#only because he was so insistent that his way was the right way to do it and you just need practice (that he didn't even give)

[chrisstvrns]

⌞chris spoiling you (and then fucking you) in italy⌝⸝⸝

warnings: established relationship, fiance!chris x fiancee!reader, high school sweethearts, dom!chris, possessive chris, pda, chris spoiling you, praise kink, light biting, marking, hotel sex, semi public sex (window), creampie, aftercare,

word count: 1.5k

high school sweethearts. seven years of dating. one year of being engaged, and chris still felt the need to spoil you every single time you went on vacation. the triplets had been invited to milan by prada, for fashion week. and of course, as always, you tagged along. 

right now, you were somewhere in the middle of the galleria vittorio emanuele ii, pretending to admire the high end window displays while chris trailed just behind you, his fingers laced with yours, a subtle tug keeping you close. every time you so much as glanced at something for more than a second, he was already reaching for his card. you’d said no. multiple times. but it didn’t matter. if you liked it, he wanted you to have it.

“baby, stop. i dont need all this.” you smiled, softly giggling as he tugged you toward the italian lingerie store, after noticing you do a double take at the pretty pink set in the window. 

he gave you that slow, crooked smile that still made your stomach flutter after all these years. “we’re in italy, baby. let me give you everything.”

and he did. not just the shopping bags weighing down his arms now, or the spontaneous private dinner he had planned on a terrace overlooking the duomo. not just the matching jewelry he picked out “because it reminded him of you.” chris gave you everything. the kind of love that still made your chest ache in the best way. that quiet, constant presence. his hand on your lower back. his black, fur jacket shrugged over your shoulders when the wind picked up. the way he looked at you like he was still thirteen and stupid in love, still figuring everything out.

it wasn’t until later, when the sun had set and the city had softened, that he gave you the rest of him.

you were back in the hotel now. luxurious and tucked away from the noise. chris had your back pressed against the window of your hotel room, your dress hiked up over your hips and his name falling from your lips like a prayer. you and chris were sharing the room with nick, but chris had asked him to go sit in matts room for a bit. 

the lights of milan glittered below, but your eyes were only for him. his hands were firm on your waist, his mouth hot and insistent against your neck, and his voice low in your ear. 

“you looked so fuckin’ pretty today, baby.” he murmured, thrusting into you slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. “walking around like you didn’t know how good you looked with my ring on your finger.”

and then, amidst your quiet gasps and the sound of the city below. he chuckled, low and breathy against your skin.

“look at all those fuckin’ bags on the floor,” he muttered, voice rough, almost teasing. “spoiled the shit outta you today.”

your laugh broke on a moan as he rolled his hips into yours again, slower this time, deeper. he kissed just below your ear, a little softer now. “and i’d do it again tomorrow. and the next day. and every day after. i love spoiling you.”

then he bit down lightly on your neck, grounding himself with a bruising grip on your waist, and you could barely breathe.

“but this?” he growled, thrusting into you harder, making your head fall back with a cry, “this is just for me.”

and from there, he didn’t stop.

you gasped, holding onto the side of his neck with one hand, the other tangling in his hair. he always got like this when you traveled. territorial, obsessed, soft and rough in equal measure.

“chris,” you whimpered, and he groaned, pulling you closer.

“say it.”

“chris.” you repeat

“no,” he growled, fucking into you harder, his breath stuttering, “say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you breathed, so full of him it made your whole body thrum. “always yours.”

his breath hitched at your words. i’m yours, like it broke something open in him. his hands gripped your waist tighter, bruising, as he rutted up into you one last time against the glass before pulling out, leaving you shaky, gasping. your legs felt boneless, but he caught you easily, hands under your thighs as he carried you the short distance to the bed, dropping you gently into the soft mess of white linens.

"on your back," he muttered, voice hoarse, already yanking his shirt over his head. "wanna see you when i ruin you."

you obeyed, cheeks flushed, body buzzing with anticipation. your dress was halfway off before he was even done kicking out of his jeans. he dragged it the rest of the way down your body, slow and possessive, like unwrapping something that belonged only to him. the linger was next. the pretty pink set that you had seen in the window today, the one you took a double take at. the set that chris had dragged you to go buy. he tugged down the panties, damp, ruined, peeled down your thighs with reverence and hunger. 

he unclasped your bra, tossing it to the side like it was nothing. 

chris looked down at you, bare and flushed and waiting for him, and something in his expression shifted. hunger darkening into pure, unfiltered need.

"fuck," he rasped, crawling over you, nudging your legs open with his knees. "you’re so perfect. always have been."

he didn’t give you time to respond. he grabbed your hands, pinned them above your head with one of his, the other wrapping around his cock, guiding it back to your entrance. he pushed in slow, but deep, until he was fully seated inside you. your back arched, lips parting in a silent cry.

“look at me,” he growled, pulling out halfway before slamming back in hard, rough, relentless. “you take me so fuckin’ good. every damn time.”

your fingers twisted in the sheets, legs wrapping tight around his waist. he wasn’t holding back now, hips snapping into yours with urgency, sweat slicking his chest, his forehead pressed to yours as he held your hips. 

“fuck, baby, you feel that?” he grunted, his rhythm punishing, intense. “this is mine. you’re mine.”

“yes,” you gasped, nails raking down his back. “all yours. i’m- i’m yours, chris.”

he cursed low under his breath, thrusts growing sloppy, desperate. his hand slipped between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit, pulling broken moans from your throat.

“cum for me,” he whispered, voice almost sweet now, even as he fucked you through it. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

and you did. your body seizing around him, pleasure crashing over you like a wave. you cried out his name, legs trembling, heart stuttering. and when you came, chris followed. burying himself deep, hips jerking as he spilled into you with a groan so raw and shaky it made your chest ache.

he collapsed against you, breathing heavy, lips pressed to your temple.

"i love you," he whispered, breath hot and tender. "every version of you. every day. forever."

and you knew. no matter how many countries, or cities you saw, how many beds you shared. this was it. this was home. 

he stayed inside you for a moment, chest rising and falling against yours, like he didn’t want to let go. not yet. your fingers threaded lazily through his damp curls, both of you quiet, wrapped up in the kind of peace that only came after everything had been said without needing words.

eventually, he pulled out with a soft hiss, pressing one last kiss to your collarbone before slipping out of bed just long enough to grab a towel from the bathroom. he cleaned you up with the gentlest touch, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath the whole time, like you were something sacred. fragile and holy and entirely his.

when he climbed back into bed, he pulled you close, tucking you against his chest, your bare legs tangled under the sheets. outside, the city still glittered, cars and lights and life continuing below your hotel window, but up here, in the silence of your hotel room, tangled in the fluffy sheets, it was quiet. warm. safe.

he glanced down at your hand, at the ring he’d slipped onto your finger a year ago in the middle of a snowy field back in boston. he kissed it, slow and deliberate.

“next time we’re here,” he murmured, “you’ll be my wife.”

you smiled into his chest, heart soft and full. “i already feel like i am.”

he tilted your chin up with one knuckle and kissed you again. this time slow, deep, and aching with everything he didn’t have the words for.

“just wait ‘til i take you on our honeymoon,” he whispered, eyes shining. “you think this was spoiling you?” 

you laughed, curling into him even closer, your hand resting over his heart. “can we come here for our honeymoon? not even just milan, but all over europe?” 

he nodded, kissing your forehead. “rome. and venice. and we can go see the colosseum, and the trevi fountain. and we can go see the vatican.”

he rambles on for another ten minutes about everywhere hes gonna take you, and everything he’ll but you. and as sleep pulled you under, lulled by his warmth and the distant hum of milan below, you knew, that wherever life took you, whatever cities lit up your future, chris would be there. spoiling you. holding you. loving you.

forever.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

aurora's notes: this has been sitting in the drafts since january lol

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

[damselneedssaving]

「 CUPID IS SO DUMB 」

OLDER!DUKE THOMAS X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: Duke has a crush. Dick insists on playing cupid. Jason is just there for the ride—oh, and to laugh at his older brother's failed attempts at getting you and Duke together, of course.

★TAGS: duke is 18+, fluff, longing/yearning, absolute crack energy, duke being a total simp, dick embarrassing the hell out of duke, jason laughing at everything, duke glows when he's flustered and it's so cute

★A/N: it's finally here!! my first duke x reader oneshot ahhhh! enjoy watching him be a total simp for you 🤭

line divider by @cafekitsune

Duke doesn't even know when it started. Just that it did. And it was fucking intense.

His palms grew sweaty at just the sight of you, his powers awry and askew as if he hadn't spent years trying to perfect them, and his body became still, stiller than a lake that housed the world's deadliest mosquitoes.

All in all, nine times out of ten, it felt like he was a statue.

Like he is a statue.

Like right now.

"Okay... okay, Duke, you got this."

He fixes his collar, muttering to himself as if it'll do anything to grow his courage while you smile—such a pretty, pretty smile—at a customer from the other side of the window.

"All you gotta do, is go in there, and ask her out. That's it."

But just like all statues, he's unable to even so much as will his feet to move—

—at least, not until a familiar voice sings from behind:

"Watcha doin'?"

Immediately, he whips around, and the spell you cast on him is broken, the sight of his eldest brother's grinning face practically like that of a fire-breathing dragon with how Duke reacts by jumping about fifty feet backwards.

"Nothing! No one!" Duke thinks he screams out.

"Pretty fuckin' obvious you're doing no one there, bud," the next oldest of his brothers snickers, strolling up casually with his hands stuck in his pockets and a shit-eating grin on his face. "You can't even go in there and ask her out."

Duke frowns, narrowing his gaze at Jason and retorting, a tad bitter, "It's harder than it looks."

"Awww," Dick immediately coos, and Duke regrets having ever opened his mouth, "my little brother is having girl troubles!

"Don't worry, Duke, big brother Dickie is here to help!"

Duke cringes, Jason deadpans, and at the same time, they both chant, "Don't ever call yourself that again."

Dick only grins in return, casually promising, "No promises," before picking up the topic again. "What's the matter, little bro? The nerves getting to you?"

"No," Duke grumbles.

But he might as well be wearing a giant sign on his back screaming the word 'liar' because Dick obviously doesn't believe him, drawling out a smug, "Sure," before following it up with a, "C'mon, let big bro teach you how it's done."

It takes a minute for Dick's words to settle in Duke's mind, a moment for the cogs in the younger's head to finally start turning the right way, and a second for his eyes to widen, a protest quick to prod at his lips.

But it's no use, his brother's already gone, and in his wake, stands the dust of his silhouette.

Jason smirks. "Oh this'll be good."

And Duke rushes through the glass doors.

Inside, Dick is at the counter, stood beside the row of customers waiting to order as he leans his elbow against the cool marble, a smirk many would describe as charming, but Duke only knows to be cringey, sat snug on his face.

"Excuse me," Dick starts, and Duke thinks he can hear Jason snicker beside him.

From behind the counter, you blink owlishly, those pretty lashes of yours fluttering in a way that almost completely disarms the youngest bat there. "Yes?"

"My brother over there"—Dick jabs a finger to his side, to Duke, and the other male feels himself freeze up as your gaze falls to him—"thinks you're cute."

You blink again, and this time, Duke can feel the way he shrivels into himself, the embarrassment like a claw reaching around his very body to crush him.

Then you go to open your mouth, and he thinks that claw really will crush him—

—before you're interrupted, at least.

"That's real cool and all, but can you fuck off?"

Dick blinks, Jason lets out the loudest laugh he has in a while, and Duke all but wishes he was six feet under right now.

"Excuse me?" His older brother gawks.

The customer that spoke crosses his arms, lips pulled down into a frown so harsh, he looks more like the Grinch than a human being.

"You heard me, asshole," he scoffs. "You're not even in the line."

Dick narrows his eyes. "I'm not here to order."

"And we are. So take your flirting and get the fuck out of here."

Dick blinks again, parting his lips to speak once more, but Duke doesn't even hear another word he says, because he's too busy tugging on the drawstrings of his hoodie in hopes it'll swallow him whole so that he'll never have to show his face around you again.

Unfortunately for him though, both of his brothers are now invested, which means not only will he be seeing you again after such an embarrassing display of events, but he will also be seeing you alongside the cause and effect of said embarrassing display of events.

"Okay," his older brother's voice snaps him out of his thoughts, the 'more experienced' (as Dick likes to claim) male's hands splayed out in front of his little brother's eyes as he addresses him. "Yesterday's attempt was a bust, but I have a feeling Today's will be much better."

"I have an idea," Duke chimes with a straight face. "How about you stop butting into my business?"

"No way," Jason replies before Dick can, a hint of something light and amused in his tone. "This shit is comedy gold. Keep going, Dickie."

"So here's what you're gonna do," Dick starts, ignoring both his brothers in favour of addressing just the one. "You're just gonna go in there, and hand her this."

Duke blinks, all but forced to accept the cloth shoved into his hands. "What's this?"

When he goes to open it up, Dick quickly shoves his hands down, folding up the napkin once more. "Don't worry about it, just hand it to her."

Jason then pipes up, lips quirked at a corner. "It's got your number on it."

Dick turns to him, probably to glare, but Duke doesn't pay it as much mind as he pays his voice volume when he exclaims a very loud, "What?!"

The oldest brother clears his throat. "It's the easiest way to ask her out without speaking. Y'know, since the nerves get to you?"

Duke's features scrunch up, the sight of your face, weirded out and scowling, flashing across his mind. "It's also the easiest way to land on her shit list."

Jason lets out a snicker as Dick frowns. "No it isn't."

"Uh, yeah it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yeah it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yeah it is."

Dick's jaw ticks, the frown on his face more of a scowl now as he snaps out, "Oh just do it!"

"Fuck no!"

"Fine! Then I will!"

Another image flashes through Duke's mind then; one of you, smiling and shy, in front of his older brother, accepting the cloth only to frown mere moments later when you find out that it isn't Dick's number you got, it's Duke's.

"Fuck," he curses. "Shit. Okay, I'll do it."

Dick's smile is right back on his face, chest puffed out and fists proudly resting on his hips as he hums in contentment just as Jason lets out yet another snicker (Duke is seriously considering punching him right now) and stuffs one hand into his pocket, using the other to push open the glass door with a smirk.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" he all but purrs out.

Ew.

With a scowl on his face and a jaw wound so tight, it can rival a knot, Duke strides in, head still turned in the direction of his brothers as he grumbles anything from 'keep one eye open when you sleep at night' to 'I'm telling Alfred to kick your asses when we get home'.

And then, as if to hit him while he's already down, his bad day curses him with yet another shitty thing.

He blinks, feeling the way his shirt sticks to his skin like candy to a wrapper before anything else.

Then his eye twitches.

And his jaw ticks.

And he turns to face forward with a mouth wide enough to rain hell down on whoever it is that spilled a drink on him—

—only for it to close and his heart to stutter as soon as he registers the person stood wide-eyed before him.

"Oh my God," you gasp, cupping your hands over your mouth, "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there, sir!"

He blinks, furrowed brows all but loosening up as he gets a whiff of your perfume and his brain turns to static.

"Shit. Shit. Okay, I can fix this."

Is that strawberry? No no, wait, it's raspberry. Or is it blueberry? Fuck, he doesn't know, his brain isn't working.

"Does anyone have a tissue? Or a napkin or something?"

Oh fuck. You're so close. And you look so pretty. And you're asking around for something that's literally right in his hands and all he has to do is give it to you to get your attention back onto him.

"Oh, uh, here," Duke murmurs, the idea too good to pass up.

You take the cloth from him with upturned lips, eyes crinkling a little in something both grateful and sorry at the same time as you then move to start patting at his chest with it, and he feels his heart explode in his ears.

You're touching him. Holy shit, you're touching him. Your hands are on his chest and your perfume is in his nose and your lashes are fluttering so prettily under his gaze that he can hear his breath start to pick up and see the way his skin starts to glow.

Oh fuck.

"I'm so so sorry about this," you mutter with a few more pats before you're holding the napkin back out to him, "I'm not usually this clumsy, I promise."

"I know," he whispers.

"Hm?"

"Uh"—shit—"I said it's okay."

If his glowing wasn't visible before, it sure as hell is now, which means he didn't have the time to take the napkin back from you even if he wanted to, too busy booking out of the café and towards his brothers to even so much as listen to your response to his words.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, Jason's next words followed by his snicker Duke is really starting to hate puts the cherry on top of this little fucked-up cake:

"Your number's gone. The ink smudged on the napkin."

The next day, Duke is forcefully dragged out of bed by not Dick this time, but Jason, the second oldest brother almost happily claiming that he can't miss his entertainment for the day before pushing his younger brother into his car and humming all the way to the place you work at.

"Alright, Duke," Dick starts immediately after Duke and Jason reach him at the entrance. "Today's the day."

"You said that yesterday." Duke deadpans.

Dick waves him off as easily as the wind though, claiming that those are 'details, details' before pointing his clasped hands straight at the younger male. "I brought a special guest today to help you out."

Silence follows his words, the sounds of a cricket croaking filling the air somehow despite the fact that they're all in a mall.

"Wally!"

Just like that, a rush of wind hits Duke in the eyes, causing him to squint for a second before fully opening his lids back up and being met face-to-face with Dick's very own best friend, a donut stuffed in his mouth.

"What's up," comes his muffled greeting.

"Wally here is gonna help smooth talk—"

"Woah hold that thought there, Rob," the speedster interrupts his friend, donut gone from his grasp and one finger up in the air. "I think I see a hottie."

With that, he enters your café and makes his way over to the counter you stand behind, leaning right onto the cool marble with a smirk that sets Duke's very veins ablaze with a fire more furious that that of hell's itself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turns to his older brother.

Dick blinks. Once. Then twice. Then thrice. And then, his lips are stretching up, but it's wide and awkward and sheepish to the very brim of the edges enough to have Jason start keeling over in laughter and to have Duke's hands twitching at his very sides with a need to crush something.

Yet another failed attempt.

The third of seven actually. Each day, Dick came up with another idea, and each day, Duke was forced to see it through—if not by his eldest brother, then definitely by his second eldest one (Duke thinks the sound of Jason's laughter will forever haunt his dreams after this week), the both of them adamant that he give them the time of day to interfere with his love life.

It got so ridiculous, in fact, that one day, Dick had decided to hire a whole ass Mariachi Band to serenade you into falling for Duke.

He broke the drawstrings of his hoodie that day from how tightly he pulled them.

So here he is now, hiding away in some random store at the mall to get at least one day of reprieve from the constant embarrassment he's been forced to endure in front of his crush for a whole ass week.

Duke grumbles, the packet in his grasp crinkling a little as he thinks about just how weirded out you must be of him by now; the surefire way your lips will curl in disgust the next time he's forced to see you by his two pieces of shit brothers that he swears he'll—

"Oh my God, no way."

Duke blinks, that voice too familiar for him to ever forget.

"Is that one of the Pokemon TCG booster packs?!"

Duke blinks again, having half a mind to believe that he must just be seeing things and that you aren't standing in front of him right now, eyes sparkling as you ask him about his nerdy hobby like it's the coolest thing in the world.

"How did you get it?" you continue, practically on your tippy toes from excitement as you lean forward and your breath mixes with his own, "I keep trying to but the scalpers always beat me to it."

Duke's lips part, but not a sound leaves them, his eyes too busy swirling with the sight of you and his mind too busy reeling from your proximity, from the fact that he embarrassed himself several times in a row in front of you and yet you still approached him and looked at him and talked to him like a normal human being.

Holy shit, you're doing that thing again. The one where you flutter your lashes at him and he forgets how to fucking breathe.

Oh fuck.

"Sorry," you say, and he blinks again to find you farther away, "was that too forward?"

"No!" He winces at his own volume. "Sorry, no, I just... I'm just surprised is all."

You tilt your head at that, leaning back in again, and he finds himself overtaken by the scent of your perfume once more.

Strawberry. Definitely strawberry.

"What do you mean?" you ask with your brows a little furrowed and a cute crease between them.

"Uh... aren't you like... weirded out by me?"

When you only tilt your head again, he continues, albeit a little unclearly (he's too embarrassed to explain himself properly).

"I mean... y'know, with the Mariachi Band and stuff..."

You blink slowly, and Duke finds himself awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

Then your lips turn up—

"Oh that? I thought that was cute."

—and he damn-near faints on the spot.

"You—you did?" he stutters out.

Your smile broadens. "I did."

And at that moment, Duke thinks for a second, that maybe, just possibly, he won't murder both his brothers for meddling a little too much with his love life.

After all, it's how he officially met you—

—the love of his life.

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 5 - 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, men, kind of a description of fainting, ooc (probably), cringe (surely), no proofread (oopsie)

Word count: 3200+

A/N: hey there! long time no see! I'm sorry, I got kinda busy and from now on it will take me some extra time to post :( (I have to look like a responsible adult, and as I started a new job I've got less free time to write). BUT I will definitely keep updating, don't worry about that! So, for my lovely and hungry readers, here you go, chapter 5!!

And again thank you for your comments, likes, reblogs and specially for those few who hit me in the directs, I love you guys! Let me know what do you think about how the story is going so far :)

ALSO: as some of you asked for, here is a reminder of the Saja Boys Korean names!

(Baby: Byeol / Abby: Sang / Romance: Dasom / Mystery: Minjun)

Ch. 4

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Every day you learn something new, right?

Well, that day you learned that the only way to keep the boys quiet, entertained, and pretending to be good people was to take them to a beauty salon. Which wasn't part of your plan, because you had never offered to take them to one before.

But since you were planning on going, and Romance had found out (and was apparently incapable of keeping a secret), now you were all going together as a happy family.

At first, the idea horrified you. It was exactly what you wanted to avoid. All you needed was a little time alone, relaxed, ALONE… but apparently that was impossible.

Your plan was to get your nails, maybe have a treatment to soften your skin… A gift from you to you.

Out of all the Saja Boys, the only one who hadn't insisted on accompanying you, and who had even argued that you deserved to make plans on your own, was Minjun. But, as the rest decided to turn a deaf ear, you decided that Minjun was the one who deserved to go the most (and the only one you would pay for whatever he wanted to do).

On the way there, you explained the possible treatments and services they could choose from. Abby had heard the term ‘laser hair removal’ and couldn't think of anything else (probably because of the word ‘laser’, because you knew he had no idea what 'hair removal' really involved), while Romance wanted a moisturising treatment on his face and hands to, according to him, rejuvenate himself by 200 years. Baby wasn't very interested in any of it, but he wouldn't say no to a massage, and neither would Jinu. Minjun, on the other hand, had decided that he wanted to do whatever you were going to do.

… so now you were sitting in a chair with your feet soaking and Minjun sitting silently in the chair next to you doing God knows what on his mobile phone.

At least you were at ease.

Across from Minjun was an elderly lady also getting a pedicure who kept glancing at the boy out of the corner of her eye.

"Excuse me, young man," she said suddenly, getting your attention and making him look up from his mobile phone and turn towards her. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

.... what

WHAT DID YOU SAY, MADAM?

Minjun slowly shook his head and turned his attention back to his mobile phone. You managed to see the screen for a split second and discovered that he was playing Subway Surfers.

"You see," continued the old woman, as if the demon hadn't just turned away and clearly given up on the conversation. "My granddaughter must be about your age and she's single too… and you're so handsome… would you like me to introduce you?"

This time, Minjun turned to you. He tilted his head to one side, and then you understood exactly what was going on: he had no idea how to respond to the gossipy old woman without being rude.

"He's gay," you replied bluntly. "He's my best gay friend. Please leave him alone. Not only is he gay, but he also has social anxiety," you said as you scribbled something in your notebook.

Minjun opened his mouth to complain, but seeing that the woman had turned redder than a strawberry and had decided not to get involved with them any further and to stop talking to them, he decided to let it go. You had already explained to him what little white lies were, and he understood perfectly that this situation must be one of them.

Because you knew he wasn't gay, right?

As soon as you both finished your pedicures, you moved on to the manicure: your favourite part. You chose a pastel shade to match what they would be wearing for their debut, and Minjun opted for a design with pastel pink and lilac nails, without any decorations.

You thought it was adorable how he watched the whole procedure in complete silence, his mouth slightly open. You had learned the hard way that there were no beauty salons in hell, so you were pretty sure Minjun had never seen a place like this before, neither experienced a cute manipedi.

While you were getting your manicures in silence, Baby had decided it was time to confront Jinu… in the massage room.

"I didn't know you and (Y/N) got along so well, Jinu," he began. His voice sounded slightly muffled as he lay face down on a massage table.

"That's because we don't," replied Jinu, lying on the table next to him.

The masseuses had left them to rest and let their skin absorb the oils used during the massage, so they were alone there.

"So, what were you doing with her on the street yesterday?" he asked, clenching his hands tightly. "It's not for nothing, but you looked like a couple."

Byeol didn't quite understand, or didn't want to understand, why it bothered him so much. But when he saw you on the street the previous afternoon, on his way back from shopping… and then he saw Jinu… something inside his chest tightened.

And he didn't like how he felt at all.

When he saw you, happy, listening to music and drinking something that looked like real junk, he had thought about crossing the street with Minjun and saying hello. After all, you were more than just partners, weren't you? You were his personal critic and proofreader.

But then, you bumped into Jinu… and…

Just thinking about it made his hands sweat.

How Jinu grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. How he came close to you as if he was going to smash his face into yours. How he drank from your drink…

And how you stood there completely still, maybe even terrified.

If that was Jinu's way of teasing you, Byeol didn't find it funny at all. It wasn't the same when Dasom did it as when he did. It was completely different.

He felt Jinu tense up beside him.

"Nothing. We ran into each other by chance and I wanted to tease her a little. Nothing new, right?"

"Jinu…" Byeol had so many questions. He had so many things he wanted to say, but at the same time, he didn't dare to. "You should stop teasing her like that."

That comment hit Jinu like a bucket of cold water.

Why should he stop teasing her when everyone else did? Besides, it wasn't teasing in a mean way… just jokes. You did it too, back to them. Why was it wrong now?

"Tomorrow we'll become public figures, Jinu. And (Y/N) has explained to us a hundred times that we can't be seen in public with girls in that… way. It could cause a stir and ruin our reputation. I'm not going to let you throw away all the effort we've put in so far."

"But you know she doesn't count. She's our manager."

"No," Baby denied, rising slightly from the table to get a better look at Jinu, whose back was tense. "She's our producer. And rumours are rumours, Jinu. You should know that by now."

He got up from the table, holding the towel that covered him from the waist down tightly, and ruffling his hair in frustration, he left the room and headed for the dressing room.

He didn't want to argue with his friend, but he didn't want him to hurt you. You were his… friend? You were something. Something to him… and he didn't want you to get hurt. You were responsible, strong and independent, but no one is made of stone. And he was aware of how Jinu looked at you when you weren't paying attention… and he didn't like it.

He didn't like that it could change the course of the plan. It was a distraction.

He didn't like that he treated you like a toy, like a joke, even after spending so much time with you. He couldn't deny that teasing you was fun, but… he was starting to see that playing with you like that could end badly.

And he didn't want to lose you.

Abby limped out of the waxing salon. Although he had loved the futuristic glasses he had been given to wear during the laser treatment, from then on it had been a bit of a nightmare. At what point had he decided he wanted to have the damn laser done all over his body? Even the soles of his feet were stinging.

When he got to the reception area, only Baby and Romance were there. Jinu didn't take long to arrive, but instead of waiting for Mystery and you, he paid what he owed and left. He didn't look relaxed at all, if we are being honest.

Shortly after, Myst and you showed up. You were talking to him very animatedly and gesturing a lot to show off your new nails, and he just listened to you and nodded occasionally, his full attention on you.

To him, specially today, you looked extremely cute.

On the way back to the flat, the boys walked ahead, chatting animatedly about their experiences at the salon (and traumas, according to Abby), while you, lagging a little behind, checked the notifications on your mobile phone. You already had the website for the Saja Boys fanbase ready, a lightstick designed… all that was left was for tomorrow to arrive without too many ups and downs.

Which you should have known was asking too much.

"Excuse me," said a voice next to you that you didn't recognise.

When you looked up from your phone, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. He was young and quite handsome, but nothing compared to the five Greek gods you unfortunately lived with and who tested your patience every day.

"Do you need anything?"

"Yes," he said with a smirk, "your number."

Mentally, you short-circuited. What was this idiot thinking? You couldn't hit him, that was wrong… (even if it was the solution you had come up with for your problems with the Saja Boys).

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested right now…"

"Are you sure? I think we could… get along really well." He finished his remark with a wink and stood in front of you, abruptly blocking your way.

The boys realised something was going on when they saw you weren't walking behind them anymore, and their suspicions were confirmed when they saw the look of disgust on your face as some unknown guy was talking to you. Was he… hitting on you?

"Look…" you began, searching for a valid excuse. The two best ones were always that you were interested in women or that you already had a boyfriend. "I have a boyfriend… and…"

"And…?" asked the boy as he raised his hand towards your face.

Shit. You should have chosen the lesbian option.

Baby and Romance tensed up, ready to jump at his throat in your defence (he was clearly breaking the first rule), and Abby stepped forward with his fists clenched, ready to land a right hook on his jaw… but before the stranger could lay a hand on you, Mystery appeared at your side, quick as a flash, and stepped between you and the stranger, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulders.

"Sorry, mate. But I AM her boyfriend, and I'd appreciate it if you left her alone."

The stalker's eyes widened when he saw him so close to you, hugging you without you doing anything to stop him.

"Oh," was all he said, slowly taking his hand away.

"I do not share, sorry" said Myst, hugging you a little harder.

Your heart was racing. Without using violence, defending yourself wasn't that easy as you thought… You were grateful to Myst for helping you, but standing there, so close to him, with his arm around you, holding you steady and safe (making you feel safe and sound even though you knew perfectly that he was indeed a DEMON)… you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and you felt an overwhelming urge to hug him back.

He had never been so close to you, and he had done it to defend you from a jerk… (although you could have quickly settled the matter with a right hook to the jaw, Abby style). You were grateful.

Seeing that the stranger was still standing there, looking back and forth between the two of you, Mystery… barked at him. Like an angry dog.

Startled, the stranger turned and ran down the street, embarrassed and frightened, away from you.

You couldn't help but laugh as you patted him on the back.

"It's over, it's over," you said, "the bad guy's gone, shhh," you stroked his head to stop him from barking, growling and wriggling "good boy, good boy. You deserve a treat."

"Hey, I want some love on my hair too!" Abby shouted with her arms crossed. "And I want a treat too!"

You gave them a smile. A sincere one.

Even though they drove you crazy… even though they were ruthless little devils… they were all you had in this new life. And you were grateful for that.

"You know what? Let's finish relaxing in the best place in the world, the bathhouse! A treat for all of us!"

You had to explain what a bathhouse was and why they were so amazing… and you also had to make it very clear that you would have to bathe separately, and that they had to behave while you weren't watching them. You made them swear that under no circumstances would they enter the women's bathhouse. Not to snoop around, not to steal souls, not to look for potential fans, not for any excuse they could come up with.

You left Baby in charge, because you trusted him to be the one who could most easily keep the rest under control.

"By the way, guys, where's Jinu?"

Baby shrugged, briefly recalling their conversation.

"He took off, who knows where," said Romance.

"But… can we go to the bathhouse without him? We don't even know if he'll be back," added Abby playing with his fingers.

You nodded with a smile.

"Sure, let's go."

As you entered the women's bathhouse, your hair tied up and wrapped in a towel, your torso covered by another, you instantly relaxed. The warmth, the scent of essential oils… That was probably one of the things you missed most about the human world.

You cleansed yourself, washing away the sweat of the day, and then proceeded to step into a bath when…

…why did those two girls sound so familiar?

Your heart sank and your head began to spin as you tried to understand where you had gone wrong.

This couldn't be happening.

Mira and Zoey were up to their necks in one of the bathtubs, talking in low voices about how disastrous Golden's presentation had been because Rumi had left. They were worried about her, they didn't know where she had gone… but what were they doing there?

Then you understood.

Since Rumi was the main character, you never knew what Zoey and Mira had been doing since Rumi disappeared until she returned to the HUNTR/X tower. And how lucky you were to discover that they had decided to go relax in the baths… the same ones you had decided to go to.

You looked down at your arms, where some of your patterns glistened from time to time. It was imposible to hide them.

Right there, with them, you were like a walking target. It wouldn't be difficult for them to recognise you as a demon (because technically you were one), you wouldn't have time to explain yourself (and you didn't really know how to), and as much as you liked to solve things with violence, you weren't the one to defend them. They were too strong for you. You turned away discreetly, trying to avoid them at all costs. You didn't know when they would come out, so running to the changing room was out of the question…

If only your demonic power was as strong as the boys' and you could teleport…

Suddenly, you had a revolutionary idea. A good way to hide was to use steam. And what better place for that than the sauna? Even if they came in, it would be difficult for them to make out your patterns in all the steam… so you decided to get into the sauna, even if it was just to stall for time until they left the bathhouse.

You were dying to talk to them, but it wasn't the right time or place. And you didn't want to end up dead (again) because of something as silly as making new friends.

So you opened the sauna door and decided that, even if you had to wait for them to leave before you could take a bath, at least you could relax in the humid heat…

The minutes passed, and you couldn't tell if they were still in the bathhouse or had already left. The temperature in the room rose, and you sweated more and more. A couple of stray strands of hair that had escaped from your towel now stuck to your face, the back of your neck and your back. You tried to take a deep breath, to calm down and think.

You were afraid to go out and run into them.

You were afraid of screwing up in such a stupid way after all your effort… besides, you weren't ready to abandon the Saja Boys like this. You hadn't solved anything yet, damn it. You hadn't changed anything yet. You needed time.

You just had to hold on a little longer. You tried to control your breathing and your heartbeat, which was slowing down. Dangerously.

A little longer… just a little longer…

Your head was starting to hurt from the heat and dehydration. Black spots swirled around the edges of your vision, clouding your sight slightly.

Just a little longer…

When you get out, you'd dive into the bath, drink two litres of water… Cold, cold water...

But if you held on a little longer… would you be able to stand up? To walk to the exit?

You threw your head back, trying to find the air that was missing from your lungs. Everything was burning. You were very hot, thirsty, tired… your vision began to blur. Your head was spinning…

You couldn't faint. If you fainted and HUNTR/X was still there, you'd be finished. And it would all have been for nothing.

You tried to rub your eyes with your hands, but you were starting to lose the strength to lift them.

You had to get out of there.

Right now.

If you didn't, the result would be the same as if Zoey or Mira saw your patterns.

How long had you been in there?

You had been there too long… too long…

Your head was spinning round and round and round…

Everything became blurry… and slowly your vision darkened.

You tried to get up, but your body tilted to one side, falling onto the bench, as you lost consciousness.

That had clearly been a terrible idea.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 6

A/N: SO! WHAT DO YOU THINK? HOW IS READER GOING TO GET OUT? IS SHE GOING TO GET FOUND OUT? We'll find out in the next chapter!! (already working on it btw). Is she going to save herself or... is somebody... going to help her? 👀 What do you think is going to happen? hehehehe

Hope you like it as much as the previous chapters! Can't wait to read you back my dear readers <3

Thank you for reading, for all your support and kind words. Remember that those comments, likes and reblogs help me a lot as motivation! :)

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[swaps55]

I don't have Gold Ship lore specifically, but if you are looking for colorful racehorse personalities I can certainly offer some.

One would be supermare Zenyatta, who is a whopping 17.2 hands - a monster size for a thoroughbred, especially a mare. She raced 20 times and won 19 of them all doing the same thing - playing with her food by loafing at the back of the pack until she decided to circle the field and destroy them - another unusual style for a top racemare, as more often than not, fillies and mares who are successful against male horses often stalk the pace or want the lead. Not Zenyatta. She'd be dead last at every furlong until the last one, and then just decided she'd had enough of these chucklefucks and kicked their asses. She won 13 grade 1 stakes doing this - the highest level race competition in the US - including two different Breeders' Cup races (think National Championships for horses) - the Distaff and the Classic. She's one of the greatest racehorses of all time, of any sex.

And the best part is that in the post parade, she would dance.

And then she'd do this:

She lost one race - the final race of her career - in an attempt to repeat in the Breeder's Cup Classic. She lost by a nose...to a horse named Blame.

There is also one of my absolute favorite racehorses, an absolute mad lad named Presious Passion.

He was the opposite of Zenyatta. This horse had one speed. Only one.

RUN.

Most horses work with their jockeys during a race. They 'rate,' which means doling out their speed in a way that makes sense for the distance they're running - just like a person. Some horses are more cooperative than others. Some horses insist on being on the lead. Others, like Zenyatta, insist on eating dirt most of the race.

And then there's Presious Passion.

Presious Passion would bust out of the gate going mach 10 and run as fast as he possibly could until the race was over. You have heard of Secretariat and his 31-length Triple Crown-winning Belmont, yes? This horse does that at the BEGINNING of the race. His 'strategy' is to run as fast as he is able and put as much daylight between himself and the rest of the field as possible - if he even noticed the rest of the field was there - and just hope they couldn't catch him at the wire.

It worked...sometimes. Other times, it didn't. But with Presious Passion, you were ALWAYS guaranteed a show. I have never seen anything like him.

He was insane, and I loved him.

The last horse I will mention is the guy who got me into horse racing, an absolute legend of a horse named John Henry. John Henry raced into his 10 year old year, which is all but unheard of. There was a reason for this - he was a gelding.

Why was he a gelding, you ask, when thoroughbreds are typically most valued for their bloodlines and producing progeny?

Two reasons.

His sire was a no-name stallion called Ole' Bob Bowers who no one gave a shit about.

He was an asshole.

As lore has it, he was given the name John Henry because he ripped a steel feed tub off the wall and threw it at someone. He wasn't worth enough money to put up with his shit, so they gelded him in hopes that his temperament might improve.

It didn't.

He was a hillbilly horse who once sold for just over $1,000, and he hated just about everyone.

But he could run.

This absolute motherfucker won 17 grade 1 stakes over an 8-year racing career, was Horse of the Year twice - in non-consecutive years, which is unheard of - and set the earnings record when he retired in 1986 with $6.5 million dollars. His nose victory over The Bart in the first Arlington Million is one of the most thrilling races of all time.

He lived to be 32 - a stately old man - and was still ornery as fuck right up until the end. I had the absolute pleasure of working with him when he was in his late 20s, and heard many of the stories about his antics, which included chasing his own jockey out of his paddock - first hand from Cathy Roby at the Hall of Champions at the Kentucky Horse Park, his retirement home.

This article summarizes a lot of the stories I was told.

John, at the Kentucky Horse Park circa 2002.

Horses are wonderful.

[golddustwomanwins]

JUNO

Pornstar AU

Pornstar!ArtDonaldson x Reader

18+

I don’t know if y’all fuck with this but it’s something new I wanted to try.

Art had been in the industry for three years when the trend began to arise. He'd usually come into the studio 2-3 times a week, he wasn't as requested as the dark haired, broody guys in the industry. Art was soft. His blondish curls and pale skin made him look like an angel. Not someone who worked in the porn industry. Art was a diligent worker. He’d go to his waxing appointments every three weeks, no speck of gold hair found on his body. Oiled his skin up before every shoot, was friendly and kind and made sure to talk to the girls before a shoot, just to make sure that everyone was comfortable.

In the beginning, his viewers found him too gentle, too meek. Art was loud in bed, he couldn't turn it off, he was insatiable, could shoot for hours if people actually wanted him to. Soft whimpers would fall from his lips every time his hips bucked up or someone dragged their nails over his scalp.

He was usually paired with dominant girls, to balance out his gentleness, someone who knew what they were doing. But just because Art looked like an angel, didn't mean he didn't know what he was doing. On more than one occasion his female artists found themselves reaching their climax during their shoot.

His moment to shine came when the trend of men whimpering and yearning arose on the well beloved Internet. His videos got more attention than ever and Art rose from a few liked videos to the most famous porn star in the industry. There were enough female artists who looked forward to working with him but secretly he had his eyes set on someone for a long time.

As fate willed it, your manager paired you up with Art for one video and the public review went through the roof. You were different, softer and slower than his usual partners. The film makers were worried first that your likeness would not make for a good pairing but your gentleness spurred Art on, made him harder, rougher.

After one video came many more until you both settled into a routine. You became fixed partners in the industry.

Art never found himself lacking in his ability to perform but sometimes he was so nervous before a shoot with you, his shaky hands grabbed desperately for his trusty blue pill...just to be sure.

Sometimes he needed to give himself a hand before a shoot with you to make sure he wouldn’t cum too fast.

"Hey, Lucky Girl," a girl greeted you in the make up room as you fixed your blush. You looked at her surprised. The nickname was a usual, most of the girls called you that ever since you started working with Art regularly.

"Why does everyone keep calling me that?" It was the first time you were brave enough to ask. Three girls looked at you surprised.

"Because you're the lucky girl," one said.

"You got the greatest catch in the industry," another added.

You looked at them dumbfounded, making the girls chuckle.

"Art," they clarified.

"What about him?"

"He's just like the most famous porn star in American history?"

"And I heard he makes most girls cum, is that true?" Your cheeks reddened slightly. When the camera was off you were a rather shy and awkward person, didn't like to mix your private life with your work life.

"I don’t—"

"And he's totally in love with you," they added and you almost choked on your next breath.

"What? No. We're professionals," you insisted. Art was a nice guy, the kindest you had worked with so far but it was purely work related.

"Why do you think he's only exclusive with you?" "Because the viewers liked it that way and the more viewers the more money," you were quick to explain.

"Played right into his cards," one sighed as she put mascara on her lashes. "That man is smitten with you and you don't even know."

Their words had been floating in your head for the rest of the day, creating a knotted mass of chaos. Your mind drifted off once again as you were atop of Art, your hands propped on his chest to lift yourself up and down repeatedly. Art's hands were gripping your hips as soft sounds fell from his lips, his eyes trained on the way your tits bounced with every lift and fall.

The light of the cameras was obnoxious today, people shuffling behind the lens here and there. Art tapped your hip three times with his fingers, gaining your attention. It was his way of asking if everything was all right. Your eyes found his and you tried to find whatever the girls had been talking about. But Art was looking at you like he always did. Soft and gentle.

You stopped bouncing and leaned down to kiss him. Art groaned into your mouth, tongue finding yours as his hands wandered over your back, holding you close to him. Your lips trailed along his jaw and down his throat as his heels dug into the mattress and he started to fuck up into you.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning when he hit the right spot inside you. He tilted your hips slightly, going deeper, harder. Skin was slapping as his soft breathes mingled with yours, your hair creating a curtain over both your faces.

"Everything all right?" Art whispered as if he could feel that something had changed. You nodded quickly kissing him again.

"Like that?" This time he asked louder, for the microphone to pick up his voice.

"Yeah," you moaned as he buried his cock into you over and over again. Small shoots of electricity ran through you with every lift of his hips, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Let's switch," Art followed your command immediately. The next second you were under him. He slipped a pillow beneath your hips and slid inside you from behind.

"Fuck," you cursed into the mattress as he thrusted inside, your hips tilted upwards. Your tits dragged against the mattress with every thrust and Art grabbed your neck to stop you from sliding upwards.

"God, I'm gonna cum like this, baby," Art groaned, his thrust become more hurried, the rhythm turning sloppy. You tried to ignore his pet name, tilting your hips up and squeezing around him to quicken the process. You felt your climax build inside you but with the way in your mind you didn’t want to cum.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—" Art whined and a moment later his hot seed spilled inside you. When with Art it was always bound to spill. Cum running down his length as he fucked you through his orgasm, spilling past your thighs and onto the mattress.

Afterwards he tipped forward, still inside you, his cock twitching.

"And cut!" Someone called in the background. Art's chest pressed into your back, his breaths uneven and hitting your neck, making you shiver. When he slid out someone handed the both of you something to cover yourself with as well as a wet cloth to clean up.

"Let me." Before you could take it, Art's hand shot out and took the cloth.

"Lie down." He gently pushed you by your stomach on your back and carefully spread your thighs apart. You watched him with parted lips as he cleaned you with focus. His tongue was poking out, big frame leaning over you and your heart stumbled strangely.

"You sure you’re all right? You seemed out of it today," he asked as he moved the cloth over your thighs.

"How can you tell?" You tipped your head to the side and Art looked up at you.

"You didn't come."

Crimson burned your cheeks and you looked away.

"I don't always have too, that's not my job." "I know it's not but you usually do," he still looked at you and you closed your thighs and sat up. You self consciously hugged the robe around you, the newfound information making you uncomfortable. Actors didn't fall in love. This was purely professional and feelings...feelings would complicate things.

You sat in silence as one of the directors approached you.

"What we got is amazing. You two up for another round?"

Art glanced at you, the way you clutched the robe to your body.

"I don't think I can," Art said and your head flipped around to look at him surprised.

"Well, then I'll see you both tomorrow." Dismissed you quickly got up and left the set, without another word to Art.

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part sixteen | r.c

summary:

“You were high out of your mind during that race, weren’t you?”

Of course. It made sense. He wasn’t acting like himself, because he wasn’t being himself.

Fucking coke.

Rafe furrowed his brows as he glared at you, a dry laugh escaping his lips.

“Oh so suddenly you care again?”

These guys were really testing you today. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that JJ and Rafe banded together to get on your fucking nerves.

“What did you just say to me?”

OR; you and rafe finally talk it out, but it’s not easy for things to back the way they were

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: angst, a tiny bit of happy and then angst again… sorry

word count: 4k

author’s note: uh… welcome back! i’ve said this in our community before, but this chapter is one my faves, both to read and write :)) hope you enjoy reading it and i can’t wait to hear what you think 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. sixteen: “and you know damn well”

“What the hell are you doing walking out here?” Rafe asked, voice slightly heated. You only looked at him blankly instead of replying. Then, he gave you a once over, before he huffed with a headshake.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Just get in.”

You genuinely thought about not getting into the car, but Rafe’s look told you he wouldn’t let that happen, so you just opened the door, climbing into the passenger seat in silence. You burrowed yourself against the door, putting as much distance between you and him.

Rafe only stared at you for a second, probably waiting for an explanation, before he just sighed, shifting to drive, getting back on the street. The Cut passed by in the blur, and you leaned your chin on your hand, staring out of the window, acting like you didn’t notice how Rafe kept glancing over to you. You replayed your fight with JJ in your mind, and it eased your worries that you were right for defending your friends, for defending Rafe. Even with everything going on, he pushed that aside to make sure you were okay. Then again, you felt like a hypocrite after having insisted that you’d find your own way back, but now you were letting Rafe drive you home, like you were waiting to be saved.

But were you? Were you waiting for someone to rescue you, or was this just Rafe being your best friend and looking out for you?

You sighed softly, rubbing your temples. This was giving you a headache. You glanced over to Rafe briefly, when the truck crossed the big bridge, before turning away again, pausing, then doing a double take.

How the fuck did you miss that?

“Where’s your hair?”

“What?” Rafe asked, distressed, running his hands through his hair - or well, his lack thereof. Gone was his longer hair, the longer bangs that you were used to, making him look boyish, everything shaved to a buzz. And he looked good. He always had a pretty face, which was now more prominent, without his bangs hanging in his face. “Barry thought it would look good. And maybe I needed a change.”

Well, thank you Barry.

Wait.

“Who the fuck is Barry?”

Rafe shrugged, inconspicuously nonchalant. Too nonchalant.

“Just this guy.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Something was going on here. “You came from the Cut. Since when do you hang out with pogues?”

“Don’t,” Rafe hissed at you but you crossed your arms. “He’s just this guy, okay?”

“What guy, Rafe??”

Rafe glanced at you briefly, before turning his eyes back on the road.

“… He deals.”

“Deals what.”

He threw another look in your direction, hesitating to answer and you scoffed, rubbing your hand across your face, frustrated. There was only one drug being passed around Kildare that the both of you swore you’d never touch. Ever.

“Are you taking fucking coke now?”

“Not right now,” Rafe stressed, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.

You let out a sigh of disbelief as you fell back in your seat, when you suddenly remembered his behavior during the Enduro.

“You were high out of your mind during that race, weren’t you?”

Of course. Now everything made sense. He wasn’t acting like himself, because he wasn’t being himself.

Fucking coke.

Rafe furrowed his brows as he glared at you, a dry laugh escaping his lips.

“Oh so suddenly you care again?”

These guys were really testing you today. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that JJ and Rafe banded together to get on your fucking nerves.

“What did you just say to me?”

Your tone was heated and Rafe glanced over to you, his cheeks pinking with anger. Instead of a reply, Rafe sharply turned the steering wheel, stopping the car by the curb, the sudden movement pressing you into the car door.

“You knew!” Rafe then snapped at you. “You knew something was wrong with me. You always know. But you didn’t care. You left, with him.”

When he repeated the last sentence quietly, your name slipping from his lips, the following silence was painful. He stared at you for a second with a heaving chest, before shaking his head. You barely had any time to react when he opened his door, getting out of the car, leaving you to wallow in your misery.

You felt bad. Worse, you felt guilty, because you knew he was right. The way he had been acting was erratic, angry. You knew something was wrong and you should have been there for him. But you weren’t. Because of what, your pride?

Your friendship with Rafe, with Topper and Kelce, wasn’t that something you prided yourself on? And there you were, casting him aside because you couldn’t deal with unreciprocated feelings and a little bruised ego?

A small sigh escaped your lips, and you looked out of the window, watching Rafe stand at the cliff, overseeing the water. The door clicked quietly as you opened it, slipping outside, your movements hesitant.

You were scared. Not of Rafe, but of losing him.

The footsteps on the ground were quiet, but not completely silent as you walked up to Rafe. He had his back turned to you, his shoulders tense. Your steps slowed when you faced him, pausing before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. Rafe let you, standing completely still for a few seconds before the tension in his limbs melted away, and he hugged you back. You let a out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relieved that there was a way for reconciliation.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your face smushed in his chest, trying to hide your shame, but you hoped he could still hear you. “I shouldn’t have lied about JJ, this is all my fault.”

“No,” Rafe said, pulling away to hold you at an arms length, his eyes fixed on you, stern, but soft. “I’m sorry, too. For lashing out, ‘s not your fault. I’m a grown man, and not your responsibility.”

“Still, you were right, I knew something was wrong.”

“Precious…” He sighed, pulling you close again, his hand rubbing your back, and it calmed you in a way you haven’t felt in a while.

“I was just… Angry,” Rafe then admitted quietly. “And embarrassed. You’ve been ignoring us for weeks and then just show up with Maybank like you’ve always belonged with them. Feels like I’m losing everything to the Pogues. First Sarah, now you.”

“Hey, you haven’t lost me,” you corrected him, looking up at him with a frown. “And you haven’t lost Sarah, either.”

“Yeah yeah,” Rafe grumbled, but it wasn’t entirely convincing. The both of you stood there for a while, before you pulled away again, the ache in your heart… Less.

Not quite gone yet, but better. There were still things that troubled you, things that could wait until later, much later.

Except for one thing. And you were almost scared to ask.

“Are you still taking coke?”

“No.” Rafe replied quickly, shaking his head, like he was waiting for you to ask. “I don’t react well to it. And it makes my temper worse. Clearly.”

He scoffed, turning the ring on his finger.

“I wasn’t in a good place and I thought it would just help take my mind off of things.”

Things… Like you pulling away with no warning and lying to him. You made him turn to fucking drugs.

“Hey.” Rafe sighed when he saw the look on your face, his hand curling around your arm. “Don’t do that. I didn’t say it to make you feel bad, a’ight? I just figure we both gotta work on this communication thing.”

You let out a small laugh and he quirked a grin at you.

“What?”

“Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?” you teased and his smile softened.

“Right, best friends. We tell each other things. Communication,” Rafe said, glancing out at the view behind you, suddenly going quiet.

“Which leads me to…” He let out a sigh, before inhaling deeply, like the next words coming out of his mouth were hard to say. “Look, if you want… To be with Maybank, who the fuck am I to stand in the way?”

Surprised, you looked up at him. You didn’t expect him to say that, out of everything he could have said.

“I’ll apologize to him. Offer to pay for his bike to get it fixed? Just… Try not to bring him around so often?” Rafe said with a wince, like saying those words physically hurt him. “I can’t stand to see that smug motherfucker’s face all the time.”

Your heart warmed. Despite you laughing at Kiara for calling them mortal enemies, it was a good term to describe Rafe and JJ’s relationship. Rafe never had a good word to say about JJ. And still, he was willing to look past their animosity. It meant a lot that Rafe would try to mend that bridge, for you.

“I already paid for his bike to get fixed,” you explained to him with a fond smile. “… And you don’t have to worry about me bringing him around.”

Rafe raised a brow at you, clearly curious and you only sighed, crossing your arms.

“I broke things off with JJ.”

Something akin to relief flickered across his face, before he frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked and you nodded with a wry smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What did he do?”

You sighed, shaking your head. What did JJ do?

“It’s not important. We were just too different,” you replied, wincing. That was putting it lightly. Then you glanced up at Rafe. “Though I do think that you should still apologize.”

He scoffed, waving you off.

“Nah, he’ll get over it.”

You laughed, giving his shoulder a shove, but it didn’t even make him budge as he grinned at you, ducking his head. It was nice to talk to Rafe again like this, unforced and light. A somber look passed over his face when he looked at you again.

“We good?” He asked, cautious. “For real, this time?”

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “For real this time.”

A part of you wanted to lean up and kiss him, your eyes lingering on his mouth for a moment too long. Luckily, his hair did a good job of distracting you; when you remembered the lack of it.

“I like your hair.”

“Yeah?” Rafe said with a grin, subconsciously rubbing his hand over his buzzed head. It was funny, in a way, him no longer being able to hide behind his hair.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “It’s definitely a change. But it’s good.”

You reached up to rub your hand over the back of his head, his short hairs scratchy on your palm, the feeling was addictive.

“Alright, this ain’t a petting zoo,” he grumbled, pushing your hand away lightly, but then threw his arm around your neck, pulling you close. “Let’s go home.”

Without much protest, you let him guide you back to his car, the atmosphere about a hundred times lighter than when you had left it. The drive back to Rafe’s was spent like the last month hadn’t happened, the two of you falling back into your easy routine. When you got back to his house, you both were starving and he had just about enough to whip up some pasta and salad for an early dinner.

You were checking on the boiling pasta while Rafe was chopping up cucumbers when you heard the distinct sound of his front door opening, before Topper’s voice echoed through the house, loud and firm.

“Rafe, it’s time to get your big boy pants on and go apologize to Precious. You’re probably still mad at me and I know you’re a stubborn asshole, but-“

Topper paused when he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, with Kelce peeking over his shoulder, while you and Rafe glanced over to them. You lifted your hand in a lazy wave, while Rafe only raised a brow at them.

“Boys.”

“You know I’m a stubborn asshole, but?”

Topper shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck.

“… But our friendship is more important,” he replied, hesitantly. “You guys made up?”

“We have.”

You nodded towards the pot. “You hungry?”

Topper beamed at you, basically leaping towards you and Rafe to wrap his arms around the both of you. “Yeah I could eat.”

Timidly, Kelce followed Topper into the kitchen, one hand behind his back, revealing a bouquet of pink peonies and sunflowers. Your favorites.

“What’s that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at them.

Kelce shrugged, before thrusting them towards you. “Apology flowers.”

“… For what?”

“For leaving you hanging at the beach,” he explained. “Wasn’t cool of me. I should’ve made sure you’re actually fine instead of just leaving.”

His arm with the flowers was still stretched out, offering them to you.

You were hesitant, as you eyed the flowers. While you did appreciate the gesture, you weren’t sure if it was enough. Rafe and Topper both had their reasons to be mad at you, to turn away. But Kelce just chose the easy way out. Rafe and Topper watched the interaction, the latter clapping his hands together impatiently.

“Told you that wasn’t enough, Kels.”

Kelce sighed loudly, reaching into into pocket to pull out your favorite Tom Ford perfume.

“I’m really sorry.”

That perfume was really expensive and hard to get.

“Alright,” you gave in, making grabby hands for the gifts. “Gimme.”

Kelce barely took a step towards you before you snatched both the flowers and the perfume out of his hands.

“Jesus.”

You placed both on the counter, to pull Kelce in a forceful hug, but he only let out a sigh of relief, hugging you back. The hug didn’t last long though, with you pulling away quickly with a frown, holding him at an arm’s length. Your index finger was raised, and Kelce’s eyes widened, knowing a lecture was coming.

“Just don’t ever leave me hanging like that again, you hear me,” you scolded him, and his head bobbed up and down quickly in a series of nods.

“Cross my heart,” he replied, placing his hand on his chest.

“The gang’s back together!” Topper crowed, pulling Kelce, you and Rafe into a tight hug; you giggled, while Kelce sighed and Rafe only groaned.

“Now that we’ve cleared the air,” Kelce said, pushing himself out of Topper’s grasp to inspect Rafe.

“Why the fuck do you look like Caillou.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur, and it seemed like your friend group returned to the way it as before. Rafe wasn’t stealing secret kisses, Topper didn’t glance at you every time Rafe leaned into your touch, and you? You were still in love with Rafe. But it was getting easier to pretend you weren’t, knowing how much worse it was when you tried to push him away.

“If you don’t get off my back about how to throw this ball I’m gonna miss on purpose,” you threatened Rafe with the ping pong ball and he only lifted his hands in defense.

“Alright alright, I’m backing off,” he said, stepping back to give you room to play. Both teams - you and Rafe, and Kelce and Topper - had only one cup left. Rafe had missed his shot, his ping pong ball bouncing off the rim of the cup, and you were the last chance, knowing that Topper was gonna make his shot, ergo, you’d lose.

Narrowing your eyes at your target, you pulled your hands back, threw your ball and!

Missed.

“So you did that on purpose, or…?”

Rafe flinched when you turned around, the glare you sent in his direction being that cold. There wasn’t much you could do besides watch as Topper sunk his ball in your last cup, him and Kelce both erupting in cheers for their victory.

“Maybe next time,” Kelce said consolingly, pushing their last cup towards you, Rafe and you each having to down a cup of beer.

“Ah man, what a high,” Topper sighed, wiping his eyes and Rafe only rolled his eyes as he downed his beer, wiping his mouth after tossing the empty cup in the trash bag.

“Alright, time for you to get the hell out,” he told the boys, pointing towards his door and Kelce snickered, patting Rafe’s shoulders.

“You always been a sore loser.”

“Yeah yeah,” Rafe grumbled with a grin. “It’s late and I got an early morning.”

“Alright alright,” Topper conceded, starting to collect the empty cups that have accumulated on the coffee table.

“Hey, is it okay if I stay over?” you asked Rafe and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. You were surprised yourself, but you didn’t want to leave Rafe just yet. If it was because you were worried about his potential drug addiction or if it was just because you felt better when he was around, you didn’t know. You also didn’t particularly want to find out.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

After bidding the boys good bye, Rafe went around the house to lock up so you went to the kitchen to clean up. You had just put the leftover pasta in the fridge, when Rafe walked into the kitchen.

“You go ahead and get ready for bed, I’ll finish up down here,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“You sure?”

You looked around the kitchen, and while it wasn’t that much left to clean up, it would certainly be faster if the both of you stayed.

“Yeah,” Rafe insisted, steering you away from the fridge. “Go wash that pogue off.”

You huffed out a laugh, but still went upstairs, because you did feel a little gross after the day you had. The shower was almost life changing and you felt so much better after it, so Rafe clearly knew what he was talking about. He had also laid out one of his old shirts for you to sleep in, so you put it on before slipping under the blankets, settling into the bed. It wasn’t long until you heard Rafe coming upstairs and disappearing into the bathroom. Shortly after, he padded into the bedroom, a few water drops on his bare shoulders the only indication of the shower he must have taken.

He paused in the door way, just watching you with an odd look on his face.

“What?” you asked, growing hot under his gaze but Rafe only shook his head with a chuckle.

“Nothing,” he replied, turning the lights off. “You just look so cozy bundled up under the blankets.”

You only rolled your eyes at him as he slipped into bed next to you, rustling beneath the blankets until he turned on his side, facing you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

You were so close to Rafe, you could feel his breath on your face as he spoke. In the darkness, it was easier to share vulnerable thoughts. Shifting on the bed, you laid your head in your hand, the other resting on the pillow.

“I’m glad we made up.”

“Me too,” he said quietly, giving your hand a soft squeeze. His lips quirked up in a grin- no, a smile. A genuine smile.

The impulse you felt earlier, the urge to kiss him, returned in full force. And here, in the dark, both of you in the same bed, with no one around and nothing to distract you, you leaned forward to kiss Rafe.

He let out a small grunt of surprise, before he kissed you back, his hand cupping your face. The butterflies in your stomach exploded in small bursts, and in a weird way, it felt like coming home, to kiss him like this.

Rafe pressed closer against you, his bare chest against his shirt you were borrowing, sliding his hand from your face into your hair. For a few seconds, your brain was shut off, before all thoughts came rushing back.

“What about Kayla?” you whispered against his lips, remembering why you had broken things off with him in the first place, but Rafe was undeterred.

“Who?”

You sighed a little, giving him a look. “The girl from Nassau.”

Rafe let out a huff, wrinkling his nose at you.

“Who cares about her?” he murmured. “I’m here with you.”

Your heart almost exploded at his words, and it took your entire willpower to not smile like the biggest idiot. That was before the true meaning of his words settled in.

Maybe you had read it all wrong. Not everything was about you, in the time you were with JJ, Rafe probably was with Kayla, which obviously didn’t end well.

This was a distraction for him.

You were here with him now, yes, but what about down the line?

Rafe notíced your sudden lack of participation, pulling away with a worried look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this.”

It was like your words electrocuted Rafe as he froze, staring at you. He quickly broke out of his trance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you shook your head quickly.

“No, I’m sorry. I kissed you first.”

“It’s fine,” Rafe let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand over his face. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Of course it didn’t. It never did.

“I know.”

The lump in your throat returned.

Sleep didn’t come easy, after that. You turned to the other side, curling your body like an embryo, trying to find safety in your own warmth. Next to you, you knew Rafe was unable to fall asleep, too, judging by his constant tossing and turning. Even though there were only inches between you, it felt like you were miles apart.

You were so stupid.

You had just made up, and then you got weak again, risked your friendship, again.

When you woke up the next morning, Rafe was nowhere to be found. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved, or disappointed. On one hand, you felt like this thing wasn’t resolved yet, on the other hand, you didn’t know if you were ready for another rejection.

You got out of the bed, because the longer you stayed in it, the stupider you felt. Quickly, you got redressed and ready to leave, though a quick look in the mirror made you pause, your hair all over the place. Clearly you didn’t sleep well. With a small sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it but that only resulted in your hair sticking to your neck, which was driving you crazy.

“Hair tie,” you muttered to yourself, looking around the bathroom, without finding one. Then, you remembered having tossed a handful of hair ties in Rafe’s nightstand drawer, you went back into the bedroom, opening the drawer with a frown.

You rummaged in it for a while, finally finding a hair tie, but a flash of yellow made you pause. Brushing a pack of tissues to the side, you revealed a small keychain of an emoji with a grumpy face. It looked oddly familiar and you scrutinized it for a bit, trying to see why. When you finally realized it, it felt like a punch to the stomach.

It was the very same keychain from the little souvenir shop you went to with Rafe when you were in Nassau. When did Rafe even buy this? And what was it doing, forgotten in his nightstand drawer?

“What…?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: okay so in rafe’s defense, we know he has deep abandonment issues. doesn’t excuse the way he talked to precious but they both have flaws okay😭 and it was supposed to hurt😭 anyways… thoughts?

[carmenberzattosgf]

sub carmy who has been too needy and clingy to the point he’s being a brat. You’re trying to get work done before a deadline and he just won’t stop coming up behind you and kissing your neck. And you can feel his rock hard cock through his pants because he just wants to taste you so badly it’s all he can think about. He repeats “please please please” as he peppers kisses over your neck. “Carmy baby… I have to get this done.” “ you gotta wait baby…” and he WHINES.

Sub/needy Carmy is one of my favorite categories of Carmy. It’s for sure a side of him that would take a LONG time in a relationship for it to show itself, but when it does…

Carmy always gets like this when he gets home from work and you’re still doing your own work. He just gets so pent up during the day at the restaurant, which makes him an absolute menace at home. He knows he shouldn’t distract you, that your work is just as important as his even though you do it from home, but sometimes he can’t help himself.

He’s quiet at first, greeting you with a kiss while you’re sat at your desk. He tries to be patient. Keyword—tries. Carmy’s patience dissolves once you get up to refill your water at the refrigerator.

He’s quick to come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your neck as you set your glass down on the countertop.

“Carm—I have to finish this work thing. The deadline is tonight,” you sigh. You realize just how hard he is when his hips grind up against your ass. The movement of his hips is subtle, but his intentions are clear.

“Need you, baby. Please? It’ll be quick—won’t take too long at all. Promise,” he whines. He doesn’t wait for your response before he starts sucking at the pulse of your neck.

“You’re acting like you don’t insist on staying inside for like an hour after the fact, Carmy.” You can’t help but let your head fall to the side to give him more room to work with.

“I won’t this time. Just—just need to be in you,” he mutters against your neck. His hands grip your hips tightly, his moans are hot in your ear from the friction. He has you pinned against the counter with his chest flush against your back. He’s clad in only a pair of boxers.

“Can you be behave for an hour so I can get this project finished and submitted?” You feel his head shake against you. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to do much talking right now. “Carmen—speak,” you ask, more sternly this time.

“Need you now—please baby—can I have you? Been thinkin’ about it all day and I just—fuck.” his sentence is cut short by a deep groan as his hips continue to move against your ass. “I’m gonna finish in my pants if you don’t let me—please, sweetheart.”

When Carmy gets like this it’s easy for him to wear you down. His face gets so flushed, and his voice becomes thin and needy. “Baby boy needs it bad, huh? Can you ask one more time? Really nicely?”

He lets out a frustrated groan. “Don’t be a tease—“

“You do stuff like this to me all the time,” you mumble. You reach a hand behind you to thread through his curls, fingertips massaging his scalp in a way that makes his head spin. “Just ask, Bear.”

“Fine. Can I—can I please have you, baby? Please? I’ll leave you alone to work after. I promise.”

As soon as the work “okay” escapes your lips, Carmy is pulling your sweatpants down to your ankles and freeing his cock from his boxers. He doesn’t waste time to take off your underwear, roughly pulling it to the side before he lines up to your entrance.

He thrusts into you in one continuous stroke, almost knocking the wind out of you. “Shit—Carm.” You lean forward to rest your chest on the counter top to give you something to ground yourself while Carmy sets a quick, deep pace.

He’s holding onto you for dear life and keeps his chest pressed up against you. He’s practically pinning every part of your body to the countertop now.

“T-thank you—thank you, baby. Feels s’good. Always just what I need—so good to me.” The praises pour freely from Carmy’s mouth.

With how pent up he was all day, he’s reaching his peak quickly. His hips are losing their precision, and his praises turn into muddied whines as he gets closer and closer. “Gonna cum for me, Bear?” you ask softly.

“C-can I? Wanted to get you off first—“ he whimpers. It’s sweet, the thought he always puts into your pleasure before his own. It’s rare that he lets himself finish before making you cum at least once.

“It’s okay, baby. This is about you, yeah? You can make it up to me later. Be a good boy and cum for me.”

Those words have him spilling inside of you immediately with a choked out groan. His whole body spasms with his release as he slumps against you. You give him a few minutes before you’re gently easing him off of you. He doesn’t let you go without a fight though, placing kiss after kiss on your lips between soft thank yous.

He’s well behaved the rest of the evening, leaving you to finish your work project while he watches tv in the living room. The second you’re finished, he’s ushering you to sit down kneels in front of you to make up for earlier.

[distuff]

HIIII i love your writing so much....

can you do (lowk all the boys but BABY IN PARTICULAR if u dont wanna) where their partner is like, I don't know how to descirbe it, bubbly I guess? or cute? like they're sleepy so they're kinda sluggish and pouty (if that makes sense...?) and they end up just falling asleep on another saja boy's shoulder cause they didn't wanna move, and the saja boy decides to not move just to cause its funny, and baby finds them and has a mini anuerusm but also doesn't want ot wake the reader and how he would sort it out and get his s/o back?

Answer: No worries readershi ! I get what ya mean by the reader however, I would like to remind ya that the ver of Baby you see in my stories is a bit... diff than what I realised many readers want him to be (￣▽￣*)ゞ I want to make ya happy, but at the same time I can't go against something that doesn't feel right. I can only hope the story delivered ! I'm honestly just usin' my readers prompts as a character study fufufu~ (Is it correct? I donno qwq)

📍Requests: Please check HERE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Baby Saja: Reader Falling on Another's Shoulder

Featuring: Baby Saja Reader: Gender neutral

🍼 Feelings... Baby thought, were useless. He may not remember why he believed that, but his body did. Every time he feasted on a human soul, or his clawed fingers traced the honmoon waves—feeling scorching cool—it knew.

🍼 He didn’t need memories. His body told him all he needed to know, even if it did so without words.

🍼 Not that Baby had to worry about physical reactions the way humans did—their so-called "emotions." No soul meant no heart. No heart meant he couldn’t feel anything beyond the hollow in his chest, that deep, gnawing ache that screamed to be filled—though it never could be.

🍼 He couldn’t feel sadness, no matter how many salty tears fell from the humans' eyes in his grasp. That sorrow was replaced by hunger. He couldn’t feel joy, no matter how loud the laughter fell out of his lips. That thrill was replaced by void. And that tight squeeze in the chest—the kind that made people bite their bottom lip when they saw someone they felt safe with, someone they trusted—was just a mask. A façade.

🍼 Behind it: a grin. Sharp teeth. Saliva. The anticipation of a fulfilling meal.

Baby never imagined he’d sit with himself and think about what he once had as a human, and what little he could now feel as a demon. All because he agreed to Jinu’s ridiculous idea: these soul-collecting missions, crafted so the selfish bastard could try filling his own void with something only Gwi-ma had the knowledge to return. Still, Baby would give Jinu silent praise. No need to inflate his ego more than it already was.

And yet— Here he was. In a private van owned by the humans who worked for a slave house… or "production company," as Jinu insisted it be called.

He, Mystery, and Jinu were returning from yet another mind-numbing interview for the SAJA members—the ones "behind the music." The others had been lucky enough to stay back at the house, soaking in space untainted by human scent.

Baby wasn’t a picky demon when it came to souls. But lately, the taste of lust, admiration, and infatuation had started to grow stale on his tongue. He was fed them daily, and they no longer satisfied.

But then—there was your wave. The one that made him recoil from its warmth. It no longer burned, yet it slithered over his skin like blood: thick, sticky, clinging.

Baby bit his tongue, resting his head against the van door. His eyes were unfocused, gazing through the window as the scenery blurred past—fighting off the shiver crawling up his spine.

He hated that kind of warmth the most. It felt gentle, yet possessive. Like it wanted to hold him—yet demanded something in return. And Baby had nothing to give. Not physically. Not emotionally.

The humans had a name for it. Love. Connection. Bond. Romanticised nonsense masking what was, at its core, a parasitic exchange.

No one gave without expecting something in return. Even those who claimed to act out of kindness did so for a pleasure only they understood. Nothing was done without a reason. And Baby knew, deep down, that he was your means to an end. One neither of you could ever truly reach.

And yet… your soul. So enticing. It didn’t taste like the cloying sweetness of lust. Nor the intoxicating grip of obsession.

No—attachment tasted like thick, sweetened water. It never filled the hollow in his chest… but it gave the illusion of it. And that illusion made Baby’s teeth itch.

Would your soul be the one to finally fill that void?

Logically, no. Only his own soul could do that. But the demonic instinct inside him—Gwi-ma’s voice, cruel and amused—whispered:

“Y͟e͜s͢~ F͢e͟a̸s̕t̴.”

Ash filled his mouth. He bit into his tongue. A flicker of flame licked the back of his throat before the wound healed within seconds.

He didn’t even flinch. The van remained silent, its passengers drained from the endless, pointless interview meant to entertain the masses.

: : :

Neither of them spoke once they stepped out of the van and into the high-rise complex given to them by the company. They didn’t need to. Their auras said enough.

Baby could feel it clearly—his seniors just wanted to get to their shared apartment and retreat to their own rooms in peace.

As soon as they entered, Mystery made a beeline upstairs without a word. Jinu disappeared down the hall, probably heading to one of the rooms cluttered with books or games—whichever distraction his restless energy chose tonight.

Baby was ready to follow Mystery up to his own room, but he paused the moment he caught sight of the living room. Romance sat casually on the couch, painting his nails a soft iridescent pink, with you slumped gently against his shoulder. From the slow, steady movement of your wave, it was clear you’d fallen asleep.

Baby stood there silently, his expression unreadable, as his eyes scanned the room bathed in your red line. The crimson pulsed with lazy, satisfied warmth—so vivid it swallowed up the once-prominent blue hue that used to dominate from the Huntr/X fans who were now becoming attached them.

He could only spot one bright blue wave pulsing among the dullness and red, barely clinging on. But Baby’s attention didn’t linger there.

No—his gaze stayed fixed on the deep red wave coiling around you. Crimson with delicate whips of purple curling at the edges near your chest. So focused was he, he didn’t realise his canines had extended until—

"Atatata~" Romance’s sing-song voice cut through the silence.

Baby blinked, snapping out of his trance, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the older demon’s smirking face. Romance wiggled a finger at him playfully, the other hand still holding the brush.

“Not yet. Don’t forget—we need as much of these as possible.” He nodded toward the crimson wave, its slow movement matching your steady breathing.

Baby clicked his tongue and stepped forward, the low thud of his boots a warning. “Bullshit. You’re feeding off it bit by bit,” he accused, voice low and sharp. The purple flames on your wave weren't exactly subtle.

Romance chuckled, unfazed, and waved him off with a lazy flick of the wrist before turning back to his nails. “Not as much as you are. Poor lamb’s so pale,” he drawled. “You should take it easy on the soul.”

Baby’s eyes shifted to your face. Blank. Unreadable. Then a smirk stretched across his lips, slow and cutting, as he took another step closer—his shadow falling over your sleeping form.

“Why waste an opportunity served on a golden platter?” he murmured.

Romance snorted, dipping the brush into the bottle again. “You’re starting to sound like Jinu-ya,” he said with a sly grin. “Careful, Baby~ You don’t want to end up with forehead wrinkles like him.”

Baby let out a dry laugh, but the smile slipped off his face quickly. His eyes never left yours. You were smiling faintly in your sleep, breathing soft and even.

Having a nice dream? he wondered, then asked aloud, “What are they doing here?”

Romance didn’t skip a beat. “I got bored. Decided to use the rare spare time to its full potential.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then Baby’s brows furrowed as he bit the air, sharp canines flashing. He turned toward Romance with a harsh whisper, “You just wanted an easy meal.”

He kept his voice low, not wanting to wake you. He was exhausted. The last thing he needed was a human clinging to him, draining what little energy he had left.

Ironic. He thought almost sarcastically.

Romance let out a low chuckle, careful not to jostle your sleeping form. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. Find your own human,” Baby snapped quietly, arms crossing as his energy flared slightly—just enough to send a warning.

Romance ignored it completely, casually getting the excess polish back into the bottle. “Last time I checked, all these humans are to be given to Gwi-ma~” he said cheekily.

Baby scoffed.

Romance continued, now more thoughtful, “Don’t play with your food too long, Baby. You don’t want to get attached, now do you?”

Baby’s eyes narrowed. “How the fuck can we get attached when we have nothing to attach with?” His tone was raspy, barely above a whisper.

Romance hummed in response. “Fair enough. Wrong term.” He paused, expression smoothing out. “Possessive. Don’t get overly possessive over something not meant to last.”

Baby’s eyes widened slightly. Possessive?

His gaze snapped to your sleeping face again.

Then he scoffed. Like I care about them. The only reason he was even annoyed was because Romance was feeding off something he worked on.

He was the one who turned your aura crimson. He was the one who got the pleased rumble from Gwi-ma for sweetening your soul.

It was his work. Not Romance’s.

You were his piece.

And you would be his offering on the day of the feast.

“Don’t consume all of it.” Baby’s voice was low and firm, his brows furrowed in a serious expression that made Romance glance up at him with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Mmm~ Fair,” Romance hummed, clearly entertained. “But don’t think I won’t fight for such a savoury taste when the final day comes.”

Baby returned the smug grin, posture straightening as he released more of his demonic energy. Romance mirrored him, their shared pressure darkening the air between them. Both pairs of golden eyes flashed briefly—slitted pupils sharp and glinting—before the illusion washed back over their features like a tide pulling back.

“I’d love to see you try, you diva,” Baby taunted smoothly.

Romance’s aura began to flare again, the atmosphere almost crackling—until a heavier, far more suffocating presence swept into the room.

It felt like being shoved into a cloud of ash and smog. Both demons stilled immediately, expressions widening just slightly as they instinctively tried to breathe through it.

Mystery’s aura had settled over the entire living room. Tamed, cold, and unspoken—a warning. A very clear shut it.

Without another word, both demons let their chests fall, puffed bravado fading away in silent submission to the elder. The silence hung thick between them as they shared a side owilish glance.

Then they both turned toward you.

Romance felt you stir first—you were leaning against him, after all. Baby felt it second, through the ripple of your wave, the slow change in its frequency.

Shit. Baby cringed inwardly. No surprise, really. He and Romance had already washed the living room in their clashing auras, but Mystery’s aura must’ve really shaken your human soul.

Sure enough, within seconds, your eyelids fluttered open.

Your brows furrowed, your body shifting stiffly as though the pleasant dream you’d been trapped in had suddenly turned sour, decaying into a nightmare too quickly for your mind to process.

But then your gaze landed on him.

Baby went still. Please fall back asleep, he thought weakly. Just pass out again. Be a good little sheep and drift off.

Instead, your face lit up. You sat upright with childlike joy and immediately reached out to hug him, calling his name with far too much excitement for someone who had just escaped a nightmare.

He felt his chest tighten at the sound—his mind whispering for him to accept it, to draw you close and take what you were so easily giving away. A willing offering.

But his body moved on its own.

With a swift step back, he dodged your embrace, hand held up in a quiet refusal. Now wasn’t the time.

Ever, if possible, he thought, though he never said it aloud.

He was okay with physical attention—if he initiated it. There were moments when he craved your wave, when the hunger gnawed so deep that even your scraps of affection were enough to dull the ache.

But tonight, he was too drained. Too tired to talk, to act, to pretend in this human illusion. He just wanted solitude.

And yet… no matter how cold or dismissive he was, you never took it personally. You always endured it with grace.

Mystery once told him humans had a thing called “I can fix him.” idea. Baby had laughed so hard he nearly cried.

Fix him? How? By letting him consume your soul? That’d do absolutely nothing. Would you go against Gwi-ma for him? Try to retrieve his damned soul? If you did, Baby would be impressed by your stupidity—morbidly entertained, even.

But when those thoughts stirred in his head… all he could manage was a scoff.

He didn’t understand why it pissed him off so much—this idea of you giving yourself up so easily, throwing yourself into danger like a brainless creature blinded by some unreasonable devotion.

He didn’t want you to. He hoped you never would.

Because then he’d have to watch you die a completely useless death.

Baby could be cruel, teasing, distant, and cold. But you stayed.

You withstood it all like it meant nothing. He started calling you a masochist, and you just laughed.

Even when he dodged your affection, you’d smile at him—like you understood something he hadn’t even admitted to himself or you.

You’d argued, sure. Plenty of times. And sometimes, when you got truly upset, Baby would be forced to soothe you. He hated it—because your honmoon line would tense, your crimson wave would spike with defensive shards, and every instinct in his body would tell him to step back, to bare his teeth, to avoid getting cut.

You’d no longer taste sweet. Just bitter and clogged.

But you never stayed mad long.

And Baby still didn’t understand why you were so damn stubborn. Were you just nice? Did you think he was attractive enough to put up with everything he gave you? Did you see something worthwhile in him to cling to?

He didn’t get it. And he hated that.

All he wanted was for you to let him go. To walk away. To disappear into the crowd of blurry, faceless souls so he could forget the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him like he was worth the trouble.

So he wouldn't remember the way you once snuck a pat on his head, praising him for something stupid, while he stood there speechless—too stunned to do anything but freeze.

You don’t deserve it, Baby had once thought quietly as the two of you sat across from one another, lazily chatting and trading complaints like two overworked beings with nowhere better to be.

But that thought opened a dangerous door.

Which of these humans actually deserve to have their souls consumed?

That train of thought didn’t get far. It was slammed shut almost immediately as Gwi-ma’s furious voice screeched in his mind, sharp and unbearable—like claws dragging across a rock. The sound echoed inside his skull, a grating reminder of two things: his unrelenting hunger… and his contract with his Lord.

With you, Baby found himself craving something he’d never truly longed for before—his soul.

Not because he missed it. Not because of some romantic longing for what he used to be. But because he wanted to feel.

When he was with you, he didn’t feel much of anything on his own. He mainly felt what you did through your wave. The way your energy responded to him.

Still, sometimes… A voice—faint and nagging at the back of his mind—would whisper: What would I feel if I had it back?

Would he like you? Would he feel attachment? Annoyance at your dramatics? Amusement at your storytelling and exaggerated complaints?

Would he even feel anything at all for you? Or would you fade into just another face in the crowd, forgettable and dull, once the honmoon barrier no longer affected him and he became a fully formed human with his own thoughts and unclouded desires?

He didn’t know. He told himself he didn’t care.

Baby sat staring at you now, his gaze dulled. You were rising to your feet, offering him one of your small, familiar smiles. You’d already caught onto his fatigue—like you always did. You noticed everything about him, it seemed.

Romance, sitting nearby, lifted a brow at him but said nothing, already returning to painting his nails with a dramatic sigh.

“You had a hard day, huh?”

Your voice pulled Baby’s eyes to meet yours, tired and bored as they were. You looked up at him with that same soft concern that always gnawed at something deep inside him. Gently, your hand reached for his arm—easy, familiar, careful.

Baby’s body stiffened.

Your touch was warm to him—warm in the way fireplaces feel during a cold winter. A strange, scorching warmth bloomed where your hand rested, not soothing but intrusive, and every instinct screamed at him to flinch away. To step back.

But he held still.

Jinu had already scolded him recently—told him to act less detached when around you.

“You’re in a relationship,” Jinu had said dryly, like it was a contract Baby had signed. He had nearly scoffed out loud: Whose fault is that?

He didn’t get the chance to argue. Jinu’s attention had shifted just as Tiger stepped through the realm portal, Magpie sitting on its head, looking unamused like always. The trio had rushed upstairs, Jinu looking mildly guilty about something. That had immediately made Baby suspicious.

He hadn’t told anyone about what he thought was happening. Not yet. Not until he spoke to Jinu first. If it turned out to be something stupid, there was no need to alarm the others.

Still, some part of him—some quiet, stubborn part that still respected Jinu—resented the secrecy. He didn’t like being kept out. Not by Jinu. Not by someone he believes he can trust with anything.

Baby was pulled from his thoughts as you gently tugged at him. Somehow, during the seconds he’d been lost in his own head, you’d moved behind him, coaxing him with soft persistence.

When he refocused on you, you were smiling—brightly, as always. Your wave reached out to him, clinging to something invisible, something hopeful, and the joy radiating off you was so tangible that it pulled the corners of his lips upward despite himself.

You tugged again. “Come on, sleepyhead. You can rest once we get to your room,” you said with far too much confidence—as if being allowed into his bed was a given.

He should’ve kicked you out. Should’ve rolled his eyes and told you off like he always did.

Instead, his body betrayed him once more. He took a step forward.

Your touch still felt scorching, but his skin was slowly acclimating. And so, he let you guide him upstairs, watching you with a contemplative expression as you began rambling—talking about how Romance had invited you, what the two of you had been up to, the way you exaggerated every little detail with dramatic flair.

God, just shut up, he wanted to groan. But he didn’t.

His head was empty. Peacefully so.

For once, Gwi-ma’s voice wasn’t clawing through his skull. Either his Lord was too busy, or one of his brothers was bearing the brunt of his annoyance today.

Baby could breathe. Sort of.

The only downside was that Gwi-ma always seemed to hate your voice.

Somehow, it only made the demon lord more irritable. The headaches would spike, sharp and relentless. And when they did, Baby was too worn down to resist—too tired to stop you from touching him. Really touching him.

You’d run your hands gently through his hair, massaging his scalp, letting him rest his heavy head against you while his body, despite itself, clung to your presence for relief.

Even Baby knew this relationship wasn’t healthy—at least not by human standards.

And yet… here you were. Still here. Still reaching for him. Still offering something he had never wanted.

As you lowered your voice while opening the door to his room, Baby stared at your back. Your wave pressed against him gently—soothing, needy, unaware that with each rub, each pulse of affection, he was feeding off you again.

His energy returned bite by bite. And still, you smiled.

You can’t be that lonely, can you? Baby thought as he stepped fully into his room, the soft click of the door behind him signalling you’d followed and shut it.

He let out a low groan, flopping face-first onto the bed—not from exhaustion after the Interweaver, but from something heavier. Something stickier.

You took his suffering as comedy, as always, letting out a quiet chuckle before happily bouncing onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, your grin wide and annoyingly bright as you looked at his clearly unamused expression. Far too happy. Far too warm.

Raising a brow, you reached out, gently, like always. "Baby? You know you can tell me when—ack!"

You barely got the words out before his hand shot up and caught your wrist in a firm grip. The contact was too much—your crimson wave spilling over him, blanketing him in warmth he didn’t ask for and couldn’t ignore.

You wanted to stay by his side? Let yourself be eaten slowly, piece by piece, like some willing sacrifice?

Then fine. Let it be. But Baby refused to linger in that heat longer than he had to. He craved fire—the kind he could endure. The kind that hurt. That pain was nothing compared to Gwi-ma’s flames.

With no effort at all, he flipped your position, pushing you back into the mattress with a force that made the springs creak beneath you. He straddled your legs, pinning them easily with his thighs. His gaze bore into yours for just a second before he leaned in, capturing your lips in a rough, unapologetic kiss.

His tongue swept against your lower lip before he nipped at it, smirking when your wave pulsed. Annoyance. Confusion. Desire. Good. These were the emotions he could handle. Emotions he was used to feeding on.

Unlike the other thing. The clogging thing that stuck to his throat and made him want to purge.

Love… Baby thought bitterly, dazed, as you let him in—returning the kiss, softening beneath him. Is so fucking disgusting.

[thatonegrimm]

The Manager’s Guide to Demon Boybands: A Witch’s Oath

Burn Marks and Shifting Lines

Chapter11/Chapter12/Chapter13

4 Days Later

A practice studio, late evening. A storm rolls in.

Romance had been planning it for days.

Not the accident—that was real, and he hadn’t expected the scaffolding to collapse. Again. But the timing? That had been suspiciously convenient.

They were alone.

The others had left early, drenched in post-rehearsal sweat and takeout cravings. Abby had muttered something about “protein windows.” Jinu had declared his intent to rewrite half their choreo in the car. Baby had vanished with a bag of chips. Mystery had slipped out before anyone noticed.

But Romance stayed behind. Under the excuse of perfecting one last dance move. His footwork had been fine. Flawless, actually.

She had stayed too—because of course she had.

She always stayed when she didn’t have to. Stayed to check studio paperwork. Stayed to make sure the lights were off, the speakers unplugged, and no one had forgotten anything critical. She noticed every detail but gave nothing away.

Romance had started noticing that about her lately.

She paid attention to everything but revealed nothing. Not when he flirted. Not when they almost died. And not when he’d melted steel in front of her last week.

He knew she’d seen it.

But her face hadn’t changed. Not fear. Not awe. Not even suspicion.

So now, he wanted to get a reaction.

He didn’t know why it mattered. Maybe because the others had started acting strange too. Baby was watching her more. Abby had started double-checking the protection charms she'd bought them. Even Mystery, who barely spoke, had made a comment about her presence being “anchored.” Whatever that meant.

Romance wasn’t usually the jealous type. But this was something else. It was like she had become the center of their gravity—and none of them had noticed when it happened.

And he didn’t like not knowing.

So he stayed.

Because he wanted to see what she would do—alone.

-----------------------------

The storm outside cracked thunder against the walls. Rain slapped the windows in sheets, thick and insistent. The city lights flickered behind the gray curtain of water.

Romance stretched, tossing a water bottle between his hands with practiced ease. “Hey,” he said casually. “You scared of storms?”

She didn’t look up from the clipboard she was reviewing. “No. Why?”

“Just wondering. You’re not scared of much, are you?”

“I try not to be.”

He smiled. “That’s hot.”

She didn’t answer.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, the way he did on stage when every camera lens was trained on him. But this was different. This was real.

“I wanted to say thank you. For last week. You didn’t scream. Or run. Or treat us like freaks.”

She finally looked up. “Why would I?”

He tilted his head. “Because we’re not normal.”

She stared at him.

He smiled again, wider this time—charming, dangerous, bright.

“You know, most people at least pretend to be surprised. You didn’t even flinch.”

She flipped a page on her clipboard. “I’ve seen worse.”

Romance blinked. “Worse than Abby lifting steel and me frying studio scaffolding like bacon?”

“I’ve been in this industry a long time.”

“But not that long.”

She looked up again. This time her gaze lingered.

“You’d be surprised.”

And then the studio lights flickered. Not from his power—this time it was the storm.

The scaffolding near the mirrors groaned. It had never been replaced after the first incident. Only patched. Poorly.

With a sharp, metallic sound, a brace slipped. The upper bar started to fall—fast, sharp, splintered with rusted edges.

It was aimed right at you.

And Romance didn’t hesitate.

He moved. Faster than a human could. The air around him shimmered, warping with a heat that didn’t burn but bent. He caught the metal before it hit her—barehanded.

The bar hissed under his touch, glowing faintly red before he pushed it aside. The edge was warped. Bent. Melted where his palm had touched it.

Smoke curled from the impact point. His shirt sleeve was scorched, but his skin was unmarked.

And you?

Still standing exactly where you had been. Unmoving. Steady.

Their eyes met.

Romance smiled, slow and smug. “So… still not scared?”

She looked at his hand. Then the warped metal. Then back at him.

“No,” she said. “But I am annoyed. That’s the second time a piece of ceiling almost killed me.”

He blinked.

You walked past him, brushing invisible dust off your blazer. “Get your things. We’re done for today.”

Romance stood there for a second longer, stunned. “That’s it?”

“No questions?”

“No screaming? You’re really just… okay with this?”

She looked over her shoulder, and for just a second, her smile was too calm. Too knowing.

“If I screamed every time a man tried to impress me with fire, I’d never get any sleep.”

And with that, she left him alone in the studio, heart still burning—though whether from heat or confusion, he couldn’t tell.

-----------------------------

He lingered a long time after she left.

Romance didn’t mind being alone. Not really. But this was different. The storm rattled against the windows. His heartbeat had only just started to slow, but something in his chest still buzzed.

He walked back to the warped metal bar and knelt.

His fingerprints were still scorched into the side.

He’d melted it. Like wax.

He’d wanted her to see. Wanted to break the performance—no more innuendo, no more charm. He wanted honesty. Fire and all.

But she hadn’t flinched.

And that made her dangerous. Or… maybe something else.

He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall—hair damp with sweat, sleeve burned through, eyes still bright with heat.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “What-Who are you, Manager-nim?”

And why did she make him feel like he was the one being watched?

He wandered to the back of the studio, retrieving his bag with slow, deliberate movements. Every part of him hummed like a struck tuning fork.

He should feel proud. He’d saved her.

But all he felt was off-balance.

-----------------------------

The Saja Boys' Apartment — Later That Night

Romance flopped onto the couch dramatically.

“She’s definitely not normal,” he muttered.

“What’d you do?” Baby asked, already half-asleep.

“Melted metal again. Almost died. She didn’t blink.”

“Did she yell at you?”

“No. Just told me to grab my things.”

Jinu, from the hallway, muttered, “You probably deserved it.”

Mystery, passing by, simply said: “She’s not surprised because she’s been through worse.”

Romance sat up. “What?”

Mystery didn’t explain. He never did.

The others had mostly gone to bed. Rain still pounded the windows. Thunder rolled like distant drums.

Romance leaned back against the couch, watching shadows ripple along the ceiling. Lightning flared again outside.

“I think she’s letting us believe we’re the ones in control.” he said again, quieter this time, barely audible.

Abby peeked from the kitchen with a protein bar in hand. “What are we talking about?”

“Our manager,” Romance muttered. “She’s not what she seems.”

Jinu stepped out with a towel over his head. “That’s obvious.”

“No,” Romance said. “I mean… really not.”

He rubbed the burn mark on his shirt absentmindedly.

Outside, the storm continued to rage.

Inside, no one quite wanted to admit that the thing they were all starting to notice—Was that she wasn’t the one who needed protecting.

AN: You ever melt metal on purpose to impress someone and they just... brush past you like it’s a mild inconvenience? 😭 Poor Romance is fighting for his life.

Taglist: @poem-bee @gremlinartstudio @wantstoliveinfantasy @lovely-maryj @buggaboobich @idkokfu @osball @tenaciouskittenpuff @venommie @honey-and-sweetdreams @luna-looniesblog @lyunsafebubble @tulnukaz @levifiance @mysteris-things @aerissblog @anxiousskylar @downbadgirlypoo @misdollface @renchai @rithalie-sideblog @tsukimoon-chan @reixtsu @ghostiiess 

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

─ HOLD ME, CARRY ME SLOWLY

BOB FLOYD x F!READER

Summary: you and bob have been best friends through everything, so when you're a little too in your head over messing up, it makes sense that he would do anything you ask to get you back out of it. To make it better. It won't change anything, right? Only it does, and Bob realises at maybe the worst possible time, exactly why...

Warnings: 18+. Friends with benefits, smut (fem recieving oral and a vague mention of piv), brief fear of ruining the friendship and unrequited feelings, reader's got a fear of failure and withdraws into herself when she makes mistakes, small bit of angst, plane crash, brief panic attack

Word Count: 3k

A/N: another re-write of an old fic just to test out writing for bob before i dive into the much bigger fics i have planned!! please let me know what you think!

It starts as a way to forget.

To forget all the suffocating things like pressure and the crushing fear that comes with it of being a failure, a let down.

To forget that those stupid little mistakes you still sometimes make during training could be the reason you or one of your teammates don't make it home one day, and there'd be no one to blame but you when it happened.

It starts because you're best friends and you can't stand to see the other in any form of distress.

That when a training exercise goes so unbelievably wrong and you feel like it's your fault and he feels like it's his, he'll do anything to try and make it better because he can't bear the way your features get all haunted.

Drowning in memories of old voices telling you that you would never be good enough and the self-hatred that lingered like a ghost, insisting that they were right.

He'll do anything even if it means catching you as you stumble out of your jet, sealing himself to your side as you endure the tense debriefing followed by the quiet journey home. Murmuring softly whilst he all but carries you through your apartment, to your room, and sets you on the bed before sinking to his knees in front of you.

Even if it means looking up into those wide, glossy eyes, the ones he swears contain more stars than he's ever seen in the sky, his usually steady hands trembling against the cold curves of your cheeks when he dares to cup them in his palms and all but begs you.

"What do you need– tell me how I can help?"

It's like the tenderness in his voice breaks you, like it snaps the last brittle piece holding your composure together as your eyes fly to his and you lunge. Your fingers curling into the collar of his flight suit, pulling until your lips are crushed against his, and his entire body burns when you moan raggedly into his mouth.

And god, it feels a little terrifying at first.

Because underneath the surprise and the heat of it all, buried under the way your kisses are making his head spin and his name being drawn out on the softest little sigh has his lungs stuttering dangerously, there's the muffled shriek of alarm bells.

A smothered warning that this all could end in awkward regret and a tense fracture in your friendship when you both have your heads screwed back on right.

But then you lure him from the floor, drag his body to slot against the warm cradle of your own as you fall back into the mattress with a breathy sigh before hooking your legs around his waist and rocking tight against him.

"Make me forget–please, Bob– make it feel good."

And like a fever dream, it all melts away.

His teeth are fastened to your flushed skin whilst he drags the zip of your flight suit down, fingers slipping past your underwear to sink inside the slick heat of you, stroking and curling like he instinctively knows exactly how to touch you just right, stretching you open whilst he licks the sweat from your neck.

Bob's more than a little addicted when you gasp his name, when you respond to his rasp of "I know, I've got you– that feel good?" with a desperate little nod as you rut into his hand. His shoulders stinging with the bite of your nails clawing for purchase, for some kind of grounding against the brutal flare of heat gathering low and fast in your belly.

Your pleasure reignites him. The praise falling in quiet gasps from your parted mouth has him flushing gold with pride, near feral with the need to please, to make you burn brighter beneath his hands and his mouth before he can even think of fucking you properly.

You nearly fly off the bed when he buries his face between your thighs, spine arching like a bow as he flicks his tongue against your clit before drawing it into his mouth.

He doesn't slow down, doesn't let you catch your breath, just pins you to the bed with one strong arm flung across your belly until you shudder apart with a choked cry, body trembling and his name cracking on your tongue like a prayer whilst he groans into you.

‘Make it feel good’, you had begged.

Yeah, he could do that.

**

It starts as a way to forget and it works a little too well on him because suddenly, Bob can't think of anything else but you.

The way you fight and the way you fly, hot-headed and reckless, like you carry death's will in your blood when you set those pretty eyes on any given target.

You're like a squadron's worth of energy and ambition, fired up to a boiling point and kept there for too long, just clawing at the chance to be aimed and let loose at whatever unlucky bastard decides to cross your path.

And where once Bob had only fretted about it slightly, more protective than fearful, a touch awed when he watched you despite his occasional reminders to reign when you got too heated, he now worries constantly about it getting you killed.

Worries enough that he can never settle until you're back with him, until that adrenaline and cut-throat desire to prove yourself dims in your veins and you go all soft and sweet beneath the cage of his body and the weight of him buried deep within you.

He doesn't get it at first.

Sure, he worried about you before but not like this.

There was always this deeply embedded trust in his gut that you would return. That nothing could ever stop either of you from flying at the other's side but now he can't fully reassure himself, his ability to concentrate on something other than the potential danger you're in is almost completely non-existent.

And it doesn't click until there's a mission that goes south before he can blink.

When there's tone blaring through the cockpit and he barely has time to bark a warning at Phoenix, let alone search for you, before everything explodes into chaos.

It doesn't make sense until there's multiple bandits and the squad is locked in combat everywhere he looks, gunfire and flame filling the sky, missiles that are sent careening towards their targets and jets dropping out of the air like flies when they collide, and suddenly he sees you there in the thick of it.

He'd recognise you anywhere.

Wreaking the kind of havoc that only you're capable of with such elegant brutality and making his heart bunch up with pride and fear behind his ribs. All wrapped up tight in what feels a lot like the one thing he swore he would never allow himself to be stupid enough to feel when what was between you wasn't anything more than a friend helping a friend.

But there it was anyway.

Swelling inside his chest like it had its own pulse, its own breath. A living, breathing thing that refused to be killed or at least quieted.

And before he can swallow the realisation, or even feel the rush of it through his veins, his world becomes a nightmare.

Everything he fears in the dead of night, that wakes him up shaking in a cold sweat and choking on a hoarse cry of your name, now coming to life directly in front of him.

He sees the bandit rear up behind you whilst your too preoccupied to notice, when your too blind with protective fury because Fanboy's calling for help and Bob knows that the second you hear it, that vengeful focus you get won't let you see any other danger but the one your friends are in.

Not even your own.

And if Bob screams, he doesn't hear it.

His ears are ringing too loud but he can taste your name in his mouth, the fear that warps and bites at it until it's something unrecognisable, he can feel the rawness of his throat like its shredding and bleeding and maybe he'll drown in his own blood before the agonising pressure of grief tightening around his chest can burst him apart entirely.

Because although Hangman is suddenly right there to back you up, he fires just a moment too late.

There is the bright flare of flames and the thick billow of smoke that eats along the enemy aircraft until it's impossible to see, but not before they manage to fire off a missile at you that tears apart a wing as if it was made of nothing more than paper.

And then you're spiralling, spinning out before his very eyes whilst an invisible hand thrusts itself violently into his chest and yanks the air from his lungs.

He can't even follow to make sure that you've ejected, he can't even demand it of Phoenix, though he knows by the devastated noise that is wrenched from her, she's debating it herself.

But the comms are still frantic, the hostile's fire hasn't relented anywhere near close enough that a search and rescue wouldn't cause more casualties and he knows you would be so fucking disappointed in him if he abandoned the squad to chase after someone who might be gone already.

Bob can't do anything except watch as you disappear from sight, eyes burning behind his glasses as he prays harder than he ever has in his life before Phoenix leads them back into the fight with his heart breaking and a sense of despair and helplessness that threatens to swallow him whole.

**

He can't land quick enough when it's all over.

Phoenix, at his insistence and already encouraged by her own concern, definitely comes in way too hot for the comfort of the people on the carrier but he just can't bring himself to care.

Not when his boots are hitting tarmac in record speed, helmet flung on the ground so he can frantically search through the endless sea of faces.

There's too much going on, too many voices, too many hands trying to stop him and check in, and just too many questions slamming against the walls of his skull.

Is she here? Is she still out there? Is she alive? Is she, is she, is she–

It's like the world goes in slow motion, the images all edged in fuzz and the sound of his quickening breaths roaring in his ear whilst his heart pounds and pounds. His stomach rolls violently all of a sudden, the sting of bile collecting in his throat and he's just about to fall to his knees, screw his eyes shut tight and beg for it all to stop when he hears it.

His name.

It's weak, strained and a little crackly, but he hears it. Snatches it tight to his heaving chest like it's his only lifeline, a solitary beacon in the darkness threatening to devour his vision and sink him into nothingness.

He lifts his head almost torturously slow, a little too scared to hope, a little terrified that it's only his imagination as shaky fingers shove his glasses up the bridge of his nose but no, there you are.

You're covered in grime and blood, hair limp around your face, and your flight suit hanging from your body in tatters whilst you prop yourself up between a grinning Hangman and an overly exasperated looking medic.

You're gorgeous. The most beautiful thing he's ever seen because god, you're right there.

Alive.

Only a few metres away and eyes so wide with concern for him as he stumbles forward in a daze before breaking out into a run.

"Lieutenant." The medic stammers as Bob barrels in your direction. "I tried to tell her she needs to be properly seen to, but she refused to move until you returned. Can you please–"

He doesn't hear the rest. He's too busy crashing into the open circle of your arms, folding you into himself as his hands sweep up your back and his nose buries into your hair to inhale the scent of you.

Here, safe with him.

There is a low, rumbling laugh then. Not mocking or teasing as he often hears it but knowing. Gentled by relief for not only you but Bob as well, and when the medic continues to huff about stubborn headed pilots, Hangman is quick to shoo them off, to follow behind and yell at anyone who dares to try and interrupt the moment you both so clearly need.

"Bob–" You're a little stunned by the intensity of his reaction he thinks, your voice slipping to something calm and quiet as you stroke a comforting hand through his hair and he shudders against you. "Bob–hey–it's okay, I'm okay."

"I thought I'd lost you." He manages to croak out, his hands searching blindly for your jaw, thumbs stroking the soot streaked skin, and then he's kissing you.

His mouth moving, fierce and desperate, against yours and he's pulling you closer, closer, closer whilst you cling to him and kiss him back just as hungrily, like you thought you'd never get the chance to again.

"I thought you were dead." He breathes into you, voice rough like he's still too wrecked to even say the words without breaking. "That you were gone just like that before I even got the chance to figure out– before I got the chance to tell you–"

"Tell me what?" You murmur.

You sound softer than he's ever heard you, breathless, a little kiss drunk, and it makes his chest swell with something impossibly tender. Warmth blooming like wildflowers behind his ribs.

It smothers the fear he expected to feel when this moment came, softening its jagged edges beneath the weight of everything that has led you here. The sheer emotion that grips his throat tight when he pulls back to be faced with the way your gaze shines at him, the gentle curve of your smile, sweet and adoring.

"That I'm in love with you."

You inhale sharply and if there's some nerves prickling beneath his skin, if he lets himself believe for even a moment that you'll withdraw, that you'll tell him this isn't what this thing between you is, then he's delighted to be proven wrong so soon.

Because you're suddenly looking at him in a way that makes him ache. Eyes sparkling in the steadily dimming light of evening, fingers touching his face like he’s something precious you've spent a lifetime longing for before a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

"So all it takes is me nearly dying for you to admit it, huh?" You muse, and Bob blinks, once, twice, in stunned confusion before his jaw goes slack.

"You knew?" He blurts, incredulous.

"No, I'm not a mind reader." You laugh, shaking your head, eyes gleaming with mischief before you shrug like you haven't just sent his mind reeling. "I had wondered though."

His brow creases at that, still-trembling hands dropping from your face whilst he levels you with a sharp glare. "What, so you thought you'd go and get yourself blown to fucking pieces to prove a theory? Are you ki–"

You kiss him before he can finish. Brush a hand down his arm until your fingers tangle with his, raising them entwined to rest against the rapid thud of your heart whilst your other slides tenderly over his jaw.

It's supposed to be a quick, soft thing.

Reassuring.

A mere graze of your lips against his, sugar sweet with apology.

But there's still the wild burn of all that adrenaline tearing through your chests, the fear, the shadows of death still hooked into your skin and suddenly it's like neither of you know how to stop. Like it would rip open a fatal wound somewhere vital if you were to even try.

So you don't.

You let Bob wind his other arm around you and press you close like he's trying to fuse you together permanently. Like if he folds you in tight enough, maybe you'd sink through his skin and between his ribs to nestle right up against his heart where he could keep you safe.

You let him kiss you until you feel flayed raw by the ache of it all, the reverence and the yearning and the sheer overwhelming enormity of love that he takes from you and pours back in turn. An endless loop of devotion that leaves you breathless and clinging to him.

"That was definitely not the plan, I swear." You gasp softly as his lips trail your jaw and the warm path of your throat. “But I can't say I'm too upset about it.”

He groans then. Buries his face deep into the crook of your neck and sags his weight against you, defeated as he huffs. “You're insane– you're going to be the death of me.”

You snort, grinning far easier than anyone who had almost died within the last hour probably should. "Would it make it better if I told you that I'm in love with you too?"

It does.

It makes his heart flare up, makes it go all giddy and chaotic in his chest between his stuttering lungs, and he's pretty sure he's all flushed cheeks and the world's most lovesick smile on his face that he can't hide no matter how hard he tries.

The kind that doesn't even dim when he kisses you again and again and again before pressing his forehead to yours.

"You could have just started with that, you know." He snarks lightly, barely any bite to it as you roll your eyes, sinking your hands into his hair to press him closer.

"Fine, let me try again. Bob Floyd?"

He's not sure how it's possible, but his smile splits even wider. "Yeah?"

"I love you too."

[sevsevteen]

OMG ANOTHWR CARATINY!! I’m absolutely loving catching up with ur page every week, and thank you for taking my requests!! (The scoups fix was one of them lol)

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is the little ways 14th member might look out for the others, like always bringing extra food for Vernon or secretly setting reminders to stretch while producing for Woozi. Just the small things😊😊

-⭐️anon (imma use this cause im always in ur inbox LMAO)

AHHH CARATINYS UNITE 🫶 welcome to the club ⭐️ anon ^^ thank you for your requests !! i love to see it hehe — ive thought of a few headcanons for the little things oc would do, literal pure fluff argh

-- ★*☆♪

“Have you eaten?” You asked casually, sliding into the van beside Vernon. The early morning schedules made everyone a little sluggish, a little forgetful.

He blinked at you through his beanie, earbuds still in. “Huh? No, not yet.”

“Thought so.” You reached into your bag to pull out a small paper bag, handing it to him without much thought. Inside? A toasted egg sandwich, lightly buttered, with just the right amount of pepper and cheese. Vernon’s eyes lit up.

“Wait— is this—”

“Yeah,” you interrupted, pretending to scroll on your phone. “The one you always eye from Mingyu’s stash. Figured I’d save you the guilt.”

He chuckled, already unwrapping it, cheeks pink. “You’re my lifesaver.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pay me back by not eating anyone else’s lunch today.” Your lips curled up a little.

.

Everyone knew once Woozi was in the studio, time stopped existing for him. Meals? Irrelevant. Moving? Nonexistent. Breathing properly? Questionable.

So, you set up a quiet system.

You’d text him every few hours.

“Stand up. Stretch. I mean it.”

If he didn’t reply in 10 minutes, you’d call.

And if he still ignored it? You’d bribe Dino into barging into the studio with a protein shake in one hand and a reminder in the other.

Once, when you stopped by before your schedule to quietly drop off a bento box at the studio, you noticed it was still sitting cold when you came back four hours later.

You sighed, finding Woozi in the same position, one leg curled under him, back hunched, staring at his monitor.

Without a word, you gently placed your hand on his back, and whispered, “You’re going to destroy your spine.”

“I was almost done with this part,” he mumbled, not even looking.

You placed the bento beside his keyboard. “Eat. Even if it’s just a few bites. And I’m setting another alarm on your phone to remind you to stretch in an hour.”

You bent over slightly and tapped the corner of his phone screen. “Don’t even think about snoozing it, I have eyes everywhere.”

Woozi groaned, but muttered a thank you under his breath, already peeling open the lid. His smile was small - but real.

.

“Does anyone know my shoe size?” Hoshi’s voice rang out from his room, voice loud enough to travel through his closed door.

Mingyu looked at you from the other side of the couch, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he screamed back: “Why are you asking us? Aren’t they your own feet??”

The door opened, Hoshi’s head peeking out.

“It’s 270, Hoshi.” You muttered lazily, eyes only leaving your phone once to the man.

He grinned. “You're the best!” You felt Mingyu's feet nudge yours, his jaw dropped in shock.

.

You squinted at your screen, looking at how the group chat message stayed at a ‘12’ instead of the usual ‘13’.

A swipe of your finger brought you right to Seungcheol’s profile, pressing the dial button directly.

It rang thrice. Then:

“Hello?”

“Choi Seungcheol-ssi,” you spoke sweetly. “You’ve been online playing games for three hours. Get up. Drink water. Maybe move your limbs a little?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Don‘t call me that! And…how did you know I was playing?”

“Because I texted Wonwoo and he’s in your party.”

“Traitor,” Seungcheol grumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m not saying you’re old. But if you don’t stretch now, your back is going to sound like bubble wrap tomorrow.”

“I am stretching,” he insisted. “See?” A vague groan in the background followed.

You smiled. “Okay, whatever you say Cheol-ie. I’ll call back in an hour.”

.

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

💫: “Get out of bed, stretch, and get some air. You haven’t moved all day, have you?”

Wonwoo huffed out a laugh under his breath, thumbs flying across the screen.

🐈‍⬛: “Did you install security cameras in my room?”

💫: “Nope. I’m worse than that. I care and I nag.”

He grinned at that, tossing his blanket off and dragging himself up with a long sigh.

--

[bluetimeombre]

⌦ .｡.:*♡ Keep you in my locket

Arthur Morgan meets a strange man, and does something even stranger.

Entering my Arthur Morgan phase. Dw, I still have some Joel miller planned but right now I’m playing red dead so you know I had to do it. All fluff, hope you like

꘎♡. ━━━━━. ♡꘎

"Oh, thank you sir, thank you," said the man as Arthur returned his horse.

"No problem."

He'd only been riding out for a day or so, intent to explore the land more. He'd already seen enough to send him back to camp but he couldn't ignore a man desperate to retrieve his horse.

He could, but if you found out and somehow you would- because you always do- you'd be very upset with him.

When you found out he'd let a man walk home after he was robbed, he had to sleep on the floor of your tent like a dog curled up close to his owner.

"Please, take this," the man pulled a thin golden chain from his pocket, dangling it in front of Arthur. "I'm from Europe, you see. Came here to make my name in America. I'm a jewellery maker. I insist you take it."

Arthur watched the gold glint in the sun. The chain was long and thin, a heart dangling at the end of it, decorated with intricate designs of flowers and swirls and such.

He took it, gently, it seemed expensive, genuine. Could fetch a pretty penny. "All for helpin' ya, sir, but i'm a takin man."

"Give it to her," the man insisted. "Do you have romance in this country."

Arthur stared at it, holding it up like it was some prey to examine.

Sure, he knew romance. Sometimes after a hard day he'd sit you down around the fire, pull of your old worn boots and rub your feet. That was romance right?

Or the way you'd always have a cup of strong coffee for him in the mornings when he doesn't sleep well.

Or how, though he hated it, he let you play with his hair. Sometimes braid it.

"It is a locket," said the man, he was French, Arthur thought. "You can put a portrait inside. Of you. Give it to her and she can carry it next to her heart. Now I must go sir! Thank you!"

Arthur hardly waved a hand goodbye as he still stared and still thought about it.

He liked to give you things, never passed a field of flowers without picking a bouquet for you. Never had he gotten you something quite so extravagant.

Him? Inside?

Arthur could count the pictures he had of him. Two. One of him, Dutch and Hosea when he first joined them. The other of you and Arthur sitting around the campfire, just talking.

It was look of love, Charles called it when he took it. Now it was tucked in his pocket and he looked at it every night and morning.

Look of love, he was a damn puppy dog for you.

He would never sully that picture just to put one of himself in a locket. He could just give it to you as is, maybe you'd want a picture of your horse in there? Or Dutch? Or John or someone else you cared about?

Who was he to hold your heart?

But the very idea had him wanting to throw it into a lake if it wasn't him going to be in there.

Arthur patted his horse with an absent mind, rubbing his thumb over the gold. "What you think, girl?" he showed his horse the locket, waiting for approval. "You think she'll like it?"

Now, how would he fit inside your heart?

꘎♡. ━━━━━. ♡꘎

That night the stars seemed bright and the air was warmer as you lingered at the lake, staring out at the moon that glittered on the surface. You were nursing a cup of coffee, waiting on Arthur's return. It had been two days and he said he wouldn't stay away long.

Your idea of long was an hour. His a week.

"Hey!" Abbigail called, dragging Jack to bed. "Your boy's back!"

You grinned instantly, setting your coffee cup into the rocks at the lake.

Arthur was already making his way down to you, his horse not even hitched at the post before he was jogging over.

"Arthur?" you could tell he was agitated by how rushed he was. Was it a quick stop? A quick peck then a run off again.

He wrapped his arounds your waist, lifting you quickly. "You alrigh'" he sighed into your hair, body relaxing into you.

"Missed you."

"I weren't gone long," he said, setting you down on the stones again. "I-I got you somethin."

"Me? Somethin'?" you mocked his accent and the roughness to his words.

Arthur grunted an acknowledge of your teasing, hand fishing around in his satchel. "Well, I helped this man, he was from France, I think. He gave me somethin."

He was still looking down at his satchel though you could see something in his hand, balled up there and hidden. Yet, he didn't show you.

You looked at him, a waiting smile on your lips but a furrow in your brows. What was it? Your mind dared conjure up several things, some better than others.

The back of Arthur's balled up hand tipped back his hat as he rubbed at his forehead. "If you don't like it, you don't have to keep it."

"Well, I don't know what it is yet," you teased.

Arthur un-curled his fist but kept it low and for his own gaze. You watched as his jaw ticked and a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. "It's nothin- silly really-"

You reached up to tuck the growing strands of his hair back, your fingers trailing along his cheek until he relaxed, leaning into the touch ever so slightly. "Arthur."

He hummed, eyes looking up to you un-sarcastically quiet.

"Can I see?"

He sighed heavily and you were almost tempted to take it back when his fingers uncurled and you caught the golden chain in hand.

Your eyes widened, your heart rose. You held onto his wrist. "Oh, Arthur."

"You like it?" he asked, still un-sure about it.

It felt like giving you his heart all over again.

"It's beautiful." Gently, you picked it up, looking close at the heart and the engravings.

Arthur shrugged of some un-ease as he shifted his weight to one foot, holding onto his belt. He watched you admire it. "Fella was a jewellery maker, said he wanted me to have it."

"And you didn't sell it of, I am so proud of you," you teased.

"Thought of my pretty one at home who would only look prettier wearin' it," he smiled.

A blush crept to your cheeks as you looked at him. "Thank you, Arthur."

You held his shoulder as you reached up to kiss his cheek. Like he was a gentleman and like you were falling in love for the first time. Still, ever little touch between the two of you sent sparks, made him feel alive.

Your fingers went to the locket, ready to unclasp.

Arthur grabbed your wrists like you were handling a gun. That awkward shyness coming back to him. "Don't laugh."

"Laugh?"

Arthur rolled his head back, looking to the lake. "I had to... get somethin' to put in there," he grumbled.

That was how a locket worked, you wanted to tell him but he looked just about ready to crawl out his own skin or jump on his horse and run away.

Had he put a lock of his hair that you loved so much? A tooth of his? A pressed flower?

You peeked inside at the small heart. Your lips pursed into a thin white line.

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh.

"You wanna laugh, don't ya?" he grunted, shaking his head.

"No," but you answer came out in a cough.

Arthur may have been given the necklace but he wasn't given the opportunity to make it special.

Inside laid a roughly cut and small picture of Arthur. It was small but close up. He'd taken his hat off so you'd always see his hair. You wondered if he asked someone to do it, or if he'd somehow done it all alone himself. His eyes, your favourite colour because they're his, didn't meet the camera but more so looked past it and he seemed shocked and slightly confused to be there.

"Arthur," you tried to keep your voice steady. It wavered.

"Ah- get rid of it!" Arthur threw his arm out to the lake.

"No!" you held it close to your chest like he might snatch it and get rid of it for you. "No, Arthur."

He groaned and turned back to you. "I needed a picture, I hate pictures, you know that. Much rather have took one of ya but, didn't know if... well, I wanted you to have-"

"You," you finished for him, cutting his rambling. "The only person who my heart belongs to."

Arthur hid his bashful gaze under his hat. "Well, I like to hear that."

You had the locket cupped in your hand like it was a dying flame to protect. "I love it. I do. It's sweet. And I love you."

You knew Arthur didn't find those words easy, that love was not something he was accustom to. It never stopped you from telling him and he never had you doubting his care for you.

The holds, the flower, the locket, the small and sometimes big things were enough to tell you how much he loved you.

You held the locket out to him. "Help me with that thing then, would you?"

Once the chain was held between his fingers you scooped up your hair and turned, offering your neck to him.

There was grumbling on his end. Not protests, you could tell, just his own muttering under his breath. Something about 'too dang pretty,' and he was 'too damn lucky.'

You felt the lucky one.

The cold metal dangled down your chest and you closed your eyes, familiarising yourself with the weight and never wanting to feel without it.

Arthur fiddled with the clasp. "This dang thing."

Once he had it and it dangled freely, Arthur bent and kissed over where the clasp met your neck. His hands, rough to the touch but forever careful with you, drew down your arms. His body pressed into yours, an arm curling around your waist and holding your back into him.

He rested his head where your neck met your shoulder. "You never takin' it off?"

You shook your head, his hair tickling against you. "Never."

He hummed, satisfied, squeezing your waist and dragging his lips up your neck, in no rush to be quick with loving you.

Your held onto his arms. "Did Hosea help you with the picture or did you do it by yourself."

Arthur huffed. He pulled back, his hands still rested at your hips but he forced you to turn, holding you there. His thumbs were making small circles, almost of absent mind that he was doing it. "I ain't need Hosea help for takin' a damn' picture. It's only for you. Ain't no one else needa see."

You nodded. "Nobody else."

꘎♡. ━━━━━. ♡꘎

[angeltees]

unfair, jack hughes

pairing jack hughes x fem!reader warnings smut, sub!jack, begging, jealous!reader, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, hints towards jack having a breeding kink, mentions of cumming inside, established relationship wc 1.1k

breathy whimpers spilled from your boyfriend’s lip in a symphonic melody of desperation. his bare cock humping up against your bare pussy, the streaks getting smeared onto it from your earlier releases matching the ones racing down his cheeks.

“p-please, i won’t do it again.” jack reiterated the same thing he’d been saying all night, his voice coming out lowly due to how sore the nonstop moaning made his throat. 

you shook your head once in defiance before you stopped moving your hips– knowing how close jack, once again, was to cumming. his length was left sticky due to your cum being coated all over it when you pushed up off of it, your eyes glaring down at the boy arching his hips after you with tears rolling down from his shiny eyes.

“you always say that, jack.” your hand rubbed a tear away from his cheek, his face leaning into it without hesitation. “but you never mean it.”

he shook his head in denial, his eyes wild as they pleaded into yours, “i do mean it-“ you cut him off. “then why do you let them touch you? why do you stand there with their hands wrapped around your bicep-“ you bent down to bite his upper arm, your tongue refusing to soothe the sting, “my bicep?”

you paused when you felt the way jack’s cock bobbed up against you, “you’re liking this? you like it when i get angry about other girls touching what’s mine? who’s mine?”

jack’s hands that were around your hips tried to pull you back down against him, his desire to feel your warmth wrap back around his length surpassing his need to apologize.

if he was in the right mindset he would’ve been able to see you clearly, to be able to understand exactly what you were trying to tell him. because earlier, he noticed it all. 

he saw the way you paused your conversation with quinn to lock in on the fan's hand that was momentarily touching him, the girl's long nails caressing his bare bicep with a smug expression on her face. 

but right now? you were being completely unfair. that exchange was hours ago, back before the sun even set. and now, after being edged at least three times, he was ready to do anything to make you forget it. to forgive him. 

anything, which included using his hips to bump into yours rough enough to catch you off guard, and for him to flip your position so you were pressed flat against the bed with your legs wrapped around his narrow waist. 

“i said i was sorry.” he insisted, his hips pushing down into yours in smooth glides. his head pushed itself between your head and shoulder to busy his mouth, his lips sucking your skin into between his swollen lips.

“babe-“ his mouth removed itself from your skin, his cheeks flushed from both tears and his faint blush. he cut you off, “i know you saw that she only touched me for a minute, that i pulled away as soon as i felt it.” 

you avoided eye contact, your jealousy brewing in your stomach at the reminder– even if it was just a small touch. “and i know you saw the other girls reach out to do it too, but they don’t mean anything to me.”

his thick, leaking, cock head nudged against your clit which made you both let out a synchronized moan. “you’re the only person whose touch matters-“ he stuttered, “the only one who can make me cum.”

without responding, you reached down to guide his cock to hover over your hole, your eyes looking up at him for a second for his consent. 

he pushed in on his own, a small hiccup leaving his lips when he finally felt the way your walls tightened so pleasingly around him. 

“you can’t cum inside today, you don’t deserve it for making me feel the way i did today.” your words were cruel but you were still upset about what you saw earlier. so, you didn’t care. 

“whatever you say, baby.” he blabbered without hesitation, his mind unreceptive to your words. but when he leaned down to kiss you, his cock accidentally slipped out. 

his mouth moved against yours as soft whines left his lips, his hips sluggishly rubbing against your folds as he tried to slip it back in hands free. 

you noticed the way his lips broke rhythm the more he struggled and you slide your hand down his body to press him back in, your hands wrapping loosely against him to guide him into the right position. “shh, baby. it’s okay, i got you.” you changed the make-out into soft pecks, your lips soft against his as you reassured him. 

“i’m sorry, thank you,” he repeated it a few more times between soft kisses, his eyes open as they gazed into yours with all the love and reassurance he had in his body. 

but then, like clockwork, he slipped right back into his headspace. his mind conjourcing ways he could find a way to keep his cum clogged deep into you– a way to prove that he only loved and thought about you. 

and right when he started imagining the way everyone’s eyes would look towards your full belly with his hand pressed right against the bump he caused, and the way you’d never get jealous again, he realized what you said. 

he knew the only way to change your mind was to beg even more– something about a man who yearns is a man who earns? he couldn’t remember right now. “please can i cum inside you? let me prove that you’re the only one for me-” he kept blabbering, his hips pushing harder against yours as if it would make you change your mind.

“what? you wanna knock me up to prove it?” you tried to joke through a moan but when his pupils blew up you knew that’s exactly what he wanted. 

and all he said before pushing your legs up and over his arms with your knees pressed close to your chest was “i mean it when i say you don’t have to reason to be jealous.” 

and later that night, you both got what you wanted. you edged jack again right after that, just so you can see his pretty eyes fill with tears once again. and when he got to cum for the first and last time of the night, he did it deep inside you. his fingers pushing it back up into you whenever it started dripping out. 

[kirsty-bytes]

because i love writing for alt baddies as one

Izuku Midoriya was used to his fanbase being sweet, younger, and endlessly respectful. That was the image he built—the hopeful, persistent symbol of resilience. He wrote about it, spoke about it, lived it.

So when his manager insisted on putting together a fan meet and greet for his first book, he agreed without hesitation. What he didn’t expect was how bizarrely exhausting it would be. The venue was packed, crowded with adoring fans, families, young kids clutching All Might plushies and his own merch. His table was stacked high with copies of his book, next to other pro heroes doing the same.

Todoroki’s table had a neat line. Kirishima’s was surrounded by excited sports nerds. Kaminari and Bakugou were a circus of various energy.

Then came you.

He noticed you immediately, not just because of the way you looked, but because of how out of place you seemed in the sea of pastel and fan-made T-shirts.

Your aesthetic was the opposite of the usual crowd—ripped stockings beneath tiny shorts, heavy boots, a cropped top, and a faded jacket slung over your shoulder. Your makeup was dark, sharp eyeliner winged just right.

You should’ve been lining up at Bakugou’s table or Kaminari’s but you approached his booth with a bounce in your step, arms full—his book, a plush keychain of his old costume, a Deku pin, even a water bottle with his hero symbol on it. You were all smiles, bright and eager beneath that cool exterior.

“Hi!” you said quickly, voice high with nerves and excitement. “I—God, sorry, I love your book. Like, actually love it. I’ve read it three times and annotated it too. I relate to the need to prove yourself so much. We’re actually the same age, too, which is wild because you’re…y’know… Deku and I’m just me.”

You paused, cheeks flushed, “Sorry I’m rambling.”

Izuku blinked. “No, it’s okay.—I’m really happy you liked it.”

You nodded fast, fiddling with the edge of the book before handing it over. “Can you sign it for me?”

“Sure,” he said, smiling shyly and uncapping his marker. You watched him scribble your name in neat cursive, then add a short, thoughtful message under it. You read it with a tiny smile—then looked up again.

“Actually,” you said, shifting your weight a little, “there’s something I wanted to show you.”

He tilted his head. “What is it?”

You looked a little more flustered now—the same cool girl, but something sparkled behind your lashes as you pulled out your phone and turned down the brightness.

You tapped, opened a photo, and flipped the screen to show him.

His brows lifted instantly.

It was you clearly in lingerie, posing in soft lighting with your back slightly turned to the mirror. But that wasn’t the most shocking part.

He opened his mouth to respond but only choked slightly on air. Right there on your ass cheek, bold and proud in black ink, was his hero name, surrounded in a heart.

It was tattooed and permanent.

His face went scarlet instantly.

“That’s how much of a fan I am,” you said sweetly, pulling your phone back. “Surprised?”

“Uh—I mean—wow. That’s…that’s commitment.”

“Only for you,” You giggled, twirling the water bottle in your hands.

You pulled a smaller book from your bag with a simple ribbon tied around it and handed it to him carefully.

“This is for you. A gift,” you said with a little shrug. “Something personal. Just… don’t open it here. I want to be just for your eyes only, Deku.”

You winked—then turned, gave him a soft goodbye wave, and walked away through the crowd like you hadn’t just flipped him sideways.

Izuku blinked, breath shallow.

He picked up the notebook and flipped it gently, opening just the first page.

Inside was a small polaroid—you in panties only, blowing a kiss toward the camera, hands holding up your chest in a pose that had no business being that effective.

He shut it instantly.

Flipping it over, he saw your name again and beneath it, a number scrawled in red ink, followed by a tiny lipstick mark.

Just then, Kaminari leaned over from his table, sipping a smoothie. “What’s got you all red, Deku?” he asked, grinning. “Fan leave you a love letter or something?”

Izuku cleared his throat, closing the notebook and slipping it quietly into his pocket.

“Something like that.”

He’d definitely be using that number.

[camficdiner]

1.5, 2.3, 3.2, 4.3

So the Sharks lose, and Will feels like he was the main reason they lost coupled with the media comparing him to Mack and them always saying he won't be better than Mack has Will very insecure. Reader and Will have a back and forth relationship, they both want each other and they know the other does too but won't do anything about it. Reader says she wants Will finally, and then soft smut ensues (I’m thinking older reader, and sub Will)

Thank youu 💛

☕️ cams fic diner — order 116

🍒 thank you: to the ones who know he’s not like the others — who want the quiet confessions, the unspoken pining, the soft after. this one’s yours.

💬” The things you didn’t say”

✨ description & prompts:

character: will smith

prompt: late-night hotel room confession after a loss

type: older reader x sub!will, mutual pining, soft smut, emotional vulnerability, romantic aftermath

wc ~1.6k

You hear the door shut before you see him.

It’s past midnight. You hadn’t expected him to come to your room — not tonight, not after the loss. You’d seen the way he hung his head on the bench, how he took the blame silently, how he avoided the cameras like they might bite.

But now, there’s a knock. A soft one.

You open the door, and Will’s standing there with his hoodie on, shadows under his eyes, mouth pressed into a miserable line. Not his usual golden-boy confidence. Just a tired kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “Can I…?”

You step back. “Of course.”

He sits on the edge of your hotel bed like it might give out beneath him. His hands clasp between his knees. You don’t ask him anything, not yet.

After a minute, he says, “It’s my fault.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was,” he insists, sharper. “I could’ve buried that third-period one-timer. I could’ve—” His breath hitches. “I saw the replay. I flinched. I hesitated. Like a fucking rookie.”

You step closer, kneeling in front of him. His fists are clenched tight.

“They’re already comparing me to Mack again,” he mutters. “Same draft class. Same team. He’s doing everything right and I—fuck, I keep losing us games.”

Your hands reach for his. He doesn’t pull away. You rub your thumbs across his knuckles.

“Will,” you whisper. “You are not Mack. You’re you. And I don’t want you to be anything else.”

He stares at you like he wants to believe it. Like he’s scared to.

You swallow. “Can I say something else?”

He nods.

“I want you.”

His breath catches. His eyes dart up to yours. “What?”

“I want you,” you repeat. “I’ve wanted you for a while. I thought maybe you knew. But I’m saying it now because… you don’t deserve to sit here thinking you’re not enough. Not when you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

There’s a pause.

Then his voice, hoarse: “You do?”

You smile softly. “Yeah.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath all season.

——

He’s quiet when you kiss him again — quieter still when you guide him gently to sit back against the headboard, your hand warm on his chest.

“I meant what I said,” you murmur, straddling him. “I want you. I’ve wanted you.”

Will’s eyes flicker shut like he’s overwhelmed by the weight of it — of being wanted by you, finally, in this way. He exhales, shaky, hands barely grazing your thighs like he’s scared to hold too much.

“You’re allowed to touch me,” you tease softly, and he lets out the smallest laugh — the sound of someone breaking just a little.

“You always talk like that?” he whispers.

“Only when I want someone to listen.”

His hands slide up your hips, slow, reverent. You kiss him again — long and unhurried — until you feel him melt under you, pliant and eager, like he’s been waiting for this all season.

When you reach down to palm him through his shorts, he chokes out a breath, the sound guttural, raw.

“You’re so good,” you whisper against his neck. “You’re always so good.”

He moans quietly, head tilted back. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“No,” you smile. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

You stroke him slow, teasing him through the fabric until he’s twitching, whining, desperate under your touch. His hips jerk up slightly, but you keep control, guiding the pace — slower, softer, deeper.

“Let me?” you ask, fingers curling into the waistband.

Will nod, breathless. “Please.”

You pull him free and wrap your hand around him — warm, sure, confident. His eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling, lips parted in bliss. You stroke him while you whisper praise into his skin, letting your mouth trail over his neck, his collarbone, the slope of his shoulder.

“You feel good,” you whisper. “So warm, baby. So pretty.”

He whines into your chest, the word breaking from his throat like a prayer. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You stroke him slow and deep, and he bucks into your palm, mouthing at your skin like he’s starved. You shift your hips slightly, grinding down against his thigh for friction, letting him feel how worked up you are — how much you want him too.

When you bring your mouth back to his, Will groans like he’s losing his mind. His hips stutter.

“Let go,” you say softly. “I’ve got you.”

And he does — moaning into your mouth, shaking under your body, coming warm and messy across your hand while your name falls broken from his lips.

You kiss him through it. Hold him through it. Let him melt into you like you’re the only safe place in the world.

Afterward, he’s still breathless when he looks up at you.

“You really wanted me?” he whispers.

You smile and kiss his cheek.

“I still do.”

⸻

Will’s head rests on your chest, his curls damp with sweat, his breathing soft and even now — like all the weight he’d been carrying finally slipped from his shoulders.

You run your fingers through his hair slowly, gently, over and over.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s only the sound of the AC humming quietly in the hotel room and the faint noise of cars far below on the street.

Eventually, he murmurs, “You always know what to say.”

You smile. “That’s because you never say what you really feel.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just hums against your skin and slides his arm tighter around your waist.

“I wanted to win tonight,” he whispers, so small you almost miss it. “I wanted to prove I belonged out there.”

“You do.”

“But I didn’t—”

You stop him gently, cupping his jaw so he’ll look at you.

“You’re not less because of one game,” you say. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

He blinks — slow, like your words are taking time to reach him.

“You always talk like you’re older,” he teases, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

“I am,” you grin, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “And smarter.”

He laughs, soft and genuine, then presses a kiss right beneath your collarbone.

“I like being with you,” he says. “Even if we pretend we’re not.”

You pause for a second — heart full, eyes warm.

“Then let’s stop pretending.”

His eyes widen just a little, then soften, and he leans in to kiss you again — slow, grateful, real.

The kind of kiss that says: Thank you for picking me. For knowing me. For staying.

And when he finally drifts off, curled up against you in that stiff hotel bed, his hand stays locked around yours like he doesn’t want to let go.

You don’t, either.

[offdxty]

We are part of it too, aren't we?

Kane's smile returns at that, honest and sincere, as he simply watches Harrow for a few long seconds - gaze on him once more, taking in the sight of the other sitting close, experiencing the sensation of rain covering his arm in just the same way as Kane does. A few breaths are taken, long and slow - then, a nod.

"We are." a confirmation, gentle and kind, but insistent at the same time - as if that statement of them being part of it truly is a fact, a thing no one will ever be able to change about them, no matter how hard they try.

As much as humans try to disconnect themselves from this - from the rain, the wind, the sun - they'll only ever manage to do it to a certain extend. While Kane, not-Kane, it, does not hold a lot of knowledge when it comes to humans - as he himself isn't really one, just... partially, so to speak - he just knows that this is the case. That, in the end, all living beings are connected to the world they come from.

Yes, even Kane himself. No matter whether he is human or not, he feels connected to this - to the droplets of water, the breeze, the scent of ozone and pine.

"...I would love to come here again, someday." Another nod, a blink, eyes that return to where both of their hands are now hovering outside of this building.

Feeling. Experiencing. One drop of rain at a time.

Unfortunately, even though Kane would've preferred to stay for hours on end, they had to let go of this moment at some point; Had to pull back, had to leave, return to where they'd come from in the first place. All what remained was the wetness sticking to an arm, with Kane refusing to wipe it off, wanting to let it dry on him in a natural way.

---Which had happened way too quickly, with all of that precious rain already gone once both men had stepped back into the two rooms connected to one another - and Kane missed it immediately, the sensation of fresh air on his body, something else than the sterile oxygen he's surrounded with at all times.

The cup of tea, however, that Harrow had prepared for him minutes after their return, had helped - a lot, actually. Peppermint turned out to be one of Kane's favorites, next to the chamomile he'd had earlier, so he'd kept sipping his drink while being allowed to browse through the shelves, the many books, the puzzles, the activities stored.

A bit overwhelmed he'd been, but Dr. Harrow had told him that he'll have time to see it all - the door connecting their two rooms would stay open for the day, allow Kane to come in here whenever he'd like, no pressure, no stress. Once again, it had helped, the assurance that he'll be able to explore - and Kane, ever so curious, very eager to read a book, had finally decided on a novel, one where the cover had caught his attention.

He had to start somewhere, after all - cannot read every single book at the same time, he had to tell himself that much.

And so he'd gotten comfortable on one of the chairs provided, cup of tea in his lap, book in hand, and spent the rest of the day going through his newly acquired book...

When Kane wakes the next day, he feels different.

No, he did not change in a physical way, not at all - he's got two arms, two legs, hair, hands, feet, eyes still. But something did change, something inside himself instead, his mind, his... self, apparently, in some way; He feels... lighter, less neutral, less sterile, as odd as it may sound. It's apparent to him, almost overwhelmingly so, when he gets up to take a shower---

What had been a mere necessity until now, executed because it had felt right to take care of his body, suddenly turns comfortable, outright nice and enjoyable even. That's why Kane takes longer this time, allows himself to just stand under the spray of water, eyes closed, chin up, not doing anything for minutes on end. The cleaning-part remains efficient and quick still, but the satisfaction he gains from it is new, the way he's happy about being all clean and fresh once he's stepping out and drying himself off.

Shaving isn't fun, but it's easy enough to do, and Kane wants to do it - prefers his skin to feel smooth instead of too scratchy and stubbly. Teeth are brushed after, clothes put on, before he makes his way back into the blandness of his room.

The door separating him from Harrow's office is closed, but it does not surprise Kane, not yet. Perhaps the other isn't awake at this point, needs to get ready still - perhaps said door won't be opened for him until after breakfast? Yet, despite knowing - assuming - all of such, Kane does find himself making his way over for a brief moment, a hand coming up to touch the door as if hoping to gain new information this way...

There is no information to gain, however. It's just a door. So, with a breath leaving him, he makes his way back to his bed, where he folds the bedsheets and fluffs up the pillow, making sure everything is tidy, simply because Kane likes it this way. A glance is thrown over at that window - the one he cannot see through, but whoever might be on the other side can - and Kane hesitates for a second, then offers a hint of a smile before turning away, taking a seat. He does not know whether Harrow's even there yet, so... he might've smiled to no one there, done it for nothing. But it doesn't matter, right? if Harrow's seen it, that's good. If not, that's not bad either.

A sigh, and Kane... waits. Folds his hands onto his lap, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Looks at that mirror-wall again, wondering...

He hopes he can get another cup of tea today - he would love to enjoy one for breakfast.

Arthur’s smile turned softer, a bit smaller this time. He wasn’t laughing, he wouldn’t dare mock, but something about Kane’s words - even the small joke - brought warmth to him that he hadn’t felt in a while. It was a dangerous thing, his mind tried to warn; there was always danger in getting too close to someone, in allowing them a place near his heart. 

He wouldn’t do that, though. None of this was emotional - it was just learning, talking. It was treating Kane kindly because he broke down when Arthur didn’t, and trying to recover from that took too much work. This was just laziness, playing it easy - whatever label he could find that wasn’t quite ‘care’. 

He cared about his job, if anything. He cared about his paycheck, his position. If he cared about Kane, then they would be going outside - forcing him to experience it through a window was proof that he didn’t care. 

“I think that’s beautiful,” Arthur answered, his voice soft. He understood it, of course; the safety in facts, the security in knowledge. The simplicity of things being what they were, without other layers that needed concern - it was a very honest interaction.

Nature mirrored Kane’s personality, especially when phrased in this way. Honest, kind, true; it made sense as to why Kane found comfort in it. 

“We are part of it, too, aren’t we?” Arthur gently mused, turning his hand over in the rain and watching as the water shifted. “It’s easy to forget, when working here. This place is meant to separate people - even the air feels artificial.” Maybe the ones who owned the building liked it. They were the sort of people who enjoyed the separation - the ones who liked thinking that humans were separate from animals, were above them. 

Arthur exhaled again, his gaze staying on his arm for a few moments too long. He could feel that familiar feeling inside of him, just below his ribcage; worry, dread. The knowledge that everything would end, and that it would likely end poorly. 

Kane likely would never be able to experience the rain, how he truly wanted to. Arthur had been working too long in places like this, to possibly be able to convince himself otherwise.

Still. 

What Kane had said mattered, for more reasons than the fact that he was an unknown species. He had a wisdom to him, a deep honesty that Arthur rarely got to see; and the smile was kind. All of it was kind, all of it held so much meaning, Arthur was talking to a living being who was young and confused and wonderfully beautiful - it was overwhelming, in the same extreme that it was tragic. It was the exact feeling that Arthur had been wanting to avoid, this helpless knowledge of holding something valuable and knowing that it would only be crushed. 

He wished that Kane had been a program. It would be easier than figuring out what to do with this. 

“I’ll see if we can come up this way more often,” he offered, rather than voicing any of his thoughts. It would have been kind to confess that he had found himself caring for the other, and it probably would have been right to - but it would only make things hurt more in the long run. “We can’t come here every day, someone would have a problem with that - but every now and then, we can come here. Whenever you need it, just let me know.”