they would need me! Said I’d be okay! He said that!”

“Oh, Evan-”

“No, I can’t!” He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t need your sympathy, Tommy. I don’t need anything. I just need to be strong for them. I’m fine.”

Tommy stepped closer, stopping when Buck moved back to maintain distance. “Evan,” he started, voice calm and steady. “When people are… when they’re dying, they tell us what they think we need to hear. They tell us what they want for us. And sometimes, we can cling to that a little too tightly.”

“You don’t-”

“My mom. I was twelve, and I’ll never forget her telling me to keep my head up and not to cry for her. Evan, I- I know that Bobby wants you to be okay. Of course he does. And I know you want to be strong. But that’s not all you have to be. You’re allowed to be upset, you’re allowed to cry, or get mad, or need somebody. That’s not weakness. That’s love. You loved him, and he loved you. You’re allowed to hurt.”

Buck stood, silent, hands on his hips, eyes aimed towards the ground.

Tommy sighed. “Sorry. I- Sorry, Evan. I’ll go.”

As Tommy walked passed him, heading for the door, Buck reached his hand out, grabbing onto Tommy’s.

Tommy froze.

“He told me he loved me.”

“Evan.”

“He was th- the father I never had and I… I just… I- I-” his voice broke, his lip trembled, and the dam burst. He fell into Tommy, who barely managed to catch him and bring them gently to the ground. “I’m n- not okay, Tommy,” he wailed, barely able to suck in a breath. He clutched onto Tommy’s sleeve, tears soaking through his shirt. “I’m not okay, I’m not okay.”

“I know, I know,” Tommy soothed, holding Buck as close as he could.

“It h- hu… hurts so bad.”

“I know it does. It’s okay.”

“Please, T- Tommy, please d- don’t leave. I need... I need-”

“I’m not going anywhere, Evan,” Tommy promised. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

[salem-s]

08 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, angst (familial issues, miscommunication). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 9.6k. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. apologies because this is very description heavy. ── SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER fake plastic trees by radiohead

Barbaric knocking jolts you both awake.

Your head pounds so achingly hard that you audibly whine, burying your face into Rafe’s warm chest without hesitation.

He lifts his head up off the pillow, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes as he tries to gauge the situation. Head pounding, he curses, leaning back on the pillow and throwing an arm over his eyes. 

Eventually the loud knocking stops, and you feel like you can breathe again, sighing in relief against his skin as he lazily rubs your back. But then your eyes snap open when you hear the door click open, putting all of your strength into lifting your head to see who is entering the room. 

You nearly cry when you see your mother, standing at the end of the bed and peering down at the two of you. 

“You two are late. Let’s go.”

You've got to be kidding.

You and Rafe simply blink up at her, unsure if the hangover is playing mind games on you or if Paulette is actually standing in front of you both right now, clad in a beach coverup and a purse so comically large it looks cartoonish. 

“They won’t hold the reservation if you’re more than fifteen minutes late,” Paulette snaps, clapping her hands to get you to wake up. “Get up!”

The noise sounds like artillery fire. 

“Ow,” you mumble, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and dropping your head against Rafe’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

Paulette shakes her head in disbelief. “You two have a couple’s spa reservation that Jessa so graciously booked for you guys.” With a manicured hand, she grabs the sheets and rips them off of you.

You and Rafe audibly groan at the sudden coldness, the lack of clothes barely fazing your mother.

“I’m not leaving until I know you two will get out of bed.”

Eventually, you pick your limp body up to pull yourself to the edge of the bed, throwing your feet over the edge and rubbing out the piercing migraine. You look back to Rafe, who manages to sit up and curl into himself. Regardless of your double zombie-like state, Paulette seems to be satisfied that you're both sort-of up and at it. 

She hums like a priss. “I’ll be waiting outside the room, and I will come in again in five minutes if you’re not out here.”

Then, Paulette leaves the room and the door shutting behind you is as loud as thunder.

“Oh my god.” You moan into your hands, nearly shaking from the force of your hangover. “Rafe, I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“More like a train.”

You groan again, willing yourself to stand and stumbling at the dizziness.

It's comical, really. You'd laugh if you didn't feel like dying.

You and Rafe navigate in the dimly lit room like baby fawns learning how to walk, bumping into each other as you attempt to get dressed and go to the bathroom. You gag when you brush your teeth, nearly hurling right then and there. Rafe at one point trips over his suitcase, landing harshly on the cold tile with a groan, and it takes you at least two minutes to get him up off the floor. 

By the grace of a higher being, you make it out into the hallway before Paulette can forcibly enter again, rolling her eyes at your clearly disheveled state as she wordlessly leads you to the elevator and down to the lobby.

You have to grab Rafe’s forearm to steady yourself, cursing under your breath that you didn’t grab sunglasses to shield from the blazing sun that shines directly into your eyes as you walk towards the spa treatment center. 

You both don’t have the capacity to even ask what the hell she means by a couples spa treatment until you're standing at the entrance, your heart dropping when you see Jessa and Kevin, and Yara and Grant waiting there as well. 

This couldn't get any worse.

“Oh my god, I’m actually going to throw up,” you mumble, Rafe nearly wincing at the mere thought of vomit right now.

“Don’t say that,” he groans. “Don’t bring it up.”

The spa therapist emerges from the back with a smile to chipper, too bright, that it makes the both of you wince. “Buongiorno, tutti!”

You and Rafe join the group, lingering in the back as you practically lean on each other for physical support. 

“My name is Giuditta, and I will be your group therapist this morning! Thank you for signing up for our exclusive Couple’s Spa Retreat!”

God, her voice is way too loud right now.

Also, what?

Before you can comprehend the scene in front of you, Jessa nudges your arm with a sly smile. "Long night?"

Your cheeks burn when you see her gaze flicker between you and Rafe teasingly, unsure if he can hear her right now. You want to tell her to shut up, to make up an excuse to get you out of here, but the sight of her darting eyes gives you motion sickness so you squeeze yours shut.

"Dude," you whisper painfully, "what the fuck did you sign us up for?"

Jessa snorts quietly, finding your state amusing. "Something expensive, so enjoy it while you can."

You want to bite back that you really don't care if it's free or the most pretentious treatment on the planet, you'd much rather be in bed gaining a few extra hours of sleep instead of wavering nauseously in the same room as your ex and high school acquaintance, but when you try and speak you nearly throw up.

So you settle on a groan.

Giuditta doesn't notice your conversation, and even if she does, you'd never know given how chipper she is. “...is our highest recommended treatment for all kinds of couples to unlock their inner personal connection, enhancing the bond between souls through physical and mental contact.”

Meanwhile, Rafe frowns once he digests the words.

What? What are they about to do?

Before he registers it, everyone is being coaxed into the large private room. It’s dimly lit, thank god, but overtly romantic with candles being the only source of light.

He studies the set up: three huts evenly spaced from one another. The curtains draw open to showcase the inside, a double bed with soft sheets, with a smaller table full of supplies for each hut. Two robes are neatly folded on each bed as well as matching slippers. 

Slowly blinking the hangover fog away, Rafe's heart drops when he realizes where he is. What you're about to do.

“We’ll have each couple assigned to one hut,” Giuditta happily explains. “Once you’ve picked your spot, please use our private fitting rooms to change into our pillowy soft robes! It is preferred if undergarments are removed, but this is a safe space, so you may leave them on if it makes you more comfortable.”

Jessa and Kevin take the bed on the left, Yara and Grant take the one on the right, leaving you and Rafe to approach the bed smack dab in the middle of the two couples.

Great.

If you weren't hurdling towards death you would’ve made a joke to Rafe, who probably would’ve laughed if he wasn’t also on the verge of death. 

You head into one of the changing rooms and strip out of your dress cover up, slipping on the butter-soft robe that nearly has you melting. All you want to do is lie down in bed with your head stuck in a giant ice cube. Or at least lay on the beach with your head in a giant ice cube.

Anything, you mean anything, would be better than this right now. 

Exiting at the same time as Rafe, you nearly snort when you glance at him.

His hair is disastrously unruly while his robe is way too short, exposing his already lanky legs to heights unknown. He immediately shakes his head at you, jaw clenching so hard you're sure it’ll break off. A hand instantly finds the small of your back as you retreat back to your hut, almost a warning to keep walking and not say anything about it.

“Not a word,” he grumbles miserably.

It only makes you stifle a laugh, poking his over-exposed thigh. “I don’t know. I think you’d rock the five inch seam shorts.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s kind of hot.”

“Sweet girl,” he warns as you both sit down on the bed. It only makes his robe hike up further. 

You go to pinch his thigh again, but is interrupted by Giuditta's excited clap, one that makes you both wince at the volume. 

“Okay!” She stands in front of all the huts, each couple looking at her expectantly. “Now, we understand privacy is of the utmost importance, so we will be shutting each hut door to give each couple the intimacy that is promised on the brochure.” 

Two assistants line up at each hut door, waiting for the green light to enter and shut them to start the treatment, which suddenly makes the entire scene way more intimate, as it essentially cages you in together. You shift uncomfortably next to Rafe, who rubs a hand down the side of his face.

God, the room reeks of eucalyptus and you sigh, unsure if it’s out of nausea or irritation.

“Now, you will each have your own intimacy coordinator who will lead the spa treatment, along with some exercises to get you more in tune with your partner,” Giuditta explains. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy!”

Rafe takes a long deep breath, about to say something regarding the BS of this entire thing, but closes his mouth when your two coordinators enter the makeshift hut, a short woman with a soft smile and long dark hair and another woman who’s much taller with a bob. 

“Hello,” the shorter one greets politely. “I am Amelia and this is Birdie, your massuses for this session. Please remove your robes and we’ll cover you with a sheet. Let’s start on our stomachs, please.”

You and Rafe navigate onto the bed essentially in the dark. Slowly, you start to strip out of the robes. Rafe left his boxers on that he wears under his swim suit as you still have your bathing suit on, unsure if you wanted to be naked for this ordeal. 

Of course, you take one last attempt to be funny as you pinch his thigh again, causing him to gently swat your hand away with an incoherent grumble, flopping on his stomach as he rests his head on the fluffy pillow. You follow suit with a quiet laugh, laying down and turning your head away from him so you're facing the wall. 

The bed is actually pretty comfortable, and you find yourself nearly sighing. Perhaps you'll get the sleep that's been calling to you instead of participating in whatever bullshit is in store.

You assume Rafe thinks the same because Amelia clears her throat. “Please face each other and lock hands. We’re going to begin our breathing exercises.”

Right. 

Awkwardly, you both adjust and crane your necks so you and Rafe are facing each other, cheeks smushed against the pillows as you blindly reach down to find each other’s hands. Rafe’s hand engulfs yours, locking your fingers together and squeezing once, as if in solidarity that you will get through this despite how sick you feel. 

You lock eyes for a moment, your breath hitching at the physical intimacy of it all.

This is all of a sudden too much.

You blink a few times and then close your eyes, not wanting to know if he’s done the same or if he’s still looking at you. Regardless, he squeezes your hand again a little lighter than before, but not without smoothing over your skin with the pad of his thumb, as if he's tracing over a map.

God, this is only going to make your hangover worse, since every small doting gesture he does makes your stomach flip anyway, so you can’t imagine how you're going to feel if this whole treatment is about connecting with your partner on a level deeper than physicality. 

“Scusate?”

You open your eyes to Birdie leaning down.

“May I untie your top?”

You blink, short circuiting and trying to ignore his eyes on you. “Uh, yeah. That’s fine.”

Birdie thanks you and begins to untie your swim suit top, your back now bare, both masseuses preparing their lotions.

Rafe’s eyes travel to drink in your exposed back, swallowing thickly at the sliver of side boob that smushes out from laying on your stomach.

Instinctively, he grabs your hand a fraction tighter, tearing his gaze away from your body and shutting his eyes instead. 

He's fighting a million different demons right now. Starting with the one in his head that's telling him how nice your hand feels in his right now.

“Okay,” Amelia says calmly, “we are going to start with a light back massage to start that should ease us into a more relaxed state. Take a nice, deep breath in through your noses.”

You and Rafe do so as cool hands meet the smalls of your backs at the same time, lathered in lotion as they press the heels into the muscles and push up your spine.

Once they reach your shoulder, Amelia adds, “Now exhale out your mouth.”

The masseuses do this a few times, breathe you both through a basic massage that lasts about fifteen minutes.

You close your eyes, feeling sleep overtake you as your breaths get deeper. At one point, you feel your fingers twitch against his, lips parted as you're so close to peace, so close–

“Alright,” Amelia’s voice breaks you out of your trance, blinking your eyes open blearily as Rafe does the same, probably almost falling asleep as well. “Now that we’ve connected our breathing, we’re going to sit up to a criss-cross position and face each other.”

You want to cry. You're so goddamn tired.

Birdie ties your swim suit before you can sit up, groggily pushing yourself into a criss-cross as Rafe does the same, although it takes him a little longer to get comfortable due to his long legs.

He shoots you a pointed glare when you bite your lip to suppress a laugh, noticing you struggling to keep a straight face while watching him, especially when Birdie motions you to scoot closer together so your knees are touching. 

The contact makes your heart skip.

The masseuses pay it no mind. “Alright, now straighten your spines with a deep inhale.” You do as told. “Then an exhale. Let’s join our hands together by our knees and we will begin our soul ties segment.”

Sorry, the what segment?

You and Rafe shoot each other a nervous glance, reluctantly doing as you're told and locking your hands together once more.

Sheepishly, he averts his gaze up to the makeshift ceiling of the hut, the thrum of his heart beating louder than ever. He blames the hangover for amplifying his senses, dialing them to eleven, hating the magnetic pull he has towards you, especially right now as he can feel your gaze burning into his profile.

Rafe hopes the candles don’t show his rising blush. 

“Our exercise will start with a light massage to further release inhibitions,” Amelia explains, standing behind Rafe as Birdie stands behind you. “We will start at your forearms and work our way up to the shoulders to release any tension built there from bottled emotions. While we do this, you two will participate in a verbal exercise. Please look each other in the eye and take turns listing qualities that you admire about the other.”

Silence fills the hut. 

His piercing blue eyes meet yours and for a moment, you both come up short on what to do.

You nearly speak up, wanting to give a huge disclaimer that the relationship is very much unlike the others, that this isn’t what they think it is. Your heart races, and for a second, you consider hurling all over him to give an escape route. 

Then, Rafe’s stupidly arrogant voice interrupts your internal panic. “Ladies first.”

God, you want to smack that stupid smirk off of his face.

Shaking your head lightly in disbelief at him, you clench your jaw, but is jolted out of your moment of pitiful anger as Birdie’s hands meet your forearms, signaling the start of the exercise.

Rafe raises a brow at you expectantly, almost mockingly, and you grip his hand bruisingly tight as your heart races with the pressure of initiating this part of the treatment.

“Uh, uhm,” you stutter, unsure of how casual you can keep it without raising alarm bells. “You have nice, uh, hands.”

Rafe stifles a snort, cocking his head to the side. God, he’s way closer than you realized and it makes your head spin. “Nice hands?” he drawls out slowly, mockingly.

“Yes.” Your cheeks flame in embarrassment. You're going to kill Jessa for booking this. “That’s what I said. Now you go.”

He chuckles softly, running his thumb over the smooth skin of your hand as if it means nothing. He darts his gaze between your narrowed eyes, clearly displaying his amusement for this whole ordeal.

“You have a funny laugh.”

Your lip curls in disgust. “Really?”

Rafe shrugs as much as the masseuse will allow him. “It’s adorable.”

“Oh my god,” you grumble, ignoring the insinuation. “Okay. Your music taste isn’t that bad most of the time.”

“I knew you liked it, baby.”

“It’s your turn.”

Rafe smiles lazily and your heart skips a beat. “You sometimes talk in your sleep and I find it very amusing.”

"Rafe."

"Your turn."

If it’s possible for your face to feel even hotter, it is. “That's not admiration, that's a form of entertainment."

"Fine," he says, indulging your dispute. "I admire how you talk in your sleep. We had a full conversation once."

"I do not. And I never did that.”

“How would you know? You were asleep.”

“You probably imagined it.”

He nods. “Sure.”

At your silence, he squeezes your hand gently.

“Your turn.”

Cool hands meet your shoulder blades and you nearly forgot there are other people here, who are probably confused at the lack of seriousness this conversation has.

You hate how easy it is to get lost in his eyes, hating how captivating they are, how much joy they hold at the moment. He’s totally eating this up, because if there’s one thing he loves to do, it’s rile you up and make you a blubbering, flustered mess.

It only frustrates you further, huffing quietly. Especially when he's clearly joking about this whole exercise.

You want to flip the script back to him. If he wants to play this game, then you can, too.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

That has him raising a brow, confusion plastered all over his pretty features. He goes to say something in clarification, but you interrupt him. 

“I heard you the other day,” you say, softer. “It was the second day here. I obviously wasn't really asleep, not deeply, anyway."

The memory of what happened after he came into the room as your heart skipping a beat. How he made you beg for it.

But you refuse to cower. "You were singing an Ariana song. It was really sweet.”

Rafe gapes his mouth open like a fish.

“Shut up,” he stutters, embarrassed at the call out.

But he narrows his gaze when he recognizes the game you're playing, at the little smile ghosting your lips as you take in his flustered appearance. Rafe can't help but straighten up, knowing you can go band-for-band right now if that's how you want to play.

Game on, sweet girl, he thinks.

“Alright, you’re a grade-A nerd.”

You narrow your eyes. "That feels like an insult."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm saying you're smart. One of the smartest people I know. You know a bunch of history shit off the top of your head and it's mildly impressive."

"Only mildly?"

"Immensely, sweet girl." His voice is faux saccharine, trying to get you to crumble. "Your turn."

But. it doesn't faze you.

“You’re super protective. Physically. I remember being trapped in the mosh-pit at Davo’s and you pushed your way through to get me out,” you recount the memory almost defensively.

Rafe wants to tell you I told you so, as he remembers that day vividly. He felt like a damn hero, and teased you relentlessly after you refused to thank him because you said you could get out of it yourself (he knew you couldn't). It only took three orgasms back-to-back-to-back for you to give him what he wanted: a simple thank you.

“You have a cool style, and you’re always annoying well-put together.”

“You’re the one to talk." You scoff. "You can simply throw on jeans and a t-shirt and look like you’re straight from a magazine.”

The notion makes him snort as an attempt to hide his flustered mind. “You’re basically a Sour Patch Kid,” he retorts. “You’re sour because you like to make fun of me and act all mean and tough, but then you’re-"

"Let me guess, a sweet girl?"

Rafe hums. "Yup. The sweetest." Then, before he can shut his mouth, he adds, "Like when you read to me the other day.”

The memory makes you falter, dropping the competitive demeanor and soaking in the weight of his words.

You stare at him, unsure if there’s more to it, but there isn’t, and he almost looks startled at the confession, eyes wide with a flicker of uncertainty, as if he’s said too much. He swallows thickly as you feel a tonal shift in the air. 

Playtime’s over. 

“I liked reading to you,” you admit gently, genuinely.

Rafe studies your expression, trying to really decipher if you're joking around still. But you don't crack a smile, or laugh, or give him any indication that your words are untruthful. In fact, you look appreciative. He isn't sure what to make of it.

Just barely narrowing his gaze, his confusion grows. "You did?"

You nod earnestly. “I like when you let your guard down, because then I can see you.”

Rafe stares at you, that flicker of uncertainty leaving his eyes and instead is replaced with something you can’t pin point. Appreciation? Gratitude? You barely register that he squeezes your hands a fraction tighter, and whether he does it intentionally or not, it makes your heart pound all the same.

His voice is small. “You’re the only person I feel like I can let my guard down to.”

That makes you frown slightly. You think back to his friends at school, his best friend Elliot, his sisters. He has a support system, people who care about him. How are you the person he feels he can be the most authentic with? Is this a joke?

You swallow that thought. “I admire how you’ve seen some ugly parts of my life and you didn’t run.”

Not that he could, you think immediately. You're trapped in a foreign country together.

But Rafe's heart drops at that, resisting the urge to cradle your face.

“You’re selfless in a way you don’t want people to know about,” he says quietly, “like how you’ll bring me a coffee without my asking or clean Marianne's room when she’s going through another episode.”

You hum. “You care more about people than you think. You noticed when I was upset on my birthday and you didn’t make fun of me even though you had the perfect opportunity to do so.”

His next words punch you in the gut. “Despite what other people may think,” he whispers, “you deserve a lot more than you’ve been given.”

The confession slips from your mouth before you can stop it.

“You have pretty eyes.”

Rafe’s breath hitches, and then his eyes blink rapidly, as if he’s realizing something devastatingly important. He squeezes your hands a little tighter, more firmly and certain than before, opening his mouth to say something else, to spill his confession that he’s been bottling up for so long now.

He says your name slowly.

But then Amelia clears her throat.

You blink out of your trance, losing eye contact as the masseuses’ hands aren’t even on your bodies anymore and instead gesture you to lay back down.

How long have they been done?

“Now, we will move into the third and final segment of the session,” Amelia instructs gently, darting her gaze cautiously between the two of you. “If you’ll please lay down on your backs, please.”

The rest of the day is…weird.

After the spa treatment, you feel even more wound up than before, a newfound tension easing its way to your shoulders as the weight of the confessional rests upon you.

The things you said to each other, the rawness of it, make your head spin in a way that’s not solely from the hangover. It’s something else entirely, something more than just spewing out lies to get through the session, something that both of you conjured. 

Something real.

You shake the thought away.

Because, no. No.

This isn’t real. This is simply forced hormonal proximity that makes people say things they don’t mean. Rafe, the King of Sleeping Around, is incapable of such feelings or even the mere thought of being with one person. He said it himself last night, he doesn’t know how to date, and even if he did, there’s no way you’d be able to fulfill anything of what he needs.

It wouldn’t work. 

Guys don’t like you. They don’t harbor crushes on you, because you’re not that kind of girl that grabs attention like that. You don’t command a room, or turn heads, or make people believe that you want more than just a hook up.

All your life, you’ve been rejected by the one person whose approval would mean the world, constantly being tossed aside by your mother and regarded as a thing, not a person, not a daughter.

And the thought of being rejected romantically too makes you utterly nauseous.

Given that, you don’t even allow for the opportunity to come, kicking guys to the curb when they show an ounce of emotion beyond merely sex, nipping that chance for rejection right in the bud. It's simple: you leave before you can be left.

So, no. It wouldn’t work between you and Rafe.

Because you will never let him, nor anyone for that matter, get the chance.

It’s devastatingly hard to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day, especially when your immediate family plus Yara and Grant pile on a yacht to ride around the cove for a few hours. The boat is ridiculously big, and normally you’d roll your eyes at the blatant flaunt of money that your family loves to parade around, but for once, you’re grateful because the ship’s giant size allows for you to sneak away from them without anyone noticing.

Well, anyone except for Rafe.

You and Rafe lounge silently on the pull-out hammock that juts out the side of the yacht, dangling directly over the clear water.

Despite the tumultuous emotional exchange earlier, you lay opposite one another, your legs bending as your calves rest against the side of his ribcage as his legs stretch long beyond your head, your temple resting against his calf.

The position is alarmingly inclusive of the best of both worlds: you’re still close enough to him, practically on top of him, which is where you like to be as of late, but that this position gives you a perfect vantage point of his face since you face each other, and looking at him after that spa treatment makes your cheeks flush. 

You both nurse cold glasses of water, the thought of drinking again nearly making you yack off the side of the boat. 

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t realize he’s speaking to you until he taps your thigh with his hand. 

“Hmm?”

“Tired?”

You nod shyly. You could sleep for twelve hours if you were allowed to. “What’d you say?”

Rafe smiles gently. “I said that someone’s having fun.”

You quirk a brow. 

He elaborates by nodding his head to something behind you. You look up to see the view upside down, which is Yara drunkenly dancing with Jessa and squealing obnoxiously loud over the music.

What’s worse is that no one seems to be annoyed with it, maybe except Grant, but surprisingly Paulette watches the blonde with an endearing smile, sipping her drink with a proud gleam in her eye. 

Something foreign pulls at your chest at the sight of your mother flashing someone else - Yara, for that matter - a smile like that.

She’s never smiled at you like that.

You force yourself to look away and turn back to Rafe, knowing if you continue staring that you will, no doubt, spiral.

Instead, you rest your head against his shin and shut your eyes, cradling the water on your tummy. The coolness of it does nothing to settle the kettlebell in your stomach.

“I hope she has a horrible hangover.”

Despite the bitterness in your tone, Rafe laughs boyishly, a sound you have grown to love and hate. “Baby, I wouldn’t wish this hangover on anyone. That’s evil.”

“Maybe I am evil.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Sure, alright.”

“I don’t appreciate your sardonic tone,” you huff. “I could be if I really wanted to.”

Rafe’s hand absentmindely traces up and down your shin, going as high as your knee and as low as your ankle. “You wanna know what Elliot told me a few weeks ago?”

You hum in instigation.

“He told me you went over to smoke with him, Marianne, and Ian, and cried like a baby when he was telling the story of when he lost his virginity. Like, totally inconsolable. Mare had to bring you back to the dorm.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory. You’re going to kill Elliot. And based on the wide grin adorning his lips, you’re also seconds away from throttling Rafe as well.

“So?”

Cocking his head to the side, his tone is low and mocking. “That doesn’t sound like something someone evil would do.”

“Whatever. At least I wasn’t the one who cried when their shoulder popped out so they couldn’t play video games for two weeks.”

Rafe’s jaw slacks, his teasing demeanor gone.

Oh, he’s going to kill Elliot for that. “Hey, it was the day the original Fornite map came back. I was looking forward to it for weeks.”

You simply raise a quizzical brow at him as he attempts to defend himself.

He says your name seriously. “They brought back the double pump.”

“I have no idea what that means,” you deadpan. 

Rafe scoffs. “You know, I oughta throw you in the water.”

“Oughta?”

“Yeah. I oughta. You’re being a brat.”

“Me?! You’re the one who started it.”

He then sits up on the hammock, the bed dangerously swaying at the movement and for a moment, thinking you are about to flip overboard. But the precariousness ceases, but a new problem arises as Rafe is now directly above you, leaning forward to rest his arm on your bent knees and caging you into your laying position. 

All Rafe does is stare at you for a few moments, and you forgot your train of thought as you look into his pretty blues.

You have pretty eyes.

Heat rushes to your neck as you remember what you said to him in the soul ties treatment, nearly cursing yourself for your big mouth that has to always ruin a moment.

But you remember how he said your name, as if he wanted to say more after you complimented him.

You need to know.

Before he can say anything snarky, you peer up at him with a newfound curiosity. 

“What were you going to say at the end of the soul ties treatment?”

The question catches him off guard, eyes widing slightly at the audacity of you to ask.

Rafe pauses, reaching up to push the hair off his forehead as an anxious tick. But the nerves go as quickly as they came, that sly smirk reappearing on his face as he gazes down at you.

“Probably something stupid,” is what he settles on.

Yet you yearn to know more, to know if your thoughts were truly irrational and delusional. “You don’t remember?”

Please say it, you think desperately. Don’t make me look like an idiot.

Your chest constricts when he shrugs nonchalantly, brushing the whole thing off. 

“No. I kind of blacked out during it, if I’m being honest.”

The confession knocks the wind out of your lungs as you nod slowly to mask your disappointment, your embarrassment.

Unfortunately, it’s not a surprise he chooses to forget the exercise that exposes deep emotional vulnerability, the only part of the entire treatment that you wish was longer so you’d know more, you’d know what he was about to say. 

Wow. You want to scoff.

You really believed every word that came out of his mouth during that, and now you’re not so sure about his genuinity, probably faking his way through it so the time would pass quicker than if he said nothing. Embarrassment pools in your tummy, because you were being truthful in your admirations. 

Of course he didn’t take it seriously. Why would he? 

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Right,” you find yourself saying.

Suddenly, you feel trapped here on this hammock with him, anxiety bubbling in your chest as the need to leave augments.

You sit up so abruptly that it startles him, scrambling to get off as soon as possible. “I’m gonna…uh… I’ll be back.”

Despite his confusion, he helps you get off the hammock with pinched brows. “Are you good?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

Rafe hates the distance in your tone. “Alright, well, do you want me to come–?”

“No,” you respond immediately, noticing your harsh tone and then reeling it in. “I’m just…I’ll be back,” you repeat before turning tail and leaving him alone. 

Sitting alone with his thoughts, Rafe replays the past five minutes in his head and tries to come up with things that would warrant that kind of reaction.

But he genuinely comes up short as he watches you mingle with your family, knowing he must’ve done something incorrigible to have you wanting to spend your time with them instead of him.

It makes Rafe spiral.

He thought you were on the same page about the spa treatment, since he could hear you muttering how stupid it was under your breath when you left the hut.

…Unless, you were calling something else stupid, maybe your hangover, or the fact that you were immediately carted to the yacht without a moment to catch your breath.

That makes him recoil. Maybe you weren’t on the same page, and you think he was calling your moment stupid. 

Rafe wants to believe it was stupid and a complete waste of time. He really does because it would save him from the amount of spiraling he’s done. But no matter how hard he tries to make himself believe that, he simply can’t.

He can’t because you said his eyes were pretty. 

Not oh, you have nice eyes or your eyes are really blue. No, you called them pretty.

Pretty.

No one’s ever said that to him before and meant it. Or at least he thinks you meant it. You looked too damn pretty when you uttered it, your eyes boring into his with such intensity that it – literally – took his breath away. 

But now you won’t even look at him. 

For the entirety of the yacht ride, you avoid his eyes, the ones you called pretty.

Sure, you curl into his side when you chat with uncles and aunts, and play the hell out of the doting girlfriend part, but never once look up at him.

It drives Rafe nuts, and he tries to add ridiculously fake anecdotes into the conversation that’ll get you to do so, like how you popped his shoulder back into place one time or how you heroically helped him save a cat from a tree on campus. One after the other, he tries to one up himself, to get you to acknowledge him – even if it’s out of confusion – but you don’t.

You don’t even look at him when Paulette pulls you aside, berating you about something he can’t hear.

He hates the dejected look on your face, the far off gaze in your eyes as your mother goes on and on about stuff, occasionally pointing to parts of you you or towards certain people – Yara – on the yacht. Paulette even gestures to Rafe at some point, no doubt saying something about him, and it only makes your shoulders sag.

Rafe can only imagine what she said to you.

When you return by his side, he gives your waist a gentle squeeze and asks if you’re alright, to which you only nod.

Still not looking at him.

And it pisses him off. 

It’s torture. This whole week has been slowly killing him, because he has no idea where he stands with you.

Everyday throws Rafe for a whirlwind, because sometimes in the mornings it seems like you want to lay in his arms forever and you smile at him involuntarily, like it’s the only thing you’re meant to smile at.

But then by lunchtime, you’ll be distant, detached, so far removed as if you’re going to burn your hand from touching his skin.

Then, maybe, by dinner you’ll be back to caring for him, smoothing down the ends of his hair that stick up or the wrinkles in his shirt. It’s almost as if you catch yourself playing the girlfriend role in private, knowing you’re not supposed to be acting like that if it’s not in front of your family. 

He hates it.

Rafe wants you to act like that all the time.

But he doesn’t know how to ask you to let your guard down. He doesn’t know how to ask if you trust him, because it doesn’t seem like you do, or ever will. Not to the extent of trust that should be between a boyfriend and girlfriend.

You keep yourself at arms length away, revealing breadcrumbs about yourself but always leaving him wanting to know more. 

Rafe hates rejection, and won’t pursue someone if he knows he’s not going to get what he wants.

But with you, he has no idea.

Sometimes, he thinks you’re on the same page. But other times, like on the hammock, you push yourself away from him, as if you’re repulsed by him.

Who’s he kidding? You probably are.

You know of his history, his tendencies, his reputation on campus. Why would you want to be with someone like him for real?

He wants to be the one who holds you at the end of the day, the only one who gets to fuck you, the only one who knows your secrets. 

And he’ll never be able to tell you. 

You arrive back at the resort around five, giving you about three hours until the rehearsal dinner. You and Rafe silently agree to go back to the room, exhausted after standing in the sun all day while trying to actively fight a hangover.

His touch on your back lingers a little longer than it should while you walk to their door, and you don’t acknowledge the gesture in the slightest.

Instead, the only time you make an effort for conversation is when you sigh once you step foot into the room, immediately kicking off your sandals. 

“You mind if I shower first?” is all you ask, and all he can do is silently nod and watch you retreat into the bathroom, shutting the door and leaving him in silence. 

Rafe sits on the balcony attached to the room, the view overlooking the coast and all of its beautiful scenery. He snaps a few photos but there’s no muse behind it, no parts of you sneaking into the photo that give him an excuse to look at the photo longer than he should. 

Scoffing to himself, Rafe shakes his head.

He feels pathetic, and he hates losing control of things he should have easy control over. For starters, he should be able to dictate his feelings and not have to worry if he’s going to involuntarily do or say something that he has no control over.

It scares the shit out of him.

It almost happened today during the spa treatment, he was seconds away from spilling chained up secrets to you, feelings that he isn’t sure should reach the light of day. 

But the ache in his heart weighs him down. 

Everytime he looks at you, hears you, even thinks about you since all he sees when he closes his eyes is you, it’s as if his breath is being stolen from him. And it pisses him off.

He’s supposed to be the untouchable Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t grovel. He doesn’t submit. And yet, he finds himself completely at your mercy.

Rafe takes a quick shower after you’re done, leaving the bathroom to discover your sleeping figure on the bed.

He stops and stares at your body curled in on itself, arms hugging yourself tight as your wet hair cascades over the pillow, and realizes that you’re probably cold. Or, at least, you look cold.

But he doesn’t want to move your body to put you under the covers, so he simply takes the one crewneck he brought and drapes it over your figure. 

A voice in the back of his mind mutters pathetic.

Instead of joining you and providing the warmth himself, Rafe goes back out onto the balcony and simply sits in silence.

He doesn’t trust himself to lay down with you, thinking about the last time he did that where it turned into a fuck. Not that he doesn’t want to sleep with you right now, but today carried an unusual emotional weight that spooked him, and he doesn’t want that to translate to how he sleeps with you. 

Minutes turn into hours and, before he knows it, it’s about to be seven. 

Rafe sighs, knowing he should start getting ready or at least look in the mirror and pray his hair dried semi-presentable. But when he slithers back into the room, his heart lurches when he sees you still asleep, lightly snoring, with his crewneck pulled snug against your chest as if you’re cradling it. 

He can’t help but gravitate towards you, hating to wake you but knowing you need to start getting ready before Paulette barges in again.

Kneeling on the floor right next to your sleeping figure, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder, shaking very lightly.

“Hey, you need to get up.”

You don’t budge at first, still knocked out cold.

Rafe moves his hand to cradle your face, his cool ring brushing across your jaw to push the stray hair that falls in front of your face. 

Whether it’s the gesture or the cold sensation of his ring, it makes you stir ever so slightly, pinching your brows and nearly pouting. He tilts his head so he’s looking at your face straight on, continuing to push the hair back from your eyes as if he’s petting a kitten.

God, the act is so soft that part of him wants to scoff at himself, but another part relishes in it. 

You groan quietly, trying to nuzzle yourself deeper into the mattress.

“Sweet girl.”

“Mmrph.”

“You have to start getting ready.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if you’re in pain. “‘M so tired.”

Rafe’s chest pulls at your tone, so much smaller than he’s used to hearing.

It makes him frown. “I know, baby. But you can’t sleep any longer.”

“Mhm. No.”

He continues smoothing down your hair. “You can’t.”

You sigh deeply, getting more comfortable. “Five minutes.”

“No.”

“Please?”

The word sends a shiver down his spine. He wants to curse, knowing that’s his weak spot, how much he loves hearing you say that, how he knows you hate using it. Rafe doesn’t understand why you don’t say it more often, why you don’t ask for things, because he’ll give you anything you want, with or without the please. 

But he needs to hold his ground. You’ll be scrambling to get ready if you don’t start soon. 

Rafe says your name gently.

The use of your name makes you open your eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the lamp light.

Finally, after all day of nothing, you look at him sleepily, rubbing the bleariness out of your eyes with the back of your hand that once fisted his crewneck. The smallest of smiles ghosts his lips at the sight of you, how pretty you look even after just waking up with your face bare and half dried hair.

As if you temporarily forget the grudge you’ve been holding against him all day, you sheepishly match his smile. 

“Can I get five more minutes if I call you Rafey?”

The nickname makes his heart skip a beat, and he tries to mask how fucking sweet it sounds from your lips by rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief.

God, you really know all the steps to get him to back down. 

Rafe hums, despite the stupid warmth blossoming in his chest. “Nice try, sweet girl.”

You groan, closing your eyes again but seceding, stretching your legs and arms out like a cat and flipping onto your back. Eventually, you slowly blink to wake yourself up, subconsciously grabbing his crewneck to throw it back over your chest. 

Rafe ignores the flare of possession in his chest.

“What time is it?” You ask softly.

“Seven,” he answers. “We need to be downstairs for eight.”

You groan again, dreading the rehearsal. 

It takes longer for you to mobilize and get out of bed than it does to do your makeup, deciding on a simpler look tonight and saving the grand makeup for the actual wedding tomorrow. 

Obviously, Rafe takes less than five minutes to get ready, simply lounging on the bed and watching you do your hair, offering a few quips to fill the silence. It pisses you off, rolling your eyes at his lazy smirk as he gets to lay around and watch you work. 

Ten minutes to eight, you slip on a plain green dress he’s never seen before and wear the heels you originally brought, not the ones he bought you, and he almost has half a heart to ask you why you aren’t wearing any of the stuff he got you on your birthday, but bites his tongue at the possessiveness of it, and wordlessly ushers you out of the room with a clenched jaw and closed fist. 

When you emerge from the elevator into the lobby, Rafe doesn’t slip his hand into yours as he’s been doing, instead pretending to fidget with his button down to keep himself from doing so.

You don’t make an effort to grab his, so you silently walk side by side to the resort ballroom where your family waits, some still trickling in and others already seated. You politely greet some of them, offering tight lipped smiles for others, all while Rafe trails quietly behind you, tucking his thumb through the belt loop of his dress pants to refrain from putting a hand on your back. 

Approaching your assigned table, you curse the gods above when it consists of the two of you, your parents, Patrick, Yara and Grant, and one of your other degenerate cousins that your brother is close with.

No wonder, because they’re both pricks. 

You internally groan. You don’t even know who’s the best person to sit next to, but don’t get the choice because your mother is nodding to the seat next to her, which ultimately translates to you’re sitting here and don’t even think about complaining about it.

So, begrudgingly, you saunter over and sit next to your mother, Rafe following suit and sitting in the vacant seat next to you. 

“You’re practically wearing a nightgown,” Paulette seethes under her breath to you. “Have you no decency?”

You only shrug, too tired to put up with your mother. Too done.

Plus, you don’t need to face Rafe to know he’s staring at you, instead looking down at your hands that pick the ends of the tablecloth. Paulette continues to whisper in your ear, on what you should’ve done with your hair or how you could’ve put more makeup on. Frankly, it goes in one ear and out the other. 

“If you don't put effort into your appearances, your boyfriend is going to find someone who will,” is the last thing she says before Jessa interrupts her with the microphone on the grand stage. 

Paulette turns her scowl into a bright smile, as if she wasn’t just visceral berating her daughter into the next dimension. 

You half listen to Jessa’s speech to the family, and you’re sure that it’s nice and wonderful as expected, but you’re just so damn tired that you can’t seem to care.

It doesn’t help that everything your mother has said to you today has been ringing in your ears, a constant thrum that you can’t get rid of.

Would it kill you to smile? Notice how Yara smiles at people, like that. Where’d you get that bathing suit? Honestly, angel, whoever told you that fit wasn’t being a very good friend. If you went down two sizes it would look much better, if only you listened to me when I told you to start that diet over the summer. 

It’s taken years for you to learn how to not let your mother’s words get under your skin. Now it feels like you’re in high school all over again, constantly reminded of your deepest insecurities by the one person who should be lifting you up. You’ve grown to learn how to defend yourself, to feel compelled to go back and forth and set it in stone that you’re healthy, but you can’t seem to get back up.

At least not today. 

All you want to do is grab Rafe’s hand, to ground yourself to something, but you don’t.

He doesn’t want you. Pull back. 

It isn’t until Paulette gets up to do a speech where you truly feel like you’re losing it. 

You listen to your mother drone on and on and on about absolutely nothing, how privileged she is to be standing here, to have organized the backbone of the wedding, to have a blatant excuse to flaunt her bottomless pit of funds. She gives a big thanks to Jessa for how open she was to all of your mother's ideas, though you assume she didn't give Jessa much of a choice considering how much money she was putting towards the itinerary.

“Last but not least,” your mother says into the microphone after eons, “I need to thank a very special person tonight.”

Your heart skips when Paulette looks at you.

"It's no secret we occasionally butt heads from time to time," she says, earning a few chuckles throughout the crowd, "but truthfully there's no easier way to express gratitude than through tough love."

You can’t remember the last time your mother looked at you with such…warmth.

Paulette continues humbly. “I'm incredibly honored to share this room with her today, to share my life with her. It's been a privilege to connect with her after all this time. So, let’s raise our glasses and toast–”

Then your mother’s eyes shift beyond you.

“--to my assistant, Yara.”

Applause and chatter falls onto deaf ears, because your ears start to ring and, suddenly, you can’t hear anything besides the rapid thumping of you heart.

You absentmindedly notice Yara standing two chairs down from you, waving away the claps and blowing kisses to your mother as if she’s won the greatest honor. 

Then there’s the sight of your brother clapping excessively while staring directly at you with a wicked smile etching his lips, as if he’s been waiting for your reaction all night. The blatant joy in his expression engraves in your brain, as if he’s getting off on seeing you upset, especially when it comes to the lack of your mother’s love, something he gets so easily without needing to try. 

Suddenly, you're fuming.

You aren't sure whether it’s out of anger or embarrassment or humiliation, but regardless your cheeks flame bright red, your heart beating faster and faster as your gaze darts from your mother on stage, to Yara wiping away her tears, to Patrick’s obvious laughing at you. 

It’s not fair. 

Paulette likes to reel you in just to cast you aside at the last second, a common act she’s done to you all throughout your life.

And the worst part is that you never expect the rejection. There's always a small part of you that hopes it'll be real, it'll be you that she chooses. But it never is, and you falter with every occurrence. Every. Single. Time. 

You don't notice your hands are shaking until a large hand engulfs yours. 

“Hey.” You can hear Rafe’s voice, but it feels far away. “Are you alright?”

It’s a stupid question. It only makes you more embarrassed that Rafe Cameron of all people had to witness that blatant humiliation.

He’s only asking as a courtesy, he feels like he has to. He doesn’t care. He’s not capable of caring, and if you allow him to think you believe his bullshit, then he’ll only keep doing it. He’ll do it until you fall for him, and he’ll have to reject you, too.

You have to pull away first.

You yank your hands away. “Fine.”

But Rafe only says your name. Your name.

If he keeps pushing, you’ll cry.

“Stop.” 

The harshness in your tone makes him pull back reluctantly, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

You hate how mean you sound, how horrible you feel, how nice it was to feel him despite your thoughts telling you that you shouldn’t. All you think about is how you don't want to be here, how you hate the blossom of hope in your chest when your mother looked at you, how stupid you feel now.

Instead, you dig your nails into your palms, no doubt breaking skin at the ferocity of your grip, and say nothing else for the rest of the night. 

Not during appetizers. Not during dinner. Not during dessert. 

Rafe speaks on your behalf on the odd chance you're somehow roped into the conversation, only making your humiliation bloom, that he feels so pitifully bad for you that he feels like he needs to take over.

It nearly makes you scoff, pushing around your kid-like portions with a fork and eating maybe a few bites the entire night. You're nauseous all over again, knowing if you have more you'll probably puke all over the table. 

Ugh. And you just got over your hangover, too.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever until people are getting up, walking from table to table to mingle and catch up since all the speeches and formalities are over. You nearly sigh in relief that it’s all over, willing yourself to stand on wobbly legs and excusing yourself from the table so quietly you aren't sure anyone hears you, nor do you care, really.

But your mother does.

She grabs you by the elbow, ducking her head low to avoid drawing suspicion.

"Where are you going?"

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure if you can trust your voice right now because the waterworks might start if you even attempt to say anything right now.

Paulette says your name quietly, a hiss amongst chatter.

Her talons grip your elbow a fraction tighter, a warning to not cause a scene. "Gemma from Kevin's firm wants to talk to you. Go."

You're frozen, unable to tug away and unable to speak, stuck in the grasp of the worst captor. Tears start to brim your waterline, and you will them to not fall. Not in front of these people, and especially not in front of her.

A flicker of panic rises in your throat, just wanting to get the fuck out of here.

And before your mother can say anything else, a large palm is splaying around your waist, practically yanking you from your mother's talons and freeing your arm. You stumble slightly at the ferocity, but a wave of relief washes over you as Rafe pulls you impossibly taut and completely out of her grasp.

Paulette looks to Rafe incredulously. "We were having a discussion."

"Not anymore," Rafe responds coldly, ice lacing his words unlike anything you've heard before. His grip is tight, grounding, possessive.

You're thankful for it.

"She needs to make connections tonight," your mother says, matching his tone. Then, her gaze narrows on you, "Go see Gemma."

Your breath hitches in response at the proverbial fork in the road, but Rafe side-steps so he's in front of you, blocking you from seeing your mother, as he leans down and cradles your jaw with one hand, so much gentler than what his voice conveys.

He's pissed, you realize.

"What do you want to do?" He asks low, soft but firm in a tone reserved for you. When you can't offer words, he adds, "Room?"

You nod.

He seems to accept your lack of words, brushing the pad of his thumb over your chin as he murmurs a soft, "Okay." Rafe holds you for one more moment before letting you out of his grip.

Instead of heading to the bathroom, or the bar, or the smoke area, you beeline for the exit. 

Rafe, however, lingers in the aftermath of the tension-filled atmosphere, turning slowly to face your mother who still looks offended at his intervention.

Paulette isn't intimidated by him, but rather irritated. "She has to-"

"No."

The ice in his tone makes her freeze, gaping up at him with wide eyes as if to question his audacity.

Rafe doesn't let her speak again as he stares down at her. "She doesn't. Especially not for you."

"I've done everything for her-"

"You've done enough," he spats.

Paulette stares at him for another moment, stunned at his outright crudeness yet completely speechless.

And he glares right back at her, letting her squirm under his intense stare for one, two moments before giving her an up and down glance, and turning heel to find you.

You're in the lobby waiting for the elevator, thinking you slick enough to slip out without anyone seeing.

Of course, not to Rafe, who’s right on your tail and clutching your purse that you left on the table so tight that you're sure he's probably cracked a few of your lip liners in half. 

You aren't sure what’s going on through his head, but he offers nothing.

No lingering touches, no comforting hand squeezes, no words at all. Just his presence, standing broad and tall next to you in the elevator, centimeters away from you. He’s so close, he’s right there, yet he couldn’t be further.

Because you pushed him away. Because that’s what you do best.

When you enter the room again, the door shutting is the loudest noise. Silence engulfs you, and you suddenly feel humiliated all over again as he stands still behind you, waiting for you to move first. Probably waiting to see if you want a quickie to make you feel better.

But you don't move, you can't.

All you can do is simply stare into space and relive the moment over and over again.

How Paulette looked at you. How she called Yara your childhood nickname in front of your entire family. How the split second your mother looked at you in a way you've been yearning for for years, only for it to be a tease, meant for someone else. It’s as if she enjoys dangling it on a fishhook in front of you, so close yet so far.

Before you can register it, Rafe is gently guiding you from the doorway to stand beside the bed. 

Lost in your thoughts, you quietly watch him gather a few things, sighing and straightening your posture to get ready for the night ahead.

There’s no doubt he wants to have sex, probably distracting himself to delay the inevitable and figure out how to ask you at the right moment. You suppose you could get into the mood, as it would be a nice distraction from the weight of dinner.

Although the thought of being naked in front of him right now churns something ugly in your chest.

He bunches clothes in his hand, most likely to change into after you're done.

Your chest constricts when Rafe moves right in front of you, but instead of leaning down and initiating it, he’s tugging his crewneck over your head with such gentleness that it makes you frown.

Why is he putting more clothes on you? Covering you? 

He doesn’t put your arms through the hole, instead pulling the sweater down so that it fully covers your torso before trailing his hands underneath it, gingerly slipping the dress off your shoulders so it falls to your ankles without exposing your bare body, and then assists with getting your arms through the right holes.

Then, he kneels to start unbuckling your heels, patting your calf when you're good to step out of the shoe, further proceeding to get you to lift your foot a fraction so he can slip a pair of his boxer shorts up your legs to rest on your waist.

The whole time he offers no words, no gentle kisses, no nothing. 

Rafe stands, reaching his hands up to pull your hair out from underneath the crewneck and brushing a few strays that fall in your face away behind your ears. His pretty blue eyes search your face, as if he’s waiting to see if you want to say anything. There’s a softness behind them that you can’t discern from pity. 

But you say nothing.

You simply look up at him. And he looks down at you.

And for a moment, it’s just you. No racing thoughts in your head. No insecurities brewing in your chest. No nausea bubbling in your stomach. 

For the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a deep breath. 

Rafe runs his hands up and down your arms with a feather-light touch. Wordlessly, he guides you to the bed, pushing you to lie down in the same place you napped earlier and bringing the covers to you chin, making sure you're all set before tending to himself. 

You watch him quickly change out of his dress clothes, discarding them carelessly as he rounds the bed and slips under the covers. The mattress dips under his weight as you wait for him to press himself against your back.

But the contact never comes.

When you feel him move again, the spark of hope dulls when it’s to turn off the lamp light, not to hold you. 

Then he lays at an arm’s length away, plunged into darkness.

You realize he’s giving you the space that you demanded at dinner. 

Heart aching, you want to reach out to him, to feel him, to thank him for dressing you. But the words don’t come. You can’t move. You're frozen where he left you, curled in on yourself and enveloped in his clothing that smells like him.

God, he’s surrounding you but not where you need him to be. 

The realization only makes your night worse, knowing the end of the trip – and therefore the agreement – is coming to an end, and having to adjust to the reality of not being with him settles a pit in your stomach. You know things will return to normal: you'll go back to sleeping together with no strings attached without any of the romance that’s been infused this week, without the qualities that couples have, and certainly without all the emotions. 

But right now, you're still technically dating. Even if it’s fake.

Even if he says yes out of pity, you don't care. You can’t be alone right now.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

You almost wish he doesn't hear you, as it would make detaching from him much easier in the long run. 

“Can you hold me?”

He’s pulling you flush against his chest and wrapping his arms around you in an instant, as if he was waiting for the green light.

It feels familiar, so much that you feel like you can find sleep eventually. The act is done like a second nature, as if you're meant to be taut against each other at every waking moment, as if it pained you to be apart for as long as you were. 

But you can’t help but feel stupid at your own helplessness, frowning at how much you enjoy being taken care of.

All your life you've been fending for yourself emotionally, closing yourself off to any opportunities to expose your vulnerabilities and shielding your heart from people who act like they want you, but deep down, don’t.

But now, curled up in his arms, you don't realize how desperately you yearned for the chance to be held, appreciated, cared for. 

Even if it’s all for show. 

A thank you rises but dies in your throat, unable to find your voice again. There’s so many things he did tonight that he didn’t have to, selfless acts that he maneuvered all on his own without you asking. 

You're grateful for it, and it’s almost as if he can sense the feeling because he pulls you a little tighter, his hand finding yours in the darkness and lacing your fingers together.

The gesture is so fucking sweet that it makes your heart flip.

But you know you'll need to find your footing come tomorrow. You've been dealing with your family alone for your entire life, so there's no point in getting used to having Rafe shield you left and right.

The only mechanism that calms your rapid heartbeat is the feel of his beating steady against your back, a syncopated thump, thump, thump that lulls you to sleep, hand still holding his.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes sorry this is actual word vomit.

[xoxochb]

“tuesday august tenth, two-thousand and seven at two forty five pm.”

your brows furrow and you lift your head from your book. “…what…?”

percy looks at you like the response to his, abnormal-but-not abnormal for him because he’s percy, statement had the most obvious answer on planet earth. like you’d remember something that happened that long ago.

“you don’t remember?”

“well— well I remember the date, yes, but what the hell happened at two forty five pm?”

percy shakes his head and slumps down against the sheets. “okay… okay…”

“just tell me.”

you take his arm and use it to pull him to rest his head on your lap. obediently, he melts into you, hand rubbing at your knees.

“on tuesday august tenth two-thousand—”

“percy.”

his face nuzzles into your thighs, pecking them. “you kissed me for the first time.”

“and… you remember the exact timing how?”

“four years after that— thursday august eighteenth you gave me my first orgasm.”

oh… so this is the boy you’re soulmates with…

“percy.” you swipe his raven hair out of his eyes, lingering your hands through the tousled strands.

“my sweetest girl.”

he rolls the back of his head to your legs so he faces you. the green waves capture you quickly, drowning you within the sea for eternity.

“do you mark these events on the calendar?”

a slow, bashful almost, smile makes its way to grace upon his lips. “they’re special to me, sweet girl.”

“what else do you have?” you move his strands again, this time reaching down swiftly to kiss his forehead.

“first date, first ‘I love you,’ first time you meet my mom, first time you slept at my cabin, first time we held hands, when I proposed…” his voice trails off and you know there’s likely more than what he’s listed.

you let a slow sigh fill the gap of silence. “I didn’t know you remembered all of that.”

percy shrugs. “I guess I’m full of mysteries.”

“you’re not mysterious at all, you always make me hold your hand while you pee.”

“emotional support.”

“percy—” you crack a grin but stifle a laugh. “you’re a grown man, you can urinate on your own.”

“being able to do something doesn’t mean I want to do it, sweet girl.”

“this is not— y’know what, this conversation is over.”

“so soon?” percy pouts theatrically.

“yes.” you place a kiss to his mouth before slipping out of bed. “I have to use the bathroom now. and you’re not going to hold my hand so stay there.”

“so I get a reward for listening?” percy sits up against the pillows.

sigh.

tousled dark hair, suntanned chest on full display, and those biceps….

no. no.

‘obedience should come naturally, not when rewarded,’ you always say to him.

but maybe you could make an exception just this once…

[moonlightcycle571]

Rock of Eternity Getting Offerings because they deserve it

I like to think that whenever there’s a magical artifact that needs containment, Billy just… takes it. Here is how it started.

Billy, after defeating an evil wizard: so… what do I do with the Staff???

Solomon: it cannot be kept in the world of man, it’s far to dangerous. You must destr-

Achilles: NEW LAMP

Hemrmes: YESSSSSSSS

Hercules: WAR TROPHY

Solomon: that is highly irresponsible, we cannot keep highly volatile objects for ‘the aesthetic’

Zeus: the burning violon

Solomon:

Solomon: well some decor never hurt anyone.

*and*

JL, after a long battle: Finally the foe has been vanquished! Now to find a secure place to stor-

Marvel, yoinks it and yeets it in a portal: done

Everyone present: w h a t

*or*

Amanda Waller: -thus the proof we need to detain you for breaking into secure government location and theft of a classified artifact

Marvel: *points to the screen* that’s not me

Waller: that’s litterally you in a French beret and a fake mustach

Marvel: I don’t know who that is, but they do look dashingly handsome. And look like a Gustavo. Probably a French mime who failed mime class and left on a journey of self discovery.

Waller: you can’t be serious

Captain Atom, fuck the government rn: I don’t know, Cap doesn’t have a mustach

Batman: the mime theory seems like a pretty sold theory to me

Several people (heroes, civilians, villains and all in between) telling Cap was with them as the time at the crime, each of them being vastly different.

Waller: this mf secretly a mass manipulator???

*or*

Cap, fighting in a museum:

Hermès: Ooh I know this pendant. Super magical, super cool.

Cap, on instinct, puts in pocket dimension to put it on the Rock:

Flash: … did I witness a theft????

Wether the pendant was actually magic or just a shiny jewel Hermes wanted is up for interpretation.

Anyways that’s how whenever he finds magical artefacts or books or whatnot, he just puts them in the Rock of Eternity. It’s a logical solution, as it serves as a place to safeguard and examine, and maybe purify some objects to use later.

The Wizard is so done. It started off as ‘dangerous artefacts to be relocated when a suitable place is found’ but then it became the go to storage and all the stuff just stays.

Thé Rock in the other hand, loves it. Getting more and more offerings by their new champion really shows how loved they are. It’s has been way too long since they got any offerings and new additions, so the newest champion giving them plenty of nourishment / stimulation is as if they are being spoiled.

Billy, brings an ancient cursed crown:

Wizard: another one???

Rock, already pushing Wizard aside: FOR ME!!!! TYTYTYYTY OH MY ME YOU ARE GOING TO LOOK SO CUTE WOTH THIS HOLD ONE LET ME JUST REPLACE THE MAGOC WOTH MINE

Five hours later Billy is chilling in one of the thrones with his new crown and one of his magic cape to match.

In conclusion, Billy is like a cat bringing a mouse in the house, except the mouse is actually a rubix cube that sometimes turns into sushi.

Yes Billy did bring a magic rubix cube that makes sushi when completed. Now I kinda want sushi ngl

[prlssprfctn]

A fun little headcannon is that everyone believes Jason to prefer paperback and physical paper but he honestly doesn't care. Maybe it stems from his Robin days reading for hours in the manor library. Or how'd he always tell Bruce to write down the details of the case to solve it faster. Or even that they needed to have physical copies of each file in case the Batcomputer got hacked. It just stuck with Bruce and by extension everyone believes it.

But like he would totally love an eReader with how many books you can fit on it. Audio books are even better because he can listen to them anywhere. The man likes the stories people have to tell. How he consumes it isn't a concern. But of course he has a flare for dramatics so he plays into this misconception.

Steph: Jason, I know you'd prefer a physical book but I got a Kindle that you could use more than me.

Jason who already owns the newest model takes it and chucks it at the floor: Disgusting.

Tim at the Batcomputer: Why do we need to write up a report for Condiment King of all people. Its the third one this month!

Jason: Back in my day we would hand write each and every report.

Dick: No we didn't???

Jason magically pulling out a file cabinet with said case files.

Jason: Honestly we should start doing that again let me go ask Bruce.

Bruce: Honestly if you'd wait five more minutes someone would have come in as backup. You don't need to do everything on your own Hood.

Jason completely ignoring him because he's got books downloaded on his helmet.

Damian next to him knowing what Jason is up to because he did the exact same thing with Ra's.

YES, YES!

i think Jason loves paperback when it is his already favourite books, the ones he knows he loves and wants to annotate and explore — otherwise, he prefers to try books in e-version first. or borrow books from the library if he is in the mood. he strikes me as someone who loves supporting local libraries! plus, listens audio-books on missions and during work-outs, yep, yep.

do other family members have a wrong opinion in that in their minds because Bruce is the "heard my kid mentioning something once, now i think their whole personality evolves around this thing" type of parent sometimes? oh, fucking absolutely. does Jason love to play on the stereotype of "boomer" sibling? yeah— lol.

also, he is a type of kid who would remind the teacher about homework (i think he genuinely cared about this as a kid and didn't understand why everyone got mad, but now he knows WHY, and he will do it EVERYONE'S problem) and combined with him, writing reports on papers, i raise you this:

Bruce, tired by the end of the patrol: Had we discussed everything? Hadn't I forgotten something?

literally everyone but Jason, quickly: no, no, we are fine. ha-ha.

Jason, appearing behind them: well. actually. we all now should write our reports.

Bruce: oh, right.

Jason, smirking: here is mine, by the way. i wrote it while you are all was bickering.

Bruce: so competent! thank you, lad.

Other kids, fuming: -_-

also, the image of Jason blasting audio-books through his helmet is frying me. so, get this:

Dick: Jason is so suspiciously calm for the last few days! like, seriously. proud of him.

Tim: right? it is actually hilarious. Bruce was screaming at him yesterday, and Jason was just staring at him silently, no word, no remark... he was so quiet that Bruce instantly felt bad and apologised. like. master-tecnique. lol.

Jason, who was listening to audio-book all this time, and didn't even hear what Bruce said, just nodded when he started randomly hugging him and murmuring "my baby": whatever.